Sergeant First Class Lynn Connell hangs up the phone attached to her computer, ever so thankful to have it. That and the Internet service provided here in Kuwait allow her to maintain contact with her boyfriend back in the States; their twice-daily calls and contact eases the deployment to a large degree. During the times the Internet was down, time seemed to drag on for an eternity when she was off work. It’s not like she could just waltz down for some beer and darts, so it was reading and the Internet.
God, a beer would go down good, she thinks, shutting off her laptop and getting ready for yet another day in the desert.
Today just has the feel of one of those days; well, every day here is one of those days, but this one just feels different. Packing up her gear, she opens the steel barracks door and steps out into the blazing morning sun, the temperature already beginning its climb to another scorching day.
Sand! I hate sand! She thinks, adjusting her polarized sunglasses with her digital camo uniform instantly warm from the sun. Not much longer to go.
Looking over the top of the barracks building as she starts walking over for breakfast, she sees an aircraft descending into the small field located on the camp, silhouetted against the light blue sky. As the aircraft descends below the tan building, she ponders her day.
I have to get my shot today, she thinks, the sand stirring up beneath her boots with each step. Perhaps after lunch or after work on my way to the gym.
Most of the personnel in her office received them yesterday and, with military personnel having only forty-eight hours to get one, this is the last day to get it.
Walking down the sand-covered avenues between the buildings, Sergeant Connell arrives at the dining facility. She removes her cap and steps through the wooden door and into the cooler interior. The first thing she notices is the distinct emptiness.
Groovy, she thinks, heading to the chow line. No lines. It sure seems a lot bigger in here without the usual crowd.
Not caring why it is mostly empty, she grabs her usual omelet and notices the usual cook who makes her big omelets is not here.
“Where’s Private Sampson?” she asks as an omelet is placed on her plate and tray.
“Sick call,” the soldier answers behind the counter and clear plastic separator.
Gathering her food, Lynn glances out over the expanse and selects one of the many empty tables after grabbing a paper to read. Hacking away at the omelet with her plastic Spork, she catches up on the headlines. The first few pages note the numerous sicknesses and escalating death rate from the Cape Town flu. Another article reminds military personnel to get their vaccination by the end of the deadline. There are articles detailing the enlisted, NCO, and officer of the month along with an inside view of the tactical operations center she is associated with. The Master Sergeant list is also published, and her name is listed along with the other promotees.
“Not bad, two months in a row,” she says under her breath, remembering her picture in the paper last month as NCO of the month.
Finishing her meal, Lynn steps back out into the morning sun and walks through the climbing heat to work. The only thing different about this day from the previous three hundred and some odd ones is the amount of soldiers walking about, or lack thereof. While not a crowd, there is usually a fair number of soldiers about on various errands; but today, there are very few to be seen. Lynn sees a couple here and there rushing about some business or another, well, hurrying being a relevant term as the intensity of the sun and heat prevents too much rushing about. Walking into her building, actually a large tent structure, she notices this absence-of-people trend continuing.
Many desks are situated in neat columns and rows in a large open space to one side of the building, and she heads over to her desk. Many of the stations remain unoccupied. She settles in and fires up her computer starting her day. With the screen coming to life and logging in, Lynn opens up her email. She doesn’t see much except a brigade-wide reminder to get flu shots. A few others are reminders of meetings and miscellaneous items to take care. As she opens up her third email, her commander, Captain Braser, walks into the open area and heads immediately for Lynn’s desk. Lynn stands at attention as Captain Braser approaches.
“Sergeant Connell, I’m going to need you to cover until 21:00. There has been a number of sick calls this morning,” Braser says.
“Yes, ma’am,” Lynn replies. Captain Braser then turns and walks away.
There goes the gym, Lynn thinks, sitting once again. I really hate this place. Well, maybe it will make the day go faster. I hope Jack is still up when I get back.
She attempts to log onto her personal email account to send him a message telling him she’ll be working late but gets a notice stipulating that the site has been temporarily blocked and to contact her system administrator. She tries sending one from her work email, but it comes back as undeliverable.
Great, she thinks and dives back into work, checking with those under her command to make sure that they will be getting or have received their flu shots, along with a myriad of other tasks.
Just before noon, an email comes in extending the time to get the Cape Town flu shots for an additional twenty-four hours.
Good, I’ll just get it tomorrow, she thinks, relieved in some way.
Lynn spends the rest of the day and her shift handling inquiries, sorting through messes that a redeployment can bring about, and ensuring those under her are doing their jobs. Shutting down her workstation at 21:00, she retraces her route back to the dining facility for dinner and then to the barracks. She fires up her laptop, hoping Jack is still on but can’t get connected to the Internet.
Yep, it’s definitely been one of those days, she thinks, shutting it back down and settling back on her bunk with her book. I hope it’s up in the morning.
The sun has yet to make its daily appearance, but the eastern sky has started to lighten as Lynn wakes up early the next morning and heads over to the gym. The night chill still hangs in the air as she sleepily makes her way amongst the darkened buildings under the outside lights on the building entrances and along the avenues.
“I need six miles today,” Lynn mumbles, thinking about the marathon that she is planning when she returns to the States and the missed run yesterday. Stepping on the treadmill, she thinks about how nice it will be to sleep in when she gets back, and to see Jack.
And drive my Jeep, she thinks, watching the first mile pass by.
With six miles and a shower under her belt, Lynn is once again back at the barracks and frustrated that the Internet is still down. With nothing much to do in the barracks, she decides to head into work early. After she finishes dressing, she heads out into the desert as the sun crests the eastern horizon over the gulf just a few miles away. With another omelet filling her up, she walks into work noticing again the lack of personnel around.
It’s early yet though, she thinks, logging onto her workstation.
There are several enlisted and NCO’s in the room with her and they are clustered around a nearby desk shooting the shit. Close enough that she can overhear some of their conversation as she starts through her email.
“Did you hear that Sergeant Vosel was attacked by Private Edwich last night?” one voice from the group says.
“I heard he killed him,” a second voice says.
“I’ve heard of several attacks over in zone two and that some of the medics were attacked,” says yet a third voice.
“I have a friend over in an MP squad that says they had to round up several people who were just running around attacking others at random. I don’t know if I believe it or not, he’s full of shit sometimes,” one of the voices speaks out.
“And what’s up with all of these sick calls?” the first voice asks. “I don’t want to cover yet again.”
“I’ve actually heard some of those on sick call have died.”
The conversation doesn’t stop, but the volume dies to the point where Lynn can only hear an occasional murmur and wonders if she is going to have to cover another shift.
Not that it matters much really now. There’s not much else to do with the Internet down, she thinks, concentrating and focusing once again on the redeployment.
After responding to a few more messages, and making sure everyone is doing what they should be doing and where they should be, Lynn stands, stretches, and heads outside for a break. There has been no sign of Captain Braser, and she is quite thankful for that. The assault of heat greets her as she steps into the bright mid-morning sun. Lynn sees her friend standing by the corner of the building having a smoke and walks over.
“Sergeant Connell,” he says and nods.
He inhales on the cigarette between his fingers as Lynn steps up in front of him. Dressed in the same digital uniform with Sergeant First Class Stripes on the front and standing a good six inches taller than her, Lynn has to tilt her head up slightly to look him in the eyes.
“Sergeant Drescoll,” she says, noticing the bags under his slightly bloodshot brown eyes. “Stay up late?”
“Yeah. I had to cover an additional shift last night,” Drescoll says taking the cigarette from his mouth and exhales, the smoke drifting away.
“Me too. It looks like more of the same tonight, although, I haven’t seen the captain yet,” Lynn comments.
“God, I hope not. I’m exhausted from last night and just want to sleep,” Sergeant Drescoll responds. “I heard rumors over at the office of some attacks last night. I mean, our own people attacking each other.”
“I just heard the same thing inside,” Lynn says, glancing back toward the building entrance.
“I also heard they’re going to start quarantining those who report to sick call with the flu. I hope that’s not the case. There are enough out as it is,” Drescoll says. Lynn merely nods, wondering how long they’re going to be short staffed and how far behind this is going to put the redeployment.
“You know,” Drescoll says, stubbing out his smoke, “I also heard there are a lot of people dying from this shit.”
“Well, that’s already in the news,” Lynn replies, remembering the news articles she read and commented on with Jack.
“No! I mean from the vaccinations,” Sergeant Drescoll says with emphasis. “Did you get yours yet?”
“No, I was planning to get it after lunch or work,” Lynn answers.
“Hmm, I’d wait as long as I could if I were you. Well, back to the grind,” he says crushing his cigarette butt in the ash can and starts off across the sandy strip toward his building.
“See ya later,” Lynn says heading back to her building.
With her hand on the door handle, its heat radiating into her palm, she hears a shout from behind her. Turning to look over her shoulder, she sees Sergeant Drescoll standing mid-way between buildings looking at her.
“What?” she shouts back.
“Lunch?” he calls.
“Sure,” Lynn answers, opening the door and steps into the darker and cooler building, wondering if there is anything to what Drescoll said.
The same rumor from two different sources, but rumors are rumors and she has tried to stay away from those during her fourteen-year career, thus far being mostly successful. Even so, Drescoll works in Intel so may have more of a clue than others, and, he isn’t one to pass on rumors or talk just for the sake of hearing himself. Shrugging it off, but keeping that in a small part of her mind, she settles into her desk to finish some paperwork before lunch. The others inside have also settled into their seats working on their assigned tasks.
Finishing their lunch together, Lynn and Drescoll step out from the dining facility with the sun hammering down. The heat instantly bakes them and causes a sheen of sweat to quickly appear on their foreheads. A loudspeaker mounted on a pole close to them squeals, indicating a coming announcement.
“Attention, all personnel. The Cape Town Flu vaccinations are temporarily suspended at this time. Repeat. All Cape Town flu vaccinations are suspended at this time.”
“I guess that takes care of that,” Lynn says after the echo of the blasting loudspeaker silences.
“I guess so,” Drescoll says. “I’m glad I waited.”
“Me too,” Lynn responds. They part company with each heading back toward their respective areas.
On her way, Lynn wonders again at the validity of the rumors. The military loves their shots, so they wouldn’t cancel a vaccination unless there was something very wrong.
What if people were actually getting sicker from the shot? How long until people are back? I sure hope this doesn’t delay my return home, she thinks, arriving back at the office. Oh my God, I hope Jack didn’t get one. What am I thinking? Of course, he didn’t. He wouldn’t even go to the doctor for his knee.
Back at her desk, there is an email from brigade stating that the flu vaccinations are suspended verifying the loudspeaker announcement. With the other personnel out sick, there is actually quite a bit to do, and the day passes by quickly. There has been no sign of Captain Braser, and most of the others in the office left at 16:00. At 17:00, Lynn logs off her workstation and heads out of the now almost empty building. An odd feeling settles over her.
This building has never been this empty, she thinks, heading out into the late afternoon after making sure there is coverage through the night for the operations center.
The suffocating heat still permeates the outdoors, but is cooling somewhat as Lynn finishes her dinner and heads back to the barracks.
I hope the Internet is up, she thinks, approaching the door to her convex barracks. Only a couple of weeks and I am outta here.
As she opens the rear door to the barracks, the coolness of the interior rushes out, chilling her and causing goose bumps to run up her arm. The large interior is broken up by bunk beds, with wall lockers breaking the area up into smaller, more private cubicles.
Her ‘roommate’s’ bunk is just inside the door to the left, sharing the private space with her own bunk against the left hand corner. Her roommate is lying on her lower bunk. The door begins to close and the loudspeaker squeals once again. Knowing retreat has already sounded, Lynn turns to hold the door open and listens.
“Attention all personnel. Anyone experiencing flu symptoms is to report immediately to zone two. Repeat. Anyone experiencing flu symptoms is ordered to report to zone two. If you notice anyone with flu symptoms, you are to notify security immediately. That is all.”
Wow! This is getting serious, Lynn thinks, heading to her corner and grabbing her laptop out of her footlocker.
Finding that there is still not an Internet connection, and suspecting it is purposely being blocked, she reaches for her book. A chill runs up her spine accompanied by a sad and lonely feeling. Tomorrow is her day off, and this was supposed to be one of the times when she and Jack could talk longer.
I hope he’s okay, she thinks, settling onto her lower bunk and opening her book.
She reads until the lights go out at 20:00 and falls asleep in her fatigues with her boots by the side of her bunk.
A groaning noise awakens her in the middle of the night. It seems as if it is coming from the bunk next to her; her roommate’s bunk. Groggily, Lynn opens her eyes to a mostly dark barracks lit only by exit lights at either end of the building. Accustomed to the various sounds of people sleeping in close proximity, she rolls over and closes her eyes attempting to get back to sleep. The moaning penetrates her sleepy mind once again.
I can’t wait to get out of this place and have some privacy, she thinks, the sleepiness slowly vanishing.
Not wanting to get up, but remembering the loudspeaker announcement, she shucks off her blanket and sits up, rubbing her eyes in an attempt to banish the fatigue.
Swinging her legs over and setting her feet on the cool concrete floor, she reaches overhead to grab her flashlight. Turning the light on, but cupped in her hand, letting only a little light shine through her fingers, she stands and quietly walks over to where her roommate is.
“Are you okay?” she asks, letting a small ray of light illuminate her roommate’s face.
Although there’s only a small amount of light, Lynn clearly sees her roommate lying in the bunk with her blanket pulled up to her chin, her fingers gripping the blanket edges as if it might fly away. Only her face peeks out from under it. The sight of her roommate’s face sends a chill crawling, well, not crawling but racing, up Lynn’s spine. Peeking up from her sweat-soaked pillow, her roommate’s eyes squint against the light. They are swollen, and her face is ashen. Beads of sweat form on her forehead and run down her temples and cheeks. Drool has formed at the corner of her mouth ready to join its compadres on the journey down her face.
