Townsend gave the order and the soldiers climbed out of their vehicles, bolting happily out onto the bright green artificial turf that comprised the football field of Connecticut University. The frosted white lines shone with intensity and looked as if they'd been freshly painted. The radiant green of the artificial turf seemed alive and vibrant in this dead new world and it seemed the soldiers responded eagerly to the allure of the gridiron. A chain link fence surrounded the field and kept the horde at bay. They clawed and howled, but the fence appeared secure. Once they'd killed the few zombies that had slipped through the swinging gates, everyone breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed. A few of the soldiers found some loose footballs lying on the field and began to toss them around and kick them through the uprights. Townsend positioned the vehicles so that they surrounded the playing surface, hiding the dead from view and allowing the soldiers enough time to relax until the chopper returned with news of the survivors.
Brownie felt as if he were eighteen again and playing for Mount Tahoma High. He and Capozza tossed the pigskin around, trying to round up enough guys to play a game of touch football. Some of the guys wanted nothing more than to lie around the field and soak up the early autumn rays. Others played cards up in the bleachers, using spare coins as chips. Brownie looked around to try and locate Stokes or Micucci. Then it struck him that Stokes had been infected.
He passed the football back to one of the other soldiers and then trotted over to Micucci's Stryker. The hatch was closed. Brownie wondered why no one else had checked on them. The metal of the LAV felt hot to the touch and he realized that the motor was still warm. He began to bang on the panels, noticing that General Townsend was sitting on the opponents' bench and conferring with some of his underlings.
“Open this tin can up and get out here, Cooch!”
A minute passed before he heard the sound of the hatch begin to open. Micucci popped his head out and stared around at his surroundings.
“How's Stokesy doing?”
“I got a bad situation down here. Dude's running a mean fever and sweating up a storm. You got to help me get him out of here, Brownie, before he burns up. But keep it on the low so General Ballbuster don't see him.”
“Let's get him outta there.”
“What can we do for him?”
“Hell if I know, Cooch, but we can't just leave him in there to die.”
Brownie heard one of the players call out his name. Ignoring it, he climbed atop the Stryker to helped Micucci carry out the injured soldier. Once they'd hoisted Stokes out, they slid him down the angled front end and lowered him to the ground. Micucci picked his fellow soldier up, carried him over to a section of the turf, and laid him down. Brownie knelt over him and wiped the sweat off his forehead. Stokes' lids fluttered, revealing his glazed-over eyes. Before he knew what happened a few of his fellow soldiers had come over and encircled them.
“How you feeling, Stokesy?” Brownie whispered, not quite knowing what else to say.
“How you think I'm feeling?” he said, grabbing Brownie's shirt. “Like dog shit, man.”
“Dude's burning up. Help me take his uniform off so we can cool him down,” Brownie said.
Tears began to stream down Stokes' face.
“Take it easy, Stokesy. It's gonna be okay, bro,” Brownie said, unbuttoning his shirt. Another soldier pulled off the kid's trousers.
“It ain't going to be okay, Brownie. I got bitten by one of them things and we all know what happens afterward. Just don't let me turn into one of them dead motherfuckers.”
“Chill, bro, we'll figure this shit out.” Brownie shrugged and stared up at Micucci.
“Do me a favor. Get in touch with my girl and tell her I love her. Will you do that for me, Brownie? Swear to Christ?”
“Swear, bro.”
“Tell her I'm sorry for not coming back,” Stokes said, removing a photo out of his pocket.
Brownie took it in hand and stared at the picture of Stokes' girl, a skinny blonde wearing lots of makeup.
“My girl lives in Chattanooga. Do me a favor, man, give her my dog tag too.” He removed it off his neck.
“Okay, Stokesy. Will do, man.”
Stokes didn't respond, instead staring up at the sky and letting the tears drip down the sides of his cheeks. Brownie had no idea what to do or say other than to keep the kid comfortable. Using Stokes' tee shirt, he wiped the sweat off his forehead and chest, and then positioned it under his head to make him more comfortable. Someone passed him a bottle of water and he sprinkled it over his face, chest and hair.
