Dead World (Book 1): Dead Come Home (27 page)
The man in charge turned out to be an Army captain with some obvious time in the field. He walked up to Gunny Thorn and introduced himself, waving off the Gunny’s salute before his hand reached his head.
“What kinds of injuries have you guys so worried?” the captain asked.
“Bites, Captain … ?”
“Daniels. Bites, Gunny?”
“Yes, sir, bites. We’ve seen first hand that those who have been bitten eventually become zom—rioters,” Gunny Thorn explained. “You ain’t been bit, have you sir?”
“No. I was in the tank, trying to raise command when we were overrun,” Captain Daniels said. “How bad is it?”
“Weren’t you briefed before they put you out there?”
“I was told we were providing transportation for people to get out of the city, and not much else.”
“You weren’t told that the rioters don’t stay down without a head shot?”
“No. Though it’s nice to know it now.”
Gunny Thorn pulled the captain off to the side where no one could hear their conversation.
Erik didn’t have to hear the conversation to know what the gunny was about to tell the captain. Erik watched the captain nod and walk off in the direction of the command post.
Erik turned back to watch the killing field ahead of him. For the moment it didn’t look like any zombies were chasing the convoy. The squad the gunny called for pulled people one at a time to the side, away from the floodlights, and strip-searched them. Corpsmen inspected the wounded and identified those who had been bitten.
Those deemed “clean” were allowed to dress and were sent back to the five-tons. The ones who had been bitten were taken to a holding area and left with a guard. There were more than a hundred total refugees and another fifty or sixty soldiers.
The whole inspection process took about half an hour. Only about half of the survivors returned to the convoy. The convoy weaved around the fall back chain to join the rest of the refugees farther back on the bridge to Key Largo. As the vehicles rumbled past the second line on the fall back chain, Erik heard the distinct sound of M-16’s firing. The squad that had sorted and executed the bitten came back into sight and collected the weapons and gear that were confiscated from the infected National Guardsmen.
* * *
Erik thought he would welcome the dawn. He thought by then someone would have word that the riots were under control, or at least there would be new orders. But the dawn brought no news and no new orders.
He stood up to walk a couple quick circles behind his sandbag bunker, just to get his blood flowing again. He was relieved to find that he couldn’t see the original killing field from where he was sitting.
The Marine kneeling next to Erik, PFC Dominick Buchner, sniffed the air as a southerly breeze washed over them. Erik knew “Bookie” (he kept a small notebook of bets and IOU’s) had a nose for money … and an even better nose for trouble. He couldn’t track like a bloodhound or anything. But somehow the man could tell if a day was going to be good or bad just from the way the air “smelled.”
“What’s up?” Erik asked.
“Trouble.”
“Anything specific?”
Bookie shook his head. The breeze died, and everything was still again.
Erik crept one bunker west to talk with JJ. The pair had been friends since they day they’d both arrived at Golf Company years ago.
“J-man, thought you should know Bookie just said he smells trouble.”
“Did he say what kind of trouble?”
“No, but if I had to put money in his little book, I’d say that convoy led more of ‘em to us.”
JJ nodded. “That’d probably be safe money.”
Erik patted JJ on the shoulder and crept back to his bunker with Bookie.
An hour passed. Erik looked over and saw JJ looking through his binoculars. The hair on the back of Erik’s neck stood up, as if he had just licked an electrical outlet. Erik and Bookie both put a loaded magazine in each cargo pocket and one each on the ground at their feet.
“Someone make sure the mortar crews are ready. Gunny, ‘El Tee,’ this is about to get ugly,” JJ said over the radio. “We may need the snipers to help us out.”
“
How many targets?”
Gunny Thorn asked through the radio.
“If I had to WAG (wild ass guess) it, I’d say two hundred or more.”
“
Roger that.”
Erik closed his eyes and took several deep breaths.
They’re zombies not people. You’re doing them a favor. One shot, one kill.
He opened his eyes and waited for the horde to come into view.
“This is Sniper one, confirming that estimation. Targets in excess of two hundred.”
“
Sniper two to sniper one, confirm distance at one-five-zero-zero yards.”
“
Sniper one, one-five-zero-zero yards confirmed.”
“
Sniper two, mortar teams prepare to fire on our mark.”
A few minutes passed.
Erik could see the wall of zombies trudging forward. He heard the whistle of the mortars passing overhead. Four mortars exploded in the middle of the crowd. Bodies flew into the air. Most of the crowd was knocked down if not into pieces.
Those caught in the blasts stayed down. Some of those close to the blasts also stopped moving. The rest stood up and began dragging themselves forward.
“Fire at will,” the lieutenant ordered.
Erik, Bookie, JJ and the rest of the Marines on the line started firing one shot at a time. An experienced ear could pick out the individual shots, as quick as they were. To anyone else, the forty-eight rifles on the line and the two sniper rifles would have sounded as if they were on full automatic.
The wave of zombies had been cut down. Erik realized that it had been more of a massacre than a fight. It remained quiet for nearly two more hours.
“
Sniper one to defense team; another wave inbound.”
“Roger that,” the Lieutenant said. “You heard him fellas. Get ready for another wave.”
“
Sniper one. Gunny, there’s a woman and a kid running just ahead of the targets. What do you want us to do?”
“
Is there any chance they’ll out run them?”
“
None, Gunny.”
… … “
Shoot them.”
“
Sir?”
“
Shoot them. Save them being eaten alive.”