“I’m fine,” her roommate half breathes and moans, attempting normal speech.
“You have to go to zone two. I’ll help you,” Lynn says, reaching a hand out to her.
“I said, I’m fine,” her roommate says, shrinking farther back into the pillow.
Lynn stands, walks back to her bunk, sits on the edge, and slips her boots on by the light of the flashlight placed next to her. Lacing up her boots and donning her fatigue top, she picks up her light and, shielding it once more, passes by her roommate’s bunk to head out of the back door.
“Where are you going?” a whisper calls out from the bunk.
“Out,” she responds and opens the door into the night.
Her plan is to locate an MP on the way to her office, or, failing that, call from there. Not wanting to walk all of the way to the security shop or a gate, this will be the quickest way to notify security that her roommate is exhibiting flu-like symptoms. Plus, there is the fact of not wanting to be in a close proximity to someone with a reported highly-contagious sickness. Stepping out into the chill of the night air and into a circle of brightness cast by the light over the doorway, she starts toward her work building and is swallowed up immediately by the dark. The stars overhead portray a clear brilliance that only the desert can bring. The ground is lit at intervals by rings of illumination formed by the camp lights with the areas in between an inky black.
Strolling from one ring of lights to another, she rounds the corner of one building and starts up a central avenue lit at intervals by the pole-mounted lights. Three steps later, along the sandy avenue, a shriek shatters the stillness. It comes from far away only to be followed a second later by another one from the same area. Coming to a stop, Lynn listens and unconsciously moves closer to the side of the avenue by a building. The chatter of rifle fire erupts from the general area of where the shrieks occurred.
What the fuck is going on? Lynn thinks, suddenly aware she is unarmed and wishing for her M-16. Are we under attack? Why hasn’t the alarm sounded?
Another shriek calls from across the camp, followed by a much louder one close by. Damn, that sounded like it came from just up ahead, she thinks, starting cautiously up the avenue again.
What the hell is that?
Two figures emerge into the avenue a few buildings ahead and begin running in her direction, passing in and out of the circles of light. With the reminder that gunshots were fired and people may be rather trigger happy, she shrinks out of the beam of illumination she is standing in. With an ear-piercing shriek, the two ahead alter their course and race directly at her.
Crap, they saw me, she thinks, looking to the sides and around her for some place to go just in case.
A building away, with the fatigue-clad figures racing toward her, another figure emerges into the area and skids to a halt.
“Hey, you two! Where are you going?” the new figure calls out to the two running ones just ahead of him.
The two adjust their course in mid-stride angling toward the newcomer. Standing in the shadows, Lynn watches the scene unfold. The two running figures show no signs of slowing up as they quickly close the distance.
“Hey, what are yo—” he calls out, but doesn’t finish as, with a combined shriek, one launches into the air and the two plow into him.
The soldier only has time to raise his hands before he is catapulted backwards. His feet leave the ground, and he slams onto his back with the two on top. Dust billows out behind him from the impact with the ground. A struggle ensues, with more dust rising into the air around them, but it is short-lived. With a scream, a human one this time, the lone figure beneath the two attackers becomes still. On their knees, leaning over the stricken soldier, the two begin tearing into him with their teeth, gnashing like dogs and tearing off chunks of flesh. One raises his head and shrieks into the night sky, blood painting its lower face.
Lynn’s initial reaction is to run to the soldier’s aid, but it is over so quickly that she never makes it two steps. Another shriek sounds in the darkness close behind her.
Okay, that’s enough for me, Lynn thinks and heads off across the road using the shadows for concealment.
Settling between buildings and feeling somewhat protected in the dark, Lynn hunches down against one of the buildings.
What the fuck was that and what the hell is going on here? she thinks, remembering the rumors floating through her office and from her friend. That could have been me, and I would have been oblivious until it was too late. More thoughts come at lightning speed, filling her mind as time progresses slowly in the physical world. She doesn’t know at this particular time whom she can trust.
Is this an isolated event?
In what almost seems to be an answer, the sounds of more shrieks and gunfire in the distance reach her in the darkness, along with the closer sounds of growling and the wet sounds of flesh being rent and eaten from the avenue in front.
Well, I can’t stay here, that’s for sure, she thinks, rising slowly to her feet. Calling security from the phone still sounds like a good idea, although for different reasons now. Stay quiet and in the dark and trust no one. Finding a weapon might not be a bad idea.
Lynn turns toward the back of the building and silently creeps along it. The sounds in front grow dimmer as she nears the back corner. Another smaller avenue appears in front of her running between a row of buildings on her side and another across the way. With only smaller circles of light appearing by entrance doors, the illumination is not as prevalent as in front so the center of this smaller avenue is nearly dark. Kneeling by the corner, Lynn sees the back of the operations center a short distance down the row of buildings. She heads into the middle of the avenue, which provides the darkest route. Knowing she won’t be able to see whatever those things were that attacked, she keeps vigilant for any sounds.
What am I thinking? Those were soldiers and I am thinking of them as things, she thinks, stepping lightly along the sand path. No, those weren’t soldiers, at least, not rational ones. Rational people don’t attack one another and eat them.
Keeping to the dark, she hears only distant shots, shrieks, and the occasional generator running as she arrives at the operations center. Pausing at a darkened corner of the building, she listens. Lights illuminate several of the windows along the side.
Well, someone was here after I left, she thinks, pondering her best approach. The door is lit by a light above. I could break the light I suppose, she thinks, suddenly becoming very reluctant to expose herself.
Looking at the windows along the side of the building, she realizes they are too high to look in, or to climb in for that matter.
I’ll just try the door quickly.
Lynn rises from her crouched position. Sliding along the back of the building, she approaches the demarcation of light and shadow listening once again for sounds. Taking a deep breath, she steps into the light and walks briskly to the door. Grasping the handle, she pulls it toward her. The steel door gives a little before stopping with a metallic clunk indicating it is locked from within.
She is just about to turn and head back into the shadows when a voice calls from within, “Who’s there?”
“Sergeant Connell,” Lynn whispers loudly, not wanting her voice to carry.
“Who?” the voice asks again.
“Just open the fucking door!” she says firmly and louder this time.
There is a short pause and the door swings outward. She darts through as soon as there is enough of an opening.
“With a response like that, there’s only one person it could be,” a specialist says once she is in, and the door closes behind her with a metallic click.
The door opens into the large room where her desk is located, lit by only a half section of lights overhead. Four other soldiers are in the room clustered together around the middle, their eyes wide and heads pivoting in every direction. She knows the specialist behind her from her previous position in the operations center but doesn’t recognize anyone else.
“Specialist Taylor, is there anyone else here?” she asks as she steps up to the group in the middle.
“No, sergeant,” he answers.
“Anyone have any idea of what’s going on?” she asks, looking at each one.
“I think they’re killing people out there,” one private says, looking back over her shoulder toward the front of the building.
“Easy, soldier. We don’t know that,” Lynn says, feeling a little more relaxed in the familiar environment of her office and being in command.
Picking up the handset from a phone on the metal desk in front of her, Lynn dials the number for the security shop. She lets it ring for a few times before returning the handset to its cradle. She then tries the gate, but no one answers. Several more calls to other locations reveal the same. Turning to Taylor, she asks, “Has anyone tried calling in?”
“No, sergeant,” he responds. “It’s the same with other bases as well. No one’s home.”
“Is the front door locked?” Lynn asks.
“Yes, Sergeant Connell,” another specialist answers. A shriek sounds outside from in front of the building. All heads turn that direction.
“Anyone bring a weapon?” Lynn asks. Their heads swing back toward her, and they all shake them answering no. “Great! Specialist Taylor, take someone with you and gather all of the emergency flashlights. And don’t make any noise.”
Nodding to the other specialist and private, Lynn says, “You two, I saw lights on through the windows outside. Go turn them off and make sure the windows are locked. I want this building secure.”
They both give a “Yes, sergeant” and head off. Lynn sits at the desk and ponders over this bizarre day. Thoughts and ideas run a blitzkrieg through her head. She tries the security shop again but gets no response as a faint volley of gunfire sounds outside.
“Sounds like that’s coming from zone two,” she says softly.
“I think so, sergeant,” the private remaining with her says.
“Okay, I’m not sure what’s going on here, but we’re treating this as an attack and going on lockdown. No one goes in or out of the TOC unless they identify themselves and show their ID. Clear?” Lynn says, once the two groups gather, having completed their assignments.
“Yes, sergeant,” they respond in unison.
“Private, you man the phones,” Lynn orders one of the privates. “Specialist, you get on the phone and try to raise anyone, starting with the security shop.” Both respond with a “Yes, sergeant” and seat themselves at adjoining desks.
She turns to the other three to give them assignments when a terrific knocking comes from the front door. The specialist pauses in mid-dial and all eyes turn toward the sound.
“Specialist Taylor, you’re with me. The rest of you stay alert,” she says, starting toward the pounding at the door.
She walks to the locked, steel door, arriving just as the hammering resumes. She stands in front of it with Taylor off to one side.
“Identify yourself,” she calls.
“Sergeant Connell? It’s Drescoll,” a voice responds from the other side. “Hurry, they’re right on my ass.”
Lynn bumps her hip against the latch bar running horizontally across the door, cracking it slightly, but keeping her hand on the bar, ready to close it again quickly.
“I need to see your ID,” she says once the door opens and a thin stream of light pours in from the lights outside.
However, as soon as the door cracks open, she loses her grip. It flies open as Drescoll pulls on it and darts into the entrance running past Lynn and into Taylor knocking them both off balance.
“Close it, hurry, close it!” Drescoll says breathlessly as soon as he is inside.
Lynn grabs the door and begins to pull it closed. The picture outside imprints itself in her mind like a snapshot. The wide sandy avenue, the tan, convex buildings across the way with their entrances lit by lights over the doors, spreading circles of illumination on the ground, the avenue itself lit by pole-mounted lights. She hears the faint sound of generators and the sight of approximately ten people running directly for her from across the way freezes in her mind, each member of the group frozen in a different part of their stride.
The picture is cut off by the closing door and disappears entirely with a click. There was a pause as the door was closing during which she contemplated holding it open for them, but given what she has seen and the fact that she issued a lockdown order, they need to ID everyone coming into the operations center. Followed closely by the sound of the door shutting comes several loud shrieks from those running toward it as if frustrated. That is accompanied by the sound of many feet striking the ground, which grows rapidly louder by the second.
“Holy shit that was close. Thanks,” Drescoll says between gasps of breath.
He is bent over in the semi-darkness of the entrance with his hands on his knees. A loud thud sounds as something slams against the door in front of them startling the three of them. Something else slams against the door right on the heels of the first.
“Identify yourself,” Lynn calls out and is only to be met by a loud shriek and another large slam against the door.
“Or don’t,” she says more quietly.
“I think they just did,” Drescoll says just as quietly, having caught his breath and standing upright.
“Specialist Taylor, remain here, but don’t open the door and stay quiet. I’m going to send one of the privates up with you,” Lynn says, turning from the door and starting back to the open area with Drescoll on her heels.
“Private, go up with Specialist Taylor at the front door and keep watch,” she says once she returns to the central open room.
Turning to Drescoll, who is leaning against one of the desks, Lynn asks, “So, what the hell was that about?”
“Fuck, I don’t know exactly,” Drescoll answers, getting a rather faraway look in his eyes. “I was in the Intel shop when about twenty people suddenly stormed into the building. They immediately began attacking everyone, jumping on them and literally tearing them apart. I tried to help, but they were overwhelming and it became apparent very quickly there wasn’t anything I could do. Everyone in the shop was down just that quickly. I headed out the back, but some of them apparently saw me and chased me all of the way here.”
The faraway look vanishes, and he focuses on Lynn staring intensely into her eyes. “They were our own people, Lynn,” Drescoll adds, his shock apparent by the use of her first name.
Releasing his gaze and staring at the floor, he goes on, “I recognized some of them. Only, they weren’t really the same. They were just, well…crazed and out of control. All they did was shriek and howl as they tore everyone apart. And, they were pale and blotchy. Christ, it was a mess in there. Thanks again for opening the door,” he finishes, looking at her once again with the slamming and shrieks almost continuous outside.
“No worries,” Lynn says and looks at the others in the room. They are alternating their wide-eyed stares between her and Drescoll. “Continue your calling,” she says to the specialist, and he turns back to the phone in front of him, the mesmerization broken.
“Okay, we’re going to continue to man the TOC and try to get contact. Any questions?” Lynn adds.
The privates and specialist answer with a “No, sergeant.”
Lynn turns to Sergeant Drescoll, “I want to get a look outside. Do you mind waiting here and overseeing this for a bit?” she asks, waving her arm to indicate the room.
“Not a prob,” Drescoll responds.
Lynn walks to where Taylor and the private are standing by the front door. The shrieks have grown less frequent, but the sounds and reverberations of something slamming hard into the building are no longer confined to the door. There are things slamming against the building walls as well. Between the howls and pounding, a continuous growling seeps into the building from outside. The sporadic gunfire heard in the distance earlier is now either non-existent or overshadowed by the closer sounds.
“I’m heading in the office for a look outside. Have you heard anything different than, well, this?” she asks, indicating the obvious noises with a nod of her head, barely visible in the gray darkness.
“No, sergeant,” Taylor responds, and Lynn heads into an office on her right.
