*** WARNING! NSFW! CONTAINS SWEARING, VIOLENCE AND ZOMBIE RELATED NOT NICETIES THEN AGAIN, I DON'T KNOW WHERE YOU WORK, SO THIS MIGHT BE OKAY THERE. EITHER WAY, DON'T SAY I DIDN'T TELL YOU SO! ***
Chapter One
12 May 2011 21:35 hours, Massachusetts Institute
of Technology Boston, Massachusetts
Amy woke
with a yelp and looked around, thoroughly confused for a brief moment until she
could get her bearings: slight chill plus buzzing florescent lights that made
you look like you had a pretty serious case of jaundice plus dry air equaled
the computer lab in Physical Science building. She was short with a lean,
muscular frame but the young woman was ‘mid-deployment hot’ (her hips were a
little too wide, legs a little too short, just a shade too much muscle to be
really attractive to most men but after three months in the desert she was fighting
the guys off with a stick) and she knew it so she did not even really try: she
dressed in faded Levis and old tee shirts most of the time. From a distance,
someone observing her might think she was wearing reddish brown gloves until
you got closer and saw that the skin of her hands, neck and face had sunburned,
healed and sunburned again repeatedly.
She turned her attention to what woke
her, namely the buzzing cell phone in the pocket of her hoodie. It was almost
summertime and it sure seemed to feel like it outside to everybody else, but it
felt kind of chilly to her: it averaged well over a hundred and twenty degrees
in the shade when she left Iraq. With one bronzed hand she dug the phone out
while she dug a large crusty piece of gunk out of the corner of her dark brown
eyes with the other.
"Outstanding."
she muttered quietly, sighed and stabbed the green button on the screen of her
Smartphone with her index finger. "Hello, Lieutenant Anderson. How are
you, sir?" She groaned inside, trying to hide her dislike for the man. Her
Air Force Reserve section had come back from Camp Freedom, a little Forward
Operating Base with an airstrip just outside Mosul a little bit over a month
ago. She had completed Airman Leadership School before her deployment
but somebody, somewhere down the line screwed up the paperwork holding up her
promotion to Staff Sergeant. She had a pretty good idea who might be
responsible for the foul up too…
"Airman
Frays" the lieutenant began quickly. She imagined him wherever he was, puffing
up with self-importance as he spoke. "Call your points of contact, grab
your battle rattle and get to the airfield TIME: NOW."
The urgent
tone of the man's voice instantly squashed any personal feelings against the
man. The young woman put the phone on the table next to the keyboard and
pressed the speaker button as she hurriedly saved what little work she had
actually managed to get done before dozing off. "Roger that, sir. I have
you on speakerphone." she answered, eyeing the phone suspiciously. "What's
going on, sir?" A million bad scenarios ran through her head as she pulled
some stray locks of chocolate colored hair back in to the bun on the back of
her head. She could practically feel the sand crunching between her teeth.
The man let
out an exasperated chuff before he could stop himself. "Don't you watch
the news, Airman?" he asked, clearly sounding upset with her. "You'll
get a briefing when you get here. Get here. Now."
With that
the phone went dead on the desk next to her hand. She frowned and put it away,
wondering what the heck she was missing anyway as she hustled out of the
Physical Sciences building and into the humid night. It had been raining more
or less constantly for the past three or four days and the moisture still clung
to the air. After the past six months in the desert, Amy couldn't help but take
some time away from her class work to walk in the gentle drizzle and enjoy the
feeling of it on her face. Jacob, her R.A., went with her sometimes. There was
also that epic game of Ultimate Frisbee that he had dragged her to that seemed
to take up the better part of an afternoon…
Now she
could not afford the luxury and hurried across the quad, through the parking
lot and up to her dorm. A lot of the dorm rooms and parking spaces were empty.
It sounded like somebody had thrown a bottle at the far end of the lot followed
by a lot of yelling. Amy crouched instinctively at the noise, looked around to
ascertain the direction of the sound then ran up the stairs to her dormitory.
There was nobody sitting at the security desk in the foyer. She shook her head
and sprinted up to her dorm room on the third floor, taking the stairs two at a
time.
Amy jammed
her key in the lock, opened the door to her room and ducked inside. She paused
and stared at what was on her roommate's side of the place, or rather what was
not there on her roommate’s side of the place: the dresser drawers hung open,
the closet empty with the door half open. Thankfully, her closet was still
closed and locked and her dresser looked like it was just as she had left it.
When she returned to school a week after the welcome back ceremony Amy had
found that Janice, her roommate, had apparently gotten some of their things
confused and all mixed together.
Amy crossed
to the small communal television resting on the cheap press board TV stand and
flicked it on. She was unsurprised to see that it was tuned to the Fox News
Channel. Janice was active in the campus Republican Committee and she was
thrilled to have an Iraq War veteran as a roommate. Amy, however, found
herself…somewhat less than ecstatic with the arrangement.
While Janice and her yuppie scumbag
gelhead friends were partying, eating everything in the fridge (whether they
paid for the food or not) and making a mess of the place Amy was too busy trying
to catch up on her class work to do little more than sleep, work out at the gym
for an hour or two and hopefully grab a bite to eat in the dining hall.
Then there
was the time Janice's dumb jock boyfriend of the week blew up a twenty gallon
sized trash bag and popped it next to Amy's bunk while she was asleep. She had
rolled out the bed and ran head first into the wall trying, out of instinct, to
make it to the cement shelter that had been outside her connex. Amy wanted to
slug Janice when she got mad 'because you can't take a joke'. In retaliation
she had thrown Janice’s laptop across the room as she stormed out instead of
decking her.
She took a
bottle of water out of the small refrigerator, measured out some into a large
travel mug then set about making some coffee. Amy grumbled angrily when she saw
that Janice had used up the last of her half and half then put the empty
carton back. At least there was still plenty of sugar. As the coffee brewed Amy
checked the butter container in the door of the fridge. "Ha!" she
cried triumphantly: the little thief didn't find her hidden cache of flavored
creamers she'd filched from the student union at breakfast yesterday and
carefully squirreled away.
The
coffeemaker sputtered and spat as it finished filling the carafe with that
wonderfully hot and life giving stuff. Amy sat on her bed, blousing her boots
and half listening to the talking head on the screen across the room. What she
heard was not that good, something about some new jumped up meningitis bug or
something, and she wasn't entirely sure that she wanted to hear the rest. She
recalled hearing rumors about something like that while on deployment, but it
was in Asia or Africa or someplace. She had never given the scuttlebutt much credence
because, well, while it was pretty common knowledge that they got a censored
version of the news there was not even a peep of it in her email or anything
like that. They could not censor her private email and Facebook, could they?
Either way, it did not make much of a
difference: neighborhoods on the south side of the city was currently on fire
and the TV kept showing her the same police car getting smashed up by a bunch
of people wielding bats and pipes. “Time to go.” Frays muttered to herself as
she flicked off the television and started towards the door.
She slapped her beret on her head and
studied her reflection in the mirror by the door to make sure it was on right.
Amy frowned at herself then slung her rucksack over her shoulder and picked up
her duffel bag. She paused outside Jacob’s door and knocked a couple times,
hoping to get to say goodbye then hustled down to her little Ford Ranger pickup
truck in the student parking lot when he did answer. Amy frowned as she pulled
away from the parking lot.
Frays had
made it off campus with reasonable ease, but Route 2A North was a mess. She had
called the eight people on her list three times each, which was easy to do
since she hadn't moved in thirty eight minutes according to the clock on her
truck’s dashboard. She was not at all surprised to find that none of them
answered and nobody seemed likely to call her back. Amy drummed her fingers on
the steering wheel, her ears already ringing from the reaming she was sure to
get.
She grumbled to herself and began
absently flipping through radio stations trying to find out more about whatever
the heck she was probably going to be dealing with. The problem was that there
didn't seem to be much to tell but of course that it didn't stop the talking
heads from throwing wild speculations and half baked sounding theories: Muslim
extremists, Iranian agents or good old fashioned act of God seemed to be the
top three.
And to make matters worse, she
realized that she had left her cup of coffee sitting on the top of the fridge
back in her dorm room.
She dug
through the storage space in the truck’s armrest, trying to find the connector
for her MP3 player so she could listen to something besides the exasperatingly
repetitive news reports. Amy's hand closed around something instantly
recognizable and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. She had picked up the habit while
pulling guard duty or radio watch while on deployment, mainly as a way to kill
time and stay awake. She had quit cold turkey the week before the flight back
to the states, stashed the mostly full pack of Miami cigarettes in her truck
before her parents could see and had not even thought about them since. She
frowned at the Arabic writing on the package. "Ah, the heck with it."
Amy muttered as she thumbed open the pack and jammed one of the horribly stale
cancer sticks into the corner of her mouth as she pulled into the breakdown
lane.
She made it
a quarter mile or so down the road before she found what was causing the
traffic jam. The shattered, smoking remains of what looked like three cars
choked the four lanes of the expressway. A large man in a State Trooper uniform
loped over to her vehicle with an irate look on his face. "The hell are
you doing?" he growled, one hand going to the butt of the pistol holstered
on his belt. Amy's gut tightened into big knots. “Didn’t you see the goddamn
signs?”
"My flight
got recalled, Trooper." she said quickly as she pointed to her Security
Forces armband on her bicep. She dug in her pocket and flashed her badge.
"I gotta get to Hanscomb Air Force Base right away. What's going on?"
The
policeman's scowl deepened, even though Amy didn't think it was possible.
"Go on, get out of here." he muttered as he waved her on. Amy shakily
released a breath she did not realize she was holding as she motored away from
the wreck. She had seen the look on that policeman's face before, in the eyes
of the grunts guarding the gates of the FOB and sometimes her fellow airmen. He
had wanted to shoot her and was more than a little irked that she didn't give
him an excuse.
Thankfully
the road was more or less clear the rest of the way to Hanscomb Air Force Base.
She felt something almost akin to relief as she showed the men guarding the
gate her ID card and got waved inside the perimeter. The encounter with the
State Police had left her wanting to be safe (or rather safer would
probably be a better term) with her fellow airmen.
Frays pulled in to a parking space at
the rear of the armory and muttered angrily under her breath. There was a loose
gaggle of men and women in uniforms beginning to form into lines and columns
perhaps ten yards away from her truck but it was perhaps a third the size it
should have been. She slammed the door of the truck and ran to where her flight
should have been assembling.
