Zombie Killers (Book 8): Bad Company Read online

That did sober us up, and I asked Boz, as he liked to be called, what the local layout was, and where we could hole up until early morning.

  “Well,” he said, after a moment’s thought. “This wasn’t really MY boat. That’s why I just had the couple of sound warnings for Zs. I just found it earlier today.”

  “But,” I asked, “what about the worn down trails? Someone has been coming and going here.”

  “That’s true. How about we follow them?”

  “How about not, because I’m tired as shit,” answered Shona.

  “Yeah, that and you’re hurting from where I kicked your little ass. Don’t lie, it ain’t becoming of a woman, if that’s what you are with your purple hair.” He said it good naturedly enough; anyone could see she was a woman by the way she filled out her uniform. Though nowadays, you really couldn’t tell.

  “Shelter is what we need. Let’s continue down the beach and get away from this bonfire signal.” Which we promptly did, and without a moment to spare. I took point, leading with my .22, suppressor making the barrel droop in my tired hands. A figure rose up out of the darkness, with that dry musty smell, and I fired three times, starting low and letting the recoil raise the barrel. The third shot went into the kid’s glowing red eye and put it out, then exited the back of its’ rotten skull. “Down!” I hissed, and all three of us split left and lay flat in the waves.

  More than a dozen Zs went past us, attracted by the fire. We waited for another ten minutes, then resumed our steady, strength draining stealing march, until another, smaller open boat loomed up out of the darkness. It was half buried in the sand, but it would have to do.

  “Shona,” I said, looking at my watch, “it’s just past nine. I’ll wake you at twelve, wake me at three.” She looked darkly at Boz, and settled down in the front of the boat, curling up on the battered deck, and went instantly to sleep. I wanted desperately to join her, but I didn’t trust the old veteran yet. Besides, we had a lot to talk about.

  We sat down, facing away from the water, and I began questioning him about the lay of the land hereabouts. I didn’t ask him how he got here, or where he came from. None of my business, really, and he didn’t volunteer.

  “How familiar are you with the situation overall in the country?” I asked.

  He snorted and said, “What country?”

  I explained the situation in the Northeast, where the United States, or what was left of it, was battling the so-called Mountain Republic for control of Washington DC.

  “Must be a heck of a fight. Them boys from Appalachia are mighty handy with a gun. Still, I suppose you’ll win in the end. Sounds like you got a bigger population and more resources.”

  “You keep saying ‘you’. You’re still a soldier in the United States army, Master Sergeant.”

  At that he actually laughed. “Sonny, I reached mandatory retirement age a while ago. Maybe. Unless you’re going to start coughing up a check, I ain’t serving no one anymore.”

  “Not even for the flag?” Maybe some old fashioned patriotism might work.

  “I’m pretty sure the flag stopped meaning anything a long time before the zombie apocalypse, sergeant major, with all due respect. Or is it Colonel?”

  “The Scouts are kinda informal. You can call me Nick. Now, what’s the situation down here, and how can I get back north? Or find a shortwave or Harris radio?”

  “Well, I bet that big ass carrier has what you need, though of course electricity would be a problem. Was that you causing all that ruckus up there a few days ago?”

  Had it only been a few days ago? It seemed like forever. “Yes, that was us. Mountain Republic troops were trying to get their hands on a nuke. Seemed like a good idea to stop them.”

  “Oh, so that was who that foul mouthed son-of-a-bitch was that was tied up over by the creek? And the guy swinging in the wind? You’re tougher than I thought, Nick.”

  He was referring to a Mountain Republic NCO who had tortured my wife. I had left him tied up for the Zs to get. “What did you do with him?”

  “Well,” he said, watching the dead space station pass overhead, “I ate him, of course. Fresh meat is hard to find.”

  I raised my pistol and aimed it at the back of his head. I hate cannibals with a passion. Then he said, “Put it down, son. I wanted to see your reaction. If you had let it go, I would have killed you both. I hate them as much as you do.”

  Lowering it and putting the safety back on, I felt waves of exhaustion sweep over me. “No more games, Boz. I’m really frakin’ tired. Just tell me what we’re up against.”