In the office, the window is at shoulder height and looks out to the front of the building. She steps up to it and gazes out over the wide avenue. The building is raised so she is significantly higher than the ground outside. Looking left and right, the avenue is clear with the exception of about twenty people crowded in front of the TOC. The pack consists mostly of fatigue-clad soldiers, but mixed in are people in shorts and t-shirts. A couple are darker skinned and dressed in jeans and button-down short-sleeve shirts. They are milling about but definitely focused on the building she is in. A few take short runs and slam into the sides or up the steps and into the front door with their shoulders. Some attempt to run and jump at the window on the other side of the door, but it and its small ledge are too high for them to reach.
As she continues to look at the crowd, Lynn notices one detail prevalent in all of them by the light streaming down. That is the paleness of their skin. It appears to be pale gray with both small and large darker gray blotches. Several seem to have blood on their faces and hands, and their clothing is soaked in dried or drying blood. A very large chill crawls up her spine and a surreal sense steels over her.
Oh my fucking God, are those freakin’ zombies? she thinks, shaking her head and not believing what she is seeing outside. No, they can’t be.
A memory passes through her mind as she recalls the many zombie discussions she and Jack had in the past. They talked about what they would do in the event of a zombie invasion and discussed the various zombie books they had read.
The trip down memory lane is broken when one in the crowd notices her in the window and shrieks. She looks down at the figure leaning toward her with its mouth open. The others pause in whatever activity they were doing and focus on her, running toward her window. The one who discovered her runs at her, launches itself up, and slams into the side of the building. She notes all of them have focused on her and that a distraction could possibly work in the event they need to hastily exit. The shrieks and pounding increase in intensity with their having discovered that someone is definitely inside. Lynn backs away from the window and out of the office.
“You holler if anyone or anything breaches the front of the building. Watch out for the windows,” she says, passing by Taylor and the private once more.
“Will do, sergeant,” Taylor responds.
In the open area once again, she signals Sergeant Drescoll to her rather than joining the small group. She relates everything she saw, although not her thoughts. Their voices don’t carry past their position.
“What the fuck is going on?” he asks after hearing her report.
“I have no idea,” she replies. “We need to keep away from the windows and maintain silence though. We’ll just hole up here and see what the morning brings. In the meantime, we’ll stay on the phones.”
Drescoll nods in agreement. “What about the lights?”
“We’ll turn on a couple to indicate to anyone outside, well, the ones that haven’t gone crazy, that the TOC is manned,” she answers. He nods and Lynn steps over to the others and informs them of the plan. Next, she heads to the front to notify Taylor and the private.
The remainder of the evening is spent with little change in their situation. There is no response from any of the telephone calls outbound and none of the lines ring with anyone calling in. The sounds outside become more sporadic with the exception of the constant muted growling. The only change occurs a little after 02:00 when the occasional pounding and growling begins to occur along the side of the building under the windows where their lights are shining outside. After turning the lights out, submersing them in almost total darkness, the sounds along the side eventually transition to the back door. With everyone keyed up and facing a very confusing situation, there is no sleep to be had.
Little is said during the rest of the night. Lynn ponders whether this is an isolated incident, but the fact that they cannot raise anyone inside the camp or any of the other bases in country, leads her to believe this may be on a much larger scale. Calls to other bases within the States or Europe also go unanswered.
Could this be happening worldwide? she thinks, staring through the window from her position near the center of the room at the star-speckled sky. I hope Jack is okay. Her heart both tightens and warms at the thought of him.
With the coming dawn, the sky not yet lighting, but promising it is near, something happens that draws everyone’s attention. Or really, it is more like the lack of something happening that draws their attention. The sounds outside suddenly, and without warning, cease. Complete silence ensues. In the dark gray of the building, Lynn walks into the front office once again and peers out of the window, careful not to draw any attention. The buildings, avenue, and lights remain the same, but there is no one to be seen. To the east, she barely makes out the sky beginning to light up. She sees a form on the ground under one of the lights far down the avenue to her left.
That must be the guy who was attacked by those first two, she thinks and withdraws from the window.
“You two with me,” she says to Taylor and the private as she passes them and proceeds back to the other group members. Drawing the group together in the center of the room, she notifies them of the situation out front.
“When it gets fully light, you two will continue to man the TOC,” she says, pointing to the specialist and one of the privates. “The rest of us will draw weapons and head over to the security shop. I’m not sure what happened, so we need to stay together and alert. This facility will remain on lockdown and you ID anyone trying to come in. No ID, no entrance. Any questions?”
Drescoll shakes his head and the others respond with, “No, Sergeant Connell.”
The sun crests the horizon transitioning from night to day. The transition in the desert comes quickly. One moment night holds sway, and the next, the land stands bathed in daylight. After checking through the office window once more and verifying that nothing is moving outside, Lynn opens the front door and steps out into the morning light, squinting against the sudden change in brightness. The chill of the night quickly turns into the heat of the day but is moderately comfortable at the moment. With Sergeant Drescoll and Specialist Taylor at each shoulder and slightly behind her, and the two Privates behind them, she starts through the sand toward the armory to draw their weapons.
On the way, they pass by the form in the avenue. It is indeed a soldier, or rather, what was once one. A field cap lies on the ground by its head. The gender is unidentifiable. The tissue on the face is completely removed, leaving only the facial bone structure staring up at the blue sky lighting up with the rising sun. The uniform is shredded and almost completely removed from the body. The only piece remaining is the belt and a small section of the pants just below it. That piece and the shreds of uniform lying on the ground are covered in dried blood. The rest of the body appears to have been almost completely eaten with the bones only having small pieces of sinew and flesh. Blood is soaked into the sand around the body, which is churned up denoting a frenzy of activity. One lung and chunks of internal organs are the only things remaining within the torso and chest cavity.
One of the privates leans over and throws up the little in his stomach, dry heaving once everything has been expelled but unable to stop. Lynn looks over at Taylor, who guides the private down to the avenue removing him from the proximity of the body. Lynn reaches down and removes one of the dog tags sticking one in her pocket and leaving one with the body.
“Okay, let’s move on,” she says.
The only sounds in the area are of generator motors running both near and far. The usual morning activity of people heading off on assignments and errands are non-existent. A little farther away from the TOC and the body of the soldier in the road, a figure steps out from behind a building ahead and steps into the roadway. The small group freezes in place, ready for anything that may come. Stopping in the road, the figure ahead looks anxiously to the left and right before sighting the group. Appearing startled by the sight of her group of five, the figure walks warily toward them, tensed and ready to run. Lynn turns her head over her shoulder and tells everyone to remain in place. As the figure draws near, Lynn observes the wariness and tension from the fatigue-clad soldier.
“Identify yourself,” Lynn calls out once the soldier closes in to where they can hear without her broadcasting their location.
The tension visibly leaves the soldier as she replies back, “Corporal Horace. You’re the first ones I’ve seen today, sergeant,” Horace adds as she steps up to the group.
She then relates her story of the evening, detailing how she headed to the latrine in the middle of the night and was chased repeatedly until taking refuge in one of the buildings. She was over by zone two and listened all night to the shrieks, howls, and apparent running gunfights with the sounds of the gunfire dying around 02:00. Watching from the windows of her building, she saw several soldiers attacked and taken down.
Heading over to the camp armory, the group encounters more bodies of soldiers and civilian contractors lying in the sand in various positions, but looking like the first body they encountered to some degree or another; bodies stripped mostly to the bone.
“What in the world could or would do this?” Taylor asks quietly without really expecting an answer as they pass two more bodies lying in the warming desert sun.
As with the first soldier she encountered, Lynn removes a dog tag from each one, adding them to the growing number in her pocket.
“I don’t know, but we’re going to have to assume the camp has been overrun at this point,” Lynn replies, noting the very distinct lack of people or the noises normally associated with a large group of people assembled in one place.
Stepping around the corner of a building and onto the roadway leading to the armory, Lynn sees a larger group standing in front of the armory a short distance ahead. She signals the others with her to hold up, not knowing if the group ahead is friendly or not, and draws to a halt as well.
“I think we should head between the buildings,” she says, pointing back in the direction they came and a pathway, “until we can get closer and find out their disposition.”
Retracing their steps and still unseen by the larger group, they turn left and walk down the pathway keeping the buildings between them and the other group. As they draw closer, voices begin to penetrate the mostly silent area. They squat behind the building directly across from where the other group is gathered.
“What do you think, Sergeant Connell?” Drescoll asks quietly as they gather in a circle.
“I don’t recall hearing any of those affected ones speaking, and they’re not attacking each other, so I think we’re going to have to assume it’s okay to go out there,” she says, squatting in the shadow of the building. “I’ll go out and make contact. The rest of you stay here. Sergeant Drescoll, keep an eye on what happens. If it goes bad, get out of here. If we become separated, the rally point will be the TOC. Everyone clear?”
“You got it,” Drescoll responds. The rest of the small group around her answer with a quiet “Yes, sergeant.”
Lynn stands and brushes some not-so-imaginary sand from her fatigues. This is more from an anticipatory action and readying herself to step into an unknown. She then steps around the corner heading toward the front of the building, watching the group ahead for any reaction. There are about twenty soldiers gathered in front of the armory in a semi-circle centering their attention on another solider. For the most part, their backs are to her and her approach.
Lynn walks out from the shadow of the building and into the bright morning sun that is beating down upon this barren part of the world. Stopping momentarily to let her eyes adjust, she sees one of the soldiers closer to the central figure as he turns in her direction and notices her. He immediately turns back toward the central figure and starts speaking, pointing in her direction, the exact words not quite reaching her ears. All eyes turn on her as one. The open end of the semi-circle reorients so that it is now facing her.
“Approach and identify yourself,” the central figure states.
“Sergeant Connell,” Lynn responds, feeling relieved and some of the tension inside her releases.
She walks toward the group. As she approaches, she notices that the group is a mix of enlisted personnel and NCOs. She recognizes the short, slightly overweight central figure as Major Bannerman. Walking across the roadway, she steps up to him and salutes.
“I have another small group with me, sir,” she says as Major Bannerman returns her salute and she motions them out.
As her small group walks out from their location and into the roadway, Major Bannerman says, “We were just going to draw weapons and gear and head over to the TOC.”
“I just came from there, sir. We haven’t been able to make contact with anyone else on base nor with anyone on the outside. We haven’t encountered anyone else this morning with the exception of Corporal Horace here. We did find lots of bodies though.”
“We haven’t either, sergeant. We’ll form a temporary unit comprising of those with us until we can get in contact and help arrives. Sergeant Connell, you’re now my First Sergeant. Let’s arm up and head over to the TOC,” Bannerman says.
“Yes, sir,” Lynn responds. “Sergeant Drescoll, draw your weapon, then take seven with you who can drive and bring eight Humvees back. The rest of you will draw your weapons. Then, we’ll start bringing ammo out and stack it in front.”
The handles on the double steel doors leading into the large tan armory building are warm to the touch as Lynn pulls the door open. Cool air from the dimmed interior rushes out and brushes against her. The concrete floor of the small entrance room is lit only by the light streaming in from the now open door. Stepping into the room, Lynn finds the light switch and turns on the bank of lights. The fluorescent lights hanging from the false ceiling of the convex building come to life, flickering momentarily before flooding the room. To the immediate left and right of the entrance, there are offices with glass panels set into the walls and their doors are open. A short distance on the other side of the room, another small room sits behind a wire enclosure. Next to it, another set of double steel doors lead into the back of the building.
“Private, check those doors,” Lynn says, pointing at the other steel doors as others enter into the room. “I’ll see if I can find the checkout sheet.”
Stepping to a door leading into the caged area, Lynn tests it. Surprisingly, she finds it unlocked and opens it. “The doors are locked, Sergeant Connell,” the private checking the armory doors says. Lynn steps into the caged room.
Rummaging through the small area, she finds several sets of keys. Pocketing those, she then finds a clipboard and several sheets of paper. Standing close to the wire and addressing the group within the entrance room, she says, “Okay, listen up. When you draw your weapon and gear, I want your name, unit, serial number, and the serial number of your weapon on the first sheet. When we start bringing the ammo out, I want quantity and type on the second sheet. We’ll enter in groups of five. Is that clear?”
A chorus of “Yes, first sergeant” echoes in the room. With clipboard in hand, Lynn moves toward the steel doors leading into the armory proper. Testing various keys, she eventually finds the right one and unlocks the doors. Swinging them outward and bracing them open, she looks inside. The large room runs the remaining length of the building, but is shrouded in darkness, lit only to a depth of the first fifteen feet. A bank of light switches sits against the wall to her left.
“You five, in with me,” she says to the ones behind her and reaches over to the switches, flicking them upward.
The sound of relays closing echoes in the room from front to back. The lights come on in a sequential fashion, ‘chunk, chunk, chunk, chunk’, spreading light into the room in stages as banks of large, hanging lights come on inside the warehouse.
A loud shriek sounds to her immediate right. Whipping her head toward it, she catches something large slam into one of the soldiers who accompanied her. The soldier is knocked from his feet with a cry of surprise, lands on the concrete floor, and slides to a stop just a few feet in front of her. Another figure in fatigues is on top clawing and biting into him. A wet ripping sound resonates across the vast interior followed by the soldier’s screams. Droplets of blood splatter against the gray concrete floor beside the two writhing bodies. The four soldiers stand just inside the armory doors, paralyzed as the one that was swept from their midst continues to be ravaged on the concrete floor at their feet.
Without hesitation, Lynn drops the clipboard and launches herself at the soldier on top. Landing on its back, she wraps her right arm around its throat and continues her roll to the right, finishing on her back with the attacker on top in a chokehold. The thing on top of her snarls and struggles in an attempt to break her hold. Lynn wraps her legs around the assailant’s legs in order to subdue the creature thrashing on top of her.
