Even Zombie Killers Need a Break zk-2 Page 15

  Chapter 16

  When I walked into the mess deck the mood was somber. Everyone was quiet, everyone except Bull for once. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not.

  “There are two types of soldiers.” He was saying as everyone else stared at their mystery stew. “Pigs and Hogs. Pigs are professionally instructed gunman; that would be you guys. Hogs are hunters of gunman; that’s me.” He caught sight of me. “Which are you?”

  “Oh I’m the most dangerous type of person you’ll ever encounter in battle. I’m an amateur. PIGs and HOGs know what other PIGs and HOGs will do, but nobody can account for what an amateur might try. What’s in that stew? Where did Marion say she left my rabbit?”

  “Penny is on the salad bar.” William said.

  “They put her in a salad!” I said and turned to look. Sure enough she was in the salad bowl, eating a radish.

  “As team medic it is my duty to inform everyone that you should not eat anything from the salad bar.” Ethan said authoritatively.

  “As if you could. We’ve all seen Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Rabbits are ferocious, and this one will be bigger than those dogs we fought yesterday when she’s full grown.” I said to some anxious chuckling.

  A few hours later and we were on the Seahawk flying towards Fort McHenry. Sterett, with Taney in tow, had anchored just off the peninsula. All of the artillery on Sterett was facing the fort, even the guns that had previously been mounted on the opposite side of the ship. “It has been a long time since a naval invasion has had a proper shore bombardment I thought to myself.”

  I was in the cabin with the crew chief and the remaining five Warthogs. Commander Owen was talking into my headset. “Command wants this to be theatrical. That’s why we’re doing this at night. I’m going to be shooting star shells from the five incher, should look like fireworks, or bombs bursting in air, or whatever command expects. They want you to go in without fire support so the fort doesn’t get damaged. I’m guessing that is Morano’s idea. I don’t know what you scouts did to piss her off, but she seems to have it out for you. Regardless, I don’t intend to sit here with my thumb up my ass so keep your head low, get the picture, and the helo will circle back around and pick you up.”

  “Thank you sir, I owe you big time if we get out of this.”

  “Don’t mention it. Command thinks that with enough propaganda we can win this war. I don’t usually agree with the brass hats, but if they’re right I will light up the sky with so many shells Francis Scott Key will add another verse to the national anthem. Good luck Ryan”

  There was nothing else to say. Ours is not to reason why ours is but to do and die.

  “Thirty Seconds!” the crew chief yelled over the sound of the rotors.

  I reached out and shook hands with my team. Ethan Szimanski, William Szimanski, Dan Walls, Markus Muth, Bull St. Pier. I closed my eyes Brian Baublitz, Marion Robbins. A star shell went off. The intense light showed through my closed eyelids.

  “GO, GO, GO!”

  We jumped out into the courtyard shooting.

  The helo rose and flew to its holding pattern near the top of the peninsula. On the Patapsco side the PBR open up with everything they had. From the opposite side of the peninsula the Seahawk opened up with its minigun. Another flare went off. Deep booms in the darkness and flashes from Sterett told us the Marines were joining the fight.

  The shadows from the multiple airborne flares danced cruelly all around us, playing tricks on our eyes. The flashes from our weapons going off added to the horror. The moaning was getting louder. The courtyard was full of sun bleached bones from long dead zombies.

  Red eyes above yellow and white grins swayed back and forth as they approached from all direction. The rockets’ red glare burned above us. Bombs were bursting in air, releasing hundreds of pellets on the moat and ramparts.

  Scenes from Dante’s Inferno seemed like paradise compared to what we were seeing now.

  I pushed another mag into my carbine and hit the slide release. Bull was nowhere to be seen. Ethan and William, ever by my side were firing into the darkness. The moaning was getting louder. Walls had the folded flag, he ran to the flagstaff at the east end of the courtyard.

  With the buzz of a chainsaw, Sterett’s Phalanx Gatling gun opened up. Grass and dirt and pieces of centuries old brick flew into the air as a million angry firefly-bees buzzed into the ramparts once gleaming. There was fire all around us as flares and tracers ignited parched grass.