A man who vaguely resembled a
refrigerator in ABUs scowled as she approached. She had been surprised to learn
that he had played defense for two seasons with the Boston Bruins (Carl, her
little brother, would not give her a moment’s peace until she had gotten him to
sign his rookie card) and had eight combat deployments with a Vehicle
Operations unit under his belt before coming over to the Reserves. Amy thought
he looked like Steve Rogers, Captain America’s alter ego, with his square jaw,
blond crew cut and bulging muscles. She had considered making a pass at him
when she had first gotten to the unit until she had learned that he was married
with two kids, twenty years her senior…and her Flight Sergeant. In the three
years since then their relationship had settled into one of friendship and
mutual respect.
"Glad you could finally make it,
Frays." the big man grumbled as Amy fell in to his left. "Did you
call everybody else?" He glowered beneath the brim of his patrol cap.
"Sorry,
Sergeant." she answered quickly. "I called and left messages but
nobody answered." Amy took a quick look around. There were maybe thirty or
forty airmen in formation where there should be a hundred and fifty, not
counting the airmen currently on deployment. "Doesn't look like they were
the only ones."
Master
Sergeant Emery tapped Amy's elbow, drawing her attention back towards the front
of the formation. Captain Forsythe wandered awkwardly from the back exit of the
building to stand before his airmen. The highest ranking people available
stepped forward to fill in for their missing superiors and called their flights
to attention then conducted roll call. There was an Airman First Class standing
at the front of the other squadron. Amy bitterly shook her head. When that was
done, Captain Forsythe gave them the command to stand at ease.
"As you
have probably heard, the governor has declared a state of emergency." said
the Captain as he slowly paced back and forth in front of the formation.
"There is heavy rioting in south Boston and the disturbance is spreading
across the river and into the suburbs." The man stopped and turned his
gaze dramatically towards the men and women before him. Amy was not surprised
to learn that the Captain had been an amateur actor in his youth.
"We are
to draw weapons and live ammunition. Personnel qualified with grenade launchers
and shotguns are to draw less than lethal countermeasures." the captain
said quickly as he continued pacing. "Charlie Flight, you’ll be moving out
by bus to a staging area west of the city where we will assist local law
enforcement in restoring law and order to the area. You'll receive your
assignments when we arrive. Now let's going!"
The response
from Frays and her fellow airmen was probably not as enthusiastic as their
captain wanted, but they still filed in to the armory and began to draw their
weapons and other supplies. Amy hustled out to her truck and grabbed her gear
before signing out her M4A1 carbine with under slung M203 40mm grenade launcher
as well as her M9 pistol. The young woman put a fresh battery in her carbine’s
Aimpoint red dot sight with 3x magnification module and made sure she had a
couple spare batteries not only for the sight but also the illuminator clamped
onto the weapon’s hand guard. She shrugged into her body armor and buckled the
pistol belt of her LCS as Sergeant Emery approached, already decked out in his
own field gear. She had felt a little underdressed when she first stood next to
him, as the big sergeant carried not only the full complement of gear, but a
six shot 12 gauge Mossberg 590 pistol gripped pump action shotgun in a scabbard
on the back panel of his LCS with nineteen spare rounds of ammunition for it on
each shoulder strap. Her only additions to her basic issue kit were the
Blackhawk! SERPA drop leg holster on her right thigh (a birthday gift from her
parents as her unit’s standard issue drop leg holster had a flap, making
drawing the pistol a huge pain when you really needed it), a Saint Joan’s medal
(from Father Greg, her hometown priest) and a Combat Life Saver kit on the left
side of her LCS.
The man awkwardly held the handle of
two green ammunition cans in each hand. Amy took two of them, cracked the lead
wire seals with her multi-tool and tugged open the cans. The two of them made nervous
small talk as they pushed rounds into their magazines and stuffed them into
carriers on their harnesses. Amy went back to the arms room and signed out a
rubberized canvas bandoleer containing a half dozen CS grenades for her
launcher which she slung across her chest like some old timey outlaw. Sergeant
Emery and Frays went into the office to fill their camelbaks and canteens from
the water cooler. Once they had their water, Sergeant Emery did a hands-on
check of her gear and the two of them went out the back door to wait for the
bus.
Amy
immediately started to loathe herself for having those two cigarettes on the
way in. An itching, crawling sensation climbed up and down her spine when it
wasn't busy running laps and doing backflips inside her skull. It didn't help
that about a dozen of her fellow airmen stood around in loose groups with thin
blue clouds of tobacco smoke drifting up into the sky. Sergeant Emery was by
her side. “Ya know, I almost thought that we were gonna go back to The Sandbox.”
he said as he pulled a pack of Marlboro cigarettes out of an old ammo pouch on
his LCS. He offered one to his subordinate who accepted it with grateful
resignation. He lit hers then his with his silver Zippo before snapping the
lighter shut with a flourish. “Somehow this seems a lot worse.”
“I know.”
Amy said quietly as she exhaled a plume of smoke. A look of alarm passed over
her face as she dug out her cell phone. “Goddamn it. I need to call my parents
and let them know what's going on.” The big NCO smiled at the surprised
expression on his subordinate’s face: Frays was a two mass a week Catholic and
rarely swore, though she did occasionally let a cussword slip.
Sergeant Emery nodded and moved off
to talk to some of the other NCOs as Amy scrolled through the contacts list on
her phone. She pressed a couple buttons and the phone started to ring. Frays
nervously tapped her toe as she waited for someone to pick up.
“Hey,
kiddo.” said a rough, masculine voice. Amy’s father smoked two packs a day and
it showed in his voice. Amy could tell he was worried but was trying to sound
upbeat. “What's shakin'?”
“Hi, Dad.
Just calling to let you know that I got recalled.” she answered quickly. The
headlights of the buses to take them to the staging area came in to view at the
other end of the parking lot. She frowned at the driver, willing him to give
her just two more minutes. “Listen, Dad…why don't you take Mom and Carl up to the
camp for a little while?”
She could
not hear her father's response because the buses had pulled up right in front
of her and the airmen began crowding on to each of them. “Dad, I gotta go. Tell
everybody not to worry, I love them and I'll see everybody soon.” She hung up
and stuck the phone back in her pocket as she boarded the rear bus.
Amy could
not help but feel like she had wasted her breath telling her parents not to
worry. Her dad, who had served as a tank commander in the Marine Corps during
Desert Storm, would act like he wasn't worried (even though he was). Mom would
most likely bawl her eyes out like she did when her flight got on the plane for
Iraq. Carl, of course, would probably wonder what they were so bothered about.
She had Brian Effin’ Emery watching her back, after all.
Amy plopped
into the seat next to Sergeant Emery, her rucksack on her lap. Captain Forsythe
clomped up the stairs to the bus and stood next to the driver. “I need two
volunteers to drive a Humvee.” he said loudly, his voice barely audible over
the din of the airmen getting settled in for the ride. Amy shrunk behind the
seat in front of her and lifted her rucksack in an attempt to hide from what
she knew was coming. “Alright. Airman Jacobson and...” the man surveyed the
airmen in front of him “Airman Frays. Get over to the motor pool and sign out
Bravo Three Four.”
Amy bit back
a groan. The bus seats were way more comfortable than the Humvee, not to
mention the fact that the bus had air conditioning and it was easily a very
muggy ninety degrees or more outside. Frays also didn't like the idea of
spending the next couple of hours trapped in a vehicle with Airman Nick
Jacobson either. He was short with bad skin and just on the edge of being
jammed up over his weight. Not to mention the way he sometimes looked at the
female personnel when the unit got together for PT and stuff made her skin
crawl. It reminded her a little too much of the way the male personnel would
stare at the females in the chow hall at good ol’ Camp Freedom.
The detail
disembarked, pulled their gear out of the bus's cargo hold and took off at a
trot towards the high fence surrounding the motor pool. A couple of airmen from
the Base Security section opened the gate to the motor pool and held it open
for them while they got the Humvee ready to go. Amy opened the door and
unlocked the chain securing the vehicle's steering wheel. She pulled the sling
of her M4 over her head and snapped the weapon in to the rack next to the
driver's seat. Airman Jacobson tossed his rucksack onto the back seat and
secured his weapon as well.
Frays
programmed the radio mounted to the Humvee’s dash then picked up the handset
and keyed the mike. “Any station this net, any station this net, this is Bravo
Three Four. Radio check.” she said quickly as she flicked the switches to turn
the vehicle's motor over.
“This is
Bravo One Actual.” said Captain Forsythe, the man's voice rendered somewhat
tinny and distorted by the radio's speakers. “Read you Lima Charlie, Bravo
Three Four.”
“Roger that,
Bravo One Actual.” Amy said as the Humvee roared to life and she flicked on the
headlamps. “We're ready to roll.”
Ten minutes
later the convoy of buses, Humvees and Five Tons was headed east down the
interstate towards the staging area. Amy occasionally spared a glance at the
young man sitting next to her. He looked pale and frightened, like a scared
little boy. She suddenly remembered that he had joined the unit after she had
gotten back and started to feel like kind of a jerk for her harsh opinion of
the guy. This was his first deployment and it might just be in his backyard. She
felt around under the radio mount until her fingers found what she was looking
for: a thin black wire with the male end of an audio jack on the end.
“Hey,
Jacobson. Do you got an iPod or something?” she asked, holding up the wire so
he could see it “Hook this into its headphone jack.”
Jacobson
looked a little confused. “What?” he asked, arching an eyebrow at the woman
seated next to him. “Won't we get in trouble?”
Amy laughed.
“If Captain Forsythe wants to jam us up I'll rip out the same set up I put in
his Humvee.” she turned her attention back to the road in front of her. “Go
ahead, man. It's fine.”
Pretty soon
the two of them were cruising down the road with the gentle strains of some
kind of German speed metal band that sounded to Amy like someone put a
microphone in a sack full of sick cats then started swinging it around their
head and recorded the noises it made screaming at them out of the Humvee's
speakers. This improved Jacobson's mood greatly however and he even started
talking more. In fact, he turned out to be a regular chatterbox and he started
grilling her about her previous deployment. Amy told him all she felt
comfortable with and gently redirected the conversation when he got too close
to something she felt was better left alone.
The radio
squawked, thankfully cutting off the music. “This is Bravo One Actual. There's
a rest stop two miles up ahead.” said Captain Forsythe. He paused and keyed his
mike again. “The Dunkin' Donuts is donating coffee and donuts to emergency services
personnel. We're taking a twenty minute latrine break. How copy?”