“Calm down, soldier!” she yells into its ear and tightens her grip around its throat.
Time both slows and hastens as the thing on top of her continues to thrash. The central thought of subduing the soldier on top of her permeates her mind, but another thought enters and she is thankful for the daily workouts in the gym as the thing on top latches onto her right arm around its throat and pulls attempting to break her grip.
Damn, he’s strong, she thinks as she feels her choke hold weaken.
She brings her left hand up to her right arm to add strength to her grip and feels the hold tighten up once again. The being on top of her whips its head wildly about, but the adrenaline coursing through her adds strength and the thrashing becomes less pronounced until it stops completely, becoming a dead weight on her chest.
Lynn releases her grip and rolls the creature off and to the left. She gets to her knees and reaches over to the limp form now lying face down on the floor beside her, checking quickly for a pulse. Finding one, she scans the armory interior before crawling over to the injured soldier who is now sitting with his left hand to his cheek. Streams of blood run between his fingers and drip onto his fatigue shirt.
“You four, make sure he stays subdued. Let me know the instant he starts coming around,” she says startling the four out of their trance and points to the unconscious form on the ground.
“Here, let me see that,” she says to the bleeding soldier.
As he withdraws his hand, she sees a chunk of flesh has been taken out of his left cheek and is bleeding freely as facial wounds will. Lynn removes her fatigue shirt and t-shirt underneath pressing the t-shirt against his wound.
“Hold that tight,” she says, replacing her fatigue top.
The corporal turns his head and look into her eyes. His eyes are wide with fear and adrenaline. “Thanks, sergeant,” he says, pressing his hand to the t-shirt and holds it in place.
“No worries, corporal,” she replies and looks to the door, noticing heads poking into the room.
“Go find me some speed tape,” she says to a group peeking in. The heads disappear.
Lynn then sits with a heavy sigh and looks closer over the lit interior. Racks of weapons line the middle interior and walls. There are also crates stacked at intervals throughout the room. There is no sign of movement, and she glances back at the three enlisted men and one woman around the unconscious form on the floor. One of the men is holding the form’s arms at its back while another sits on its legs. Standing, Lynn takes a couple of steps over to assess.
“Roll him onto his back,” she says, wanting to get a look at him.
Releasing his hold on the arms, one of the soldiers rolls it face up. There is a unified gasp as the attacker is shown in the bright lights. Its skin is a pale ashen gray, mottled by darker gray patches both large and small with a patch of bright red blood splashed on the lips and skin around the mouth. Thinking she has killed the soldier, Lynn reaches out again to check for a pulse. The skin feels clammy and cool to the touch, almost as if it should be wet. Her fingers come up dry though as she verifies a rapid pulse from its neck.
“What happened to him?” one of the privates asks, gazing down with wide eyes and raised eyebrows at the still form.
“I don’t know,” she says, thinking it must have something to do with the vaccinations or the flu itself.
Perhaps that’s why they stopped the vaccinations, she thinks.
She hears steps behind her and turns her head over her shoulder to see another soldier approach with a roll of duct tape in his hand.
“I found some, first sergeant,” he says and hands it to her.
Rolling the thing on its back once more, they bind its hands and ankles.
“Get him outside,” she says as they finish up.
“Clear a path!” she yells to the group at the entrance and the room beyond.
Lynn follows behind as they carry the body, two grabbing under the arms and another at the feet. She hears several muted gasps as others see the body for the first time. They carry it outside.
“Set him down,” she says, pointing to a spot of deeper sand just away from the building. “And find something to shade him with.” Emerging from the shadow of the building, with the entire group in tow, they set the still unconscious body on the sand.
“What happened in there, Sergeant Connell?” Major Bannerman asks once they are outside in the bright sun and fierce heat.
The question falls on deaf ears as Lynn and the rest are staring at the figure and the immediate transformation it is going through. The exposed skin of the face begins to redden becoming like an instant sunburn. The thing’s eyes pop open and it begins to howl and shriek. It is thrashing wildly, its back arching up as though in extreme pain. The skin’s redness darkens even further, to the point where it seems like it should be smoking. The ear-piercing shrieks continue non-stop, all happening within seconds.
“Get it inside!” Lynn yells above the shrieks and takes a step toward it to help.
Before her second step, the wild arching subsides and it falls limply to the ground as the shrieking abruptly ends. She drops to her knees beside the limp form checking for a pulse but finds none. The skin is extremely warm and dry to her touch.
“He’s dead,” she says, looking back over her shoulder at the group and Major Bannerman. Standing, Lynn then answers Bannerman’s question and relates the events inside, giving more of an overview than a detailed description.
“Sir, may I speak?” she asks after finishing her description. Major Bannerman leads her away from the group.
“Sir, I think we may be dealing with some kind of reaction to either the vaccination or the flu itself. It, whatever it is, has caused them to become hostile and attack others. Apparently, the transformation makes them sensitive to light, or outside light at least,” she says, pulling several facts together.
“Considering everything, they seem to be active at night and we found this one in a darkened room along with its reaction to the outside light. I think we should deal with them as hostiles until we know better.”
“Good idea, sergeant,” Bannerman says, “We’ll draw weapons and hole up in the TOC until help arrives.”
“Sir, I’m not sure help is coming if this is associated with the vaccinations. The whole world was inoculated or at least exposed to the virus. And, I tried calling almost everyone back at Lewis along with several other installations. No one answered,” Lynn states.
“What’s your suggestion then, Sergeant Connell? How are we going to get out of here?” Bannerman asks.
“I suggest we arm up, gather water and rations, and hole up in the tower at the airfield. It will have telephones along with radios to contact any aircraft. Plus, it’s easily defendable. We have plenty of food and water here if things are truly a worst case scenario,” Lynn replies. “We can hold out here for five days and, if no help arrives, then we can load up vehicles with rations, fuel, and ammo and evaluate the best route and destination.”
“Very good, sergeant. That sounds good to me,” Bannerman says and turns back to the group.
Thoughts of their surreal situation form in Lynn’s mind. This may be similar to the very situations that Jack, her, and a few others discussed as wild, ‘what if’ scenarios. What would they do if a zombie invasion happened?
Is this really something global? she thinks. I hope Jack is okay. Will he actually come pick me up as we discussed? This is too weird to think about, but the tower is a logical place to go in any case.
Back at the group, who are mostly staring at the limp body lying in the sand, Major Bannerman addresses them and details the plan.
“What about leaving now, sir?” a voice asks from somewhere in the group.
“It’s a deathtrap here, sir,” another calls out.
“I think the best idea is to stay here until we get more info,” Bannerman says and turns to Lynn. “Sergeant Connell, see to the weapon dispersal.”
“Yes, sir. You four, with me,” Lynn says, pointing out four enlisted. “We’re going to clear the armory, and then it’s the same plan as before.”
After making sure the injured soldier is treated, Lynn and the four soldiers enter into the armory again. She gathers them at the armory doors.
“Wedge formation. We’ll draw weapons at the first rack and then proceed to clear the room. Heads on a swivel. No firing if your line of sight isn’t clear; use the butt of your weapon,” Lynn says.
She details positions for the others; two in front, with two on the sides, putting herself in the middle to help out on either side. “Everything clear?”
“Yes, first sergeant,” they answer and proceed inside.
The weapons inside stand in mute silence. The detail detects no movement as they move warily to the first rack of M-16s. The soldiers are tense, heads moving constantly. They draw weapons, and although expecting something, no sounds or attacks greet them on their journey through the room. All is silent. They clear the room and proceed back to the door.
Lynn has the detail keep watch as each group enters to get their weapons. She shoulders her weapon and picks up the clipboard, annotating each weapon as it is gathered. Once all weapons are drawn, she details Drescoll to get the Humvees and the other soldiers to carry ammo crates outside.
“Sir, I suggest we stop at the TOC and police up the Intel. We can then form into groups to police up other Intel, gather rations and medical supplies, and other personal gear in the barracks,” Lynn says after crates of ammunition, NVGs, and extra weapons are loaded into the vehicles once Sergeant Drescoll returns with them.
“Okay, sergeant, see to it,” Bannerman responds. Gathering the group around her, Lynn gives vehicle assignments, order of travel, and instructions to meet at the TOC.
“Be sure to look for stragglers. We still don’t know what we’re dealing with. Report on the radio any sign of movement with location and numbers,” she adds and everyone disperses to their assigned vehicles.
They arrive at the TOC without further incident. Exiting her vehicle, Lynn directs four Humvees to block the wide, sandy avenue in front and stand guard, positioning two in each direction down the road facing outward several buildings away. Then, she allocates a detail of soldiers led by Sergeant Drescoll and two Humvees to find and gather water and food, setting their return for two hours hence. Major Bannerman opts to leave with the detail party, leaving Lynn in charge of the TOC operations. The two Humvees head out, leaving a trail of dust in the still air behind them, the sound of their engines fading as they head away from the TOC.
Meeting up with the specialist and private she left at the TOC, Lynn assigns them and two additional soldiers to head inside and gather up the Intel. She then assigns Specialist Taylor, a communications specialist, to stay in one of the Humvees parked in front of the TOC to monitor the radios and keep in contact with the detail party. She also tells the remaining soldiers to stand watch around the TOC before heading down the road to one of the Humvee pairs to check on them.
Arriving at the Humvees with the heat of the day truly building up, she checks on the soldiers and talks with them for a few moments. Looking back toward the TOC, she notices several of the soldiers grouped around one of the Humvees and, oddly, Specialist Taylor standing away from the Humvee and his assignment with another small group. Looking farther up the road, she notices that the two Humvees that were guarding the other end are nowhere in sight.
What the fuck, she thinks, turning back to the soldiers she is standing next to. “You know anything about what’s going on?” Lynn asks the group staring down the road with her.
She has put a quick picture together and suspects the worst.
“No, first sergeant,” they reply without taking their eyes from the road.
Lynn returns to the TOC. When she is halfway back, she sees one group pile into one of the Humvees and hears it start up. Her stride becomes a run as the doors to the Humvee close. Lynn arrives in front of the TOC with sweat dripping down her forehead just as the Humvee begins to pull away.
“Soldier, stop that Humvee now!” she yells, directing her order to the driver. The vehicle skids to a halt.
The driver, now only yards away and with his elbow resting on the window frame of the door, sticks his head out of the window and looks back at her. “Sorry, sergeant,” he says and pulls his head back in as the Humvee picks up speed.
The three remaining soldiers, including Specialist Taylor, kneel in the sandy road next to her bringing their M-16s to their shoulders and sight down on the Humvee which is now rapidly growing smaller with the dust partially obscuring it. Lynn reaches her palm out to the top of the weapon next to her and pushes the muzzle downward.
“Stand down,” she says. The remaining barrels lower as the soldiers rise to their feet.
“Sorry, Sergeant Connell,” Taylor says as the Humvee ahead makes a left turn and disappears from view, “there wasn’t much we could do.”
“No worries,” she says, still staring after the departed Humvee. “I suspected some would want to go but didn’t think they would do it this way.”
“Is everyone okay?” Lynn asks, turning to look at the soldiers.
“Yes, first sergeant,” they respond.
“What about those inside?”
“They’re still in there,” Taylor responds and proceeds to relate the details.
He had been sitting in the driver seat when he noticed the two Humvees down the road drive off. Just as he climbed out of the Humvee, one of the soldiers came up behind him and told him they weren’t staying and decided to leave with the other group. They asked him if he wanted to go. When he told them he was staying and that they were, in effect, conducting a mutiny, he was rather forcefully ‘asked’ to join the other two; the ‘asking’ being made by way of a drawn Beretta with him being on the wrong end.
Turning back toward the two Humvees she left guarding the other end of the avenue, and seeing they are still there, she tells Taylor, “Get on the radio and have them report back here.”
Taylor mans the remaining Humvee and the other two return a short time later. The soldiers inside accomplish their mission and stand outside just as the vehicles arrive coating Lynn and the small group in a small cloud of dust as they pull to a stop.
Lynn gathers the group around her. “Okay, is there anyone here who also feels the need to leave?” she asks sternly with her hands on her hips and looking at each one in turn.
As she locks eyes with each soldier, they answer with a “No, first sergeant.”
“Very well. If you hear of any rumors or word of such, you’re to let me know immediately. Understood?”
“Yes, first sergeant.”
She reassigns a single Humvee at each of the previous locations and gets on the radio informing Major Bannerman of the situation. “Very well, Sergeant Connell, we’ll be returning shortly,” Bannerman responds.
Lynn notices that one of the soldiers that departed was the one that had been bitten in the armory. She lets out a heavy sigh of disappointment and turns to await the arrival of the foraging party. The detail party returns a short time later loaded with food and water. Lynn brings Bannerman up to speed with the events and their situation.
“Sir, I recommend we break into single Humvee groups to gather our personal ready packs and meet back here in ninety minutes before heading out to the tower. We’ll need to recon the tower and set up before dark,” she finishes, looking at the blazing sun as it passes it zenith and heads into the afternoon.
“Very well, Sergeant Connell. Make the assignments,” Bannerman says.
Lynn forms them into four separate groups with Bannerman, Drescoll, Taylor, and herself leading. “Stay as a team and gather your items one person at a time,” she instructs them. They synch their watches, load into their respective vehicles, and head out to the various barrack facilities.
“What about our armor, Sergeant Connell?” Taylor asks.
“Bring them just in case, but it’s not necessary to don them right now,” she answers.
