Last Stand on Zombie Island (20 page)

“Glad to be seen,” Stone smiled.

“What was it like in Iraq?” Mack asked.

“Most of the time we just sat around bored as hell and then the whole world would just go crazy for a few hours and then you would be bored again.”

“Kind of like Gulf Shores lately,” Cat interjected.

“But with fewer IED’s,” Stone said.

The table laughed at the black humor.

“It’s time for the radio, Dad,” Wyatt said, excusing himself from the table. He walked across the dimly lit dining room to the china cabinet and worked a small portable boom box. From the radio’s antenna, a long piece of coat hanger wrapped in aluminum foil hung. Wyatt had been experimenting with the antenna night after night to try to get a better signal.

When the boy clicked on the power button and turned up the volume, the quiet hiss of static, like a car tire moving on fresh asphalt, filled the room. After about Z+2, during daylight hours there was not a radio station to be found. However, at night, the signals carried further and a few radio stations could be heard. At first, they had found a station fading in briefly from Knoxville playing Italian operas sandwiched in between a monotone announcer reading haikus about the end of the world.

There was a weak signal from an AM talk radio station in Cincinnati that came through just after sunset and would fade away around midnight. They did not have any fresh news but reported on the local weather in Ohio (cold with a chance of riots), and took to reading aloud articles from various newspapers and old magazines they had laying around the station.

While the Cincinnati-shuffle was a hit for most of the island that still had radios, there was an ever-growing legion of fans that followed a station in San Antonio. Operating on a diesel generator with a security guard and two DJs in residence, they called themselves
Radio Free Texas
. The lonestar DJs did not have much to broadcast but seemed to have a decent music collection and a flexible format.

“Okay, guys and girls, here we are again. The time is about fifteen-past the hour here in San Antone and you are listening to the voice of the survivors, Radio Free Texas. Tonight we have decided that in honor of our security guard Manny’s birthday we will be playing his favorite band,
Rush
, all night until we just don’t feel like listening to Geddy Lee any damn more. Followed up with as much
Moldy Peaches
as I can find to counteract it,” The mellow voice came weaving in and out of the vapor.

Wyatt was all smiles.

“Do you even know who
Rush
is?” Billy asked.

“No, but that’s not the point, Dad, the point is that I got
San Antone
.” Wyatt said, smiling as he walked away.

Billy listened to the opening chords of
Tom Sawyer
and asked himself what had become of
Rush
. He had never heard of the
Moldy Peaches
but he wondered what had become of them, too. He had always wanted to take Wyatt and Cat to a live concert and always said that there would be time.

Hell that is why he took them from their life in Biloxi almost two years ago and moved to Gulf Shores—to have the time. Since then, Cat had gone to a few concerts on the beach with friends, but had Wyatt ever seen what it was like? Would his son ever feel the heavy electric earthquake of live music played for a crowd of thousands? Would anybody else?

“Oreos for dessert, Pops,” Wyatt said as he plopped a bag of cookies on the table.

“Our humble contribution to the meal, neighbor,” said James, one of the cousins from Fort Morgan. The pair had been living on the remains of snack bar and concession stand supplies that had been located at the Civil War tourist attraction and brought some every night to dinner at the Harris household.

“So how did the fort make it through this whole thing?” Stone asked.

“Pretty good, we shut it down early and let the volunteers who ran the office and gift shops go home, and then bolted up the entrance. The place is made out of 30-million red bricks and has twenty-foot thick walls surrounded by a moat. Safest place on the island,” James said.

“You guys were armed too, yes?” Stone asked.

“With retired state police wheel guns, a handful of .357’s to go in them,” James said smugly

“They also have Robert E Lee’s arsenal in the museum there,” Billy said.

“Oh, really?” Stone said.

“Yes, but it’s all antiques and none of it has any ammunition,” the park ranger replied.

“I’d like to take a look sometime. We may be able to use some of it. I have a formation in the morning with everyone that volunteered to join the guard force and you never know what will come in handy,” Stone said as he wrote a note in his small green memo book.

“Doubt it will do much good, but you are welcome to come take a look,” the park ranger said. “They are literally museum pieces. Hell the place dates back to 1817.”

“Like I said, you never know,” Stone said.

“Captain, are you going to swear-in those volunteers to state service? I’m not truly sure they can be sworn into federal service without proper enlistment,” Ed asked, showing the legal side of the old judge.

“That’s the plan. That way after all this ends they can maybe get VA, retirement and GI Bill benefits after the War,” Stone said.

“The war?” Cat interrupted.

“Well, from all accounts that’s what we have here. We know that the Russians attacked us. My bet is that this attack was some sort of bio-war strike against us as a precursor,” Stone said.

“But the infection is all over the world according to the radio,” Cat said.

“Well the Russians always were pretty sloppy,” Stone shrugged.

The conversation died down as Wyatt disappeared into the next room followed by snores. He never was much of a night owl and Billy had him up late the night before, performing deckhand work on the
Fooly Involved
.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I suggest one final course to tonight’s splendid meal,” Ed announced as he reached for the canvas bag by the table leg. Out came an unopened bottle of scotch.

“Well, I’m more of a beer kinda guy but I won’t let that stop me,” Billy said with a smile.

Mack and Cat retrieved an assortment of glasses from the kitchen for the assembled crowd as Ed dutifully poured glasses.

“Sorry, my dear, but I’m afraid this is slightly past your grade level at this point,” the old judge said as he skipped Cat’s outstretched glass.

