Trudge: Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse (25 page)

*****

Cade changed the waypoints in the flight computer. The new course would take them along the Wasatch mountain front. The towering crags ran north/south, flanking Salt Lake City, Utah.

“The 19th Special Forces Group is located in Draper, Utah. I set the waypoints to take us there. I know a few of the operators garrisoned at the base. At the very least we may be able to top off and continue onward.”

“If the base is still standing when we get there, I think that’s the end of the road for me fellas” the usually quiet Harry said over the intercom.

“I’m sure we can get you set up with supplies and transportation, if you really don’t want to stick around” Cade said, without a trace of emotion.

Cade had a hard and fast rule to not form emotional attachments to anyone but family. Kids were the one exception and he had felt the pain from it these last twenty four hours, Leo, and more so the younger Ike had really grown on him. There would be time to grieve later…there always was.

Cade hadn’t heard from his family for over two days now. He searched his pockets for his phone and remembered that it and all of his gear, guns, ammo and food were abandoned with their vehicles outside of Boise. All he had was his M4 with one mag left, a Glock pistol, the clothes and combat gear he still wore as well as his helmet. It dawned on him that his favorite Trailblazer ball cap was also in the Sequoia more than fifty miles away. He closed his eyes and visualized his wife and daughters faces in his mind. As darkness enveloped Idaho, the desert air whipping in the open troop compartment grew measurably colder. Despite the temperature change a warm feeling washed over Cade. There was a special bond that held his small family together, through overseas deployments and other unforeseen hardships; he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that they still lived.

Cade kept watch out of the co-pilot seat, he hadn’t seen this many stars since he was a member of Task Force 121. It was a handpicked group of operators hunting for Osama Bin Laden in the Hindu Kush Mountains of Afghanistan. The high altitude and inhospitable terrain that they operated in left him with very few pleasant memories; the stars were one of them. He glanced into the mirror affixed above the cockpit glass. A breathtaking display of purple and magenta painted the sky behind them and reflected off of the Black Hawks windows. The sun was going down slowly, kicking and screaming as if it didn’t want to leave the living alone in the dark with the dead.

Looking ground ward it suddenly dawned on him that there was an absence of light below and there were no moving vehicles. Mother Nature’s beautiful sky show belied the fact that the world was ending, not with a bang, but a whimper. Cade thought,
T.S. Eliot surely knew something we didn’t.

Duncan’s Southern drawl sounded in his ear and brought him back to reality.

“Look off to the right at 2 o’clock. Do you see it?”

“Yeah, it looks like a small sun” was Cades reply.

Duncan banked the helo to the right and aimed the nose toward the brilliant lights.

Chapter 38

Day 3 Fort Bragg, North Carolina

Carl narrowly escaped death, first from the fall and then at the hands of the United States Special Forces troops. Until today he had no idea the fear that six machine gun muzzles could invoke in a man, especially if they all were pointed at him. The injuries to his face were superficial and his ankle had been reset and put in a walking cast, his next major hurdle was infection, the ghoul that clawed up his back had given him several different types of disease. He was mildly sedated and sleeping. Brook and Raven held a bedside vigil.

Outside the battle raged on. The steady small arms gunfire and the constant booming from the side mounted 105mm Howitzer on the circling C-130 Spectre gunship both comforted and scared Brook at the same time. She was crossing a line that usually took most soldiers a stint in boot camp, and at least a couple of firefights to even approach. Her senses were being fine-tuned and honed. Until now they were strictly tools of basic survival. Now she possessed a combination of aggression, assertiveness and self-preservation. Slowly the old Brook was being reforged and transformed. Gone was the survivor’s guilt. The time for surviving was now. Raven depended on her.

*****

Their weapons had all been confiscated and then the group was immediately escorted to the bases medical facilities. A man in full combat gear walked them towards the middle of Fort Bragg. On the way he told them that they needed a cursory exam to ensure that nobody was seriously injured going over the wire.