  They came through the gate, straight in front of the flag staff at the east end. Walls was frantically hauling the large flag up the old weathered staff. The moaning was getting loader. The old halyard creaked; it hadn’t been used in years.

  Markus threw his shotgun like a centurion lobbing his pilum javelin. The two foot bayonet on the front lodged in a zombies chest feet away from Walls. It didn’t kill the zombie but it knocked the thing over and bought Walls more time to raise the flag.

  Markus ran into the crowd coming through the gate swinging his gladius like Russell Crowe in Gladiator. The moaning was getting louder. It drowned out the sound of the helo as it circled around, calling in adjustments for the gunners on Sterett.

  The BB rounds momentarily stopped the horde at the gates. Markus disappeared in the hail of tungsten and glory. Walls, who had just tied off the halyard was beating a zombie with his E-tool when a few errant BBs shredded his left leg.

  We ran for him. Our rifles dangled useless and empty. They piled on top of him faster than the Ravens defense dives onto a fumbled football. Another salvo of BB rounds completed the devastation.

  Now it was just the three of us. Ethan swung his AR-15 like a club. William stabbed the straight end of his crowbar into the closest zombie’s bright red eye. I fired my pistol until it ran dry with my left hand. In my right hand I had my machete, a kopis sword, the kind Alexander the Great and Hannibal Barca used. The two foot blade curved forward giving it the slashing power of a sword and the chopping power of an ax.

  The ax came out of nowhere. I got my machete up in time to block it. I will never forget the look in Bull’s eyes as he came at me. They were not red, he had not been bitten, but they were dead. At some point tonight he had looked into the darkness and it had broken him. I’ve heard of soldiers losing it in combat like this. Honestly I was surprised we all hadn’t broken. We were in hell on earth.

  He raised the ax over his head. I could not look away from his intense, lifeless eyes. Behind him explosions rocked the earth. It was night but the sun never shone so intensely. He bought the ax down with all his considerable strength.

  Ethan tackled him with his full force. He was always the most agile of us from his days as a hockey goalie. Bull stumbled but did not fall. He raised the ax again. Ethan landed heavily on the ground and lay there gasping. The acrid smoke burned my lungs too.

  William hit him hard across the back with his crowbar. Bull spun violently, throwing William off balance, but diverting his attention from me. That was all I needed to regain my footing. I swung my machete in a vicious overhand arch. Never in my life had I wanted to kill something so bad. The kopis blade made contact.

  He blocked it with his ax as he turned back towards me. The shock of the hit reverberated all the way down my arm. I dropped my badly nicked blade and he dropped his ax.

  I still had my empty 1911 in my left hand. I passed it to my right and gripped it by the red-hot barrel like some old time pirate. He was drawing a long curved knife but I dove on him before he could get it out. I hammered the end of my metal pistol grip into his face over and over again until Ethan and William dragged me to my feet.

  The zombies were closing in and we had nothing left.

  The helo came in low as the three of us readied ourselves for death in the courtyard. It blinded us with its spotlight. On the far side its minigun chewed threw the horde. Flares, fires, and artillery explosions formed the background. We stood there shielding our eyes. Later it would be said that we were saluting
. The dead lay all around us. Above us flew the tattered Star Spangled Banner. The Copilot leaned out and snapped the picture.

  The rotor wash blew over the rotted wood flagstaff which had stood just long enough. It fell into one of the burning buildings. The facsimile of Betsy Ross’s flag burst into flames. The Seahawk touched down just long enough for us to jump in.

  Epilogue… Seattle

  “Anyway our picture should be on the cover of the next issue of Time Magazine. William and Ethan decided to join a PBR crew since IST5 is being reconstituted. They didn’t want to serve under the new CO.”

  “No wonder you are going to be making speeches. When you tell tall tales like that.” said Doc, who I did not think was still awake.

  “My only question is how did the brass find out you could tell such a fanciful story?” commented Nick.

  “Are you guys kidding me? Every word of that was true, beautifully poetic, but true. But I can’t help that I have a Liberal Arts Degree. In fact next week I sail for Hawaii to be the keynote speaker for the recommissioning ceremony for the Battleship Missouri.”

  “It was good seeing you again, but we really need to head outta here. We start teaching tomorrow.” Nick said.

