The Apocalypse Crusade 2 (8 page)

“Sorry, Pierce,” Ganes said, when the laughter died down. “But the missus doesn’t stray for anyone inferior in both
rank
and
length of service
if you get my meaning. And that’s you on both counts.” Will Pierce grunted out a laugh and, next to him, Max Fowler nudged him with his elbow. First Sergeant Coker, a man with twenty-three years in the regular army, wanted to lash out again and get the men “under control” but Captain Ganes caught his eye.

When the chuckling died down, and it did quicker than it normally would have, Ganes cleared his throat. “Back to the subject at hand. As I said, there has been a biological incident. Someone has released either a bacterium or a virus in and around Poughkeepsie. It is highly contagious, but, as far as we know, it isn’t deadly. The virus causes certain changes in a person’s mental state, causing them to lash out in a hyper-aggressive manner. They will be violent and may…and they may…and they might, uh try to eat you.”

A few men laughed. The rest began to whisper. PFC Max Fowler only shook his head as he realized what they were going to have to deal with. “Are you trying to say they’re zombies?”

The whispering stopped immediately. “Yes,” Captain Ganes said. Again, there was a tittering of laughter from a few, while the rest leaned in, waiting for the punch line that they were sure was coming. “This isn’t a joke,” Ganes told them. “The official term for them is
Infected Persons
. Use that in every communique. Do not use the word zombie. Colonel Merrell made that very clear.”

“Zombies,” Will Pierce said in bewilderment. “This is crazy.

“
Infected Persons
,” Ganes snapped.

Max raised a hand, not caring that he was breaking more protocol. “We’re going to be given live rounds, right? We’ll have a full combat load?”

“Not exactly,” the captain answered. “The operations orders are still being drawn up, however I’ve been told to issue only M16s. No grenades, no mortars, no M240s. All of you in fourth platoon will be acting as riflemen.”

“And the rules of engagement?” Max asked. Technically, since it was a domestic situation, ROEs weren’t used, instead there were guidelines called
Rules for the Use of Force,
but since that was what the men called:
Brass Babble
, Ganes didn’t bother to correct him, at least on that matter.

“I’d get to them if you would just shut your mouth,” Ganes barked in growing frustration. It was time to rein things in again. “I want silence in my formation, damn it!” He paused to see if anyone was going to challenge him. “Good. Currently, we can only fire if fired upon or if we are physically attacked. Because of the contagious nature of the virus, we have asked for the orders to be amended to allow for weapons discharge against any individual coming within thirty feet, but that hasn’t been approved yet. And that brings me to the bad news.”

Max almost cried out:
contagious zombies wasn’t the bad news?
He held back, barely.

Ganes read the look. “Yes, that wasn’t the bad news. We will be enforcing a quarantine zone with a circumference of one-hundred and twenty-two miles.” This caused the formation to collectively gasp. They all began looking around and most started counting how many of them were present, easily calculating that there wasn’t even one man per mile.

“This is crazy,” Max said, again speaking out of line. “There’s got to be like, twenty thousand people in Poughkeepsie. We’re supposed to hold them all back? Alone?”

“No. There is already a sizeable police presence around the town. We will be supplementing them until reinforcements arrive. The good news is that the entire 42
nd
is being mobilized.”

There came a collective sigh of relief, but not from Max. “Sir, with all due respect, but the entire 42
nd
has got only like, 10,000 men and they’re scattered in six states. It wouldn’t be enough even if they were all here right now. It would be something like seventy men per mile of perimeter. That’s not enough, especially if there’s a panic and everyone tries to leave the town at once.” Every single man in the unit was, for just two seconds, suddenly stone quiet as they realized how dangerously thin their lines would be under the best of conditions. The whispering began again.

Ganes had to nip it in the bud. “Fowler, you sound like a chicken-shit. You sound like a whining bitch. This is the situation. Yes, it sucks but we don’t have a choice in the matter. There is a virus spreading in that town and it’s our job to keep it from running over the entire country. So, are you going whine like a baby or are you going to step up and do something about it?”

“I’m going to step up, Sir.”