Carl’s wounds were completely scrubbed, disinfected and bandaged. A big burly male nurse cleaned and sutured the lacerations on Brook’s arms and abdomen. The exams were thorough, any idiot would know they were being screened for infection and checked for bites, even though it wasn’t divulged to them. Dimitri was not talking and Brook guessed the little boy was suffering from PTSD. One of the Doctors wheeled him to an infirmary elsewhere, to be attended to. They were all going to be quarantined for 24 hours. Raven seemed depressed and was badly in need of some rest. Brook was just plain exhausted, every nerve ending was shot. Brook took Raven’s hand and led her down the hall to their room.

*****

Carl finally awoke and was reading a magazine. It was the last Newsweek ever; the cover read “Mad?? Disease” it was the last post outbreak edition to be distributed and the words said it all. The Omega bug caught the entire United States flat footed and on the ropes. In the end, no one had enough time or information to stop it from spreading. Unable to keep his eyes open, Carl put the magazine down, closed his eyes and let sleep take over.

*****

 The first thing on Brook’s agenda was to find Mike Desantos and ask him if he knew anything of Cades whereabouts. She also had an irresistible urge to get out into the fight, this constant running and gunning had awakened something in her she didn’t know existed. She craned her neck struggling to hear the new sounds outside of the door. Brook abruptly grabbed her daughter by the arm, shouldered the door open, burst out of their room and propelled her down the hall to where Carl was.

The fusillade of automatic rifle fire sounded different, almost frantic. Dedicated, highly trained soldiers didn’t lose their cool and “spray and pray.”

They barged into the infirmary and Brook frantically yanked the IV tubes from her brother’s arm. The sounds of the battle were drawing nearer and the undead’s moaning was increasing in volume. Brook tried to wake Carl but he remained unresponsive. Shadows passed by the opaque green glass in the door and then stopped, wavering directly in front. Raven started whimpering; Brook pulled her close and clamped a hand over her mouth. Wild eyed and hyperventilating she squirmed from her mom’s grip and bolted for the hallway screaming. Brook suddenly became aware of the odor of rotting flesh overpowering the usual antiseptic hospital smell. The door burst inward followed by a torrent of decomposing corpses. They fell atop Raven, teeth gnashing, gnarled hands ripped the flesh from her face, exposing muscle, molars and jawbone. Blood pulsed onto the floor from hundreds of shredded capillaries. The room teemed with undead and they quickly turned their attention to the unarmed Brook. She braced herself and stood her ground in front of her unconscious and helpless brother.

*****

A shrill horn sounded. Brook awoke, her chest heaved and she fought to breathe. Beads of sweat cascaded from her face. Her thin hospital bed sheet was soaked throughout. Frantically she felt around in the dark and noisily exhaled when she felt the warmth of her daughter stir next to her. The nightmare was gone but the blaring Klaxon was real.

Someone banged repeatedly on the door. Brook shook the sleep from her head, jumped to her feet and answered it.

The very pregnant Annie Desantos, her two young daughters flanking her, stood at the doors threshold and without entering told Brook and Raven that the base was being evacuated.

“Are we leaving by air or land?” Brook queried her.

“Helicopters are inbound from Fort Campbell, women and children are assembling for evacuation first.”

“I have to go get Carl. He’s down the hall in the recovery ward. Can I leave Raven with you?”

Shaking her head, Annie said “No need, we’re all going to the parade ground together. Chinooks are inbound to evac the wounded. Don’t worry; the medical crew assured me they would accompany him.”

“Raven, get your stuff. Annie, give us two minutes.” Brook checked her phone once again. No bars, no message, no nothing. She sighed and hurled the phone into her tote. They left the room hand in hand, following Annie and the girls. Cade was on Brooks mind.

*****

Fort Bragg was severely undermanned. Three quarters of the active duty warfighters and base staff didn’t return when they were recalled. A large contingent of Special Forces troops were still on deployment in Afghanistan and other unnamed places around the world.