With Corporal Horace and two other Privates in her group, Lynn parks the Humvee in front of her barracks. She steps out of her vehicle and scans the area after grabbing her M-16 and several magazines from inside, sticking the extra ammo in the cargo pockets of her fatigues. The occasional birds usually heard or seen throughout the camp seem to be taking a break from the heat that has now climbed to over the hundred-degree mark. Nothing disturbs the still heat of the day. Even the muted sound of generators running near the TOC are silent, giving Lynn the indication that the power in this area has been disrupted by either mechanical failure or they may have simply run out of fuel. The closing of the Humvee doors sounds unnaturally clear and loud. Even the sound of their boots hitting the ground is crisp and disturbs the quiet more than it should.
“We’re going to move through and clear the barracks cubicle by cubicle from front to back. There may be survivors holding up within. I’m going to give a shout upon entry and, if no one responds, then we’ll assume anything moving is hostile,” Lynn says, gathering her small group around her. “Corporal Horace, you and Private Manning take the right side. Private Turnbull, you’re with me. Side by side, down the central corridor. Any questions?”
“No, first sergeant,” they respond. Clicks sound as weapon selector switches are transferred from ‘safe’ to ‘burst’.
Lynn steps up to the long and narrow convex building door; the steel building and door radiating the absorbed heat. Standing to the left of the door against the building with Turnbull behind her and the other team of two off to the other side in front of the door; Horace kneeling in the sand with Manning standing behind her, Lynn reaches for the door handle.
Looking back over her shoulder at Horace, she says, “You’re right, I’m left. Manning and Turnbull, you have the corridor ahead to the right and left respectively.”
She then gives Horace a nod, which the corporal returns, and, after the soldiers verify that their flashlights are on, Lynn swings the door open. She darts in turning instantly to her left, sinks to her knees to the immediate inside left of the door and brings her weapon to her shoulder with her light shining in her assigned area. Corporal Horace darts in on Lynn’s heels accomplishing the same to the right. Manning and Turnbull follow, setting up five feet farther inside and focusing down the concrete corridor.
The light pouring in through the closing door illuminates the barracks in a thin stream along the corridor for about fifteen feet before dimming into blackness. The thin beam of light narrows in width as the door begins to swing shut on its own behind them. The light from their flashlights shine about a third of the way into the barracks picking up rows of tan lockers along the corridor that separate the open space into smaller enclosed cubicles. The only other light in the building comes from the exit light above the far end door casting very little illumination around it.
The light from Lynn’s flashlight shines into the first cubicle to the left, revealing closed locker doors and two made bunks placed end to end against the front wall with footlockers neatly set against the foot of each bunk. No movement greets any of the team, and the only sound is the soft rustle of their clothing as they adjust their bodies. The door behind them closes with a loud click and a soft booming noise that echoes through the large enclosed space. The outside light vanishes, and the team is bathed in the soft glow of the exit light set into the wall above them. The beams of their flashlights cast searchingly into the darkness of the building.
“It’s all clear here, Sergeant Connell,” Private Turnbull says.
“Here, too,” both Horace and Manning say a second later.
“Anyone here?” Lynn calls out into the darkness as she reaches up to the light switch just above her head.
She flicks the bank of switches into the upward position just as several shrieks scream in close intervals out of the darkness. The interior lights remain off, indicative of a lack of power to the barracks. The echo of the screams makes it difficult to ascertain their exact location, but they seem to be coming from farther back in the building and from the side cubicles.
“Assume they’re hostile. Fire at will, but hold these positions,” Lynn says. Still on her knees, she orients herself down the corridor.
Immediately upon situating herself into her new position behind and slightly to the left of Private Turnbull, three figures burst into the wide hallway from the cubicles on the left and four from the right. They immediately turn toward the team, breaking into a run directly at them. More enter into the beams cast by their lights from the far end of the building right on the heels of the first ones. The sound of Lynn’s M-16 barks loudly into the diminishing echoes of the shrieks as three rounds leave the barrel of her weapon and streak toward the closest figure, the first round catching it squarely in the sternum. Her second round hits in the neck causing an explosion of bright red blood that spreads in all directions. A millisecond later, the third round hits the creature’s pale gray face just above the tip of its nose and emerges from the back of the skull, bathing the creatures just behind it in blood and gore as its head explodes backwards. The force and solid thud of the three rounds impacting immediately stops the forward momentum of its upward body as the legs continue to take one more step, resulting in the figure being knocked backward and the legs flying into the air in front. The body hits the concrete floor with a loud crack.
Before the strobe-like flashes of Lynn’s first shots vanish, more flash throughout the immediate area as the rest of her team opens fire on the rapidly swelling group running toward them. Bodies are flung in all directions as the corridor is filled with steel and the tinkling of shells hitting the floor as rounds are expended from the chambers of four weapons firing into the mass of bodies. Time slows.
Lynn calls out, “Reloading!” as she ejects the now empty magazine from her M-16.
The magazine hits the ground beside her with a ringing metallic sound as she grabs for another from her cargo pocket. Two clicks sound as she inserts a fresh magazine firmly into the lower receiver and triggers the bolt release. She quickly adds additional rounds into the air in front of them.
Although they are dropping bodies left and right, the figures are getting closer by the second due to their number and closeness in which they started pouring into the corridor. A cacophony of noise fills the barracks from a mixture of shrieks, growls, and gunfire. The additional sounds of cartridges hitting the floor and solid smacks of rounds finding their targets fills the air as the surrounding area is lit by a constant flashing of weapons being fired. Although thinned substantially from the accurate fire, the creatures close the distance to within a few feet of the kneeling team.
Time accelerates as one creature leaps into the air with a shriek and slams into Private Turnbull launching him backward toward Lynn. He lands beside her on his back with the creature on top. Lynn rams the butt of her M-16 into the side of the creature’s head knocking it off Turnbull and to the ground on the other side. She reverses her weapon and fires into its chest point-blank. Blood flowers from three neat holes close together in the middle of its chest as Private Turnbull quickly rises back to his knees.
Another creature simultaneously slams into Private Manning launching him in a similar fashion next to Corporal Horace. Warm liquid sprays outward and bathes the left side of Horace’s face as the creature bites into Manning ripping a large chunk of meat from the side of his neck. His piercing scream fills the air. Horace puts the muzzle of her M-16 against the creature’s head and fires. The head disintegrates, and the thing falls heavily to the floor. She turns back to face the hall only to find it empty.
The sudden lack of sound is almost deafening compared to the amount of noise that permeated the interior only moments before. The only exception is the quick, shallow, panting breath from the three still on their knees and the moaning from Manning immediately beside Horace. The smell of gunpowder hangs in the air. Lynn scans the surrounding area, but sees only a multitude of bodies covering the entirety of her front to the limit of the shifting light from their flashlights.
Lynn looks over at Private Manning and is immediately by his side. Blood spurts from the gouge in his neck, covering the floor around him and splashes on her fatigue pants. His entire neck, side of his face, and fatigues down just past his shoulder, are bathed in bright red blood. She drops her light and covers his wound with her hand in an attempt to stop the bleeding. Blood leaks out beneath her hand and through her fingers. Private Manning looks up widely at her and their eyes lock. His eyes are full of pain and a fear that his last moments are drawing near.
“It’s okay, private. We stopped ‘em thanks to you,” she says, keeping eye contact with him.
A smile crosses his ruined face as his body stiffens with a tremor, and the life leaves his eyes, dimming them and glazing over. The blood that flowed beneath her hand stops, and she reaches up to close his eyes.
Lynn looks up from her kneeling position toward Horace and Turnbull noticing Turnbull holding his left forearm. “Are you injured?” she asks.
“It bit me, but it’s only superficial. I’ll be fine thanks to you, sergeant,” he says, looking at her with a smile of gratitude.
He lifts his hand from the wound and shows her. A bite mark has penetrated the skin, but the wound is not gouged out. Lynn gives a nod, turns her attention to Horace and says, “Get the med kit from the wall and dress that up.”
“Yes, Sergeant Connell,” Horace responds, walking over to retrieve the med kit.
Taking bandages and tape from the inside, Horace wraps Turnbull’s arm. Private Turnbull then pulls his sleeve back down over the bandage. All three check their ammo, insert their last fresh magazine into their receivers, and gather up their empty mags, putting them into their pockets.
“What about Private Manning?” Horace asks as she pulls the flap over her pocket.
“We’ll clear the rest of the barracks, pick up my gear, and pick him up on the way out. I’ll lead in the middle. Corporal Horace, you are behind me on the right, Private Turnbull, behind me on the left. Same plan as before. Clear each cubicle on the way to the back,” Lynn answers. “If we’re attacked, fall back side by side to the door. We don’t have enough ammo for a sustained assault like the last one.”
“Yes, first sergeant.” They quickly take their stations moving toward the rear of the building.
Bodies litter the corridor with barely any of the concrete floor showing underneath. They step over and between the bodies as they make their way to the rear. The beating of her own heart sounds loudly in Lynn’s ears. The only other sounds are the breathing of the others and the soft step of their boots on the floor. Cubicles are cleared one by one, but nothing rushes out as they head toward Lynn’s cubicle in the rear of the building.
Just before rounding the corner leading to her cubicle, Lynn hears a faint rustling sound coming from within. Both Horace and Turnbull hear it as well. Three lights and barrels move in unison focusing on the opening. The bunk where Lynn’s sick roommate was the night before is empty. The bunk is unmade and blankets are rumpled on top of it. There is another shuffling sound from deeper within the small enclosure. She motions for the other two to remain in place and cover her while she side steps across the corridor opposite the opening, keeping her light and weapon trained on the cubicle entrance. Crouched low, Lynn leans to her left bringing the entire cubicle into view.
She immediately picks up the cause of the sounds as her light catches on a figure against the back of the cubicle. In a flash, Lynn recognizes it as that of her roommate who is turned away from her and against the far metal wall. As soon as her light flashes upon her roommate, the figure turns around quickly and, with a snarl and shriek, the gray blotchy figure launches toward Lynn. The building interior is once again lit with triple strobes and the sound of gunfire as Lynn squeezes the trigger of her M-16, sending three projectiles out into the space between them. The three rounds strike the figure’s chest, launching her backward and slamming her against the wall with a ringing thud. Her now ex-roommate topples to the side and, after knocking against the wall locker, slides slowly to the floor.
With the return of silence to the interior, Lynn retrieves her ready pack from her bunk, ,and they head back to the front of the building with more dog tags added to the ones gathered in her almost full pocket. Shouldering their weapons, Horace and Turnbull retrieve the body of Private Manning, and they step out into the heat and light. The transition from the cooler and darker interior causes them to blink and an immediate sheen of sweat coats their skin. They set Manning’s body into the rear of the Humvee and, after replacing their depleted magazines from the ammo in the Humvee, they make their way to Horace’s barracks and then to Manning’s, encountering none of the creatures within either of them. Finished with gathering their ready packs, they return to the TOC.
They are the last detail back and meet up with the rest of the group. Each detail quickly shares their very similar stories. In all, they’ve lost three soldiers and have two additional wounded counting the loss of Manning and Turnbull’s injury. However, they found six other very frightened and exhausted soldiers within the various barracks. Mounting the vehicles once again, the group heads over to the Intel shop gathering up and destroying the sensitive documents within. While there, they also try contacting other units within and outside of the camp with no success. Finishing, they head across the camp to the small airstrip and control tower.
Driving out from between buildings lining the ramp serving the airstrip, they see the control tower off to one side adjacent to the ramp. The light gray concrete ramp is empty of aircraft, but several ground carts and fuel trucks are parked neatly in front of one of the buildings. Several other Humvees are parked in various locations. Bringing the small convoy to a halt on the ramp, Lynn gets out of her vehicle and studies the control tower.
It is a small portable tower; a cross between a smaller control tower and a glass enclosed RV hybrid. There is an outside metal walkway encircling it, and it bristles with antennae pointing skyward from on top. It is mounted on top of five concrete-filled cargo containers with metal stairs running up the side to the top and entrance. The stairs are similar to external fire escapes with the bottom portion able to be raised about ten feet off the ground. A chain-link fence with razor wire encircling the top sits close to the tower and encircles the entire structure.
Lynn salutes Major Bannerman as he steps up. With the heat rising in waves off the concrete ramp, he returns her salute and looks toward the tower with her. “I think this will make an ideal defensible structure, sir,” she says. “We can hold out here for a number of days if needed, and it will make a logical destination for any arriving force. We’ll need to clear it first, though.”
“Take whomever you need and clear it, sergeant,” Bannerman says.
Given the small nature of the tower, Lynn selects Horace and Turnbull as part of her team having already been in action with them and knowing their reliability under fire. She also selects Sergeant Drescoll to go with her. She details another group to provide security around the structure outside of the fenced area and the remaining soldiers to remain in place as a reaction team. With instructions issued, her team and the security detail load into vehicles and drive slowly over to the tower. Stopping just outside the fence enclosing the tower, Lynn and the rest dismount. The security detail positions themselves around the fence, and Lynn, along with her team, approach the gate leading inside.
The chain-link gate is unlocked, so she pushes it open and proceeds to the stairs, which are currently in their down position making the upward entrance easier.
“I’ll lead with Private Turnbull behind me. Sergeant Drescoll and Corporal Horace, follow behind. Once at the top, we’ll break into two groups. I’ll go left on the walkway, Drescoll, take Corporal Horace and go right. We’ll recon the inside from the windows, meeting up on the backside. If it’s clear, we’ll head through the door and clear it from the inside. Anyone have any questions?” she asks completing her instructions.
They all shake their heads and, with their barrels aimed upward covering their ascent, they head up the stairs. Each flight of stairs rises upward to a point level with the top of each container to a small landing at which the next flight begins. On the first landing, a small winch housing a cable is attached to the first flight leading to it, allowing it to be raised and lowered. The sound of their steps on the metal stairs is drowned out by that of a generator on the ground behind the tower.