Several
jubilant cries went up over the radio as the convoy pulled in to the rest stop.
Amy grabbed her weapon and hurried in as dignified manner as she could towards
the ladies' room while Jacobson made a beeline for the Dunkin' Donuts. When she
came out and walked back to the vehicle the younger man pressed a large cup of
black coffee into her hand. “Check it out, Frays.” he said, holding up a
paperboard box with a proud smile. “I scored us a half dozen fried cakes and a
bunch of doughnut holes.”
She looked
quickly over both shoulders and flashed Jacobson a quick grin. “Good deal.” Amy
said as she led the way back to their vehicle. “Keep those out of sight until
we're moving again.” Frays stopped a few paces from the Humvee, a yawn slowly
building in her chest. “Would you mind driving?” she asked as she covered her
mouth with a fist and yawned.
Jacobson
grinned like a kid. “Sure!” he said quickly. “I just finished up driver's
training!”
Amy could
not help but smile nervously at the young man's enthusiasm. “Just be careful,
okay?” Jacobson seemed like a good guy but she could not help but wonder if she
was making a mistake as she stowed her weapon and climbed into the passenger
seat.
Sgt. Emery
approached their Humvee with two plastic bags in each hand that were full
almost to the point of bursting. “Hey, Frays.” he said as he handed her one of
the bags through the window. “A little present from Maria. Merry Christmas,
guys.” The two of them thanked him as he hurried back to the bus. The two of
them divided up the bottles of soda, cans of Red Bull and snack cakes. Amy
grumbled under her breath when she saw Emery's other present: a carton of
Marlboro Red Pack 100s. He even included a couple Bic lighters. “He knows I've
been trying to quit!” she cried, holding the cigarettes up for Jacobson's
inspection. Frays sighed and ripped open the box then took out a pack and
jammed it into her pocket.
“No,
thanks.” Jacobson said when Frays offered him a pack. She frowned and put it
back. Figures he doesn’t smoke Frays thought sourly as she pulled her
rucksack off of the back seat and put the cigarettes inside.
The man
laughed at the sour look on her face. “He's just looking out for you.” he said
as he fired up the vehicle's engine. “Besides, you picked a helluva time to
quit smoking.” he added in a perfect impression of Robert Stack in the movie Airplane!
Amy cracked up in spite of herself.
Maybe ten
minutes after they were down the road Amy found she was having trouble keeping
her eyes open. A few seconds after that she was snoring contentedly, the paper
cup still clutched in her hand. Jacobson watched her out of the corner of his
eye. The peaceable look on her face brought an uncomfortable stirring sensation
in his groin. He quickly gulped down his coffee and threw the paper cup out the
window. Jacobson hesitated for a moment then reached across Frays' lap and took
her coffee. He allowed his fingertips to brush against her left thigh, the soft
skin of her wrist before returning to his side of the vehicle. The woman
mumbled something under her breath and shifted around in her seat a couple
times before falling back to sleep.
It was still
dark when she opened her eyes. Amy groaned and stretched then checked her
watch. She blinked at the numbers on the watch’s face, trying to make them make
sense. “Wakey, Wakey sleepyhead!” Jacobson said, his voice rising and falling
in an annoyingly sing-song manner. “I saved your coffee for you but it's been
cold for at least an hour.” He held the cup out to her. “You want it?”
Amy waved it
away and grimaced in disgust as the man chugged the bitter black liquid. “Any
of those donuts left?” Jacobson handed her the box and she was surprised to
find the box mostly full. She picked out a handful of chocolate covered
doughnut holes.
Jacobson
turned the volume on his iPod up a few notches. “Go ahead and eat them if you
want those donuts.” he said when Frays put the box back in between their seats.
“I don't need them.” the Airman added as he gave his middle a pat.
They rode in
silence for a few minutes. “Good thing you woke up when you did.” Jacobson said
quickly. “We're almost there.” he licked his lips nervously. “I-um...nobody
showed up from my flight. Do you think we'll end up together? Working I mean.”
Amy laughed
quietly. “I don't know. We'll have to see.” she answered. There was something
in the young man's tone that made her a little nervous. “It's not up to me
anyway. That would probably be up to Sergeant Emery.” Jacobson looked more than
a little crestfallen. “I'll see what I can do.” Amy said quickly, drawing a
grin to the young man's face. “Sergeant Emery likes me.”
Their convoy
pulled up to the gate of some sports stadium Amy had never heard of but then
she reflected that she never really followed sports all that much. Policemen
decked out in riot gear waved the buses and other vehicles inside the perimeter
before closing the gate behind them. Amy's heart settled in to an uncomfortable
region somewhere around her ankles.
The sight
that greeted their eyes was something Amy never expected to see in an American
city: hundreds of people lay on stretchers swathed in bloody bandages while
medics hurried in between them. Dozens of heavily armed soldiers and policemen
trundled off in trucks or Humvees. There were even a few Strykers, the latest
and greatest thing in armored personnel carriers, which Amy guessed probably
came from an Army Reserve or National Guard unit (or so she found herself
hoping). The APCs could shrug off just about anything the Iraqi insurgents
could throw at them so she found their presence simultaneously reassuring and
terrifying.
Following
Captain Forsythe's orders, Jacobson steered their vehicle into an empty space
in the parking lot. “This is Bravo One Actual.” said Captain Forsythe. Amy
looked around and saw the unit commander's Humvee perhaps a hundred meters
away. “Flight leaders, NCOs and acting NCOs, there's a briefing at my Humvee in
thirty mike where you'll get your assignments. Everybody else hang tight by
your vehicles.”
Amy and Nick
stood near their vehicle, watching Forsythe move off towards a boxy command
trailer that bristled with antennae and satellite dishes. A couple awkward
minutes passed. “Wait here. I'll be right back.” Amy said as she ambled off in
search of Sergeant Emery.
She found
him talking with a couple other NCOs so Amy hovered near the edge of the
conversation, waiting for an appropriate time to pull her flight sergeant away.
“Hey Sergeant Emery” Frays called as soon as the chance presented itself “Can I
talk to you for a minute?”
Once the two
of them were away from the others Amy took a deep breath. “Jacobson wanted me
to ask if he can ride with us.” she said quickly. Frays paused for a second,
studying her flight sergeant's face. “He seems like he's alright, but
he's...new.”
Sergeant
Emery mulled the subject over for a few minutes. “I saw that there wasn't
anybody from his flight here.” he half mumbled, scratching the stubble on his
chin as he thought. “I trust your judgment, Frays. If you think he's alright
and nobody else calls dibs he can ride with us.”
A sick
feeling rolled around in her stomach. “Where is everybody?” Amy asked quietly.
She felt her forehead and cheeks suddenly feeling hot despite the slight breeze
blowing in from the ocean. “Don't they know we need them here?” She lashed out
angrily, sending an empty soda can near the toe of her boot flying across the
parking lot where it landed with a hollow rattle. “What the…heck is wrong with
them?!”
Once the storm
had subsided Sergeant Emery grabbed the woman's shoulders. “Look at me.” he
said sternly. Amy glanced at her boots, at his. “Look at me, Airman.” the big
sergeant repeated himself, this time turning the statement into an order. “I
need you here. Jacobson needs you here. Don't worry about what those fucktards
are doing. We'll get this wrapped up and the chain of command will handle it.
Roger?”
Amy smiled,
feeling her game face coming back. “Roger that, Sergeant.” she said quietly as
she composed herself. “Sorry. This is just so out there, you know?”
Sergeant
Emery laughed and clapped his subordinate on the back. “It's strange, I'll give
you that.” he said as the two of them walked back towards the vehicles. “It's
about time for the briefing. I'll update you and Jacobson when it's done.”
Jacobson
awaited her almost like an expectant puppy, happy that his person came home.
“Did you ask him?” the young Airman asked. Amy could almost swear that he was
actually trying to restrain himself from hopping from one foot to the other.
“What did he say?”
“He said if
nobody calls dibs on you from your flight you can ride out with us.” she said
carefully. Unthinking, Amy dug her cigarettes out of her cargo pocket and tore
open the cellophane. Before she could produce her lighter Jacobson had his out,
the lighter's small flame flickering. She muttered a thanks she lit her cancer
stick.
Another
awkward silence threatened the two of them as they watched the police and
soldiers mobilizing around their staging area. “I thought you didn’t smoke.”
Amy said at last. She field stripped the butt of her cigarette and dropped the
filter into the cargo pocket of her ABUs. They went to the back of the Humvee
and pulled out their vehicle’s crew served weapon: a Browning M2 .50 caliber
heavy machine gun.
“There's a
lot you don't know about me.” Jacobson said with a raised eyebrow, drawing a
chuckle from the young woman next to him as he picked up the weapon’s pintle
mount. “Though seriously, I don't. A lighter can just be a handy thing to
have.”
A couple
minutes later Sgt. Emery left the briefing and approached their Humvee.
“Alright you crazy kids! Road trip!” he cried, spreading a tactical map on the
hood of the vehicle. Amy and Jacobson crowded around him and peered at the map.
“We're gonna go here” Sgt. Emery informed his subordinates “this right here is
scenic Checkpoint Twelve on the north side of the Harvard Bridge. There we'll
find about a half squad of Marines from the One Eight Combat Engineers
battalion.”
He paused so
that Frays and Jacobson could finish writing down what he just told them. “Our
mission is to contain the civilian population on the south side of the bridge.”
Emery said, circling the quarantine zone with a red grease pencil on the map.
“Intel indicates that so far only a few civilians have approached the bridge,
though command expects that more will turn up eventually. Nobody crosses the
bridge. Civilians are to return to their homes and stay there until told
otherwise.” Emery rubbed his jaw and added with a hint of unease “Some people
might be too sick to understand directions. We may have to use lethal force to
maintain the quarantine. Just keep your heads and don’t do anything without
orders unless you perceive a direct threat to yourself, friendly forces or
civilians. Clear?”
He paused a
moment to see if the airmen had any questions then continued the briefing.
“When we get there, there’s this jarhead lieutenant named Peterson is in
charge. We follow his orders unless we hear different come down from higher.”
Sergeant Emery let Frays copy the marks he made on his map on her own. “We're
leaving in ten so let's finish getting our fifty cal mounted and ready to go,
kids.”