“Please, Mr. Ed, it’s not like I haven’t earned a right to try it,” the teenager said, looking at the old man with doe eyes.

The judge softened immediately and looked to Billy, who looked to Mack.

“Ok a sip, just a sip, to taste,” Billy finally said.

The crowd, armed with their collection of jelly jars, tumblers and drinking glasses smiled and looked at each other in the dim light. A candle placed in the center of the table flickered across their faces and reflected in their eyes.

“I suggest a toast,” Billy said. “Judge, it’s your bottle so take the lead on this one please, sir.”

Ed looked down into the dark amber of his drink and thought for a second before raising his glass.

“To absent friends,” he said in a clear voice.

The toast was seconded by all present. The radio station continued to play
Rush
late into the night, as the bottle of
Johnny Walker
made its rounds.

Billy did not notice the 36-roll pack of toilet paper left on the porch with a bow tied to it until the next morning.

— | — | —

ChapteR 26

October 22nd–9am, Armory of the 1183rd Military Police Company (Combat Support), Gulf Shores Alabama

Stone stood on the parking lot of the Armory and looked around. Eighty volunteers stood assembled in a loose formation in the Armory’s parking lot. First Sergeant Reid’s right eye was twitching. “What the fuck is this? An Air Force parade?” Reid said on an exhale.

“Good morning,” Stone called out using his best command voice. He was never one to use a bullhorn or microphone. Ever since he read
Infantry Attacks
by Erwin Rommel at age 14, he had made a decision to develop a command voice. “My name is Captain Stone and I thank you all for coming forward to volunteer.

“To my right is Company First Sergeant Reid. He wears a combat infantry badge and jump wings on his chest because he was one of the last soldiers out of Vietnam, the first into Grenada, kicked Saddam out of Kuwait, and then retired to life and leisure in the National Guard. Since Saddam did not get the hint the first time, we took him back to Iraq with us in the Guard. He is the right hand of God as far as you are concerned,” Stone continued. The blue horse fly biting the back of his hand was allowed to continue chomping away lest it distract him.

“Before we inspect you and see if you can pull your weight here, I want to give anyone who is having second thoughts the chance to walk away. I cannot and will not babysit anyone, and I assure you that the First Sergeant has no love in his heart for you. You have to be able to just ‘get it’- we are not going to be able to train you like in peacetime when we had all the time in the world. IF you are thin-skinned, are crybabies, if your feelings are easily hurt, or think we can fix you— then this may not be for you. If you think you cannot hack this for any reason, feel free to leave now. There are plenty of safer things out there to do. You can join a fishing crew, work in the body snatchers, fix streets, pick up trash, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera,” Stone said as he gestured to gates of the armory, held open by four heavily armed and stoic MPs.

A dozen men and boys looked around, hung their eyes low, and quietly walked away. There was a line of about seventy men and women left. A few were smiling. Several wore threadbare old BDU uniforms, faded with time and wear. The majority of those left seemed to have had former military service but some did not.

Reid barked a command that the group was to separate into two formations, one with prior military service to the left, and the other for those without to the right.

“Let’s take a look at what we have left, Top,” Stone said through his tactical sunglasses. The scotch had been good the night before but as the sun came up, he felt it in his forehead.

“I’d rather not, sir,” Reid said with a mouth full of dip.

As they walked along the group with military experience, it wasn’t bad. Many of the former military men had not won a uniform since the Gulf War, and saw no reason to start now. Some were younger and had served in Iraq and Afghanistan in the past ten years. Handfuls were much older and mumbled references to divisions that disbanded while disco was on the charts. There were even a few old shotgun-armed relics in woodland BDUs from the
State Defense Force
, which formed something of the National Guard’s National Guard.

One veteran, carrying a Winchester lever action .30-.30 over his shoulder, wore his old school 1970’s olive drab uniform, complete with white name strips. The original dark green uniform had faded over time to the color of mashed lima beans, but fit perfectly.

Reid looked at the lima bean. “What branch were you in again?” he growled through a mouthful of dip.

“Army,” the lima bean retorted through rheumy eyes. He still stood ramrod straight and had a flatiron stomach. The skin on his face and hands looked like paper, and was covered with liver spots.

Reid paused for a solid ten seconds without blinking. “Union or Confederate?” he finally asked.

“Let’s get these guys sworn in, Top,” Stone said as he pulled the First Sergeant with him down the line.

The next group was a loose formation of ten chubby mid-life crisis characters armed with an assortment of British Lee-Enfields, Turkish Mausers and SKS’s assault rifles. They all had different camouflage but the same custom baseball cap emblazoned with “Tidewater Guards” on the patch. The patch had the familiar rattlesnake emblem with the words
Don’t tread on me
in small letters along the bottom. Their uniforms were unkempt, ill-fitting, and each had a paintball mask and goggles strapped around their arm.

“And what is the
Tidewater Guard
?” Stone asked a man from the group with a colonel’s rank pinned to his collar along with Ranger tabs and other decorations.

“Unorganized civilian militia,” the man said, poking out his chest. He wore a bright and spotlessly clean keffiyeh as a scarf around his thick neck. “We are a private military society.”

Stone repeated what the man had said in his head and swished it around his mouth, “Do you guys have any military experience or training?”

“Well, sir, before last month we had never seen any actual service, but we fought in hundreds of MilSim paintball and airsoft matches as a team. Brought home a lot of trophies,” he said

“
MilSim
?” Stone asked. He was not sure if his raised eyebrow could be seen through his wraparound sunglasses, so he made sure to hyper-extend it for effect.