Leaving the stairs in their lowered position, Lynn and her team proceed upward. With the heat index now rising above a hundred and ten degrees, they are bathed in sweat by the time they reach the top. The low humidity and high heat work with each other to claim the moisture from their bodies; the heat making them sweat and the low humidity wicking it away almost as soon as it appears leaving them feeling dry and parched.
At the top of the stairs, the metal grating and barred railings of the outside walkway leads to the left and right around the tower. The windows of the tower angle outward and are tinted, making it difficult to see directly inside from their position. They break into their respective groups and proceed up to and around the tower. Lynn peeks in the windows to her immediate front, cupping one hand to allow better vision within.
The interior facing the runway is filled with consoles running around the front and sides of the main tower room. To the rear, a small hallway opens off from the main room and leads to the back. Doors open up to the outside walkway on both sides of the control room close to the rear of the room. There is no movement or signs of anyone inside other than Drescoll peering in the window opposite her. Continuing around the tower, windows open up into two rooms at the rear of the facility; one is an office and the other sleeping quarters housing two bunks.
“I don’t see anyone inside,” she says, meeting up with Drescoll at the rear of the small tower.
“Me either,” he replies.
“Let’s head in both doors and do a quick check down the hallway,” Lynn suggests.
Drescoll nods and they both retrace their steps to the entrance doors. Peeking in the small window set in the door and with one hand on the handle, she checks the door, assuring herself that it is unlocked before looking over at Drescoll peering in and entrance on the other side. Giving him a nod, they both open their doors and quickly step into the coolness of the room. The light from the outside illuminates the entire room but in a dimmed fashion due to the tinted windows. The control panels are lit with both steady and flashing lights and a panel against the rear wall houses a radarscope, its lighter green line rotating around the scope. The fact that the radar and lights are working gives the indication that the generator outside provides power to the tower. The closing of the outside doors shuts off the sound of the generator.
They step into the hallway leading to the back, which extends all of the way to the rear of the tower with four doors leading off it, two to each side. They check each door and find a small latrine behind the first door to the right. The first one on the left leads to a small storage area with the two at the rear leading to the office and sleeping quarters. Back in the main control room, Lynn sees a pull-down ladder leading to a trap door set in the ceiling. She pulls the steps down and proceeds up to the trap door. Turning the handle on the trap door, she opens it and hot sunlight pours in through the opening. She climbs out onto the roof.
The flat roof is covered with large and small antennae toward the front along with the rotating arm of the radar. From her vantage point, she sees almost the entire encampment with its lines of tan convex buildings lined in neat, orderly rows. Main avenues divide groups of buildings and lead to the various zones of the camp. Far off in a corner of the camp, she can make out a section of storage containers piled on top of each other and vehicles scattered throughout. In some places, she sees very small shapes that are bodies lying in the avenues and small alleys between buildings.
An ocean of sand stretches outside of the camp in each direction that merges with the horizon in all directions. Other than the occasional bird flitting here and there, and the group standing around the Humvees on the ramp, there is nothing moving. The only sound disturbing the surreal quietness around her is the generator running fifty feet below and out of sight against the containers.
Lynn leaves the roof and steps into the room once again, closing the trap door behind her. “We’ll have to position someone up there at all times in shifts to monitor the area and look for survivors during the day and for security at night,” she says, looking at Drescoll.
He nods and looks around the control room. “It’s going to be a bit crowded in here.”
“Yeah, not much we can do about that,” she says, stepping out of the room and onto to the walkway, she signals the rest of the group, who are standing on the ramp watching her activities.
Later, with the rest of the group gathered in the crowded control room, Lynn addresses Major Bannerman. “Sir, we’ll have to set up in shifts with a small security team for night that will sleep during the day. By day, we’ll monitor the surrounding area and scavenge for any weapons, ammo, food, water, medical, or other supplies that we may need. During the day, the night security team can sleep on the bunks. At night, we’ll have to stretch out as best as we can on the floors. We’ll give it five days and rethink our strategy should no one show up.”
“Sounds good, Sergeant Connell. I’ll leave the details to you,” Bannerman says.
Lynn then leads Specialist Taylor to the main console. “Can you work these and teach others how to do it?”
“Piece of cake, sergeant,” answers Taylor.
“How many soldiers do you need to man the radios 24/7?” Lynn asks.
“Well, considering we won’t have a lot of communication to handle, I think two others for three shifts of eight hours should suffice.”
“Okay, pick two and teach them what they need to know,” Lynn says, stepping over to the side of the control room and looking out of the windows to the single strip of gray asphalt serving as the camp’s runway.
Gazing down at it, she thinks both wistfully and longingly, I hope you are doing okay, Jack, and I hope you come.
The odds of both seem very remote to her. I mean, they talked about events such as this but really only as a means to fill the time and for fun.
Would he really jump in an aircraft and fly half of the way around the world to pick me up? And that is assuming he’s still alive. If he is, will he just gather up his kids and call it good?
Suddenly, home and the hope of getting there seem very, very remote. With a heavy sigh, she turns back to the group and begins making assignments.
Assignments are made to bring the weapons and supplies into the tower from the Humvees and to scavenge diesel for the generator. The supplies are placed in the office along with the extra weapons and ammunition. After the diesel is brought and off-loaded, the Humvees are parked close to the fence facing away but not close enough to be used to vault over the fence. The gate is then locked and the stairs raised as the sun descends toward the flat, sandy horizon, becoming a giant ball of fire as it sinks closer to the horizon. The decision is made to leave the generator on in order to keep the radios alive. Although its noise may be an attractor, it has been running continuously for some time and therefore is not something significantly out of the ordinary.
The last vestige of the sun disappears below the horizon signifying the end of another day. The soldiers within the tower prepare quick meals and settle in for the evening. Darkness comes quickly as it is wont to do in the desert, and Lynn climbs out onto the roof with the night watch. She posts two guards on top with one more inside alongside the night radio operator. Settling down on her belly near the edge of the roof, she gazes out over the encampment. The street lights along the major avenues and roadways shine down on the emptiness, casting their circular patterns of illumination on the sandy ground below. In a few buildings, lights shine in the darkness creating the image of a small city in the seeming normalcy of night. Here and there, rectangular patches of darkness show where the small generators powering those areas have either failed or are depleted of their fuel.
The ramp itself is lit by large banks of lights around the perimeter illuminating most of the ramp but leaving some areas near the middle in darkness. Looking out at the runway, Lynn sees the white lights of the runway stretch away to the left and right, terminating in red lights toward each end. The blue lights of the single parallel taxiway, coupled with the runway lights, create an image reminding her of Christmas. Focusing back toward the camp, she sees an occasional flash of movement as small groups of figures dash beneath the street lights. Off into the distance on the far side of the camp and close to the barracks, several shrieks rise into the air above the encampment, faintly reaching Lynn.
Lynn brings the binoculars from the tower to her eyes and focuses on one group of figures as they dart through the lights. They are running close together in a pack-like formation seemingly focused on something, their intent unknown. She notices that each group she spies in her magnified view seem to run from place to place. Nowhere does she notice any individual walking as they transit. The only exception is when they seem to stop to investigate something, whether that is a door or building or something lying in the road. When investigating something, they seem to maintain a pack-like stance, with none venturing off, but with each one conducting its own individual action within the pack.
One group she is watching appears to be investigating a building door. Suddenly, one of the creatures looks suddenly to its left and she sees its mouth open up; the shriek it emits reaches her a second or two after. The entire group breaks into an immediate run in the direction indicated by the one who emitted the shriek. It comes to Lynn that the shriek could be their form of communication and seems to indicate a discovery in some fashion or another. She makes another interesting discovery; the other groups seem to respond to the shriek as well. The shriek seems to inform others and they react as if it is a calling, much like wolves or coyotes will in the night with the discovery of food.
She scans the immediate area around her and finds it vacant. Bringing the binoculars skyward, she attempts to find any moving points of light to indicate aircraft in the vicinity, but she sees only the bright diamonds of stars twinkling back. Handing the binoculars to the soldier lying next to her, she scans the fence perimeter with her Mark-One eyeballs. The fence and the ground directly below her are well lit from lights shining downward from positions about half way up the tower. This way, the area can be lit without affecting the vision of the controllers.
“Wake me if you see anything unusual or if any of the creatures venture close. I’ll be at the bottom of the trap door stairs,” she says, rising.
“Yes, first sergeant,” the private responds as Lynn grabs her weapon and descends the stairs into the control room to settle into her sleeping bag.
She stands alone on a small hill with sand stretching endlessly around her and turns around confused as to how she arrived or what she is supposed to be doing. She has the impression that she is supposed to accomplish something important but can’t remember what it is. A panicked feeling comes upon her. She feels something bad will happen if she can’t remember what it is or the errand goes undone. A hint of movement out of the corner of her eye to the right causes her to look in that direction.
About twenty feet away, a turtle slowly makes its way across the sand, pulling itself along with great effort.
What in the fuck is a turtle doing in the middle of the desert? she thinks as her vision zooms in close.
She sees in the turtle’s eye that it is not in great pain, nor worried about its situation, but is merely doing its thing. No destination or plan; just one step after another. It has accepted its lot in life and is just doing it with no thought to anything else. Suddenly, a gust of wind whips by shaking her.
She looks away from the turtle toward the direction of the wind. Where before there was an endless blue sky, there is now a towering mass of clouds billowing upward. The clouds are building quickly, far quicker than anything she had ever seen before and turning the cloud mass into a dark, greenish-gray color. The gusts continue to radiate outward from the mass, each one shaking her and rocking her back on her heels.
The storm continues to build and creates a gigantic wave of sand that begins rushing toward her. Lightning stabs out from the clouds striking the ground in all directions. The wave closes in quickly, gaining momentum with gusts that continue to rock her. They carry a new sound along with the booming crash of thunder as if the thunder is speaking words. With each lightning bolt, the words come to her; “Sergeant!”—lightning flash—“Sergeant!”—lightning flash…
Feeling panicked, her eyes spring open to see the face of the private on guard hovering close to her, lit by the cupped flashlight in his hand. “Sergeant,” he says, rocking her shoulder with his other hand.
“I’m awake, private. What is it?” Lynn sits up and rubs the sleep from her eyes. She looks at her watch and notices it is 03:30.
Two hours until sunrise.
“You asked me to wake you if any of the creatures came close. There are several of them milling around outside the fence,” he answers.
“Did they notice you?” Lynn asks, grabbing for her weapon lying on the ground next to her.
“I don’t think so,” he replies.
“Okay, let’s take a look. Absolute silence,” Lynn says, rising and stepping on the first rung of the roof stairs.
On the roof, Lynn settles down onto her belly and crawls slowly to the roof’s edge. Peering down onto the ramp, she sees five of the creatures close to the fence milling aimlessly. A couple of them seem interested in the Humvees parked a short distance away, looking in the windows. One climbs onto the hood of a Humvee and seems to try and pull the windshield open using the windshield wipers. Two of them closest to the fence occasionally turn their noses in the air.
“Are they sniffing?” the private asks in a quiet whisper next to her.
Lynn turns slowly to him and puts her finger to her lips. The private nods. She looks back down, and to her, it does appear like they are sniffing at the air. Every minute or so, one will seem to catch a scent of something and hold a sniffing stance with a greater intensity, as if trying to identify some odor or retrieve something that momentarily came to it. With a suddenness that is startling with both its speed and intensity, given the apparent aimless milling a moment before, one sniffing creature turns its head sharply in their direction and gazes intently up at them.
Lynn knows they are in the darkness above, and the glaring lights shining down on the creature have to be blinding it as to their location, but it is staring very intently and directly at them. Its body turns to orient it in their direction without moving its gaze from them one iota. Lynn senses more than hears, given the sound of the generator, growls emitting from the creature only fifty feet below. The growling attracts the attention of the others and they wander over to it and look upwards. Suddenly, all five of them stiffen and begin to emit loud, rumbling growls of their own and stare directly at the two of them perched high on the roof above.
“Go wake Sergeant Drescoll,” Lynn tells the private. “Go quietly and slowly. Fill the sergeant in on what’s going on, and then, the both of you come here.”
“What about the major?” he asks.
“Forget him! Do as I ask!” Lynn says quietly but with authority.
Without a sound, the private slides backwards away from the edge. Lynn hears his footsteps ring lightly on the stairs as he descends but keeps her focus on the creatures as they continue to have a stare off. The situation and coolness of the night air sends a shiver along her body. A light goes off in her head; the cool air is sinking, bringing their scent along with it.
These things can hunt and detect by scent!
She creeps away from the roof edge losing sight of the creatures. As she moves away, she turns her head toward the remaining soldier on the roof and whispers loud enough for him to hear, “Private, off the roof NOW!”
In the darkness, she hears a rustling and sees his shadow move from his position facing the runway to the trap door. She descends quietly down the stairs after he has stepped off, shuts the trap door, and meets Sergeant Drescoll and the other private at the bottom. She relates her discovery and sighting to all of them in whispered tones.
A shriek rises from outside, and the small group steps over the sleeping bodies toward the window facing the creatures outside. Several of those sleeping sit up quickly as the shriek penetrates their various dreams. Looking out of the window, Lynn sees that the creatures are now attempting to scale the wire fence.
Without taking her eyes from outside, she says, “Sergeant Drescoll, wake the others.”
She watches as the group of five creatures climbs the chain-link fence and become entangled in the razor wire running along the top. From her position, she sees blood spurt in a multitude of locations from the figures. All of them howl and shriek from the assault and decimation of their bodies, but they continue on, all of them eventually falling to the perimeter inside in heaps. They do not move from where they have fallen, but they have taken the razor wire in that section of fence down with them.