  “Have you started the PowerPoint yet?” Doc asked.

  “Nope.” Nick answered as they walked out.

  I asked the bartender “Do you know anywhere I can find pretzels?”

  He shook his head no and I walked out. I had to get back home and feed my rabbit. As I walked I pulled out my phone and began typing into the database.

  Sex—female

  Race—Caucasian

  Hair—blond

  Eyes—green

  Age—20-25

  Last known location—Austin TX

  Identifying marks—scar on bridge of nose…

  EAST BOUND AND DOWN

  By

  Alex McHale

  The Evacuation of Manhattan, Z Day + 7

  Chapter 1

  Stewart Air National Guard base is a post 1996 relic of a joint Air Force / Army base that sits about 60 miles up the Hudson river from New York City. It was once a quiet regional international airport with a few second rate airlines , a heavy lift C-5 squadron on the Air Force side and a VIP helicopter detachment on the Army side. It was pretty disconnected from the rest of world, and a safe haven for senior military aviators to hang out and ride out the dogs days of the Hudson Valley summer to retirement.

  Today, it was the busiest airport on the planet. Air Force heavy lift aircraft hogged the tarmac constantly coming and going. Their heavy engines rumbled the cracked pavement and rattled the Plexiglas windows of the bombed out terminal. LMTVs, HEMMET refuelers and maintenance teams scrambled in chaos like pissed off fire ants on an anthill. CH-47 Chinooks and their deep turbine engines and UH-60s roared all over the airfield, landing at PAX terminals and dropping off survivors from the Evac out of Manhattan.

  “Clear two?”

  “Clear”

  “Rodger Starting Two” I pressed in, and release the starter button on the number 2 engine Power Control Lever.

  Jackal flipped through some papers and hands me the mission packet “Looks like today is going to be a long one bro” he says with a smirk. I flip through the packet looking at a shitty Google earth picture of the intrepid. “They get the FARP (Forward Aircraft Refueling Point) set up yet?” I asked as I tucked the mission packet under the steel clip on my knee board.

  “Almost, a bunch of Zs broke through the security barricade and overran that bitch, rumor has it the FARP guys stuck a flare in his HEMMET tank before they got waxed” Jackal said while packing a lip with chew.

  One of our crew chief’s, “Slim” as we called him, keyed the mike from outside. With the ambient noise of the rotor system heard in the ICS he said “Yeah I saw that shit go down sir, talk about a bunch of fucking noobs…. The explosion was really cool.”

  Slim was a bean pole of a SGT, standing at 6’7” he had to wear knee pads behind his gun even with the seat jacked all the way back as his long ass legs stuck into the side of the aircraft. He was a funny dude, he had “WARLOCK” spray painted on one side on his helmet visor, and a “Your mom sends me care” packages patch slapped across the other side. Slim is an avid World of Warcraft junkie with an addiction to blasting Zs, he was an awesome crew chief and could build a Black Hawk from the wheel s up if you gave him an aluminum block and a chisel, as an Wyoming native he grew up toting around a level action 30/30 before he would walk. Our other crew chief, SPC Thompson was as cherry as they come, but a good kid. Competent crew dogs were hard to come by, even at 19 and barely 120 pounds soaking wet Thompson knew how to dissect every avionics component he put his hands on and had the midas touch with the hydraulic system.

  I advanced both engine control levels forward. The rotor system roared and the engines whined up in a furious roar and get your adrenaline pumping.

  “Alright PCLs going to fly, rotor 100% bro, avionics are good, crew/pax.”

  “Secure left rear.”

  “Right rear.”

  I looked back to see Thompson screwing with his seatbelt.

  “Jackal you have the controls on the way out bro, I’ll take the radio calls, swap at palisades?”

  “You got it Sir.”

  “1-2 this 1-1 you guys ready to hit it?”

  CW3 Jim Coffee was chalk two behind us, Jim was one of my most experienced pilots, a test pilot by day and a hippie by night. “Grim Jim” was from out west, up in Seattle Washington, back in Iraq he used to do Tai Chi on top of the Phalanx cannon every morning, and had gotten shot down 3 times as the sole survivor, hence his name. He was flying with WO1 “Buck” Baker, the FNG, fresh out of flight school.