Jacobson
rode shotgun while Frays drove. Their truck was part of a four vehicle convoy
of Army and Air Force Humvees moving from the staging area to their assigned
sectors. Sergeant Emery rode in the commander's cupola behind the Humvee's crew
served weapon. Once they were out of the staging area, much to Amy's secret
annoyance, Jacobson hooked his iPod back up and the German cat torturers were
blaring once more. She was just wondering when Sergeant Emery was going to get
sick of it when he bent down into the vehicle and bellowed “Turn that shit
off!” The young man seemed to deflate a little as he complied. Amy smiled into
the palm of her hand. The few times they had to go outside the wire on
deployment Sergeant Emery had her crank ‘Bad to the Bone’ by George Thorogood
and The Destroyers.
A half an
hour of driving made Amy think of downtown Mosul: hundreds of cars crowded the
streets, people yelling at each other, car horns blaring. Many of the vehicles
had luggage or other household goods strapped to the top. A few of them even
had animal carriers complete with panicked cats or dogs in them. “Any of this
look familiar to you, Sergeant?” Frays said loudly so he could hear her over
the street noise.
“Kinda!”
shouted Sergeant Emery “Except there's more white people!” The two of them
laughed then turned their full attention back to what they were doing. Jacobson
chuckled nervously and began fiddling with his equipment. “Try to speed up a
little. There’s a guy in a blue sedan, right side intersection, next block.
Looks like he might try to get in the middle of the convoy.”
Frays
stepped on the gas, keeping the car from cutting into traffic and screwing with
the convoy. Sergeant Emery swung the fifty cal around and pointed it in the
offending vehicle’s general direction just in case. When they came to a
stoplight Amy dug a Red Bull out of her rucksack, unfolded the knife blade from
her multi-tool and used it to shotgun the energy drink. “Relax, Jacobson.” she
said as she dropped the empty can into a plastic bag on the back of the man's
seat. “It's gonna be alright. Just stay cool, buddy. We'll look after you.”
Frays broke
off from the convoy when they arrived at the checkpoint to find two other Humvees
arranged in a wedge perhaps a quarter of the way across the bridge. There was a
five ton truck blocking both lanes closer to their side of the bridge with a
couple other Humvees arranged next to it. A short, beefy man in Marine Corps
camo approached as Amy steered the vehicle onto the bridge. “Hey, Marine!”
called Sergeant Emery. “Where do you want us?”
“Fill up
that gap on our right flank.” said the Marine, gesturing towards where he
wanted Amy to park the Humvee. “Lieutenant Haskins wants to go over the game
plan with your squad leader once you're in position.”
Once the
vehicle was stopped and Frays had the parking brake in place, Emery dropped down
into the cab. “Frays, take over up here. Remember, we're here on crowd control
so keep your M203 handy.” the man opened the rear driver's side door and
stepped out onto the street. “Jacobson, just...try not to touch anything. I'll
be back in a minute.”
Amy climbed
through the back door and into the cupola. There was a dull roar of shouting
and people angrily honking their car horns on the far side of the bridge. She
could not imagine what it was like over there: the heat, choking on car
exhaust, kids crying, hoping to outrun whatever this new hopped up bug was that
brought on this panic... Frays shuttered at the thought.
The crowd
started across the bridge, perhaps pushed forward by the crush of people and
vehicles behind them. Amy braced herself, preparing to rip open the Velcro of
her gas mask carrier and stuff her face into the stifling plastic and rubber
mask. She hated wearing the thing, but it beat catching a lung full of CS gas
by accident.
Frays crouched down inside the
vehicle. “Move over into the driver's seat and get ready to put on your gas
mask.” she told Jacobson. She stood back up and maneuvered her M4 into position
and slid the breach of her grenade launcher open. “Just stay calm.” Amy added
as she inserted a CS grenade into the launcher’s chamber and pulled the action
closed.
Sgt. Emery
came back to the Humvee on the run. “Wait for the green light from command.” he
said loudly. The man shaded his eyes and watched the mob coming towards them on
the bridge. “They appear to be unarmed, so hold your-”
The
unmistakably heavy bark of a Browning M2 .50 caliber heavy machine gun cut him
off. Amy watched in horror as perhaps two dozen people at the front of the mob
tumbled like bowling pins. Screams rent the morning air as the mob tried to disperse,
but for the ones in front were in the middle of the bridge there was nowhere
for them to go because the people behind them would not let them pass. In their
panic they civilians started shoving each other into the river, crushing one
another under foot.
Frays looked
helplessly at Sergeant Emery. “Gas 'em, Frays!” he shouted, pointing furiously
towards the terrified mob. “Gas 'em!” Amy raised her M4 to her shoulder and
prepared to fire as some people across the bridge who were not as unarmed as
Intel had indicated returned fire. A bullet whined off the Humvee as Frays'
M203 thumped a grenade back at them. White smoke billowed, causing all nearby
to choke and gag as the CS did its work. Amy ducked down inside the truck and
tore open her mask carrier, preparing to strap on her gas mask. Her nose and
eyes started to burn a little as the wind blew some of the gas inside the
vehicle.
Sergeant
Emery opened the rear driver's side door, digging out his own gas mask as he
started trying to climb inside the vehicle. His face was perhaps a foot or so
away from Frays’ own when it disappeared in a red mist. A bullet seemed to have
found the gap between the door and the body of the Humvee, turning the man’s
face into hamburger from the bridge of his nose down. Amy leaped across the
inside of the vehicle, caught the big sergeant’s arm and tried to haul him
inside. The blaring of an air horn distracted her momentarily from her task: a
large green dump truck smashed a smaller car out of its way, black-gray smoke
billowing from its chrome exhaust pipes as its driver floored the accelerator.
Amy forgot
about Sergeant Emery for a minute. She stared dumbly at the dump truck as it
barreled down on her, smashing everything before it to pulp. Bodies flew
through the air like rag dolls. Blood glinted red on its shiny chrome bumper as
a handful of .50 cal rounds peppered the truck. There was time for only one
last thought before the massive vehicle crashed into the Humvee: This is it.
I'm gonna die.
The truck
slammed into the Humvee like the hammer of Thor, sending the vehicle spinning
into the cement guardrail. The force of the impact threw her into the rear seat
of their truck. Frays lay there in a heap against the rear passenger’s side
door as little sparks floated across her vision for a minute. Grey dust and
tiny chunks of debris filled the air. Amy was vaguely aware that the Marines
had started falling back as the civilians rushed forward around them. The
shattered Humvee teetered, its front wheels tottering off into space. She
carefully pulled herself towards the front of the Humvee and tried to get
Jacobson’s attention.
“Jacobson!”
she hissed as she cautiously leaned forward and shook the man's shoulder.
“Jacobson! We've got to get out of here!” Jacobson's head lolled towards her,
his face spider webbed with cuts, blood dribbling down his chin. He tried to
tell her something, but no words seemed to come out. A few droplets of blood
spattered on her face instead. “Come on, Airman! Can you open your door? Try it
for me.”
The bridge
groaned under the weight of the Humvee. The truck leaned farther over the edge,
showing her more of the bluish-green water roiling around the bridge’s support
beams. Amy struggled to keep the panic welling up in her chest out of her
voice. “Come on, Jacobson.” she said quietly as Frays tried to get her hands
under the man's arms.
Amy pulled
as hard as she dared, hoping to extract the man from behind the steering wheel.
A bloodcurdling scream in her ear made her stop. She peered over the Jacobson's
shoulder. “Oh no. Oh God no.” Frays whispered. A tangle of metal and wire had speared
through Jacobson's legs from about the mid thigh down. “I’m so sorry,
Jacobson.” she whispered in his ear and brushed his cheek with the palm of her
hand. Amy dug in her heels, got as good a grip as she could manage on
Jacobson's torso and pulled for all she was worth.
The Humvee
lurched as the bridge beneath it groaned, louder this time. Pieces of cement
and rebar splashed into the water below as Jacobson screamed and started
clawing at the back of Frays' neck. Flesh and bone began to separate as blood
sprayed against the inside of the vehicle's windscreen. Something hot and
metallic smelling stung her eyes as it ran down her face. “God, I'm so sorry.”
Amy whispered as she braced herself to try again. “I’m so so so so sorry.”
The bridge
squealed and crumbled. Amy's stomach launched into her throat as the Humvee
finally lost its battle with gravity. She scrambled for the cupola, twisted,
somehow managed to climb onto the top of the truck and jumped free. The world
whirled crazily as Amy plummeted towards the water. She was only vaguely aware
that she was screaming and felt a warmth on her crotch a half second before the
river slapped her in the face.
Amy crashed
into the river, the cold surface of the water stinging her face and driving the
air out of her lungs. The current grabbed her as Frays struggled to the
surface, gasping and choking. She had always been the active, outdoorsy type
and a strong swimmer but the weight of her gear threatened to drag her to the
bottom.
The tail end
of the Humvee jutted from the water, bobbing along in the current as it slowly
started to sink. Amy made an ungainly attempt at a doggy paddle, hoping to
reach it before it went under, fighting the current all the way. “Jacobson!”
she gagged as water splashed into her open mouth.
More water found its way up her nose
and she sputtered, coughed. The Humvee disappeared below the surface with a
shuddering fart as the trapped air inside escaped through a shattered window.
Amy kicked her feet as hard as she could; trying to push herself out of the
water as much as possible and hoping to see that Jacobson had somehow managed
to escape. She took in a big lungful of air and dove under the surface. Frays
swam as fast as she could but the Humvee's taillights vanished into the murky
water as it sank out of sight.
On the verge
of exhaustion, Amy scrabbled to the surface and leaned back. She let the
current carry her downstream while she rested and tried to look for a place to
get out of the water. There was a frustratingly large amount of cement
retaining walls along the river's west bank. Frays felt a little sick when she
noticed that several dozen bodies kept pace with her down the river.
She finally
spied a boat landing coming up. Amy gently steered herself into a position to
snag one of the landing's low docks and pulled herself along it until she
reached the slimy cement of the boat launch. She lay there gasping for breath
and coughing for some time before Frays managed to gather the strength to try
and sit up so she could look around. The world faded to grey as Amy’s eyes
rolled up into her head.
**********
Private Adam
Lacey, 1/8th 3rd battalion United States Marine Corps
Reserve, stood near his squad’s Humvee wondering for the hundredth time why he
picked up the phone when it rang at six yesterday evening. He cursed himself
for getting in his car and driving to his unit in the middle of this shitstorm,
leaving his wife and kids alone. Only twenty six of the two hundred or so guys
in his Combat Engineer unit bothered to show up. Of course Lance Corporals
Reynolds and Holder, the two biggest asshats in his platoon, answered up. They
were bullies who, once all the bullshit was stripped away had (at least in
Lacey’s opinion) enlisted because they liked pushing others around. Private
Lacey, who was physically smaller and weaker than them, was their favorite
target. There were rumors making the rounds about what the two of them got up
to during the unit’s last deployment as well: beating civilians, stealing,
worse than that…
“Yo!