“What the hell's going on here?” General Townsend said, making his way through the crowd.
“It's Stokes, sir. His infection's gotten worse.”
“I can plainly see that, soldier,” Townsend said, straddling over Stokes' head. “What's in your hand, Brown?”
“A photograph of his girl and his dog tag. Wants me to give it to her.”
Townsend stared down at the kid's head, now wedged between his boots.
“This is what happens to those who don't keep their fucking wits about them. And all of you will turn into one of those goddamn zombies if you don't smarten up.”
“With all due respect, sir, it wasn't Stokes' fault. Those friggin’ things came out of nowhere while we were stopped along that interstate,” Micucci said.
“Watch your tone with me, soldier. See this fucking star?” Townsend, said, pointing to his collar. “I didn't earn it from being a cheesesteak-eating Guido from Philly. This poor fuck is as good as gone now because you heroes let your guard down and didn't have his back when you should have. So hear this. Any of you retards get bitten from here on out, consider yourself as good as dead. Understand?”
Brownie was stunned to hear such cruel and callous words coming out of his superior's mouth. He'd always known that Townsend was an asshole but he never thought it would come to this. And yet the times dictated discipline and strong leadership. Maybe they had been too lax back there, smoking butts and shooting the shit like they were hanging out at a local bar. All of them had been aware of the consequences of becoming infected and understood that there was no cure. An infected soldier had the potential to pass the disease on to others, and they had no way of knowing if this illness could be spread by other methods or if a soldier had been inadvertently infected. Still, Brownie experienced a sudden, intense hatred for Townsend that he'd never before felt
“So what are we going to do with him?” Micucci asked.
“I bet some of you have never even seen a man turn,” Townsend said, smiling. “Maybe you ought to see what the hell we're up against. Have to know your enemy to defeat them.”
Brownie was about to intervene when Micucci stepped forward.
“I hope you're not implying what I think you are, General,” Micucci said. “Stokes deserves more respect than that.”
“Son, you best be watching your words around me unless you're gonna try to be a hero and make a move on a superior officer. Now back the fuck off.”
Micucci, usually not one to back down, stepped back.
Townsend removed the pistol out of his holster and held it out for everyone to see. Below him, Stokes began to cry out in anguish. Some of the soldiers, upon seeing the pistol, looked away in fear. Townsend walked around in a full circle until he came to Micucci, who stood with his hands balled into fists, his face held in abeyance by a look of hesitation and hate.
“Time to put your buddy out of his misery.” He held the pistol out to Micucci.
“You want me to do it?”
“I ain't asking the damn zombies to kill him. They've already done their damage.”
Micucci paused for a moment before grabbing the pistol out of Townsend's hand. He stared down at Stokes, now moaning in agony. Sweat poured off his forehead and a trickle of blood flowed down the side of his mouth from having bitten his lip. Micucci knelt down next to him and stared at his partner's anguished face. He lifted the gun and pointed it at his fellow soldier's head. Stokes let out a long, mournful wail.
“I'm sorry, bro,” Micucci said, tears streaming down his cheeks. “I should have done this a lot sooner.”
“I don't wanna die, Cooch! Please don't kill me, bro.”
“It's cool, bro. Close your eyes and it'll be quick and easy and soon you'll be with your girl and riding that Harley of yours in heaven.”
“Yeah, Cooch. My girl riding behind me?”
“Bet your ass she will. Then you kids'll stop for some ribs and corn bread and wash it all down with some cold brews.”
“Sounds nice, Cooch. Can't wait,” Stokes said, delusional with fever.
Micucci held the gun for what seemed like forever. Brownie felt like his head might explode if something didn't happen soon. He was about to go over to Micucci when the big kid stood unexpectedly and handed the gun back to Townsend.
“Just as I figured. Should have known a big guinea like you would puss out.”
