The Failed Coward (24 page)

“Wow totally. What can I do to make it up to you?” It was his turn to be giddy.

“Well, for starters, we had a truck die on the way here, about a half mile maybe up the road. You said you had a little mechanical experience, and if you could, I’d like you to take a look at it. If you can get it running, drive it back here to the cul de sac. And also, if you feel comfortable, anything at all you can tell us about town would be really helpful. I don’t even mean telling us about the survivors. I mean where can we find good stuff, equipment, concentrations of the dead people, whatever. Any intelligence is going to either save our lives, or the lives of other folks.”

Blake nodded emphatically. “I’ll get moving right now. I’ll see you tomorrow at noon right here?”

I checked my watch and agreed with him. He literally jogged away past me, and waved at Gilbert in the HRT as he went. Gilbert smiled in his clever ass old man way and we both knew this could be an important day for us.

When I got into the HRT, all Gilbert said to me was; “And that’s how you develop local allies. Well done kid.”

I beamed.

We cleared the house of remaining goods (marginally worth the time), drove by Blake with his head under the hood of Gilbert’s truck, and made our way home.

We’re meeting him again tomorrow at noon. Hopefully, he’s a little less edgy, and little more trusting. 

I’m excited.

-Adrian

The Siege of Mildenhall

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Fitz asked Kevin from the back seat as their lead humvee rounded a tight corner in the British city of Manchester. Out of habit and an excess of adrenaline the older mercenary flicked the safety of his M4 SOPMOD back and forth from semi to full auto. Putting it on safe at this point seemed unreasonably dangerous to him, after all, the city was overrun with the dead.

From the front passenger seat of the humvee Kevin glared out the windows at the brown brick buildings and parked cars they sped by, just a foot or two from the windows in the essentially stolen military truck. Their driver Kyle drove evasively around a small crashed compact in the road. Kevin smirked as he tried to think of a clever answer to Fitz’s smartass question. 

The front fender of the heavy vehicle clipped a shambling zombie on the side of the street and sent it careening off the wall of an apartment building. Kevin heard a faint crunch fading away as the thing's bones broke on impact. Finally his brain came out of neutral, and he responded to his friend, “Well Fitzy. I look at it this way; we’ve certainly had better ideas. I mean that harem of prostitutes Alan brought back to our suite in Phuket was a pretty shitty idea, and I think that was a lot better an idea than this. Look at the bright side gentlemen; we are not likely to get crotch rot on this op. Unlike in Thailand.”

All four men in the speeding humvee laughed. Kyle, Kevin’s driver was a young ex Army airborne soldier, and Quan in the backseat with Fitz was former Vietnamese army, and had years in EOD work. The four men were all that remained of Kevin’s original nine man protection team from June in Jerusalem. 

Kevin and his squad had been tasked to protect a high ranking Senator in Israel the day the undead reared their gory, ugly heads. That was June 23
^rd
actually, about 40 days prior. They’d evacuated Jerusalem riki-tik and fled on a US Department of State bird for London, and what they thought would be relative safety. One of his men had died from what appeared to be a superficial bite wound on the plane, and as soon as they landed at Heathrow, he’d returned to “life” and bitten another of Kevin’s men. In the end, the team leader had to put bullets in both of their heads. The apocalypse had been hard on his men, demoralizing and painful beyond all imagination. Today they were trying to do the right thing, and reclaim their own. Hopefully they'd be alive.

Before they had boarded the plane and left Jerusalem Kevin had lost one of his close operator friends, Alan, a British national. Alan had missed a video call with his wife and child in Manchester England that day, and Kevin vowed he’d see to it that Alan’s six year old daughter Shelby, and Alan’s wife Becky were taken care of. The Ranger motto of leave no man behind transferred to family in Kevin’s mind. He'd made a promise, and he'd see it through. When their helicopter had touched down at RAF Mildenhall, a massive military airbase outside of London, the first thing Kevin did was get in touch with her, and tell her to button up in their flat.

“Don’t you dare leave. I know Alan has food and supplies there to last you some time. As soon as we can get to you, we are coming.”