The soldiers within the tower have all awakened, either from the sounds outside or by Drescoll, and crowd the interior of the control room. Other creatures head in their direction in the night under the lights.
Lynn turns from the window and addresses the group, “Five have knocked the razor wire down and others are heading this way. Everyone out onto the walkway. Four to a side with two facing the runway and two facing toward camp. Sergeant Drescoll and I will be on the roof directing. You two,” Lynn says, pointing at a private and a corporal nearby, “cover the flight of stairs.”
She then turns to Major Bannerman. “If that is alright with you, sir?”
“Carry on, sergeant,” he responds with a nod.
“Guns only. No grenades unless I say different. We don’t want to blow the fence down. Now move,” she says.
She and Drescoll start for the steps leading up to the roof amid the sound of soldiers shuffling to and out of the door. The sound of magazines being inserted into weapons, clicks of safeties being switched off, and the ringing clatter of boots on the metal walkway, momentarily fills the top of the tower.
Helmets line the walkway just below her feet as Lynn stands on the roof looking out to the ramp below. Looking down over the tops of the helmets, she sees several creatures emerge out of the darkness in the middle of the ramp and into the light spilling from the tower. The things, which had been on the run, come to a stop once they step into the light. Some peer around them, both into the shadows from which they emerged and around the tower base itself. Others peer into the bright lights streaming down, blinded by the intensity. Lynn knows the creatures are unable to see them because of having to look through the blinding light. She kneels and whispers to the soldiers to hold their fire until she initiates or calls for it.
Looking back over her shoulder, she whispers to Drescoll, “You take control of the front and other side; I’ll take the ramp side and rear.” She senses more than sees Drescoll nod.
Looking down at the soldiers just below her, she sees them standing by the railing with their weapons at their shoulders aiming downward at the creatures. The two at the head of the stairs kneel with the barrels of their M-16s sighted down the stairs. More of the creatures emerge out of the darkness and into the light. Looking back into the encampment, she sees other groups run through the circles of light heading in their direction. Turning her eyes back toward the things on the ramp below her, she notices several of them with their noses in the air. She can imagine the sniffing sounds and perhaps growling noises they are likely making, but the drone of the generator is overriding any other sound. The sound of the occasional soldier below her, shifting positions, is the only other noise rising to her in the chill of the early morning air.
Stillness settles over the environment as time comes to a standstill. The creatures stand motionless and test the air with soldiers staring back at them with their weapons at the ready. Both groups are dressed in a similar fashion, the only difference being the color and shade of their skin and the creature’s fatigues darkened with blood. More than thirty have gathered below with others showing up with each passing moment. Lynn notices one of the creatures suddenly tense, turn its head in their direction, and stare upward. The other creatures stop their milling, apparently picking up on the same thing that made this one tense up. The one staring at them opens its mouth wide and a shriek intrudes over the generator. It charges toward the fence with the others following suit, shrieking as they come.
“Open fire!” Lynn yells before the creature has taken its second step.
The sound of M-16s opening up along the walkway and sending their deadly load into the mass splits the night, overriding the sound of the shrieks and generator. Lynn sights down her M-16 just as the first sounds erupt, her red dot centering on the chest of the creature who first charged their way. She squeezes the trigger, adding her own steel to the other rounds drilling into the charging mass. Blood blossoms and sprays outward from the creature as her rounds impact directly into its center mass and it drops rudely to the ramp.
Bodies drop repeatedly to the concrete as more rounds find their marks, but the creatures rapidly gain the fence due to their vast numbers. They immediately begin scaling the chain-links and, just like the others before them, become entangled in the remaining razor wire. They fall to the ground inside the perimeter dragging the razor wire with them.
The fence looks as if it has sparklers attached to it as many of the rounds being fired come into contact with it as Lynn and the soldiers fire into the creatures scaling the metal links. Many of the things circle around the fence, and the sound of gunfire erupts from behind her as Drescoll’s group opens fire.
The air is filled with a myriad of sounds: The barking of M-16s, the clink of empty magazines hitting the walkway, the plinking sound of spent shells bouncing on the metal grating, the occasional shriek rising above the din, the yells of Lynn and Drescoll as they direct fire and, when sounds fade just for a split moment in time, the ringing sound of the chain-link fence being scaled.
The air is thick with the smell of gunpowder and the flash of weapons as the rounds leave the barrel. Bodies pile up along the fence, but the sheer numbers force entry into the perimeter. The weight of the creatures on the fence bends it over in places.
The walkway and stairs prevents an angle to the ground directly below on the ramp side, so the soldiers continue to direct their fire into those still coming into the light and on the fence.
“They’re inside the perimeter!” Lynn turns and yells to Drescoll.
He turns toward her from his kneeling position on the edge of the other side of the roof. “Here too!”
“We don’t have an angle on them below from here because of the stairs,” she replies.
“We can hit them fine from here,” he assures.
That’s good news, Lynn thinks as she turns back to the ramp side, observing that they only seem to have one blind spot; the spot directly below the stairs and ladder.
If they manage to somehow find a way to navigate those ten feet to the first stair level, she will not know they are coming until they round the last level and emerge on the landing directly below. Creatures continue to emerge into the lights, circling the tower in unrelenting groups and waves.
“Down to my last mag,” one of the soldiers calls out below her.
Lynn details one of the soldiers manning the stairs to grab ammo from the crates stacked in the office below. He returns a short time later and positions it behind the group on the walkway. The gunfire on the ramp-side ceases momentarily as soldiers grab a resupply of magazines. She details the same soldier to carry some of the ammo to Drescoll’s side.
Weary and deafened from the continuous noise, Lynn notices the sky to the east lighten, portending the coming dawn. As if a switch was thrown, the multitudes of creatures stop emerging into the light. The ones that were inside the perimeter and shielded from the stairs run out onto the still darkened ramp, chased by rounds with a few dropping before finding the safety of the dark.
“Cease fire!” Lynn calls as the last one is swallowed by the darkness. Sergeant Drescoll echoes her command to the group on his side.
The silence that ensues is almost foreign in its quietness. Even the continued sound of the running generator is not heard through the ringing in everyone’s ears and the smell of almost two hours of continuous gunfire hangs thick in the still, morning air. With her legs stiff and knees popping from the time spent kneeling on the metal roof, Lynn stands and reaches around to the small of her back, stretching to work out the kinks.
“Police up whatever magazines you can find and meet inside,” she directs the soldiers below her.
They wearily begin to scoop up the many empty magazines on a walkway littered with shell casings. Lynn, standing above them, notices how truly cold the night air is as she starts coming down from the flow of adrenaline. With one last look at the bodies covering the ramp and the sky continuing to lighten in the east, she starts down the stairs behind Drescoll, The other soldiers begin their slow, shuffle-like steps into the control room. Details about what needs to be done in the coming day, fixing the fence and gathering additional ammo being among them, fills Lynn’s mind as everyone gathers.
“It’s becoming fairly obvious that whatever changes have occurred with these…um…creatures, only allows them to operate at night or in the dark. We’ll therefore only travel during the day and in groups of four or more. Buildings will be treated as hostile environments and avoided as much as possible. If we need to go in, it will be completely cleared before gathering whatever is needed. If that is fine with you, sir?” she asks, turning to Major Bannerman.
“Good plan, Sergeant Connell,” he responds.
“It’s 05:25. We’ll stand down and rest until 08:30 and then, I’ll assign details. Besides the radio watch, we’ll stand two on watch in one-hour shifts until 08:30. Now get some rest,” Lynn says after assigning guards and shift schedules.
She opts to take one of the first shifts, setting up on the roof covering the ramp and camp side while a corporal covers the runway and far side. Sitting with her legs swinging over the side of the roof, she looks out, concentrating with only part of her mind while the rest sorts through the multitude of thoughts that race through.
She holds onto the belief that Jack will come, even as a logical part of her mind tells her the chances of that happening are marginal at best. She needs to ensure the safety and survivability of the group in her charge here. The camp will do for the short-term, but if no one comes, they will need to move on for any chance of surviving in the long-term. That will require a continuous supply of food, water, and shelter. To that end, it will mean a long, arduous journey; most likely to some land surrounding The Med, and that being more likely on the European side. For the first time, she thinks she may not see America again or that, if they are not picked up, it will be a long time coming.
I’ll give it four more days before we start planning an alternate route, she thinks, looking over to the western horizon with the sun rising behind her. A quick thought of Jack enters, Please be okay and come get us.
The hour passes and she lies down on the floor of the control room after passing the next shift to another private. She falls asleep almost before her head touches the floor only to be awakened after seemingly minutes. Waking the rest of the group, she details a squad of four to commandeer additional ammo, some to repair the fence as best as possible, and others to cart the bodies to an open area of the camp. With that detail, she assigns a heavy equipment operator to dig a gravesite to bury the bodies after collecting all of the dog tags she can. Her thought is that these were all once soldiers and that makes her to give them as close to a decent and military burial as possible.
Once the bodies have been interred, she gathers the entire group together in the early afternoon sun and heat to pay their last respects. The fence is resurrected as much as possible with a fresh lining of razor wire both on top and on the ground below. Ammunition is gathered and resupplied to the tower. The generator is filled with diesel.
After the burial ceremony, Lynn has the group rest until the early evening anticipating a replay of the night before.
During the day, Private Turnbull came down with a fever. Lynn inspected the wound on his arm to find that the immediate area around the wound had become the same pale shade of gray of the creatures with a surrounding bright redness of infection. The fever became worse as the day progressed and by nightfall, Private Turnbull was dead.
The next two days and nights are replays of the first: resupplying, resting, and burying the dead during the day and fighting off the attacks at night.
Is this live or Memorex? Lynn thinks during the third night.
The creatures show up under the light in gradual numbers and overwhelm the fences, only to be halted and not able to gain entrance to the stairs by the coming of dawn.
How many can there be? The question passes through her tired mind as the rising sun chases off the last attack. The radios, however, remain silent, as had any answering of telephone calls to the outside world.
The fourth day dawns as had the previous mornings. The sun rises in the east signaling yet another heat-infested day filled with the tedium of staying alive. Lynn gathers her mind and thoughts toward vacating the area for a more survivable, long-term solution. The thoughts of their need to conduct a long, arduous journey and what they will need to accomplish this fills the majority of her day. Tomorrow, she will begin to enact their withdrawal of the area and to create the criteria of their new destination.
Tomorrow, I will worry about that, she thinks as the sun begins its descent into the western horizon. Where are you, Jack?
With the thought of the last night in camp, Lynn stays with the guard detail posted for the first shift and watches the gathering of the first creatures around the tower. The difference between this and other nights is the quickness of the gathering. The fence perimeter is quickly overwhelmed with many of the creatures gathering at the base of the tower on the ramp side. Some complacency, due to the tiredness of the troops, follows a seemingly exact repeat of the previous evenings; doing enough to exact damage and a depletion of the creatures without them being able to gain entrance.
Within the deafening din, Lynn picks up a faint noise of hammering metallic sounds from below her. She looks down to the soldiers on the walkway trying to fix the sound to the spent rounds falling and the magazines impacting the walkway, but the sounds seem out of sequence with what she sees.
A flash of light fills her head, “They’re on the stairs!” she yells to the soldiers manning both the walkway and covering the stairs.
Leaning over the edge as far as she dares, Lynn sees creatures scaling the outside of the stairs and shadows of others rapidly ascending. They have somehow reached that elusive final ten feet.
“Drescoll, I need two of yours over here!” Lynn shouts to her companion on the roof.
“On the way!” he shouts back.
“Direct your fire on those climbing up!” she yells to the soldiers beneath her. They lean over the railing to aim their fire directly downward.
Bodies fall off the staircase structure as rounds impact shoulders and heads, but the vast numbers on the stairs, and the inability to fire directly on those ascending, allows the horde to surge ever upward, slowly but surely pressing toward the small group defending the tower. As she directs the battle below her, thoughts penetrate her mind that perhaps she will not have to worry about any future, arduous adventure.
I will not fail! The thought gives force to her willpower and the volume of firepower directed on the ever-advancing horde. The soldiers seem to sense this thought and direct an even more focused attempt to repel the invaders.
“Sergeant Connell! Sergeant Connell!” A voice calls repeatedly behind her, having to be repeated due to her intense concentration on the creatures driving ever upward. She turns her head and notices Major Bannerman sticking his head through the open hatch to the control room.
“Yes, sir,” she responds between trigger pulls.
“There’s someone on the radio!” he tells her.
Not fully grasping the gravity nor import of the meaning, she looks back at him skeptically. Realizing that she has not comprehended what he is saying, Bannerman adds, “Sergeant Connell, there’s someone calling on the radio with a call sign of Otter39?”
A dawning comprehension reaches into her eyes and soul. “Sergeant Drescoll! Cover the stairs. I’ll be in the control room on the radios.”
Sergeant Drescoll stands and repositions himself at the other edge as Lynn descends the stairs to hear, “This is Otter 39 on UHF guard. Anyone read?”
Lynn sees Specialist Taylor raise the mic to his mouth and respond, “Otter 39, this is Arifjan, read you loud and clear, over.”
“Arifjan, this Otter 39. We are an inbound HC-130. State status.”
Major Bannerman takes the mic from Taylor and says, “Otter 39. This is Major Bannerman. State your position and intentions.”
I look over at Robert with one raised eyebrow and a ‘what the fuck’ expression. He looks over and shrugs; our tiredness from the extended trek showing.
“Um, Bannerman, we’re now approximately forty miles west and I guess we intend to pick you up. State souls.”