Micucci glared at the general, looking as if he wanted kill him. Townsend was a compact man, not very tall or wide. His blue eyes shone brightly, as did the corners of his receding hairline. His thin blonde hair was combed neatly across his scalp and his jaw line outlined a strong, determined face, accentuated by a cleft chin. Underneath the uniform the man was in great shape, evident by the many push-ups and sit-ups he did before dawn. But what Brownie thought made him stand out from the crowd were the divot-like dimples that appeared whenever he smiled, which didn't happen often and only when concocting some devious scheme.
“I'm no goddamn coward, sir, with all due respect,” Micucci said, clenching his fists.
“Yeah, well I beg to differ.”
Micucci cocked his muscular arm and threw a punch, but Townsend easily deflected the blow, kicking the big kid's heel out with a clean foot sweep. Micucci collapsed to the ground. Townsend positioned himself behind Micucci, wrapping his arm around the kid's muscular neck. The entire sequence happened in seconds. Micucci gasped for breath, his eyes bulging out of their sockets.
“You're fortunate you're a good soldier or I'd toss you over that fence and let the dead nibble on your tiny dick.” Townsend released his grip and pushed him away. “Any of you other girls have something to say to me?”
The others stared at Townsend.
“Didn't think so. Now I'm a God fearing man, heroes, and I don't take this dying shit lightly. Stokes here was a doomed man from the moment that filth bit into him. I don't make the rules now. But I do know that you have to know your enemy if you want to defeat him.” He squatted down next to the dying soldier and stared at him.
“Whatcha gonna do, General?” Brownie asked.
“I'm going to do this kid a big favor. Then I'm going to show all of you lilies the shit we're dealing with.”
Townsend moved his hand to the kid's neck and began to squeeze. Stokes face turned red and his eyes bugged out of his sockets. The dying soldier kicked his feet and swung his arms wildly in the air. Brownie found it difficult to watch but even more difficult to look away. None of them had the balls to put the soldier out of his misery except for Townsend. Brownie felt guilty for not having the balls to do it when he should have. As much as he despised Townsend, he also respected the man's iron will to do the right thing, as difficult as it might be.
After a minute Stokes' arms and legs stopped moving and he lay there quietly, his eyes open and staring lifelessly up at the blue sky. An eerie quiet passed between them as Townsend stood back and waited for the soldier to come back to life. The sight of the dead soldier filled him with sadness, reminding him how many times this must have played out in the world since the plague struck.
Brownie glanced up at his fellow soldiers, all of whom were staring at their fallen brother in a state of shock. Only Micucci shot a glance back at him, the embarrassment and shame written over his face.
Though he was only twenty-two it was the first time Brownie thought about his future in any meaningful way. But what kind of future could he have now? At first the crisis seemed exhilarating, a good opportunity for a soldier like him to seek out adventure and excitement. But now all that novelty had all worn off with the realization that he'd never again be able to return home to see his family or take a trip to downtown Seattle or dine on his favorite meal, chicken teriyaki and rice. Traveling the country with this lunatic general was his future. He recalled all the things he wanted out of life like a wife and kids someday and a decent house to call home so that his kids wouldn't have to deal with gang bangers and crack dealers like he had.
No one moved. Brownie pressed the leather football in his hands and felt the pebbly, grainy surface against his long fingertips. It felt like one of the last relics of civilized society and he wasn't about to give up this small reminder of his past. No, he'd take this football with him wherever he went and keep it as a token. If it went flat, he'd patch it up and somehow pump life back into it. By the same token, he'd use it to keep alive the memory of his buddy Stokes. This football now meant everything to him.
Stokes' eyes flew open and his hands and feet began to wriggle. Seeing this full transformation the second time around stunned him. Stokes sat up and looked at his fellow soldiers pleadingly. Brownie caught a glimpse of Townsend as it was happening. Despite the facade the general typically put on, he too looked in awe of this odd spectacle, which had now been repeated billions of times over. Stokes pushed himself off the ground and stood facing them. His skin looked radiant and buoyant, and his eyes shone with an intensity not evident when he was alive. Brownie swore that he could see a shimmering force field around his half naked body.