Becky couldn’t even manage a response through her gut wrenching sobs. She knew a man in Alan’s line of work might die, and as much as she told herself she was prepared for it, she wasn’t. All she could do was look at the growing hurt in her little girl’s eyes. Kevin heard her choke out a half hearted, “Y-, yes, okay.”

They kept in touch via the landlines for a few days until the phones died in the UK, and after that Kevin made sure she had Alan’s spare satellite phone charged and working. From the roof of their small Manchester apartment building, they could talk for a few minutes a day. 

Every time they talked, they talked about today. The day Kevin’s men came to make good on his promise to come get them. 

*****

“Everyone is good to go on the floor plan?” Kevin asked over the throat mics to the men in both of the humvees they’d ‘borrowed’ from the good men and women of the United States Air Force. Everyone chimed in with positive responses. Even the borrowed Royal Marine in the back truck was in the affirmative. His name and largely former rank was Corporal Harold Parker, or Hal for short. He’d shown his considerable value when their chopper had crashed after leaving Heathrow in the center of London, fighting their way to their extraction point like a man possessed. Since then, he’d done the same protecting the airbase perimeter from the never ending hordes of undead. 

In the rear truck with Hal were three Air Force Special Operators. Parajumpers to be exact. Normally these folks existed primarily to rescue downed pilots behind enemy lines, or to serve as medics attached to special operations units, but as many special operators find themselves sooner or later, adrenaline becomes more important to them than air. Stealing a few trucks and taking off to rescue one of Kevin’s teammate’s family members deep inside a city overrun with the walking dead sounded like a “fun day out” to them. It didn’t hurt that they were all expert marksman, trained to the highest degree in land navigation and combat tactics, and had medical training that rivaled the most well schooled trauma physicians.

Yeah, Kevin thought, when I roll heavy, I roll motherfucking heavy. Just thinking of the quality of the team he’d brought to make good on his promise to Alan’s memory made his heart swell with pride. He was still a little pissed over not being able to finagle some air support as well, but thieves can’t be too choosy. You pick the pocket, you get the lint.

Alan’s building approached them at the end of the narrow Manchester city street like a looming fortress. Three brick and mortar stories grew up from the street like a funeral monument to a dead city. Kevin’s Air Force friends had re-tasked a drone on the sly a few days ago to get a good look at the surrounds, and as it was just now, the sidewalk at the door was clear of vehicles. 

It was not clear of the undead. The two humvees screeched to a stop next to the building, hitting a few of the shiftless dead, sending them sprawling onto the damp pavement with twisted arms and legs. Kevin stepped out into the middle of the street and started firing his M4 on semi, lining up the red dot of his Aim Point on the faces of his targets before gently squeezing off rounds. He watched with detached emotion as face after face exploded in a dull brown and grey mist. From all sides he heard his teammates doing the same thing; slowly, carefully taking well aimed headshots. They’d learned any other shot was a wasted round.

“Lock this street down, form a perimeter on the trucks. Exfil in FIVE!” Kevin hollered to the men. Over the hammering gunfire everyone replied again in the affirmative, and Kevin took his breaching team up the granite steps to the heavy oak door of the old three story stone apartment building. Kevin grabbed the heavy door’s handle, and as Becky had told him, it was locked firmly shut. Kevin nodded to Quan to take the door out after tying a small lanyard to the door handle.

Kyle and Fitz covered Quan as he slapped two small breaching charges on the hinges of the sturdy door. Becky said there was no way to kick it in quickly, so they didn’t waste time trying. Quan had the two small charges applied in record time and waved everyone away from the doorway. As soon as everyone was clear he belted out, “FILE IN THE HORE!” In his thick, absurd Vietnamese-American accent, and everyone took cover. 

The two charges exploded with a viciously loud BANG that the men felt in their chests, even behind cover. In slow motion the cracked and tattered door tipped forward through the puffy white haze of the explosion, and thundered down onto the steps with a crash, shattering the thick panes of glass in the center. It skidded down the stone stairs and came to a stop cockeyed on the sidewalk. Kevin tugged on the nylon cord attached to the door handle and yanked the door clear of the steps and the sidewalk near the entrance. It wouldn’t do if one of the men tripped on it.