  “Well, the AO around here is controlled by what remains of a company of infantry from the Florida Army National Guard. Least, that’s how they started out. Now, they’re more like a wandering mercenary company. Still wear the uniform to give themselves some legitimacy, but there’s more mercenaries than soldiers in ‘em now. Call themselves ‘Bad Company’, like from the song.” I thought about the ambush we had walked into a week ago on our way to the carrier, where Scott Orr had died. I guess that explained that.

  He continued on without me prompting, as the land breeze made his long gray hair dance. “Up north of them, well, it’s pretty much local strongmen, remnants of official government, or people just trying to get by. Up near Jacksonville, the undead get real thick. Then it kinda peters out. Up on the Florida – Georgia line, there was a real serious race war a few years back. I lit out when the blacks started to win.”

  “I wouldn’t have guessed you for a racist, based on your military experience.”

  “I’m not. My son was. He got involved with some loudmouth white supremacist dickhead. I couldn’t let him go into the fight without me watching his back.”

  An uncomfortable silence fell between us, and I let it go. We all do what we can for our children, even when they’re wrong, if their lives are at stake.

  “It was a three way war. Blacks, Whites, Undead, Hispanics caught in the middle. Hell, most people were caught in the middle, between the loudmouths on both sides. My son died in the fighting outside Augusta. From the shits. Cholera or typhoid or something. Took down half their little army. I shot their tin pot wanna be dictator from eleven hundred yards, and never looked back.”

  We spent the next few hours in silence, accompanied only by the waves.

  Chapter 265

  Shona woke me by tapping my foot, and it took me a minute to realize where I was. My mouth felt like something had died in it, and everything hurt. I just wanted to lie down in my bed and sleep for three days.

  Beside me, curled up on a bench, Boz snored gently. I was going to let him sleep; I still wasn’t sure if I trusted him completely. Better to get to the cache and see what was what, then decide what to do from there. Besides, if Elam was out there, he wouldn’t recognize the wildly bearded silhouette in the moonlight, and might take a shot at him.

  We tried to move quietly off the boat, but he woke at the slightest movement. The big man sat up and rubbed his eyes, stretched, then looked at me in the moonlight. “Are you coming back?” was all he asked, and when I answered yes, he glanced around, then laid back down to sleep some more. That settled that.

  Skirting the tree line until we came close to where the stream entered the ocean, I recognized the terrain in the moonlight. Both of us entered the woods and made our way, cautiously, step by step, towards the clearing a hundred meters upstream where we had buried our extra weapons, ammo and supplies. I couldn’t wait to get a rifle in my hands; the .22 felt like a popgun.

  The sun rose like it always does this far south, popping up and out over the sea, flooding the land with sunlight. With it, the jungle awoke. We stayed stock still, not wanting to disturb any birds that might take flight and give us away.

  “Look, over there,” said Shona, pointing across the clearing. Three sticks were shoved in the sand. A little further on, five more stood upright. None were obvious unless you were looking for them, but I searched desperately for two sticks on their own. Nothing.


  “Ziv and Elam, both here,” I said, trying to sound excited. “No sign of Brit.”

  Shona put her hand on my arm and said, “I’m sorry, Nick.”

  I shrugged it off, saying with a catch in my voice, “She’s not dead. Subject closed.” Ignoring the look of pity on her face, I stood up and walked into the clearing. From separate parts of the opposite treeline, three figures rose to meet me.

  Elam had his arm in a makeshift sling, but still gripped his pistol. The look of relief on his face was obvious, but Ziv met me with his usual, “I could give a shit” look. Behind them was a submarine crewman, I’m assuming one of the deck guys, standing out like a sore thumb in his blue coveralls.

  Her coveralls. Under the mud and scratches, on closer look, I could see that the sailor was a woman. She started to salute, and Ziv slapped her hand down. “Seaman Apprentice K-King, Sir, Tanisha King,” she managed to get out.

  “Nick, I say we kill her right here,” said Ziv. “We are in a very dangerous place, and she will be liability, yes?” He had that flat, dead look in his eyes.