“All the armies and generals in the world will not overcome our presence. I've been above and beyond, and I'm back to tell you all that there's so much more to this fighting and endless suffering. We've come back to warn you.”
“Where the hell you been that's so wonderful?” Micucci asked. “You look like you never even got bit, Stokesy.”
“My body is here but my spirit lives in a greater realm. I've come back to deliver a message. The ones who will lead you are not the ones you have come to depend on.”
“Listen to this zombie freak. This is what the enemy does, heroes. First they die and then they come back as a goddamn preacher. Funny how they want you to believe they're the messiahs when all they really want to do is to eat your goddamn ribs. It's the sign of the beast,” Townsend said.
“It is the end of times as you know it,” Stokes said, “but it's also the beginning of times as well as a reawakening for humanity. Only a chosen few have been deemed fit to lead. It's not too late to change.”
Brownie was dumbfounded as he watched the nearly naked soldier turn and look at each of them in turn. What was he talking about? And change what? But then the words reverberated in his head and he remembered being a little boy and listening with rapt attention to the fire-and-brimstone sermons of Reverend Dalton back in Tacoma. The message offered by that dead soldier was much of what Reverend Dalton had predicted. In his mind's eye, he could practically see the powerfully built Reverend standing behind the pulpit, beads of sweat bubbling on his brow while the congregation called back to him. The rapture was here.
Off in the distance the faint sound of a helicopter's rotors began to beat rhythmically in the air. Townsend and the soldiers turned and stared up at the approaching chopper. Brownie heard a grunting noise behind him and turned at the last second to see that Stokes had turned much quicker than expected. The dead kid lunged at an unsuspecting soldier nearby and took a bite out of his finger. Private Meany, caught off guard by the sight of the incoming chopper, jumped back in shock and stared at the drop of blood tearing up on the knuckle of his middle finger. He looked as if he couldn't quite believe what he was staring at.
Brownie jumped back as Stokes turned and stumbled toward him. Only the sound of Townsend's voice ordering them back to their vehicles registered in his brain. He slowly backpedaled, watching as the rest of his unit scattered in all directions. Private Meany continued to stand there, turning in circles and staring down at his infected finger.
“Goddamn asshole bit me!” he shouted, laughing in his shock.
“Get the hell back to your vehicle, Meany!” Brownie yelled.
“The fucker bit me, Brownie. Can you believe that shit? I'm a dead man walking.”
“Run, you dumb ass.”
Stokes stumbled toward Private Meany. Brownie saw Townsend walk up behind the dead soldier and fire a single round into his head. Stokes collapsed to the bright green turf and stopped moving. A dark reddish-black sludge oozed from the open wound in his skull.
“What are you a fucking retard? Why didn't you run?”
“I don't know, sir. Got distracted by that chopper and then that asshole bit me on my finger.”
Brownie jogged back to where Stokes lay dead.
“Get the hell back in your goddamn vehicle, Brownie, or you'll end up like that tool on the ground.”
“Yes, sir,” Brownie said, sprinting back to his LAV.
He'd not taken ten steps when he heard the sound of a second gunshot go off. He turned back and saw Private Meany lying on his back and with his feet curled under his body. Blood poured out of the gaping wound in his head and onto the green artificial turf. Townsend stared down at the dead soldiers and then glanced up and caught his eye. The look the general gave him nearly made him shit his pants and he quickly turned and continued to sprint back to the Stryker.
The chopper levitated over the field before slowly descending laterally near the thirty-yard line. Brownie palmed his Kevlar helmet over his head, grabbed his rifle and stood atop his Stryker waiting to head out. The gust of wind from the chopper caused dust, debris and rubber tire grist to fly up out of the artificial turf. Townsend walked up to the chopper as it continued to idle and shouted for the pilot to get out.