“GO! GO! GO!” Kevin waved his men forward, and they stacked up without a thought, and entered the dark innards of the building through the drifting cloud of explosive residue.

Each man was a professional warrior. For a week prior to today the team had done late night exercises near the airfield as bombers and fighters took off to do their carpet bombing runs of English cities. Kevin had laid out a grid on the tarmac that matched the walls and doors of the halls, and over and over they visualized each and every potential threat, and came up with a plan to deal with it. They committed the layout of the building to memory. They could do this with their eyes closed. To them, this was just another spray painted grid on the tarmac.

With a lot of special effects for show, mind you.

The grizzled veteran with the brand new handlebar mustache was on point, and Kevin heard his M4 start barking immediately. Kevin had hoped the halls would be clear of the undead, but by the sounds of Fit’z immediate rate of fire, his hopes were illusory.

Kevin was in the center of the stack with Quan ahead of him, and Kyle to his rear. Once inside the foyer the wide staircase was straight ahead, and to their left. They moved immediately up the steps with Fitz laying out a steady stream of shots heading upward every second or so. It was hard to see in the dark inside the building, but after a moment or two, Kevin’s eyes adjusted.

Dead bodies were everywhere. Some had clearly died within the past month, but others were still coming to a rest with punctured skulls from Kevin and now Quan’s rifles. Even under his helmet and through his earpiece the two guns firing were deafening. The men were stepping on top of the bodies before long, feet slipping to and fro on the loose flesh of the deceased. They'd all be covered in gore within minutes.

“Good to go in there? Hearing very heavy fire out here.” Kevin heard Jaden, team leader of the PJs ask out over the radio.

One hand holding his M4 at the hip, Kevin thumbed the throat mic, “Good to go. We are currently experiencing a target rich environment.” 

“Awww shit Kevin I’m jealous. There’s nothing good to shoot out here yet,” Jaden sulked.

Just as Jaden finished speaking Kevin saw a zombie round the corner of the stairwell directly behind where Fitz was. Kevin’s friend was facing down the hall in the opposite direction firing with Quan, and without a moment’s hesitation, Kevin fired from the hip and hit the zombie in the throat, sending it stumbling backwards. A spray of grey and brown fluids covered the wall behind the creature. He shouldered his rifle like a professional and put a second round through its forehead, dropping it for good. After a heavy burst of fire on the second floor landing, Fitz looked back at the body, and nodded with a wink to Kevin. Kevin blew him a kiss, and they pushed further up the stairs to their destination on the third floor.

Kyle and Kevin slowed the pace as they ascended the stairs behind Quan and Fitz. Zombies were shuffling down the hallway of the second floor as they left the landing, and neither man wanted any surprises later when they came back down the steps. A few seconds of accurate gunfire changed that worry, and all that remained were oozing bodies piled knee high in the hall. The two men sprinted up the steps to catch up to the leaders. Fitz and Quan didn’t leave breadcrumbs behind to mark their trail. Kyle and Kevin needed only to look for freshly killed zombies. 

The two men in the lead had stopped at the top of the hall’s edge, peering around the corner after dropping everything moving that shouldn’t have been. 

Over his shoulder Fitz spoke to Kevin, “Hall’s all clear Kevin. They’re four doors down on the right.” He nodded down the right hallway towards the flat Alan’s family lived in. Kevin stepped up to the top of the stairs and motioned for them to keep moving in that direction. Fitz took two steps down the hall when one of the doors to their left suddenly swung inward, and a living man stepped out, bloodied and wide eyed like a lunatic. He held a massive cricket bat in his right hand as he stepped into the passage, seemingly challenging them to pass. Kevin’s first thought was of the old Aussie movie Mad Max.

“Warden Protective Group, drop the bat now!” Fitz hollered to the man. The manic bastard kept creeping forward, slowing inching the bat upwards, becoming more of a threat. The look in his eyes was that of confusion and fear, with growing rage.

“DROP IT NOW!” “RUSE THE BAT!” “STOP!” Each man hollered out their own command, but nothing had an effect. Eventually the man’s slow movements turned into a spasm of aggression, and he launched his wiry frame forward, raising the bat over his shoulder to hit Fitz atop the skull.