As dawn broke revealing a bluebird-colored sky, a flight of F-15E Strike Eagles from Portland International Airport roared overhead. They were on full afterburner and flying very low. Windows rattled and car alarms were triggered by the over flight. Two of the fighters peeled off and climbed higher and then resumed CAP (combat air patrol) in a circling series of laps over the city.
Cade remembered that in the days following the 9/11 attacks, there was a constant rumbling of National Guard fighter jets on CAP over Portland. It was apparent things had deteriorated very rapidly overnight.
Not being able to contact his loved ones or any of his other neighbors forced him to make the decision to leave the house and reconnoiter the neighborhood. Cade went out into his backyard, stepped up into an old rusty wheelbarrow, poked his head over the top of the fence and slowly scanned the alley left to right checking for any of the walking dead.
After concluding he was alone, as quietly as possible he eased his aluminum mountain bike over the six foot wooden fence that enclosed his back yard. Getting around on the bike would be faster than on foot and quieter than a car.
He vaulted over the fence to join his bike and crouched down, then inhaled and exhaled through his nose several times. The air smelled of smoke mingled with the distinctive stench of decaying flesh. The odor was most likely from one of his many dead neighbors he had observed ambling about the streets over the last day and a half.
Still crouched down, he swiveled his head slowly, intent on picking up any sounds coming from the grass and dirt alley that ran between the block of houses in the rear. With the back of his hand he wiped the sweat forming on his brow. He didn’t detect any sounds nearby. In the distance a siren wailed.
Since the start of the outbreak the traffic on his street had dwindled to nothing, and the undead began appearing in larger numbers. The neighborhood had become eerily quiet except for the raspy moans of the walking dead. When one of them spotted anything living they would begin their low pitched moaning and alert the other walkers within earshot. It was akin to how dogs started barking at night, one starts howling and soon a string of baying dogs would all join in on the chorus.
In the big sandbox in the Middle East, situational awareness and constant training was what kept him alive. It was especially important now given the fact the dead were walking the streets. Cade knew they greatly outnumbered him; therefore he was very careful to avoid any contact.
Cade was an average sized man. With the exception of his intense hard eyes, he didn’t look like a Tier-One Operator. Most of the soldiers he had trained with and gone to war with looked unassuming as well. There were a few of the moose sized, action star lookers in the teams. During operations they usually paid the price and humped the big guns.
Until fifteen months ago Cade was in country in the “Stan” (short for Afghanistan), hunting HVTs, foreign fighters and al-Qaeda terrorists. After about thirty or so, he had stopped counting the men he had sent to paradise.
Cade travelled light during his neighborhood excursion. His aim was to check out his surroundings and determine if he should shelter in place or bug out.
He wore khaki heavy duty workpants, a black long sleeve tee shirt and a well-worn black Trailblazers ball cap covering his dark, short cropped hair. A pair of black wraparound Oakley sunglasses shielded his eyes. Sturdy, steel toed black leather Danner boots protected his feet. Strapped to his left upper thigh was a semi-automatic 9mm Glock 17 and under his right armpit was a compact semi-automatic 9mm Glock 19 in a quick draw Bianchi holster. Both pistols were polymer, very light and dependable. Within easy reach in a nylon pouch on his belt were four extra, seventeen round magazines. A Gerber Mark-II combat dagger, ten inches of double bladed, hardened black steel, hung upside down from his combat harness. In his free hand he held the lightweight titanium ice axe. It had been worth its weight in gold during his first encounter with the undead. An hour spent with a rasp and file honed the points and blade of the axe razor sharp. Cade knew this was going to be a very effective and quiet weapon.
Even though he was more than a year removed from the Special Forces, he still possessed the tools of the trade; and had not forgotten how to use them.