During the night thousands of walking dead encircled the entire perimeter. There were so many crushing together at the north gate; the cars and trucks left by the wire were being slowly compacted into the base of the fence. The orange Raptor that was precariously perched atop the Hummer2 finally succumbed to gravity and toppled to the ground crushing a small number of the infected. The whole base was about to fall, their sheer numbers were staggering; it was only a matter of time before they breached the fencing.

*****

The steady thumping of the dual rotor blade Chinooks helped drown out the sounds of the dead. While Brook was deep in the middle of her nightmare, their numbers had increased. The noise coming from their lifeless throats became an intolerable sonic tempest.

Annie had raided the shooting range for earplugs. Brook and Raven each had a pair of the little foam rubber plugs firmly embedded in their ears. Unfortunately they didn’t keep out all of the noise.

Brook followed Annie and her girls along finely manicured paths that crisscrossed the base between buildings. Rotor wash and the accompanying flying debris blasted them as they rounded the corner. Shielding their faces with their hands, they approached the twin rotor behemoths, ducking instinctively. Annie and the girls took the last three spots in the crowded Chinook; they were sitting on the floor, nearby the loadmaster manned the mounted M240 machine gun.

Brook waved as the ramp partially lifted up. The hurricane like winds increased as the helicopter powered up and rose into the sky. A soldier was informing the families that were waiting, that the next sortie of three helos was inbound and three minutes out.

The group of women and children nervously eyed the monsters crushing in on the perimeter fence. Ammunition was dangerously low; the troops had stopped shooting the undead outside of the wire. Everyone prayed that the fencing would hold up for another hour or two until the evacuation was complete.

The front fence failed first and the dead surged into the garrison parking lot, the first wave of them quickly overtook and consumed the guards and high ranking personnel in the nearby command post. Their screams were drowned out by the undead’s eerie moaning.

Above the parade ground a large caliber rifle boomed from the guard tower. It was rhythmic and directed across the base to the south. The gunfire further aroused the dead and they started surging against the weakened barrier. Right on time the three CH-47 Chinooks thundered over the wire flaring at the last second and softly settled to the ground. Rear and side doors opened up and the crew chiefs beckoned the people to hurry onboard.

The force of the surging undead finally caused the total failure of the perimeter fence. The sound of groaning metal preceded the collapse of the nearest guard tower. It listed and then toppled to the ground; the lone shooter went with it. Like piranhas the ghouls stripped the flesh from Jack Bowers exposed extremities. Bloody hands reached under the ceramic plated body armor and greedily scooped the soft organs from his abdomen. One of the dead picked up his rifle and peered down the still smoking barrel, determined that it wasn’t food and discarded it.

The rotor blades picked up speed, Brook sensed that they weren’t going to get aboard. She wondered if the nightmare had been a premonition of her death. A soldier fell ten feet from her, two of the monsters rending pieces of meat from his flailing arms and legs; he was close enough that Brook could hear his anguished wailing. The man lay still, his rifle near his body. She covered the ten feet in seconds and had the rifle in her hands before she was aware of her actions. The M4 barked twice, the feeding creatures slumped atop their meal. More of them were now flanking the helicopter to the right. Taking careful aim with the weapon, Brook finished the nearest advancing walkers, dropping four in quick succession. With Raven in tow she boarded the hovering Chinook through the open side door. The monsters were grasping onto the rear ramp. The soldier manning the M240 now had a clear field of fire and started hammering away at them, the machine guns report reminded Brook of a buzz saw ripping through wood. Rotor wash blew hot shell casings into the fuselage. A severely decomposed ghoul reached in and got ahold of Ravens ankle, Brook poked the M4s barrel past her daughter’s body and emptied the last nine rounds into its head and chest. The zombie released its grip, fell twenty feet and disappeared into the sea of rotting corpses.