Townsend poked his head out of his sleeping bag, unable to believe that two torturous months had passed since they arrived at this base. Not only was he bored out of his mind, but General Ridley was turning out to be a bona fide psycho. Maybe spending all that time alone, surrounded by the horde, had caused him to lose his mind. In the two months since they’d been here they’d inventoried the supplies, scrubbed down and painted the mess hall, stripped and waxed the floors, broke up into groups for refresher classes, prepared and cooked meals, done calisthenics, and conducted daily Bible classes.
Zombies banged and battered the double doors at all hours of the day trying to get in. The hallway just outside was jammed with the horde. In fact the entire base swarmed with zombies. He'd rather die trying to get out of this shit hole than stay a minute longer.
His men seemed to respect Ridley and jumped at his word, and when they woke up that first morning after arriving they discovered to their delight that the general had cooked up a hot breakfast consisting of scrambled powdered eggs, sausage, bacon and pancakes. The stoves were powered by propane, which was stored in a massive tank just outside the building. He wondered if the general had stayed up all night preparing breakfast for the troops that first night because he never saw the man retire.
Even more amazing, they'd been awakened each morning by the sound of him playing reveille. Although Townsend had habitually gotten up early his entire life, he found it difficult to get up and face another day with Ridley. The sun had not even risen by the time that goddamn trumpet started blaring.
He picked himself off the polished floor and out of his fart bag and stood alongside his men. General Ridley gave a long, drawn-out prayer asking for God's protection, giving thanks for the food in which they were about to partake. He had to admit, the aroma of hot pancakes and fried bacon smelled damn good. It tortured his taste buds while waiting for that self-absorbed asshole to finish up his long-winded prayer. Once he exclaimed 'Amen!' all the soldiers raced to line up and fill their trays with food. Townsend waited for his men to go first before he helped himself to some.
After breakfast, Ridley ordered four soldiers to clean up the mess hall to his exact specifications. The four soldiers seemed happy to perform such a normal, everyday task. It kept their minds off the dead and brought a semblance of normality to their routine. Ridley walked around the room, dishing out praise and vitriol in equal portions. He had to admit, the guy possessed charisma, and he secretly admiring the general's ability to motivate and instill loyalty. Still, it didn't alter his resolve to dispose of the troublemaker at the first opportunity that presented itself.
Once the kitchen and mess hall had been cleaned, Ridley gathered the men around him for his typical start-of-the-day speech.
“You soldiers are the chosen few, the ones I've been waiting for this entire time. I've been living here for over a year now, keeping myself fit and praying to God for the chance to lead brave men like you into battle and defeat Satan's army. At one time our enemies were mortals just like you and me, representatives of some Godless, fucked-up nation. But now we're up against forces much larger than ourselves, forces that threaten not only our lives but the immortality of our very souls. We are the chosen ones, handpicked by God to take back this great nation from those terrible savages. With His blessing, I hope to be the one who leads you into this holy battle.”
Over my dead fucking body!
Townsend shook his head. He couldn't believe the bullshit coming out of this guy's mouth day after day. It pissed him off to no end to see his men standing out of their chairs and cheering on this pretentious asshole. The horde continued banging just outside the metal doors, adding to the applause. The sound of their savage cries filled the mess hall once the applause died down, reminding him of what they were up against. Ridley stood with his arms raised, allowing the long pause to fill the room until the tension could be plucked from it. Finally, he banged his fist on the table and glared at them.
“This is the day, gentlemen. Today’s the day we're going to take back this military base one room at a time until it is completely free of the enemy. We'll take it back in the name of God. Now grab your rifles, soldiers, and follow me into battle.”
Ridley paid him no notice, nor did he give him any credit for delivering his troops here safely. Angry, he watched his men walk single file through the kitchen. He waited for the last man to get in line before following in the rear. He noticed that the kitchen was spotless. It led into a long hallway. He kept going for about fifty feet until he entered the supply room filled with canned and powdered food and drink. On one pallet sat a large crate of boxes stacked with ammunition and M16s. In the past two months they’d rearranged the supply room to Ridley’s exact specifications, inventorying everything stored there. Ridley assigned two soldiers to pass ammo out to the others. Once everyone had been given their allotted share, Ridley stood atop the second tier of an adjacent pallet and addressed them once again.
“There are four floors including the basement of this admin building and every single one of them is swarming with the enemy. We'll split up into five groups and sweep through every last room until the entire building is ours.”
