Rotters: Bravo Company (10 page)

I splashed water into my eyes and gulped my canteen dry. I could see that the flames in the slit trench were dying down. More zombies were struggling into the channel, and attempting to climb out the other side. The flames didn’t deter them.

In a panic I slapped my pants pockets until I found my lighter. I lit a pair of Molotovs and tossed them at the zombies nearest me in the pit. The bottles shattered, drenching the already smoldering undead in fresh fuel. They burst into flame, and staggered back to drop down, sizzling onto the blackened, smoking remains littering the trench. Up and down the line, everyone methodically tossed their Molotovs into the channel. They didn’t even have to be lit. The flames leapt back up momentarily. Still more rotting cadavers advanced from the burning village and approached the perimeter. I tossed in my last Molotov and brought my rifle back up.

I fired controlled bursts at the zombies who cleared the slit trench, shooting out their knees and dropping them back into the burning inferno.

For a precious moment the slit trench held. The flames roared and leapt to the sky. The zombies tumbled forward into a fiery slice of hell on earth, where they were destroyed, incinerated and cremated. I gave out a ragged cry of victory. 

It couldn’t last. The fuel burned down, and the consumed dead smothered the flames. Still more zombies advanced through the smoke and the swirling ashes.

I heard the Claymore go off on my right. The zombies staggered over the stakes and the trip wires. They fell, impaled themselves, tore themselves free, and came on again. The gunfire became sporadic as one by one the M-4’s ran dry. I could no longer hear the SAW’s automatic fire.

I checked my hip pouch
; there were only two loaded magazines left.

A disemboweled zombie lunged toward me, impaling itself on one of my stakes. The sharpened pole tore through its ribs and stuck. The cadaver slowly pushed itself forward, impaling itself further as it reached bony claws towards my face. I aimed and fired off a point blank burst that decapitated the zombie and took off both its arms. What was left quivered on the
pole.

As I reloaded I looked through the swirling smoke down line to my right. Gordo leapt from his hole and ran back to the center, a cadaver hard on his tail.

I could see Hard-on fighting hand to hand with a zombie. He drove the corpse to its knees with a sledgehammer, and then crushed its skull with a savage overhand stroke. Before he could recover two cadavers stumbled forward into him. They went down in a tangle of trashing limbs and then the smoke obscured my view.

A grenade went off directly to my left. I was tossed to the side, shrapnel buzzed by me. Zombies began to emerge from the smoke all around me. I staggered back to my feet, and fled for the center.

I ran back to our last ditch position, passing a pair of limping cadavers that reached out for me as I passed. If we hadn’t been overrun then I was a Chinese jet pilot.

A handful of survivors were assembled behind the barricades. I scrambled up a pile of crates and collapsed inside. I still had my M-4 and about fifty rounds.

It was pure chaos.

I painfully stood up and looked around. I only saw Gordo, Sgt. Price, and a couple of guys I knew from 2nd Platoon, Smith and Jacobs. A pair of the medical guys and one bloodied mechanic staggered in. Nobody was in charge; the survivors were just shooting at the zombies as they approached.

“Where’s the sergeant?” I asked Price.

“He’s still out there somewhere,” he gasped back.

Gunfire broke out from three sides as the zombies approached our position.

The major appeared out of nowhere, screaming contradictory orders. His uniform was crumpled and he looked like shit. He singled out the corpsmen.

“You two, load up our survivors from the sample tent, we’re pulling out!” he bellowed.

“What, sir?” one of them stammered back.

“You heard me!” the major screamed. “Go into the sample tent and evacuate all of our personnel. Load them on the truck. We’re leaving. Do it now!”

The corpsmen rushed off.

“The rest of you lay down suppressive fire until we are loaded and ready! We only need a few minutes,” he urged.

I figured the old man had lost it, but at least we were leaving. He sent a man into the clean tent to bring out the colonel and his staff. He walked over to the barricade and fired off a magazine from his pistol into the approaching zombies, laughing manically.

I heard the distinct noise of Sgt. McAllister’s shotgun, and then he leapt over the crates and fell inside the barricade. I had never been so happy to see anyone in my entire life. I helped him to his feet and hugged him.

“Get off me, Parsons,” he said gruffly. He reloaded his shotgun and looked around. The major stalked over to us.

“Sergeant, we are leaving,” the major repeated.

“Bout time, sir,” McAllister grinned.

Just when I thought we might get out with our skins, the colonel appeared. I didn’t recognize him at first. He looked like a mad scientist from an old horror movie. His lab coat was stiff with dried blood and gore. Dark circles stood out under his bulging eyes like old bruises.  He was absolutely wrecked. His face was a mask of rage. I could tell he was super pissed.