“Hooah! That’s what I want to hear,” Ganes said, grinning. There was a touch of worry showing in that grin. Everything Fowler had said was true but their situation was worse than he knew. The closest reinforcements to them was the 42
nd
Infantry Division marching band and a headquarters company that was composed of medics and cooks and typists with asses that could barely fit into the largest BDUs…and they were two hours away! And to make matter worse, Delta Company would have to carry out their mission covered head to toe in their MOPP 4 protective gear, and that included their gas masks. Their ability to see targets beyond a hundred yards would be severely compromised. Who knew if they were going to be able to hit a thing?

And it was a given that they were going to be tested. Already the police had been involved with two fire-fights and, with the sun up, Ganes was sure there would be more as the people of Poughkeepsie tried to make a break for safety.

With his headquarters company straggling in from all over the state, General Collins was still relying on Courtney Shaw and her small team of dispatchers to place the first of his men on scene. He could read a map the same as Captain Ganes and both knew the men weren’t heading anywhere near the twenty mile mark as described by the governor—and neither cared. Courtney’s placement made sense when little else did.

Collins put the fate of his soldiers in her hands. She was competent, smart and clearly tough as nails.

The first convoy of rumbling five-tons out of Cortlandt, New York split up at the junction of I-9 and Interstate 84. Three went west, three east, and three north. No one knew which way was best, and by best they meant safest. The soldiers in the backs of the trucks didn’t have a clue exactly where they were or where they were going. For the most part they were stone-faced and quiet, except when they whispered questions that no one could answer:

“Is the disease airborne?”

“Will these masks even work against it?”

“Why did we leave the Strykers and the 50 cals back at the base?”

“This sucks, man. Why us?”

“When’s chow time?” Will Pierce asked, determined to be cool about the entire affair. He was pretty sure he could deal with the zombies when the time came, in fact, he was looking forward to it. Half his life was spent on his Xbox, living in the land of Make-Believe where blasting the slow, stumbling hordes of undead was a daily occurrence. His only gripe with the situation was the MOPP4 gear. It was hot as fuck and in the heavy black gloves, his hands felt fat and slow. The gloves would be the first thing to go when the shit hit the fan.

Despite the heat and the sweat crawling down his body, PFC Max Fowler was trembling. He was having trouble coming to grips with the loaded gun that sat upright between his knees. First off, one simply did not travel with a loaded gun. Every hunter knew that and every recruit straight out of basic training knew it as well. The only reason a person would travel with a loaded gun was if he expected to use it soon after exiting the vehicle.

Every time the truck slowed, Max would stare out and grip the weapon tighter. He had made the mistake of dragging his feet all morning and now he was going to pay the price. He had been the last into the truck and now he was going to be first out, first to confront whatever it was that had the entire 42
nd
Infantry Division scurrying like ants.

“It’ll be cool,” Will told him, slipping him a wink. “You’ll be with me and I ain’t gonna let no...” The truck lurched, suddenly and there was a grinding of gears. The ride became rough; they were driving on the shoulder now, passing the lines of cars and semi-trucks that were being kept from entering the quarantine zone. There was a mile of ugly traffic to pass beyond. It was a loud, messy affair. People blared their horns and cussed. Some rode on the shoulder or on the grassy strip between the north and south bound lanes, while others tried to get in among the army trucks so they could pass through the barricade.

“Don’t they watch the fucking news?” Max asked. The news stations had been pretty crystal clear about the road closures. The mess of cars made no sense to him. “Why on earth would anyone want to go
into
a quarantined zone? Jackasses.”

“You never know. Maybe they got family inside
The Zone
,” Will suggested, unofficially setting the slang that would be used by every soldier before the week was out.

After practically plowing cars out of their way, the convoy came to a shuddering halt just shy of a state trooper barricade. Immediately, Lieutenant Warren, one of the platoon leaders, was out of the cab bawling: “Three men! I need three men!”

Max went stiff on the bench. As he and Will occupied the last two bench seats, they were the logical choices to exit the truck, however, from his position Max could see the hundreds of vehicles they had just passed and he could see the hundreds of angry faces in those vehicles. In front of them, on the other side of a flimsy looking barricade, was another mass of cars even greater in number, and the people in them were both angry and very afraid. They were screaming to be let out of The Zone. It sounded as though a riot was seconds from erupting.