  “We are ugghhhhhh redcon 1.”

  “Fucking new guys…” Jackal sneered and shook his head. “They always suck on the radios.”

  “RodgO Calling tower” I tapped the radio selector switch on my ICS panel “Stewart tower, Voodoo 41, flight of two on bravo ramp, requesting present position departure to the south.”

  “Rodger, Black Magic 41 you are clear for takeoff winds, 220 at 15 knots gusting 21.”

  Jackal pulled in some power and we took off flying low over the airfield. The gigantic FEMA camp was packed full of civilians in temporary housing, aka the tent city, it was gruesome, piles of trash lay scattered everywhere while people slogged through the mud and swarmed LMTVs throwing out boxes of MRES, the smell of burning human remains and feces hovered over the camp like a pestilent smog, we cleared out of it and rolled down low over the Hudson River.

  Chapter 2

  The whole Valley looked dead, except for the columns of smoke rising over the urban areas. We overflew the Academy: West Point. It was in lock down mode, serving as a Tactical Operations Center for ground commanders in the Hudson Valley, fighting a holding action against the millions of zombies and refugees coming out of the City.

  A pair of Apaches circled high over the top of Storm King Mountain, like vultures looking for some Zs to swoop down on. “64 traffic over the point this is voodoo 41 flight of two NOE over the river, we got you guys in sight, we’re no factor for you” I called a courtesy “heads up” call to them so they didn’t shoot near us or hit us when they fuck around and crash, as 64 Pilots love to do. “What’s up voodoo, yeah we see you guys, you guys headed down to the city?”

  “RodgO fourteenth trip this week,” I pushed back.

  “Good luck fellas, I hear it’s a mad house down there stay safe”.

  “Thanks guys, you too. Good hunting.”

  Jackal sped up to 150 knots over the water, the brown and grey burbles of the Hudson spit up at us. It was a choppy day, and the ribbons of oil and chemicals were bright and vibrant, reflecting like a rainbow like oil puddles you see in parking lots. We banked hard to the right and Jackal pulled the aircraft into a steep cyclic climb over the Bear Mountain Bridge and then cranked the aircraft over hard on the left and gave her a healthy nose down attitude, BONG B
ONG BONG! The radar altimeter was going off. Out of the side window I could see the Armored Personnel Carriers parked on either end of the bridge. I could reach out and touch them, almost.

  200 feet…

  100 feet…

  75 feet…

  25 feet.

  The aircraft lurched back up, I felt the pull and hard sink of 2G’s as he leveled her back out. The Rotors and engines whine happily as they spun up while increasing speed.

  “…annnnnnnnd level.” He said with a smirk, “oh look at that bro 15 feet! New record!”

  He was a sick fuck, but he was one hell of warrant officer, my unit instructor pilot. Jackal was a crusty infantry E7 from back in the day; he was in a Long Ranger Reconnaissance Team and was the dude in Iraq with the black patches on his ACUS and a goatee, he had 20 years in the military and had the “I don’t give a fuck” attitude. HE had learned to fly helos after 15 years in the Army, passing the flight exams with ease. He pushed the “I’m a pilot I’ll get away it with” card to the max. He rolled his sleeves up when he flew and rocked his standard issue Oakley half jackets under his flight helmet with a black superman patch on his helmet visor. He was going to get out before the Zs rolled in, he wanted to be a science teacher and move back to Vegas to retire. So much for that plan!

  “Alright Lex you have the controls bro, I got the radios.” I took the controls and brought us back up over the mountains; there was a cliff face just adjacent to the Nuclear Power Plant that I loved to fly down.

  “Coffee man! Tune up 770 on your ADF.” Jackal said on internal.

  “Jackal I swear if It’s more of that right wing Sean Hannity shit I’m gonna fucking kill you.”

  “Nah bro check it out.”

  I pushed my switch down on the ADF and grinned in approval as “all along the watch tower” came on over the radio. The city skyline started to come into view; it was a warzone. The skyscrapers were crumbling, some were on fire, the Empire State Building’s lights were all Red for what Jim thinks means “stay the FUCK away” the City was a mad house of Reavers, Zs , Looters and freaked the fuck out civilians.