Chickenshit!” Reynolds shouted as Holder waved the Air Force Humvees into
position on their right flank. “Get your skinny ass up here and watch those
dickheads. I gotta take a piss.”
“Roger that,
Lance Corporal.” Lacey grumbled as he climbed into the cupola. He shook his
head and muttered “Fucking pig.” under his breath as he watched Reynolds go to
the edge of the bridge, open his fly and piss over the edge.
There were
people across the bridge and they started to get closer. Lacey glanced over his
shoulder to see Reynolds and Holder talking to one another for a minute. Holder
went towards the Air Force Humvee and Reynolds started ambling in the direction
of the command vehicle behind them. Lacey felt his hands start to tremble as
they closed around the spade grips of the fifty cal.
“Stop right there or I’ll shoot!” the
scrawny Marine shouted. The mob advancing across the bridge obviously either
did not hear him or just plain did not care because they did not even pause.
“Shit…shit…shit…Corporal! What do I do?” he screamed. His thumbs slipped down
to the trigger of the machine gun, ripping off a burst at the crowd. A big sick
lump welled up in his throat when people at the front of the pack crumpled to
the ground.
He looked at his hands as if they
belonged to someone else. “Oh no.” he whispered as he scrambled out of the cupola
and ran down the street. The deep staccato of the blockade’s crew served
weapons interspersed with the hollow pops of gunfire coming from the mob chased
him as he leapt over the concrete barrier at the edge of the bridge and hid in
the brush. The skinny man cringed at what sounded like a massive car accident
and the machine guns went silent.
He crept along the riverbank, keeping
to the scrubby brush that grew there for about half a mile. Thankfully the
sound of gunfire died off a few minutes after he left, but this also left new
doubts clawing at him. Who got hurt? How many? Did anyone die? Lacey pushed these
thoughts out of his head and set about taking as a direct route as he could
manage towards his house. With luck they would be too busy to look for him and
he could get out of here…
**********
Amy stared
at the sky for a moment. For one long crazy minute she wondered what somebody
did to her dorm room, why she smelled like dead fish and why her entire body
felt like one big ache. Even her hair hurt which was something she did
not think was even possible. She stood slowly and stumbled tiredly
towards a squat brick building perhaps two hundred meters from where she had
come out of the water. The small parking lot next to the building was empty,
her boots scraping on the poorly maintained blacktop as she crossed it.
The building
proved to be a small convenience store that probably sold bait and snacks to
people using the boat launch. Amy was disappointed to see the closed sign
hanging in the store's window. Now that the adrenaline was beginning to wear
off, Frays realized that the river was still far too cold to be swimming in. A
nice hot cup of coffee would have helped get rid of the shivers making her
teeth knock together.
Amy settled
for leaning against the leeward side of the building as she ripped up an empty
trash bag she found on the pavement. Frays huddled under the improvised blanket
for warmth in a patch of sun as she tried to piece together exactly what
happened. She patted herself down and was glad to see that her recent
misadventures had only seemed to do any real damage to her pride. The left side
of her face was swollen, her neck and right shoulder were painful and stiff,
but other than the crust of dried blood under her nose she seemed unhurt.
Amy took a quick inventory of her
gear. She dug her cell phone out and groaned when she saw the blank screen. The
radio clipped to her LCS was similarly wrecked, both apparently ruined by the
water or by the crash. She broke down the M4 and M9 to clean and dry off the
weapons as best she could. The map in her cargo pocket was a good news/bad news
situation: the good news was that the map was somehow still there. The bad news
was that the river had washed off all the reference points she had drawn on it.
“Figures.” she mumbled to herself as she took in her surroundings. “I live half
my life in this stupid city and never got around to seeing the sights.”
She spent
the better part of an hour simply resting and trying to get her bearings.
Nobody pulled in to the parking lot but then Frays reflected that going for a
nice cruise on the river was probably pretty far from everybody's mind right
now. Still, if the owner of the store wanted to show up, she would gladly buy a
coffee and a sandwich from him. Visions of slices of hot pastrami piled onto homemade
rye bread and slathered with spicy mustard, maybe with a nice dill pickle or
pickled egg on the side danced in her head as she dozed. Sergeant Emery's wife,
Maria, made the best hot pastrami sandwiches.
This thought
brought all the happy ones about food to a grinding halt as Amy curled into a
tight ball. She fought back tears, knowing that she had to keep her wits about
her right now. She also loathed the idea of somebody (or worse yet, one of her
fellow airmen) catching her bawling her little eyes out like a kid who dropped
her ice cream cone. After several minutes of sniffling she finally gave in as
huge sobs wracked her torso. Above all else she found herself growing angry: to
lose her best friend after all they had been through together, at the truck
driver, at herself, at her fellow airmen who went AWOL and even at Jacobson for
not trying harder to get out of the Humvee.
After some
time she managed to catch hold of herself. Amy wiped at her cheeks with the
palms of her hands, scraped the snot away from under her nose with her sleeve
and stood up. By her best guess, she had washed up about a mile and a half mile
or so downstream from the checkpoint. There was about four or five miles
between where she was now and the nearest staging point (or so she hoped). The
most direct route would take her through what looked like a largely residential
neighborhood. She made one last check of her weapons and gear before moving
out; hoping that if anybody was home they had not heard about what happened on
the bridge.
Amy walked
quickly, keeping off to the side of the street. Her eyes scanned the sidewalk,
the windows of the buildings as she mentally prepared herself to run at a
moment's notice. Most of the people seemed busy packing up their belongings and
trying to evacuate to look around much. Nobody seemed to be paying her much
mind (which was good) until she made it about a mile or so into the city. The
neighborhood slowly became a little more upscale as she left the river: the
houses were a little bigger and better maintained; there was something closer
to actual yards in front of some of them.
A cute
little Asian girl in shorts and a Pokémon tee shirt stood by her parents'
Honda, watching a twenty something white couple trying to cram everything they
could into the back of the hatchback. Her eyes lit up when she saw Amy across
the street. “Mommy!” the kid said excitedly and ran to the woman's side.
“Mommy, look!” Now the little girl began tugging on her mother's sleeve and
pointing. “Mommy! Look!” the girl pointed directly at Amy. “Look, Mommy! Army
lady!” The little girl hopped around and waved with that frenetic type of
energy only those under the age of six can muster. “Hi army lady!”
Amy picked
up the pace, her eyes scanning for any potential threat. The neighborhood was
certainly close enough that they probably heard the firefight back at
Checkpoint Twelve. Heck, there might have been a news helicopter overhead
showing the whole thing live on CNN for all she knew. All at once she felt
very, very naked.
Amy smiled
and waved to the child with her non firing hand. Two men stood on the front
steps of a house three doors down. One of them picked up a baseball bat and
they started walking towards her like they meant business. Frays moved
diagonally across the street, her M4 in the ready position as she fixed the two
men with as hard a look as she could manage under the circumstances. Her hand
slid from the grip of the M203 to the carbine's magazine, her finger poised to
flick off the launcher's safety at a moment's notice. The two men halted
perhaps sixty meters away, shooting daggers with their eyes. A weapon with a
bore the size of small child’s fist had that effect on people.
She walked
quickly down the street, getting more and more nervous as others started to
notice her too. Relief slapped Frays in the face: a young man in what looked
like Marine camo and combat gear was helping a woman with two crying babies
load supplies into a big red Chevy minivan a block and a half up the street.
Another pudgy man with a bushy beard, who looked like he was in his early to
mid thirties wearing an EMT's uniform glanced at them as he seemed to be
checking the babies. He had some kind of large black rifle slung over his
shoulder that looked like a Kalashnikov with elephantiasis. Amy hurried over to
them and smiled when she saw the words “US Marines” on the man's uniform. The
name tape on his Kevlar read “Lacey”.
“Hey,
Marine.” she said happily, stopping a little ways from their vehicle. Something
struck her has odd. The man was in full battle rattle, complete with his M16,
yet if she remembered the information she had gotten this morning correctly
there shouldn't be any troops in this area. “What's shakin'?”
“I gotta get
my wife and kids outta here.” he said quickly. The man was maybe twenty,
certainly no more than twenty five and built like he was made of twisted wire.
He appeared kind of short for a man: he seemed only a few inches taller than
Amy’s five feet, five inches. He also looked scared as hell. His wife was tall
and thin with straw colored hair that looked like she might have been in her
senior year of high school. As Lacey moved to shield his family Amy spotted the
subtle movement of the man's thumb as he flipped the safety off his weapon.
The EMT
stood up and looked nervously from Amy to the Marine. “Let's take it easy,
everybody.” he said quietly, holding his hands up as he took a few steps
towards the two of them.
“Hey,
listen.” Frays said carefully as she turned slightly. Now the muzzle of her M4
was pointed well away from him and his family. “Let's make a deal. I'll help
you pack your stuff” Amy studied the man's face for a minute, trying to see if
he was one of the Marines from Checkpoint Twelve “If I can hitch a ride with
you back to the supply point. It's only a few miles west of here and we're
really shorthanded.”
The man
paused, thinking over what this Zoomie was offering. He glanced at his wife,
who gave him an urgent look. The little girl behind him started crying again
and that seemed to make up his mind. “Alright. Grab those boxes over there.” he
said as he reengaged his weapon's safety and motioned towards a pile of
cardboard boxes.
Amy walked
toward them, hand extended as the young woman smiled as widely as she could
manage. An odd thought occurred to her: I’m
gonna have a heckuva shiner in the morning. “I'm Senior Airman Amy Frays.”
she said as she shook Lacey’s hand. “Nice to see a friendly face.”
“I'm Private
Adam Lacey.” he moved aside as the two women shook hands. “This is my wife,
Laura and our kids Paul and Becca.”
“I'm Eamon
Teeling.” the EMT volunteered as he shook Amy's hand. “Come on, let's get
packed up.”
They stuffed
as much food, water and necessities for the kids as the SUV could hold the lot
of them piled in. Laura drove while Adam rode shotgun. Amy and Eamon sat in the
back seat with the two kids. As much as she tried to stay serious she found it
next to impossible in the face of the two small children. She just could not
bear seeing the two little kids upset.