“What did you see out there, Ackroyd? Gooks or spooks?”
“Both,” Ackroyd said, stepping out of the cockpit. “Chinese patrol vehicles are traveling west on 84 at about forty clicks an hour and roughly thirty miles from this location. Looks like their contingent split up because the patrol unit I saw was much smaller than the last one.”
“Which means we need to haul ass out of here,” Townsend replied. “What about the spook and the president?”
“Saw them too, about a few miles from here, General. They've got a lot of overheated people in those trucks and stopped to take another break in the parking lot of some redneck supermarket. But then the horde showed up and ruined their party.”
“Any casualties?”
“Sir, that crazy bitch with the Mohawk did a number on that horde with an ax,” the pilot said. “But there were five survivors who wouldn't return with them back to the trucks.”
“You mean she just left them there to die?”
“Not exactly. She took the ax to their heads, sir.”
“Park that bird on the flatbed, Lieutenant, and let's go save President Roberts from that sick little whore.”
“Yes, sir.”
Brownie watched the chopper fly up into the air and then descend on the flatbed's helipad. Once the rails were strapped in tight, the driver of the rig and the pilot hopped inside the cab and began to catch up to the rest of the caravan. Brownie stood out the hatch and watched as they navigated off the playing field and past the downed gates.
The caravan passed through the abandoned university grounds. Brownie took in the once-beautiful campus, composed of red brick buildings with grand doorways decorated with fancy names, trees lining the overgrown paths that snaked throughout the quad. Weeds sprouted everywhere. Most of the windows had either been broken or smashed and the faded brick walls had been spray painted with desperate messages. Brownie realized that many students, teachers and administrators must have taken refuge in there for as long as they could before either succumbing to the horde or dying of starvation.
He felt a shift in his attitude toward this mission they were undertaking deep into the hellish depths of America. For starters, he was fully convinced that Townsend was a lunatic. And yet he also believed that only a madman could keep them alive in this crazy new world, and he for one was glad that the lunatic was on his side. God help those poor survivors once they caught up to them. Townsend had executed Private Meany as easily as stepping on an errant spider and although he knew it had to be done, the infection having already set in, only a sociopath could have murdered one of his own men with such callous disregard.
The grass throughout the quad had grown long and unwieldy. Litter and rusted vehicles lay everywhere. Every so often he saw a skeleton or corpse scattered along the ground looking like one of the fake plastic models hanging in biology class or sold at one of those Halloween stores.
He couldn't wrap his mind around all that had gone on in the last few days. The Chinese Army had been on their tail the entire time, while they themselves were in pursuit of the small band of survivors trying to flee in the two rigs. He wondered why Townsend was so hell-bent on saving the President of the United States. For all intents and purposes, there was no more United States. The country was gone, ruined and in shambles. Did it really matter whether she lived or died? There was nothing and nobody to govern.
The caravan busted through the front gates of the main campus and out into the streets. A large gathering of zombies roamed chaotically without direction, staring up at them before getting crushed by the Stryker's massive wheels. The sound of their heads exploding reminded him of the water balloons they'd tossed as kids, which broke on impact the second they hit anything. He cringed as the wet splats continued to fill the air. When he couldn't take it anymore, he slipped back inside the overheated Stryker and slammed shut the hatch door.
Brownie took control of the vehicle from Capozza, allowing his partner to direct his attention to other more pertinent matters. Sweat poured down his forehead and began to drip down his wrists. He gazed through the periscope connecting them to the outside world. Clutching the grainy football in hand, he fingered the pebbled surface and allowed his mind to return to better days.
“You okay, Brownie?”
“Hell no. That was some messed up shit back there.”
“Stay clear of Townsend if you know what's good for you. Don't even talk to that psycho.”
“Dude's one crazy bastard. Scares me more than all them zombies combined.”
“That's why he's a general and we're fucking low level grunts.”