Townsend felt humiliated to be put into a group like all the others. Did the man not know that he was a one-star general? Fighting back hurt feelings, he followed them up to the fourth floor. The advance soldiers fired rounds into the first wave of zombies that approached. It smelled of death and decay inside the hallway. They took the stairs two at a time, shooting any of the stragglers caught lingering in the stairwell. Once at the top, he peered through the door window and noticed that the office hallway teemed with dead. He divided his unit into two groups of eight. They would work from the middle of the room and spread out to the end of the hallway, sweeping it clear. He counted to three and they burst through the door.
The automatic burst of gunfire instantly decapitated the first line of zombies. The two groups turned back-to-back and split off, shooting their way toward the far wall. Townsend had seen a lot of shit in life but nothing compared to being stuck inside a narrow hallway staring down at a roomful of hungry zombies. The sound of their heads splattering against the walls echoed in his ears. The dead fell back, decapitated, black ooze gushing from the raw, exposed stems that had once been their necks. The walls resembled art installations at the Museum of Modern Art, which his wife had insisted they visit back in the good old days. By the time they had reached the far wall, rotting corpses lay bloodied and stacked on top of one another. The room smelled of smoke, shit and rot. Townsend willed himself not to puke in front of his men but he couldn't stop gagging. Some of the others openly puked off in the corner. He turned and saw that the other crew had successfully exterminated the dead on their side.
“Let's go, heroes. Stop admiring your goddamn handiwork so we can start clearing the rooms.”
They opened the first office door and some dead stormed out. The two soldiers in front dropped them immediately, but more pushed through. One of the dead rushed out and grabbed hold of a soldier's shirt and pulled him down to the floor. Townsend jumped to the front and blew the errant zombie away, but it was too late for the kid. His arm was bleeding. Three others rushed over and quickly overtook the stricken soldier, blowing his head off without hesitation.
His men stood shoulder-to-shoulder, firing off rounds and allowing the others to reload. The horde poured out of every room like cockroaches. When the last zombie had been downed, they climbed over the mass of bodies and checked each room to see if any more remained. He waited in the hallway while his men made the rounds. He announced that every room had been cleared, and he gave them thumbs up sign.
“Nice job, heroes. Let's head back downstairs. Our work is done for today. And we're dangerously low on ammo.”
“We have two soldiers down, general. What do we with them?”
The two infected soldiers lay writhing against the rotting pile of headless zombies, crying out for help. Blood gushed from the wounds on their arms, faces and necks. He knew there was little anyone could do for them. Trying to save their lives would be a waste of resources and time. Besides, he thought, we all have to die eventually. He further reasoned that it would cause grave emotional harm for their buddies to watch them die slow, torturous deaths only to turn into the undead. He willed himself to do the right thing.
The inevitability of death made the decision easy. Everyone would die. Like Jim Morrison sang, no one gets out of here alive. Better to go out quick and easy and with minimal pain than to linger on. He walked calmly over to the dying soldiers and stared down at them. Pausing for a minute to say a quick prayer, he knew instantly he'd made a mistake. Never put off what should be done immediately. The soldiers begged to be spared. He raised his pistol, looked them each one last time in the eyes and then put a bullet in their heads. Their bodies instantly went slack.
He walked back to his men, who stared at him as if he were the devil incarnate.
“It had to be done,” he told them, “in order that we prevent those brave men from ever turning into the enemy. There's no cure for this insidious disease and I hope you'd do the same for me.”
“You did the right thing, General. Had to be fucking done,” Micucci said.
“Let's face it, many more of us are gonna die. This wasn't the first time I killed a man and it won't be the last. Might even have to kill one of you son-of-a-bitches someday. Or maybe that lunatic Ridley.”
“Why you say that, General?”
“I have a PhD in military history and psychology and I know mental illness when I see it. This guy has been locked away for over a year by himself. How do you think he got there? By saving the lives of the men and women he was in charge of? No, he saved himself first and then let all the others die. A stint like that will do that to a man, knowing what he's done. That's why we need to get the hell off this base the first opportunity that presents itself and resume our chase to save the president. Now let's head back down the way we came.”
They filed back downstairs, dropping any rogue zombies they came across, and sprinted through the main hallway until they arrived at the corridor leading to the supply room. Upon making their way back inside, they collapsed against the floor in exhaustion, covered in sweat and blood. Townsend couldn't believe how emotionally draining that job had been. Even the soldiers along the floor looked spooked. And to think that Ridley wanted them to clear the entire base? Now he knew the guy had truly lost it. He'd already planted the seeds of a coup in his soldiers' heads. All he needed now was to find a way to get rid of the two star general so that he and his men could fuel up and high tail it out of this useless base.