Townsend gathered up his remaining troops, realizing he had to make a tactical decision before the weather took a turn for the worse. His men were tired and hungry and the horde stretched as far as the eye could see. The rain started to come down hard and the gale force winds caused the trees to bend sideways. With their fuel and ammunition running low, he ordered his unit to turn around and head back east to what used to be Tobyhanna Army Base, a place he knew well.
The caravan moved slowly, traveling in close formation so as not to be separated from each other. Night fell and the torrential downpour impeded their view, making the going even slower. The Strykers barreled through the rampaging horde, crushing everything in their path. After traveling for three hours they reached the abandoned Army base. To his surprise the gates were open and the entire complex appeared vacant, except for the dead roaming the grounds. The caravan passed through the gates and came to a stop. Townsend jumped down off the vehicle and sprinted to the gate, oblivious to the swarm heading toward him. He raised his pistol and calmly dropped each zombie in his path. But he cussed out loud for being so stupid. The shot had alerted every dead fuck within earshot. He closed the gates and then sprinted back onto one of the Humvees, ordering the caravan to push forward. Positioning himself behind the M2, he fired off a round and blew away the heads of a dozen zombies to his left. Their scrambled brains splattered over the cracked pavement like spilled chop suey.
Townsend ordered them to stop in front of the administrative building. The soldiers climbed out of their vehicle and made their way up the granite stairs and inside, shooting any stragglers in their path. Once the doors behind them had been secured, they climbed the stairs to the main floor. Zombies roamed the corridor and along the stairwell, many of them former military personnel meandering aimlessly in search of human flesh. Townsend assigned a pair of shooters in front and two backing up the rear. They walked the length of the hallway until they came to the cafeteria, a place where he'd eaten many a meal as a young officer. To his surprise, the doors were padlocked with a chain. He shook the door, causing them to rattle. Then he lifted the rifle, stood off to the side, and pulled the trigger. The lock snapped and careened against the opposite wall. The hungry soldiers stormed inside, securing the doors behind them.
The mess hall appeared odd to him, so spotless and clean. But how? He remembered that this mess hall was for officers only, not that it mattered now. But more importantly, he observed that it had been free of the diseased. He walked back to check on the supply room when to his surprise a crisply dressed soldier walked out of the kitchen with a cup of coffee in one hand and a donut in the other. For a second he froze, caught off guard by the sight of a lone human being inhabiting these quarters. The man had two stars on his collar and seemed not in the least bit surprised to see him.
“What's the matter with you soldiers? You don't give a salute when you encounter a two star general?
Townsend couldn't believe his eyes. It took him a moment to register the general's words before standing to full height and snapping off a crisp salute. Who the hell was this clown? A two star general living by himself in an abandoned Army base in the middle of Pennsylvania? No, he wasn't prepared to take orders from anyone at this stage in the game, no matter how many stars he wore. He didn't survive life and limb, heading to Nags Head Island, fighting zombies and the goddamn Chinese Army to give his command away to any old fool. And to think he'd come so damn close to capturing President Roberts. Fuck! He knew instantly that he would have to find a way to get rid of this pest. His prize was focused squarely on capturing the President of The United States and nothing short of death would get in his way.
“I've been waiting a long time for someone to show up here and provide me some backup.”
“General Townsend, sir,” he said, holding his salute firm.
“At ease. Pleasure to meet you, Townsend. The name's General Ridley and I'm in command of this base. The enemy has us surrounded but we've managed to hold our own until reinforcements arrive and we can properly secure this base.”
Funny, but he'd never heard of General Ridley before.
“I'm afraid to inform you, General, but the enemy has overtaken this entire country. There's even Chinese forces patrolling the area.”
“Commie bastards? How can you be sure, Trowbridge?”
“Townsend, sir. Because we engaged them in battle and kicked some changhopper ass. But there's still more of them out there.”
“The United States Army is the finest fighting force on the planet, Trowbridge, and I have no doubt that we'll take back this country.”
Townsend stared at the man, wondering how long he'd been locked up in this cafeteria, hiding from the dead and descending into madness. He had no doubt the general had lost his grip on reality. And if he called him Trowbridge one more time…
“You and your men should unload your stuff and take a break. After this storm blows over we'll have a lot of work to do cleaning up this base.”
“No offense, General, but we're not planning on staying very long. Our mission is to return to the road and rescue the President of the United States from her captors.”
“See these two shiny stars? I'm the commanding officer of this camp and it means you are to follow my orders and do exactly as I tell you. Understand? Or else I'll have you court-martialed for disobeying a superior officer.”
Townsend bit his lip and tried to control his rage. Through the large mess hall windows he could see the trees swaying in the wind. Rain pounded down on the ruined grounds of the base, soaking the horde to the rotting bone. He knew that those survivors couldn't be traveling very far tonight in such inclement weather, and he also knew they had to be running low on fuel. He gritted his teeth just thinking about detaining the president and that ghost. His head pulsed with pain and he wanted nothing more at the moment then to relax, grab a bite to eat, and get a good night's rest. If this maniacal general persisted in holding him back he would take matters into his own hands come morning. But he knew he couldn't kill a two star general in front of his men without affecting morale. He needed the iron clad power of the Army's chain-of-command now more than ever, as illusory as it was in these troubled times. And to do that he'd have to temporarily feign subservience to this power-hungry lunatic. But when the time came, he'd feed this bloated desk jockey to the hungry wolves outside.
“Sit down, soldiers. There's plenty of food for everyone,” Ridley said, walking around the mess hall. “MREs, canned and dried. You name it. It may not be fresh from the garden but it's edible and tasty.”
Townsend stood behind Ridley, staring at his smiling men in disbelief. He couldn't wait to fuel the vehicles up and get the hell out of here. But for now he was tired, possessed of a jaw-ripping headache, and desperately needed something to eat. He planned on sending Ackroyd up in the chopper as soon as possible in order to see if he could locate those survivors. Then he'd figure out a way to wash his hands of this whack job without losing the support of his men.