There were six cops manning the barricade and Max couldn’t see how three soldiers were going to make much of a difference.

“Let’s go!” Lieutenant Warren demanded as he came around to the back of the truck.

Max was scared shitless by the crowd and clung to the bench. Across from him, Will Pierce had a lip curled in disgust at seeing the mob. He shook his head at the lieutenant. “We’ll get the next one. I didn’t sign up to play traffic cop.”

Warren’s eyes blazed. “Since when do you say ‘no’ to an officer? This is a direct fucking order: get your fucking ass off this truck right now or so…”

Just then a Specialist named Starling stepped over the crates of ammo stacked on the floor of the bed and climbed out of the truck. “I’ll do it. Shit, I’ll take normal people over the diseased ones any day.” Two more soldiers followed right after.

The lieutenant promptly forgot all about Will’s insubordination. He started rattling off instructions, talking like an auctioneer, spitting words out one over another. The drivers of the three trucks didn’t wait for him to finish; they ground the vehicles into gear and in a belch of smoke took a turn veering east. Warren was forced to run to catch up.

They drove for a half mile, skirting The Zone, going up and down the idyllic, rolling hills the area was known for. It was green and lovely and, seemingly, peaceful. The trucks were an ugly blot, passing through. Along a ridgeline they slowed to a crawl.

The man next to Max was his friend Johnny Osgood. He tried to stretch his skinny neck to see why they had stopped. “What is it?” he asked. “Is it another barricade?”

Max stood on the tailgate and stared over the top of the truck. There was nothing in the road, however off to the north he saw two SUVs pushing their way through the thin forest, making a trail where none existed. “No. It’s some civilians trying to break the quarantine. Fuck, they act like they don’t even see us.”

“Maybe they think we’re here to rescue them,” Will said. “Poor saps.”

There was some shouting from the lead five-ton and a good deal of waving of arms, however the SUVs continued to trundle along. Finally, Lt Warren climbed out of the cab and broke a cardinal rule: he fired three warning shots, kicking up dirt directly in front of the lead vehicle. The drivers of the SUVs panicked and both tore the bark off trees and ripped up the sides of their vehicles as they maneuvered desperately to turn around.

“This is going to be impossible,” someone muttered.

“I don’t know about that,” Will said, giving the men in the truck a cheery smile. “That looked simple enough.”

“It looked to me like the L.T. broke the rules of engagement,” Max whispered to his friend. He too had been encouraged by the minor event. The civilians had turned tail at the first sign of resistance.

“That’s what I would call leading by example,” Will replied. “If someone gives us any shit we’ll put a couple of rounds across his bow and if anyone complains we’ll just say that’s what LT Warren did.”

The two were still grinning when the convoy entered the town of Myer’s Corner which was nestled, practically out of sight of all civilization, among the green hills. It was quaint and picturesque, but its main street was hardly more than a wide spot in the road and it was hard to tell what on earth supported the town.

It was eerily deserted. No one was on the street and the buildings were cold and silent. Most doors hung with “Closed Until Further Notice” signs. After the unimpressive business district they passed a number of homes and the few remaining inhabitants gawked, timidly at the trucks from behind window curtains or doors cracked a bare few inches. Max waved once and received only a glare in reply.

At the far end of the town, where the hills and forest recommenced were two police cruisers parked nose-to-nose with two state troopers holding shotguns in their sweaty hands, squatting behind them. The trucks rumbled right up, stopping only a few feet away.

“Pierce! Fowler! Osgood! Get your asses down here right this instant,” Warren commanded. There was no second guessing the order and Max didn’t want to. The spot seemed ideal. No one was clamoring to get in or out of The Zone, and the only evidence of zombies was the crackling of gunfire the origins of which couldn’t be pinpointed. Because of the maze of hills, it seemed to be coming from every direction. Max jumped out of the vehicle before anyone could push past him and volunteer for the plum location.