… “
Aye, Sir.”
Eric cringed at each rifle report. He never expected to hear that kind of an order from the Gunny. Not that it wasn’t the right thing—the humane thing—to do, but he knew what the sniper round would do to the poor people. He couldn’t imagine using that kind of force on innocent people.
“
Sniper one to defense, I can’t give you an estimated target count.”
“
WAG it.”
“
Battalion strength, probably more.”
“
Line to rear. Have ammo runners set additional mags at the second chain.”
“
Roger that.”
A Marine, likely a truck driver, ran up behind Erik and Bookie. He had three ammo cans with him.
“I’ll take your empties,” the Marine said, handing each of them four fresh mags.
Erik pulled the two empties out of his right cargo pocket. He dropped one of the full magazines into the pocket. He pulled the empty clip out of his left cargo pocket and dropped two full ones in. The last one he set at his feet as he turned to face the approaching horde of zombies.
“
Sniper one to Gunny Thorn. Uh, Gunny, the woman I just shot is standing up.”
“
Say again?”
“
The woman I just shot is on her feet and moving towards the line.”
“
If this is your idea of a joke son…”
“No, Gunny. I shot her. The round tore off most of her left side, but she is up and moving. The kid stayed down, but I don’t think there was enough of him left to get up.”
“
Sniper two. I can confirm; the woman is up. Just not for long.”
Erik heard the report of the sniper shot. Everyone on the line looked at one another. Everyone seemed to make the same mental note.
If you have to shoot someone that isn’t bitten, you still have to shoot them in the head.
“
Sniper two to mortar team, prepare to fire on my mark. Four … Three … Two … Mark.”
The Marines watched the mortars blast away chunks of the oncoming ranks. By the time the easterly breeze blew the smoke clear, the gaps were already full again.
“Repeat fire,” the Lieutenant ordered.
Erik and the others started firing at the zombies that had passed the blast radius. He almost didn’t notice the second set of blasts. He kept firing.
“Fuck man! Every one of these bastards we kill, three fuckin’ more step up,” Bookie yelled over the gunfire.
Erik pulled the empty clip out of his rifle and loaded the one from between his feet. He slapped the butt of the rifle with his right palm and started firing again. He covered for Bookie as he reloaded.
Erik had no idea how long they held the first line. But it was long enough for forty-eight men to fire five more full magazines of ammo, one-shot at a time.
“Fall back to the second chain!”
The command to fall back was echoed all the way down the line. Each bunker shifted its aim forty-five degrees west to cover the retreat.
The first bunker was setting back up when the second group left. Once that group made it safely to the second line, the third bunker pulled back. When Erik saw JJ round the edge of the bunker, he tapped Bookie on the shoulder and they ran. They ran as if the gates of hell had opened behind them, threatening to swallow them whole. Bookie ran around the barricade. Erik cleared it like a hurdle, planted his feet and turned to fire. The entire platoon reached the second line and started to fire again.
“
Sniper one to mortars. Repeat. Then splash fire at thirty second intervals; that is three-zero second intervals.”
“
Repeat fire, and splash fire at three-zero seconds, roger that.”
Erik covered Bookie while he took the emptied clips out of his cargo pockets and dropped them into a small laundry bag that had been left next to ten full clips. Bookie shoved two full mags into his left cargo pocket and one into his right cargo pocket.
Bookie stood up and started firing, giving Erik a chance to repeat the procedure. They started dropping the empty clips into the bag instead of their pockets.
The zombies made it to the first barricade. Some tried to climb over it. Most waited to shuffle through the gaps between bunkers or the large gap at the east end. The Marines used it to their advantage, shooting the leaders so bodies started clogging the gaps.
“Christ! Is half of fucking Miami comin’ at us?” the Lieutenant yelled.
“Shut up and keep shooting,” came JJ’s predictable answer.
The piles of sandbags and bodies slowed the zombies down. But they didn’t stop the onslaught. For an hour-and-a-half, the Marines of 2
nd
platoon, Golf Company, fired into the crowd of zombies. An entire squad of Marines was now running ammo to the men on the line. The mortar crews shifted their aim a few hundred feet closer, trying to further slow the onslaught.
Still the horde pushed forward. A few zombies closed half the distance between the first line and the barricade. The Marines still had a kill for virtually every shot, but there were just too many bodies.
A few more covered most of the killing field before being dropped.
“We need some more breathing room, Sir!” JJ yelled.
“Fall back to the third chain,” the Lieutenant ordered.
Everyone in the bunkers again shifted their fire forty-five degrees east to cover the retreat of the bunker on the far side. The procedure was the same. As soon as one group made it to the safety of the next line, the next group moved.
Erik and Bookie pulled back to the third line. Once again, the ammo runners had staged fresh clips in advance. Erik dropped the empty clip from his rifle and reloaded. He smacked the butt of his rifle, chambering a round and started firing again.
Within ten minutes, the bodies were piling up in the gaps of the second set of barricades.
It disturbed most of the marines that blood could spatter on the face of a zombie where the one next to it had been shot and the zombie would trudge forward without even blinking as the blood hit them. It was just unnatural, not to mention unnerving.
Three or four zombies charged the barricade at a sprint with their arms forward, ready to grab anyone they came close to.
Bookie noticed one almost too late. He finished reloading and fired three shots. The zombie’s legs ran out from under his chest and continued kicking for a few seconds after it landed on its back. Bookie calmly put a round through its right eye as it sat up.