There is a long pause with no response from Arifjan. I see the lights of a small city stretching off our nose as we continue our descent. “Arifjan, Otter 39. Confirm lights are on.”
“Otter 39, um, Arifjan. Roger. Lights are on.”
“Roger that, Arifjan. There wouldn’t happen to be a Sergeant Connell with you would there?” I add.
Complete silence ensues on both ends of the radio. On my side, it is awaiting a final word and verdict. On Lynn’s side, there is a sense of unrealness as all eyes turn and center on her.
“Do you know who this is?” Bannerman asks Lynn with his eyes wide in bewilderment.
“I may, sir,” Lynn responds amidst the crackle of gunfire outside.
“Talk to him then!” Bannerman says.
Lynn takes the mic, “Otter 39, this is Arifjan,” she says with her voice cracking slightly.
I hear the response over the radio with sense of incredulity. I look over at Robert, Nic, Bri, and Michelle. They continue to look at me with a measure of disbelief, and that we are talking to someone, that there is, in fact, someone at our destination, and that it may actually be Lynn.
“Oh my God! Lynn?” I say over the radio.
“Jack?” Lynn responds.
Descending close to the airport, I see the runway lighting offset from the light emitting from the camp itself in a seemingly small town aspect; streetlights set in small rectangular patterns with smaller lights in amongst these lights.
“Yeah, Lynn. What’s your situation?” I ask, worried about the sound of gunfire heard in the radio responses.
“Stand by,” Lynn responds.
She walks over to the door and peers outside over the walkway railing. Creatures are climbing with unrelenting determination on the side of the stairway leading upward. Bodies line the landing just below her position as the soldiers she placed there are firing down on those who have managed to reach the landing. Hordes of creatures line the perimeter waiting for room on the stairs; the things completely encompass the stairway structure. She looks to the soldiers firing on the walkway to see their wide eyes as they fire downward on the ever-encroaching mass. Their eyes depict an emotion that their life here is only a matter of time but determining to exact what measure they can.
Walking back inside, she calmly heads to the radio and picks up the mic. “Jack, it doesn’t look good. We’re in the tower. They’re scaling the outside, and their overrunning the top is only a matter of time.”
“Roger that. Hold on as best as you can. I’ll be there in five.”
I set up an overhead assault pattern minimizing my time in the air and descend rapidly to the airfield. The runway lights are a thousand feet below as I bank the aircraft into a steep, left hand descending pattern. Rolling out on final, I glance over to the tower on my left at the far side of the ramp. Light flows from the tower out onto the ramp and is filled with flashes of gunfire from all vantages on the tower top.
Give me just a few more minutes, I think, rolling out of the turn and descending toward the green lights at the runway threshold with the white runway lights stretching away ahead of me.
The strobe-like flashes flicker off to the side of my vision as my landing lights pick up the threshold markings and they flash underneath. The first five hundred foot markings stream by my window as I draw the power back and start my flare; the nose rising in response to my control inputs. The drone of the engines diminishes yet we remain airborne as the aircraft continues its instinct to remain aloft. Gravity overcomes the wants of the aircraft with a chirp, and the aircraft settles as it transitions from a creature of the sky to one of the earth.
With the flashes of weapons still being fired in the distance to the left, I pull the prop levers back into reverse thrust. The aircraft responds with a reluctant, nose down attitude. Coming to the first taxiway onto the ramp, I jump on the radio and say, “Lynn, standby. On my way. Pull your people in when I say and ready them to exit ten at a time.”
“Roger that,” Lynn says and relays the info to Drescoll on the roof above her.
Pulling off the runway at high speed onto the taxiway at about midfield with the landing and taxi lights on, I see a multitude of creatures on the ramp and around the tower; many of them scaling the stair superstructure and close to the top. Bodies fall from the stairs only to be replaced by others. I continue across the ramp slowing down slightly with a plan already coming to mind.
“Lynn, I’m going to clear your path for moments at a time, be ready for my signal,” I say into the radio.
“Jack, we’ll be ready,” Lynn replies.
I drive the 130 directly at the tower with the kids looking on in disbelief as to what I am planning. The heads of the creatures turn in my direction, pausing in their assault of the tower to stare at the new intrusion into their environment. Whipping across the ramp, I pull close to the tower and turn a 180 in place, coming to a stop.
“Robert, I’m going to the back to ready the ramp. I’ll plug into the intercom in back. When I signal, hold the brakes and rev up to full power. Hold onto those brakes tightly. Nic, you’re with me.”
Unplugging and unstrapping, I head to the rear along the aisle. Reaching the back, I plug into the intercom to hear Robert’s heavy breathing. “Robert, how do you read?” I ask.
“I hear you,” he says, his voice thick with tension.
“Lowering the ramp,” I announce.
The ramp descends revealing the tarmac outside by slow increments. As it reaches the ground, I see the horde of creatures encompassing the tower and the strobe flashes from the top as the soldiers attempt to fend them off.
“Okay, Robert, tell the tower to pull in and prepare their first ten,” I say. As the soldiers rush into the tower, I tell Robert, “Power up now.”
I hear the engines begin their throaty roar as they are brought up to max. The thrust powers the wind to hurricane force levels to the rear. At first, it just propels the creatures on the outside and railings forward and then it lifts them from their feet. As the power increases, they are thrust away from and over the fence beyond. Many of them become pinned against the far chain link fence as the wind from the propellers pushes them to and then almost through it. The stair structure is swept clean of the creatures.
“Tell them to go now!” I shout into the intercom to Robert.
I see several soldiers in fatigues emerge from the tower and tell Robert to bring the throttle back to half. The soldiers fight their way down the stairs against the wind and drop the final ten feet to the ground. The wind whips their fatigues as they come to rest against the containers supporting the tower.
“Power back now, Robert,” I say.
The vibration of the aircraft decreases as Roberts draws the power back. I see the soldiers recover and begin running toward the aircraft. As far as the extension cord of the intercom allows, I walk down the ramp to cover the soldiers’ extraction, covering the sides as they head over the now downed fence, across the small distance of the ramp, and up into the aircraft. As they pass by, I grab four and have them cover the sides of the aircraft; two to each side of the ramp and advise them not to step out from behind the aircraft.
I then tell Robert, “Power up again and tell them to ready the next ten.”
The wind and vibrations increase as the engines accelerate their thrust and wind velocity to the rear. The wind catches the creatures just recovering from the last hurricane force and throws them against the fence again. Those not caught in the fence are blown into the desert beyond.
I call on the intercom over the sound of the engines, “Tell them to send the next ten and power back to half.”
As the next ten soldiers make their way down the stairs, I see the ones placed on the edges of the ramp open up. A quick glance and, in the glare of the landing lights, I see several creatures on the pavement at the wingtips. Bringing my own M-4 up, I sight and fire single bursts, but without effect, toward the creatures attempting to close. The rounds of the other soldiers are also not having any telling effect.
Sidling to the soldiers by the ramps, I yell into their ears, “The engine thrust is causing your rounds to be blown to the rear. Compensate, but don’t hit the engines.”
They all look at me and then center on their sights once again. “Robert, ask them how many more,” I call.
“They said six more,” he responds after what feels like several moments later.
“Okay, tell them to get ready,” I say.
After telling Robert to power back, the ten drop to the ground, scramble over the fence, cross the intervening space, and race up the ramp past me into the aircraft. I look over to see Nic on the opposite side of the ramp motioning with her hands urging the soldiers up the ramp and into the aircraft.
“Okay, bud, once more. Throttle up,” I say.
I feel and hear the engines as they increase their thrust. The creatures are still pinned against the fence on the far side of the tower and the ones circling the wings are being blown backward as they venture behind the giant props. Their bodies skip and bounce across the ramp like rag dolls. Some drop to the ramp as a few rounds find their marks through the hurricane winds; their bodies skipping along with the rest of them.
Once the ramp is clear of bodies, I jump on the intercom and direct Robert to tell the remaining soldiers in the tower to exit. I see them exit the doors above and race down the metal fire stairs. As they near the ground, I tell Robert to cut back on the throttles to allow them to make it to the aircraft. As the engines wind rapidly down, the creatures on the fence fall to the ground and scramble to their feet in a disoriented state.
The remaining soldiers drop the final ten feet, one after the other, and run across the ramp toward the safety of the aircraft.
Another streak of luck, I think, watching them race across the ramp.
Rounds reach out from the soldiers’ weapons stationed on the edges of the ramp impacting into the disoriented creatures as the last of the soldiers run to safety. As the last of them pounds up the ramp, I call out above the din for the soldiers guarding to scramble up and raise the ramp as they reach the interior.
“Keep it steady, bud, I’ll be right up,” I tell Robert before unhooking from the intercom.
Coiling the cord extension up as the ramp closes completely, I look around at the soldiers in the rear of the aircraft and lining the aisle along the left side. Most of them are leaning forward with their hands on their knees panting from the narrow escape and run across the ramp. I stop by the supplies lashed to the cargo deck to reach in and extract an item from the boxes, sliding it into the leg pocket of my flight suit. I spot Lynn standing near the now closed ramp.
“Sergeant Connell, a word with you in private,” I say, catching her eye.
A voice sounds from directly behind me, “Captain. Check with me first before calling out one of my soldiers!”
I turn my head to see a soldier standing with a subdued rank of major velcroed to the front of his fatigues. “And who are you?” I say in return.
“Major Bannerman, and you will address me with respect, Captain. So it is ‘sir’ or ‘major’ to you,” Bannerman answers.
“Well, Bannerman, I just flew half way across the world to pick your ass up out of a fire and apparently in the nick of time from what I saw,” I say, turning completely around to face him.
“I’m the ranking officer here, so that places me in charge of this outfit, Captain,” he says, placing his hands on his rather round hips and glaring at me with a challenge.
The soldiers who can hear our conversation are all finding very interesting things on the ground in front of them to look at, but their ears are glued to the words being exchanged. Nic looks at me with an amused smile knowing how this conversation is going to end and what’s coming next but curious as to how it is going to be received.
“Not on this aircraft it doesn’t. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have more pressing business to take care of,” I say, turning back to Lynn.
I notice Nic’s smile and there are small smiles played across the faces of some of the soldiers who continue to find their interest directed at anything but this development. I hear Bannerman start to say something, but he falls silent as I turn and walk over to Lynn.
Standing before her, I reach out and we hug each other tightly. “I’m so glad you are okay. I love you,” we both say in each other’s ears.
Releasing our hug after a long moment, I reach into my leg pocket and hand her a bottle of beer. “I promised to have one of these for you when I picked you up,” I say as she takes the beer with a smile. “Enjoy it. I have to go up and see if I can remember how to do that pilot stuff. Have everyone strap in as best as they can, babe. It’s so wonderful to see you,” I add, taking a step backward. “I’m so happy that you’re safe.”
“It’s so, so good to see you, Jack,” Lynn answers in return.
I head into the cockpit and strap in. I see many creatures running around in front of the aircraft lit by the landing lights
“Are we going run through them like at Brunswick?” Robert asks once I plug into the intercom.
“No. I’m too exhausted. Let’s just get airborne, fuel up here in the morning, and plan our flight back,” I say wearily, not looking forward to flying for a couple more hours after the fourteen-plus-hour flight here.
I bump the throttles forward and the aircraft responds by rolling across the ramp. The creatures in front of us part as we make our way to the runway. The 130 transitions once again to a creature of the sky as our wheels lift off the asphalt leaving those earthbound to the earth. I level off at three thousand feet, set up an orbital path three miles from the camp on the NAV system, and engage the autopilot. The camp lights come into view through our windshield with each turn back toward the encampment. It looks like a small, peaceful city at night. My thought is to be close to the airport in case our fuel supply runs low and to hopefully draw some of the creatures out our direction and trap them with the dawn coming just a couple hours away.
We bore holes in the sky until the horizon lightens announcing the next scheduled appearance of the sun. With its tip poking above the horizon, I turn back toward the runway and land. We taxi to the base of the tower looking at the ruined fence and the bodies scattered around. I shut down and head back to the cargo compartment to lower the ramp. Lynn walks up as the ramp lowers, letting the pale light of the coming day inside.
“We’ll gather what food, water, medical supplies, weapons, and ammo we can,” she says.
“Sounds good. We’ll refuel and then, I’ll need a few hours of rest. I have to plan our return legs, and we should be ready around noon,” I say as we give each other a big hug and kiss. “I’m sure glad we talked about this rendezvous before. Weird that we actually had to use it, huh?”
“No kidding,” she replies.
Robert and I refuel the aircraft from several fuel trucks parked along the ramp as Nic and Bri wheel the ground power unit from out of the cargo compartment. Lynn and the soldiers fill up a lot of the available cargo space with crates and boxes of weapons and supplies. After a rest, there is time to give Robert, Nicole, Michelle, and Brianna an indoctrination to the M-16, letting them fire a few rounds across the ramp until they are mildly comfortable with it. As Lynn gives them a session with the weapons, I plan our return trip. There is one difference in our return path and that being to a runway located just outside of Atlanta.
“Why are we going there?” Robert asks, having finished with his lesson with Lynn. He is looking over my shoulder at the maps spread on the small table in the cargo compartment. Lynn, after shouldering her M-16, is also looking over my other shoulder. “Why not just reverse our legs out of here?”
“The CDC lies there and, if there is any info on what we are dealing with, it will be there,” I say, looking first at Robert and then Lynn.
They both nod. After a rest, I input the return legs and various approaches into the flight navigation computer and seal up the aircraft for our return journey. We lift off into the heat of the early afternoon, the engines droning as we climb into the light blue sky. The sound of our aircraft diminishes and then fades from those ears left within the confines of the encampment.