  Lord help me, I considered it. She stood there, maybe five foot tall, chunky, and her dark skin looked kind of sickly. That and she couldn’t have been more than eighteen. Odds are, she might get one or more us killed. Or all of us.

  Ziv took my hesitation as permission, and he raised his pistol and fired. Just as he did, I slapped upward on his hand, and the bullet zinged over her head. He looked me dead in the eye, and lowered the gun again, so that it was straight and level. I grabbed his wrist and pushed upward with all my might, and his arm moved slightly, then slowly forced its way back down again. Then he pushed right and the gun started to move towards my face. Mother of God, he was strong. My arm started to shake.

  “Why are you always so weak, Nick? Don’t you want to get home to your children? She will surely get us killed. Do you WANT to spend the rest of eternity as undead?”

  The little .22 revolver stopped before it aimed directly at my face, but I could see that he could easily move his arm and shoot me. I dropped my hand off his wrist, and moved so I stood between him and the girl.

  “I don’t understand you,” he said, his accent thicker than usual. “You have executed your own soldiers before for sleeping on duty.”

  “Because they were guilty. She hasn’t done anything. If the time comes, I’ll do it, believe me. But not like this.”

  The former Serb Special Forces Major shook his head, and holstered his pistol, then turned away and walked towards where we had buried our supplies. Elam looked disgusted at the whole thing, but he quickly gave me a report. “There is no one around here. Someone cut down the Major’s body and buried him, and the sergeant is gone also.” He meant two Mountain Republic soldiers, one of which I hung, and the other that I left secured for the undead.

  “A friend. You’ll meet him shortly. Help Ziv if you can,” I said, and told Shona to take Seaman King Monahan to get Boz.

  “No problem. Me and the squid are going to have a good woman to woman talk. Do you want me to kill Ziv?”

  “What?” I exclaimed. “No, he’ll get over it. Just make sure she understands the way things are. She pulls her weight, or I’ll shoot her myself.”

  They left and I sat down on a log, running my hands across the stubble on my face and hoping wishing desperately that Brit was alive somewhere. Somewhere safe, away from all this craziness.

  Chapter 266

  I got up and walked the perimeter of the little glade while Ziv and Elam dug slowly to uncover the pre-positioned equipment that we had left here last week. It was there for several reasons. One, if we had to clear the carrier of undead ourselves, we were going to need a LOT of ammo and grenades. Two, in case any of us, for some reason, had need of it. Wherever we went, if practical, I insisted we bury a cache of supplies like this. Because we had plenty of cargo capacity, and were operating far from our own lines, Brit had packed a ton of stuff.

  There were a set of extra uniforms for everyone, as well as “civilian” clothes, if we needed to fit in with a local population that might not exactly be friendly to government troops. I figured King might fight into some of Brit’s cammies, and we could rip the patches off. All the rest of us would go in civies, play the mercenary part. Boz, if he went with us, could just be himself.

  “Ziv, got a minute?” He stopped digging and looked up at me, shook his head, and continued to dig.

  “Elam, go take a walk,” I told the Afghan, and he looked at both of us, then hopped up and took over my walk of the perimeter. I squatted down, putting all my weight on my prosthetic, making it like a small seat. Ziv said nothing, just continued to dig.

  “Major Zivcovic. Stop digging. We need to talk.”

  He put the e-tool down and brushed off his hands, then lit a cigarette. I was actually a bit shocked at the amount of grey in his beard. He sucked in a long drag, blew out the smoke.

  I started to speak, but he interrupted me. “If she is dead, I will kill you, Nick. It is your fault that she came on this mission, on all missions. Always following you. Always your stupid dream of America.”

  I actually sat back. His words hit me like a blow. My wife, our teammate, Brittany O’Neil, missing in the sea.

  “We don’t know that she is dead, Ziv. I know you and her are good friends …”

  “Yes, good friends. She does not love me, she loves you for some reason I do not understand. Perhaps,” he said, taking another drag on the cigarette, “I am too much a killer. Not that you are not also, deep down inside. I kill because I like it. You kill because you love your dead country.”

  I automatically started to say, “America isn’t dead!” but his sneer stopped me cold.