Amy tried to
keep the kids from crying and give directions at the same time, but it didn't
work very well. “The supply point is just off I-80.” Frays said at last as she
gave the nearest child’s belly a gentle rub. The little boy giggled and smiled
at her from his booster seat. “Who's a handsome little guy?”
Laura smiled
over her shoulder. “They like you.” she said quietly as she carefully watched
the two strangers. “Normally the kids are pretty shy around new people.”
The four of
them rode in silence until they came to a hastily erected barricade manned by a
half dozen soldiers. Amy gave the kids one last tickle before climbing out of
the vehicle. She and Eamon stood off to one side while Lacey said goodbye to
his wife. Once they kissed and Laura climbed back into the car Amy hurried back
over.
“Thanks
again for the ride.” she said quickly and gave the woman's hand a gentle
squeeze. “If you can get to Holden, my parents' house is at 372 Walnut Street.
Tell my dad that I'm okay and you're a Marine's dependent. He should let you
stay there till this thing blows over.”
“Thanks.”
Laura said, still looking at her husband. “I'll do that.”
Lacey stood
there staring after his wife for a few minutes. Finally, Amy walked over and
put a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, man.” she said carefully. “Let's get back
to work. She'll be fine. My mom and dad will look after them.”
The three of
them walked up to the barricade. Three soldiers stood between them and a blocky
black command trailer. The soldiers eyed them suspiciously. “Halt!” commanded
one of them. Amy saw that he looked like a Private First Class in the Army.
“What are you doing here?”
“We got
separated from our units, PFC.” Amy said quickly. She held her hands up, palms
towards the soldiers. “Who's in charge here? We need to report in and try to
find them.”
Two Five
Tons rumbled up to the supply point and more soldiers jumped out. “Come on in.”
he said, waving the three of them inside their perimeter. “Police Lieutenant
Guzman's in the trailer. Sergeant Williams just got back.”
Amy thanked
the soldier and led Eamon and Lacey past the barricade. She stood between the
Five Tons and the trailer and frowned. “Could you guys go see if they need any
help over there?” she asked, motioning towards the soldiers unloading cases of
MREs and bottled water. “I'll go report to this lieutenant and be out in a
second.”
Thankfully
the young Marine seemed to defer to her higher rank (even if it was from a
different branch of the service) and Eamon joined him. Amy grunted, surprised
and satisfied that the very first official order she had ever given actually
got obeyed. She walked quickly to the trailer, climbed the two metal stairs and
knocked on the door.
“Enter!”
shouted a muffled voice. Amy opened the door and found herself in a cramped
room stuffed full of all kinds of communications equipment. The air in the
trailer stank of cigarette smoke, stale coffee and unwashed bodies. A tall,
skinny Hispanic man in a black policeman’s uniform turned in his chair and
regarded her little interest. “What do you want?”
Amy came to
attention and saluted. “Senior Airman Frays reporting, sir.” she said sharply.
The man stared at her a moment and eventually she let her hand fall awkwardly
to her side. “Um…as far as I know Checkpoint Twelve has been overrun, sir.”
The
lieutenant's face twitched. “So?” he muttered angrily as he swiveled back to
answer a phone. The man's jerky movements and dilated pupils told Frays that
the policeman was flying high on something. She took a few steps closer to the
lieutenant, her nose wrinkled at the smell of dirty diapers coming from the
man. Cocaine and strong coffee: not a good combination.
Amy cleared
her throat, suddenly a little uneasy. “I think one of the Marine Combat
Engineers opened fire.” she recounted as the policeman looked as if there was
little she could say that would interest him, yet she pushed on with it anyway.
“The crowd went crazy. A handful of the civilians had guns and they started
shooting. At each other, at us, all over the place.”
“So?” the
lieutenant grumbled. “You got your machine guns and stuff don't you? What the
hell happened?”
“Somebody on
the other side of the bridge drove a dump truck through the crowd, sir.” Amy
answered, shivering slightly at the memory of the people flying in the air, the
screams. “The driver struck the Humvee I was in hard enough to send it into the
river.”
“You got away.”
The policeman spun back and forth in his chair, eyeballing the young woman in
front of him. “You left your buddies, didn't you?”
Anger flared
up and Amy felt her cheeks become flushed. “Sergeant Emery, my Flight Sergeant,
got shot in the head when the crowd started shooting.” she said bitterly, her
hands clenching into fists at her sides. “Another guy in my flight, Airman
Jacobson, was trapped in the Humvee when it sank. I-I tried, sir, but I couldn't
get him out.” She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment then opened them slowly.
“I'm sure
you did.” the lieutenant said. A condescending grin spread across his face.
“You may go now.”
It took
every ounce of willpower she could muster to not slam the door on her way out.
She took a half moment to regain her composure before joining Eamon and Lacey
were unloading the trucks. They were helping a handful of Army privates stack
supplies: boxes of MREs, cases of bottled water, tents, and medical supplies. A
large white man with sergeant's stripes on his sleeve walked around barking
orders at the lot of them. When he noticed her he started off in her direction.
“You just
reported to Lieutenant Guzman?” he asked as he came within speaking distance.
The man looked her up and down. “Hurry up and help your guys get these trucks
unloaded so we can get these tents up. We're expecting wounded soon.”
She hustled
over to the trucks. “How many wounded?” Amy asked loudly as she took a case of
water that one of the privates handed down to her.
“I dunno,
Zoomie.” he said quietly as he slid a pile of rough pile of tent poles towards
the end of the truck. “Sounds like a whole bunch.”
The next
half an hour or so passed in a flurry of activity: setting up tents and cots,
dumping the bottles of water into big coolers on wheels and setting up tables
to distribute the MREs. A Deuce and a Half pulled up just as Frays and Lacey
were showing Eamon how to cook a Meal Ready to Eat. “It's three lies for the
price of one.” Adam explained before opening his meal packet. “It’s not a meal,
it’s not ready and you can’t eat it.”
“Hey! Give
us a hand over here!” cried a soldier as he leaped from the back of his truck.
“We’ve got wounded!”
The three of
them hurried off to help unload the stretchers. Eamon snapped on latex gloves
and checked each of them as they were unloaded, directing the soldiers where to
put them. He could not help but notice that at least two of the eight
casualties had bite marks on their hands, arms or faces. The others had more
conventional injuries: they had been stabbed, shot or hit by cars and stuff
like that.
Amy put on a
pair of rubber gloves in her Combat Life Saver kit and did what she could to
help. The first man she came to looked like he had been badly mauled by some
kind of animal. “Don't bother with him, he’s already dead!” Eamon called as he
struggled with the injured man he was working on. “I’ve got a sucking chest
wound down here!”
Thirty or
forty minutes later they had done what they could for the wounded. The Army
sergeant let Eamon and Frays take a break outside one of the tents. The two of
them snapped off their gloves and tossed them in a garbage can that had the
international biological hazard symbol on it. Amy and Eamon crashed onto a low
bench. “That was...somethin' else.” Amy muttered as she opened a bottle of
water. She chugged half of it at a go then offered the rest to the EMT.
He waved off
the water and felt something in his pocket. “We did good.” he said, digging a
packet of M&Ms out of his pocket and tore it open. “We need to get them to
a hospital, but we bought them a couple hours anyway.” He offered some of the
candy to the woman seated next to him.
Lacey
approached wounded men tentatively. Some of them lay there moaning, still in
pain even though Eamon had given them a little of his precious stash of
painkillers. The dead lay silently staring up at the bright afternoon sun.
He espied a
blanket on the back of one of the trucks and picked it up. The Marine unfolded
it as he approached, preparing to cover the dead man with it. He was inches
away from the corpse when it moaned, rolled onto its side and reached for him.
Lacey screamed and fell onto his backside, scrabbling away from the stretcher
like a crab.
All at once
everybody in the supply depot crowded around. Once they saw what was going on,
the privates hung back near the trucks. “What the hell is going on here?” the
sergeant bellowed as he stared down at the man on the stretcher. Now the man on
the stretcher made a strange kind of croaking noise as he reached for those
around him. They all recoiled as the wounded man attempted to drag himself
after Lacey.
The sergeant
stomped over to the stretcher. The wounded man groaned and rolled over, his
hand now grasping after the NCO’s leg a few feet away. “I thought you said he
was dead!” he roared, glaring at Eamon. “Where the hell did you go to medical
school?”
“Princeton.”
the EMT said coolly. “And yes, he was dead.”
The sergeant
glared at his soldiers then at Frays and Lacey. “Restrain him before he hurts
himself.” the man ordered as he waved the others towards the groaning figure.
When none of his subordinates moved he marched over, grabbed one of the
privates and pushed him towards the man on the stretcher. Eamon and Frays took
a couple steps closer to the man but balked at the last moment. His skin was a
sickly gray, his eyes covered in a pall of milky white.
Nausea
roiled around in Amy's stomach. She desperately wanted to be somewhere,
anywhere else than right here with some crazed NCO expecting her to hold down a
diseased man. She took a deep breath and gathered her courage. “Eamon, on the
count of three you grab his arm.” she said carefully as to try and keep what
she had eaten earlier where it was. Frays handed the EMT a zip tie from the
suspender of her LCS. “I'll grab the other one. Once we've got him held down,
use the zip ties to tie his arms to the stretcher.”
The two of
them knelt beside the stretcher as the man groaned and tried to reach for them.
“Onetwothree!” Amy shouted. The two of them grabbed the wounded man's limbs and
pinned them to the earth, struggling to keep the man under control as they
tried to restrain him. Lacey pounced on the man's legs while the sergeant
screamed at them, the NCO standing by the man's head.
Amy pinned
the man's arm to the ground and after a little struggle managed to zip tie the
limb to the aluminum pole of the stretcher. Eamon seemed to be having a little
more trouble restraining the man. Amy took a deep breath, squeezed her eyes
shut and threw herself across the diseased man’s chest, trying to use her
weight to pin the man so the EMT could tie him down. A gurgling sound grew in
the patient’s stomach. Apparently Eamon heard it too because they both
scrambled away as a jet of vomit erupted from the man's mouth.
“Aw! God!
Fuckin’ shit goddamn!” screamed the sergeant as he pawed at his eyes. Amy
smirked until she saw the chunks of sticky looking stuff and thick fluid
spattered across the legs of her trousers. She staggered to her feet and made a
knock kneed run for the trucks. Frays propped herself up against the nearest
Five Ton and retched so hard she half expected to see her liver lying on the
grass.