A roll of concertina wire was rolled out of the truck and then a 900 round ammo can was lugged to the edge; Johnny Osgood hauled it to the side of the road. Again, the lead vehicle began to motor away, forcing Lieutenant Warren to speak quickly. “No one crosses in either direction,” he said, pointing north and south, just in case the three soldiers were completely clueless. “I want two up and one back at all times. Remember masks are to be worn by the up men at all times so rotate every twenty minutes. Good luck.”

He didn’t pause to see if there were any questions; the last truck was leaving without him once more and, again, he had to jog to catch up.

When the trucks were lost among the hills, the silence was heavy and thick. Sure, there was the distant rifle fire, but up close it seemed as though even the birds and squirrels had been struck dumb. The five men, two state troopers and the three soldiers stood staring awkwardly at one another until one of the troopers said, “Well, it looks like you boys got this.”

“Got what?” Max asked.

“Got things under control.” He nodded to his partner and the pair climbed into their cruisers, K-turned, kicking up a good deal of dust in their eagerness to get away, and left the soldiers.

“What the hell was that about?” Max asked, sticking a finger up under his helmet and scratching his head.

Sounding like an angry rooster, Johnny Osgood yelled after them: “Chicken shits!” Unnerving echoes followed the screech, bouncing off the hills and trees. The echoes made them feel even more alone than they were. They felt suddenly abandoned.

When the echoes died, there was a whistle to their left. All three jumped and pointed their M16s, but it was only a sparrow in a tree jumping from branch to branch. The bird broke the gloom and the normal sounds of the forest perked up. Will declared the spot “perfect.” The first thing he did was take off his Kevlar helmet and chuck it to the side of the road. He then pulled off the heavy rubber gloves. Johnny followed suit and even unbuttoned the protective outer coat of his MOPP gear.

Max wasn’t ready to relax so quickly. He liked the extra protection and actually pulled his gloves up, tighter.

Will snorted laughter at him before saying, “Help me with the wire.” The razor-sharp wire stretched for thirty feet, not enough to cover the road and the shoulders on either side. They supplemented their meager barricade by pulling down branches and hefting fallen logs from the forest. “That’ll stop a Prius,” Will joked. Johnny laughed, cawing like a crow. The sound was unnervingly loud. It seemed hollow and out of place and it felt to hang in the air supported by the cries of the cicadas and the buzz of flies; there were a lot of flies about.

“We could build a moat,” Johnny suggested. “You know, like a ditch.”

Because of their BDUs and their heavy MOPP gear they were already sweating. “You go right ahead and knock yourself out,” Will said. Johnny put away the entrenching tool that he had pulled from his pack.

“So two up,” Max said, pulling out his protective mask. “You want to do the first stretch with me, Will?”

“What? Are you kidding?” Will asked. He settled himself down in the shade of a tree that sat just off the road. He put his back to the bark and opened his MOPP overcoat wider. “Only when…if we see a zombie, I’ll put on the mask. Until then, no thank you. It’s too hot.”

It wasn’t exactly hot; the morning was new and the clouds that had dumped so much rain the day before were threatening, banking thick and dark in the west. Now that they weren’t actively working, the MOPP gear was comfortable. Johnny, with a great deal of sighing, eased himself down as well.

Max shrugged, giving into the “if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em philosophy.”

Instead of digging foxholes and clearing brush for fields of fire, they sat and chatted about everything under the sun: zombies, of course, but girls and movies as well. They also bitched as only soldiers could bitch.

At about 10 AM some of the locals began to creep down the road like shy mice. For the most part they were advanced in years and for sure they were a timid lot, but they were armed. Most carried rifles or shotguns, while a few had pistols. They smiled and nodded and stayed back a ways until one woman in a tracksuit and sunglasses, got up the courage to ask what was going on. “Zombies,” Will told her matter-of-factly. “I know it sounds crazy but listen to all that shooting.” The sound of gunfire had never let up. The shots came, one, two at a time with rarely more than ten minutes between them.

“You should pull up stakes,” Johnny suggested, loudly enough for them all to hear. “I’d get clear out of here for the time being.”