  “America is a twitching corpse. But this is not about your foolish dream. This is about the red-headed she-devil. If she is dead, I will kill you, Nick. For getting her killed.” He stubbed out the cigarette and continued to dig, the old scars standing out on his body.

  “She isn’t dead. I’d know it,” I said, but the words rang hollow within me. Put it aside, I told myself. You have others depending on you.

  He paused again while I collected my thoughts. “Always chasing your stupid dream. How many, Nick, have died? Your friend Jones you told me about. Doc Hamilton. Ahmed, that Islamic bastard, but I liked him. Doc Bailey, Felicitas, that Air Force sergeant in Kansas, Sergeant Riley, Scotty on this last mission, how many, Nick? Do you remember them all?”

  I was getting angry now. “They knew the price, they volunteered.”

  “Yes, the soldier’s story. But she follows you because she loves you, and I follow her because I love her, even if she does not love me. Now, if she is dead, I will kill you, because it will be your fault. We are friends, Nick, but that will not stop me. And I will not let anything get in my way of finding out, including anyone here in this group.”

  Saying nothing, I got up and walked away, my thoughts troubled. I had known for years that there had been some level of communication between Brit and Ziv, but I never doubted her love for me, or thought she was unfaithful. I still didn’t.

  Turning around I came back to where he was digging and said, “I understand you, Ziv, but she’s my wife, not yours. If she’s dead, you won’t have to kill me, because I’ll be dead inside, too. Now, are we going to have a problem getting back home? Do I have to watch my back with you?”

  He snorted. “If I kill you, Nick, you will be facing me with a gun in your hand.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  At that moment, I was joined by Shona and Boz, who crouched down low and stared at Ziv. “Holyyyyyyy Shit!” said the former Green Beret. “I know this guy!”

  I looked at him quizzically, and he twisted his grey beard in his fingers. “Captain Sasha Zivcovic, 63rd Parachute Brigade, Serbian Special Forces. Last time I saw you was through a spotter scope. Where was that, Captain? Srebrenica? Yes, I think I remember. You were in the middle of gunning down some Muslims, if I remember. Wish I’d had permission
to shoot, but you know how the ROE was in those days. You remember me? I was the American Sergeant who put that round through your leg.”

  Elam, who had come back from his perimeter patrol, went white, and his hands went tight on his pistol.

  “Perhaps, whoever you are, you should have been there earlier when those Bosants raided Kravica. Those pigs slaughtered my entire family.” He continued to dig, but I could see a vein throbbing in his temple. This could get very ugly very quickly.

  “Boz, old times are old times. Ziv is my friend and has been a valuable member of the Scouts for years. If you want to come with us, what happened in the past is over.”

  “Sure,” he answered, and climbed down into the deepening hole, making as if to help Ziv. The next thing I knew, the two of them were rolling in the sand. Ziv had ten years on the old man, but it quickly became obvious that the Serb was getting the worst of it. I held up my hand, and waved everyone back.

  “Elam, Shona, perimeter watch, now!” I barked, and they scurried away. I sat back and watched Boz slowly and methodically destroy Ziv, though he took some damage too, and both were bleeding from split lips and cuts.

  Through it all, Ziv kept his hand off his knife, which is why I let it go. These two needed to work something out, and to be honest, it was kind of refreshing to see Ziv get a beating. I had never, ever, seen anyone take him down. His fighting style was all rough brawler, and it worked well, but Boz was obviously a master hand to hand fighter. He effortlessly diverted Ziv’s punches and seemed, as big as he was, to flow around him, landing strikes in disabling places like elbows and other nerve junctions. The one time he slipped on the sand, Ziv took instant advantage of it and tackled him, trying to flip him around to get an arm around his neck. Boz countered by bending back a finger to the point where it was about to break, then twisting out of it and throwing Ziv onto the ground.

  Then he stepped back and stood, huffing and puffing. Good as he was, the years were showing on him, and I could see a huge purple bruise starting to show where Ziv had head butted him. Then he put his hands together and bowed. Ziv took his hand off his knife hilt, and I started to relax.