One of the
privates walked over to Amy, looking at the young woman with a mixture of
concern and disgust in his eyes. “Are you okay?” he asked, reaching out and
putting a hand on her back. “Would you like some water?”
Once she
felt she was capable of opening her mouth without blowing chunks Amy
straightened up a little, turned to the young man and asked “For the love of
God, can you get me a water can? I gotta get this crap off me!”
The sergeant
stumbled off towards the command trailer, bumping into Lieutenant Guzman as the
policeman came out to see what was going on. The wounded man crawled towards
the policeman, now trying to drag the stretcher with him. “Gotta shoot 'em
all.” he muttered as he drew his pistol from its holster and casually blew half
the man's head off.
One of the
casualties, a young black man with a horrific head wound wrapped in thick
bandages, scrambled awkwardly to his feet and stumbled away from the sound of
the shot. Amy completely forgot about her own nausea and chased him down. “Hey
there.” she said calmly as she caught up to him and took him by the hand. “Come
on back and lay down, alright?” Frays made little calming noises as if she were
talking to an upset child.
Two gunshots
rang out and the man fell like a puppet with its strings cut, his life pumping
away through a pair of holes in his chest. Frays stared numbly at her hand then
started across the supply depot towards the policeman. “W-what the heck is
wrong with you?!” she shouted, her fingers curling tight around the pistol grip
of her carbine. “Why…why would you do that?”
Guzman
pointed his Glock at Frays, a little red dot dancing on the center of the
woman's flak jacket. “Gotta shoot 'em all.” the policeman muttered, suddenly
aware that Eamon and Lacey were closing in on him. “GOTTA SHOOT 'EM ALL!”
He wheeled
about, trying to cover all three of them at the same time. This worked out as
well as one might expect: as soon as the policeman started to turn towards
Eamon, Lacey jumped him. The Marine knocked the pistol from the policeman's
hand and pinned his arms behind his back. Frays ran up and smacked Guzman on
the temple with the butt of her M4. Lacey lowered the man to the ground as
Frays pressed the muzzle of her weapon into the back of the man's neck. “Here,
secure his hands.” she growled as she passed the Marine one of her zip strips.
Eamon picked
up the policeman's Glock as Lacey searched the man for more weapons or anything
he could use to escape. “Here ya go, man.” he said as he handed the EMT the two
spare magazines he took from the lieutenant's belt.
“Okay.” Amy
said carefully. She looked at the privates peering around the corners of the
nearby trucks. “Can you guys get the wounded loaded up on that Five Ton,
please? Eamon, make sure they're squared away. Lacey, keep the lieutenant
covered and make sure he doesn't hurt himself or anybody else. I'm gonna go see
where they set up a Medivac point.”
With that
Frays walked quickly to the command trailer, straining her brain to see if she
could remember the radio frequencies for the different people she might have to
talk to. Hopefully they were all already programmed into the trailer's various
communications systems. If she couldn't remember them, hopefully the little
notebook in her ABU pocket was not too badly wrecked...
She barely
noticed the sergeant standing in the hall at the other end of the trailer. The
man growled, his boots clomping on the steel floor of the trailer as he rushed
towards her. Amy screamed when the big sergeant grabbed the collar of her body
armor and flung her against the wall. She tumbled out of the door and went head
over heels down the stairs. Amy ended up sitting a few meters away from the
door and pointed her M4 at the man as the sergeant scrambled after her. The carbine
boomed in her hands as the 5.56 NATO round smacked solidly into the center of
his plate carrier, knocking the man onto his back.
The two of
them scrabbled to their feet, the man’s eyes crazed and bulging in their
sockets as he started to come after her again. Amy readjusted her aim and
squeezed off a second shot, blowing the man's brains all over the entry way of
the command trailer. Amy stood there, ears ringing, blood pounding in her
temples as she watched the sergeant's foot kick and twitch uselessly against
the doorjamb.
“What the
hell was that?” yelled Eamon, his eyes wide as he took in the whole scene. He
went quickly to the young woman's side as she stood there looking pale and
shaken. “What happened? Are you okay?”
“H-He
attacked me.” Amy said quietly. She slowly lowered her M4 and looked around
cautiously as she flicked the weapon’s safety back on. Her hands trembled and
her legs felt a little funny. “I went into the trailer and he attacked me.”
“Are you
hurt?” asked the EMT. “I wonder why he did that, anyway.”
“I'm fine.”
Frays said quickly. She was having trouble catching her breath. Amy felt him
looking at her. “I’m fine, alright! Quit your gawking and go see if they've got
the wounded loaded up yet!”
Amy picked
her way carefully around the corpse in the entryway and sank into the chair the
lieutenant had occupied. There were banks of computer terminals and radio
equipment at her fingertips and all of it seemed to be screaming at her at
once. Amy picked up the handset of a radio that looked the most similar to the
radios she was familiar with, took a deep breath to calm herself and keyed the
hand mike.
“Break.
Break. Break.” Frays said quickly as she leafed through a pile of papers on the
desk in front of her. “This is Bravo Three Four. I am at um...break...Supply
Depot Blue One Zero. I have a lot of casualties and I need to know where to
send them, over.”
“Who the
hell is this?” a voice demanded. “Where is Lieutenant Guzman?”
Amy rolled
her eyes and keyed her mike. “My name is Senior Airman Amy Frays, 35th Wing, 35th Mission Support Groups, 35 Security
Forces Squadron, Charlie Flight.” she said quickly and took a look
around the trailer.
“Clear the
net, Senior Airman!” demanded the same voice. “This is Chief of Police Gordon
Banes!”
“Well Chief,
tell you what” Amy nearly screamed into her mike “I'll turn myself in if you'll
tell me where you are. You are at the Medivac point, right? Or better yet, send
a squad car over to bring me in.”
“Break.
Break. Break.” said a new voice. “This is Joker Six Actual. Airman, stand down.
Look at the screen farthest to your right. I'm sending you the coordinates to
the Medivac point. Put it into your PLGR and get going.”
Amy wished
the 35th had the money for individual GPS receivers. The unit's
brand new M4 carbines and a dozen M240 general purpose machine guns had eaten
up the bulk of the unit’s equipment budget for the year. She pulled out her
map, unfolded it and quickly plotted the coordinates out with a grease pencil.
“Roger that,
Joker Six Actual.” she said when she had finished. “Be advised that an Army
National Guard PFC will be the highest ranking person at this supply point once
I leave. Requesting reinforcements, sir.”
“Roger
wilco, Blue One Zero.” squawked the radio. “Get those casualties loaded and
bring them up to the evac point. Reinforcements are on the way.”
Amy paused,
calculating the distance between where she was and the new dot on her map. “We're
bringing up the wounded time: now, sir.” she said quickly “If the streets are
clear we'll be there in fifteen to twenty mike. Can I get an ETA on
reinforcements, sir?”
The radio was
silent long enough for Frays to become concerned that something had happened to
it. “We're stretched pretty thin, Blue One Zero. Break.” the device squealed.
An ear piercing shriek came from the speakers. Amy cringed in her chair and
covered her ears. “Should be there in an hour or so.”
Amy shook
her head and hurried outside. After relaying command's orders to the new
commander of the supply point she walked quickly to the Five Ton. “We ready to
go?” she asked Eamon as he helped the Army guys secure the last of the
stretchers in the bed of the truck.
“Yep.” he
said as he hopped down. “Find out where we're going?”
“Yeah. Do
you live around here, Eamon?” Frays asked as Lacey joined them at the back of
the truck. When the EMT gave her a nod she smiled. “Good. I'll drive. You can
ride up front with me. Lacey, could you ride in back with the casualties and
keep an eye on them for us?”
After they
got Lacey into the bed of the truck and situated, Amy showed Eamon the map and
listened to his suggestions as to the quickest route. Once they had it settled,
the two of them climbed in the cab and she fired up the engine. “One quick
thing before we move.” Frays said before putting the truck in gear. “While
we're going I need you to keep an eye out. There might be bad guys who'll want
to steal the truck or what have you.
“If you see
anybody suspicious, let me know. If you see anybody pointing a weapon at us,
let me know. If somebody starts shooting at us, return fire out of your window.
We're not getting out of the truck unless we have to. If we come to a road
block or an obstruction, I'm going straight through it as fast as I can,
alright?”
They pulled
away from the supply point and set off down the road as quickly as possible.
Amy looked across the cab at the EMT. “I just realized something.” she said
quietly, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
“What's
that?” Eamon asked. He was trying to look for anything that might qualify as
'suspicious' outside his window.
“You're a
doctor, aren't you?” she asked, turning her attention back to the road. This
part of the city seemed relatively clear so far, but there were still some cars
and trucks on all sides of their vehicle. The little hairs stood up on the back
of her neck.
“Yep.” Eamon
said with a small grin. His response drew peals of laughter from the young
airman. Amy's laughter verged on the hysteric as it continued. The man looked
at her like she had cracked. “I'm sorry!” she said once she could catch her
breath. “I'm sorry! It's just that I’m close to graduating from MIT. My mom was
all excited when I got accepted because she thought I'd meet a doctor.” Frays
started to crack up again. “I don't think this is how she wanted me to meet a
doctor!” Laughter sputtered out of Eamon until it erupted into a belly laugh.
The ride to
the evac point was relatively uneventful. When they got there some policemen
quickly checked that they were supposed to be there then directed them towards
a medical treatment center. After a flurry of activity they got the wounded off
their truck and in to see a harried and exhausted medical staff. The three of
them stood near the Five Ton, all of them feeling like the medics looked.
“Okay.” Amy
said after a brief pause. “Eamon, go see if the medics will let you refill your
bag of tricks there.” she tapped the satchel slung over the man's shoulder.
“Lacey, see if you can take the Five Ton over to the fuel point and get it
topped off. I'm gonna see if I can find somebody in charge around here to see
where they want us.” She fumbled in her pocket for her pack of cigarettes and,
finding them a mush of paperboard and soggy tobacco, she left them there.
“Let's meet back here in half an hour, alright?”
Amy wandered
aimlessly through the camp, stopping every person in an Air Force uniform she
could find. She asked all of them the same questions: “Do you know where the 35th
SF is?” or “Seen anybody from the Three Five SF?”
After some
time she received a small ray of hope: Major Grossman, her battalion flight
commander, was supposedly in the Emergency Operations Center. The young airman
who told her this was even helpful enough to give her directions to the EOC.
Frays was so happy to hear this that she could have kissed him but instead
thanked the young man and took off at a trot in the direction he pointed.
Amazingly,
nobody even stopped her as she wandered around the interior of the EOC. The
place was absolute bedlam: papers strewn all over makeshift desks, people
running to and fro, men and women shouting at each other... “No wonder
everything's so screwed up.” she muttered under her breath as she dodged an
aide hustling past with a cardboard cup holder full of coffee.
She found
Major Grossman, a grandfatherly man of perhaps fifty five, crouched over a
handful of laptop computers. Information crawled across the screen, reflecting
on the man's thick glasses. “Senior Airman Frays reporting, sir.” she said,
giving the man a quick salute.
The older
man barely acknowledged her, his attention fully focused on the screens in
front of him. “Be quick, Frays.” he said quietly, his hands tap dancing from
computer to computer. “I’m busy. What’s your status?”
“I think
Sergeant Emery is dead.” Amy said as she locked her trembling hands behind her
back and stood at ease. “Airman Jacobson drowned when our Humvee got knocked
into the river. The civilians in the quarantine zone overran Checkpoint
Twelve.”
“I know,
Frays.” he muttered. His hands continued their intricate dance, occasionally
clicking a mouse here or there. “Who do you have with you?”
“I found a
Marine Private, a Combat Engineer named Lacey and a civilian EMT named Teeling,
sir.” Amy said quickly. The man was obviously busy and she did not want to
disturb him any more than she already had. “They're getting a Five Ton we found
gassed up and resupplying. Where do you need us, sir?”
The man
paused in what he was doing. He removed his cap and rubbed the palm of his hand
against his silver brush cut. “Things are pretty bad out there.” he said,
sparing the young woman a rueful smile.
Amy's heart
sank. “How bad is bad, sir?”
Major
Grossman ignored the airman's question. “Go see Chief Walters from Alpha
Flight.” he said slowly as he turned his attention back to the monitors. “He’ll
give you an assignment.”
“Yes, sir.”
Amy said quickly, coming to attention and snapping a salute.
The old man
smiled and returned the gesture. “You're a good kid, Frays.” he said as he
started tapping again at his computers. “I'll do something for you and that
jarhead you got working for you once this all blows over.”
Amy left the
Emergency Operations Center and swiped an ammo can filled with loaded M4
magazines from supply before hurrying back to the medics. Luckily, Lacey pulled
the Five Ton up to the medic's tent as she walked up and Eamon was just coming out
of the big canvas tent. “Lacey, get down here.” Amy said, waving for the man to
join them on the ground.
The Marine
threw open the door and hopped down. “What's up?” He looked nervous, excited
and scared all at the same time. “We gonna see some action?”
Amy snorted.
She had seen enough action for today but they still had a job to do. “Dunno.”
she said as she unfolded her map and spread it on the ground to show the two
men. “This circle is us.” Frays traced a circle with her index finger. “This
dot is Checkpoint Eight and they need reinforcements. We've been tapped.” She
gave the EMT a small, apologetic smile. “Sorry, buddy but it looks like you've
been drafted.” Frays pointed at the little red grease dot an inch and a half
away from the circle. She pointed to Eamon. “I want you up front with me, same
as before. Lacey, you're in the back. I'm gonna be haulin' so hold on tight.
When we stop I want everybody locked and loaded, ready to kick butt, right?”
Amy tore
through the streets, the big Detroit diesel engine belching gray smoke as she
swerved to avoid a stalled car or hopped the curb and drove on the sidewalk.
Frays struck a mailbox, sending a flurry of letters all over the place. Eamon
whooped and pounded on the dashboard, clearly enjoying the ride as he shouted
directions over the roar of the vehicle. The heavy ripping thump of a heavy
machine gun played back beat to the popping noises of an M4 being fired on full
auto as they got closer to the checkpoint.
The Five Ton
lurched to a halt, its air brakes squealing like a stuck pig when Frays smashed
the pedal to the floor of the cab. “Come on!” she cried as she opened her door
and jumped to the ground. The three of them ran to a makeshift barricade formed
by two stalled vehicles placed end to end across the bridge. The two soldiers
manning the checkpoint parked their Humvee perpendicular to the barricade, one
of them firing the vehicle's crew served weapon into a crowd of people and a
small group of dogs while the other fired his M4.
Amy was
horrified by the sight until she took a second look at the people attempting to
cross the bridge. It was obvious that they were diseased and several of them
sported what should have been fatal wounds though they were still on their
feet. The dogs yelped, barking as they charged forward. Amy flicked the
selector lever on her M4 to all the way around and snapped the weapon to her
shoulder, triggering a burst.
The lead
group of dogs collapsed, riddled with bullets as Amy advanced to the barricade.
Their weapons joined the chorus, though their fire seemed to have little
effect. The crowd moaned and groaned as they stumbled forward. Amy fired her
weapon dry, pushed the M4's magazine release and reloaded with a fresh magazine
from her LCS then slapped the weapon’s bolt catch with the palm of her hand.
Still the infected kept coming, the closest of them now less than ten meters
from the barricade.
“Fall back!”
she ordered, hoping the others could hear her over the ringing in their ears.
“Fall back!” The barricade's original defenders stayed in place, firing wildly
into the infected. Frays ripped off a burst, hurried over to the Humvee and
banged on the roof with her non-firing hand. “Fall back! Would you fall back
already?!”
The infected
still closed the distance in spite of the heavy .50 caliber rounds chewing the
blacktop to bits all around them. Lacey ran to the edge of the river and leaped
into the water, hugging his demo kit to his chest. “Oh, Jesus Christ! Lacey!”
Amy screamed, spraying the crowd on the bridge before sprinting over to try and
see what the Marine was doing. “Lacey! Stop!”
Lacey swam
to the nearest pylon supporting the bridge and set about strapping a large
brick of plastic explosive to the grimy cement pillar. Amy saw what the man was
doing and ran to the Five Ton. “Cover me, Eamon!” she shouted as she leaped up
onto the cab, frantically digging through the vehicle's contents. “There's
gotta be a rope or something in here somewhere!”
Eamon's
weapon boomed. “What?”
“He's gonna
blow the bridge!” Amy shouted over her shoulder. “Crap!” Frays jumped down and
sprinted to the back of the truck, madly climbed into the bed and started
searching. By some miracle she found a large ball of discarded 550 cord
forgotten under one of the vehicle's bench seats.
A handful of
the infected were now a stone's throw from the barricade. Amy raised her weapon
to fire, but the two soldiers were in the way. She shook her head angrily and
ran to the water's edge, tying a loop in one end of the thin cord as she went.
Lacey had finished with whatever he was doing, which was good because some of
the infected took notice. They walked off the edge of the bridge and fell into
the water, where they promptly seemed to sink to the bottom.
Frays threw
the loop down to the Marine. “Put it around you under your arms!” she shouted
while pantomiming the action. When he was secure in the loop Amy ran back to
the truck and tied the other end around the front bumper of the Five Ton.
“Eamon!” Amy
shouted to the EMT “Get in the truck and back it up when I say!” Thankfully,
the man heard her and was scrambling into the driver's seat by the time she
returned to the water's edge.
Amy wrapped the 550 cord around the
Five Ton's bumper and tied it off as fast as she could and ran back to where the
Marine was frantically trying to scramble up the cement retaining wall. Frays
picked up the 550 cord in one hand to keep it from fraying while waving for
Eamon to back up the Five Ton. The vehicle's diesel engine roared as the EMT
slammed it's transmission into reverse and smashed the accelerator to the
floor. Lacey flew over the edge of the retaining wall like a very surprised
camo clad jack in the box. Amy screamed as the thin cord quickly cut through
her gloves and into her hands, leaving an angry red mark on her palms.
Amy barely
dodged the amazing flying Marine and chased him down, hissing and flapping her
hands as she went. Eamon dragged the man along the ground before bringing the
Five Ton to a stop. Amy stooped and helped Lacey loosen the thin rope around
his chest. The guns of the two soldiers on the bridge started to fall silent.
Frays looked
on in horror as the infected on the bridge closed on the barricade, started to
climb over it. The soldier manning the .50 cal started swinging the red hot
barrel of the machine gun back and forth, attempting to ward them off as two of
them dragged the other soldier down.
“Oh, God!”
Amy whispered, bile tickling the back of her throat. The two men screamed as
Frays snapped her M4 up to her shoulder and ripped off a burst at the infected
crawling over one another to get at the soldier sticking out of the Humvee's
cupola. Eamon's weapon boomed behind her, taking the head clean off one of the
infected attacking the soldier on the ground.
The infected
lay strewn like discarded puppets across the bridge, on the barricade, across
the hood and roof of the Humvee. It seemed eerily silent after the gunfire, the
terror. Amy slowly lowered her rifle and flicked its safety back on. All at
once she felt like someone had tried to pull the blacktop out from under her
feet as the concussion of the blast smashed into her chest. A cloud of dust and
water vapor flew in the air, the blacktop cracked as the bridge sank into the
river.
Frays spared a glance at Lacey and
said “That was amazing, but please don’t do anything that again. Your wife
seems like a really nice lady and I’d hate to have to explain to her why I let
her husband blow himself to tiny little bits.”
Eamon
wandered over, his ears ringing like a church bell roundhouse kicked by Chuck
Norris. “I guess this checkpoint's closed, huh?” he shouted, staring at the
destruction before him. Amy snorted and walked over to the barricade. She
hauled the soldier out of the Humvee and laid the man on the ground next to his
companion.
The three of them gathered around,
looking at the corpses. Amy thought she should say something but all the words
seemed to catch up in the back of her throat and not want to come out. One of
the corpses made a choking noise as its foot twitched. When the one on the
right started reaching for her leg Frays made the sign of the cross, drew her
M9 and put a single 9mm round in each of their temples.
“Right.”
Frays muttered unhappily as she collected the dead soldiers' dog tags. “Eamon,
could you be so kind as to collect up whatever gear these two have left?” she
looked at Lacey “And could you back that Humvee away from the edge, say about
twenty feet or so and pull some overwatch? Thanks, guys.” Amy stuffed the
little pieces of metal into her pocket and moved towards the Five Ton. “I'm
gonna report in then I'll be right back to give you a hand.”
Lacey
shivered as he climbed into the driver’s seat of the Humvee and started the
engine. He could make out dozens of figures across the river shambling towards
the edge of the bridge, moaning like tortured souls as they walked mindlessly
into the river.