“Who gave the order to evacuate?” he roared.

“I did,” the major replied calmly. He stepped up to meet the colonel.

“I might have known it was you, Dorset,” the colonel growled. “I will not allow your cowardice to jeopardize my work!”

The major leaned forward; his hand tightened on his pistol. “Do not call me a coward
again, Warren!”

The colonel ignored the major and looked around. “You men will go back to your defensive positions and secure this camp!” the colonel barked. “No one is to leave until you are relieved!” 

“We are overrun!” the major screamed back. “Look around you, Colonel Warren! These men are all that are left!”

The colonel shook his head. “Nonsense. Secure the defense of this camp
, Major. I must finish my work. Do not disturb me again or I will bring you up on charges of dereliction of duty!” 

Sgt. McAllister grabbed his arm and jerked him around, “With respect, sir, the major’s assessment is correct. If we do not withdraw we
’ll all be killed.”

Warren pulled away. “Stand down, Sergeant!” he ordered. “I want you men back out on the perimeter; now!”

Everyone looked at the colonel in shock. Even the men on the barricade stopped firing for a moment to listen. We could all hear the zombies tearing at the flimsy barrier.

Sgt. Price fired off a burst from his M-4, decapitating a zombie that was attempting to climb the barricade.

The colonel screamed over the gunfire, “Everyone out to the perimeter! Secure this camp!” 

Maj. Dorset lifted his gun and calmly shot him three times in the chest. The colonel collapsed to the ground, dead as a mackerel. The rest of us were too stunned to react.

The major lowered his smoking pistol and looked around.

“The colonel was obviously infected with the virus, and had become dangerously insane. I was forced to shoot him in self-defense. Does anyone remember any other version of these events?” he barked. He looked around at us; he still had six rounds in his pistol.

“No, sir!” Sgt. Price replied quickly.

“Very well. Load up. We are the fuck out of here!”

We ran for the trucks.

REPORT FROM MAJOR DORSET CO BRAVO COMPANY

COLONEL WARREN KIA

HAVE EVACUATED VILLAGE OF LAT AND PROCEEDING TO AIRFIELD.

SPECIMENS SECURED

PROCEEDING AS ORDERED

TRANSMISSION ENDS

MAJOR DORSET US ARMY

09:22 p.m. Zulu

Village of Lat

The Congo

Sgt. McAllister brought up the rear as we withdrew. He had me collect up all the gear we could quickly salvage, and toss it into the last Humvee. He fired off rapid bursts from his shotgun, blasting the clambering zombies who tried to climb the barricade. The buckshot knocked the undead off balance; they tumbled back off the wall. They began to push through the crates and debris; as their numbers grew, the barricade crumbled.

Finally, everyone was aboard a vehicle. Sgt. Price drove the lead Humvee out of the camp. The major climbed into the cargo truck. It pulled away before he could even shut the door. I jumped into the last Humvee and fired up the engine. Tents collapsed as I backed the vehicle through the barricade. McAllister leapt inside and slammed the door. I raced away from the village, weaving through zombies who emerged from the overrun camp all around us. We drove away from the doomed village and into the relative safety of the forest.

I steered the Humvee down the rutted jungle road as fast as I dared. We caught up to the other survivors quickly.

“I can’t believe I actually got out of there alive,” I laughed.

“We ain’t on the planes yet,” Sgt. McAllister replied.

We drove through the pitch-black rain forest. The tree trunks flashed by on either side in my headlights, but we spotted no zombies. We had left them in our rearview. I relaxed just a little.

“What are we going to do about the major?” I asked.

“Not a damn thing,” McAllister answered. “That was the best thing in the world that could have happened for you.”

“But he shot the colonel in cold blood,” I retorted.

“Why do you care all of a sudden, Parsons?” the sergeant asked. “You got exactly what you wanted. If the old man still wants to put you in Leavenworth at least you’ve got some leverage on him. Let it go.”

I realized he was right. He usually was. 

We had covered about ten miles when they hit us. We were running tight, just trying to get back to the airfield. Sgt. Price stopped the lead vehicle hard. A huge tree was down across the track. We bunched up behind him. I slammed on the brakes to keep from hitting the cargo truck in the ass.

Before Price could even get his door open a rocket propelled grenade streaked from the trees on our left. The lead Humvee exploded with a deafening roar. It jumped off the road and flipped, awash in flames.

“RPG!” McAllister screamed. He elbowed my hands away and hit the gear
shift, throwing the vehicle into reverse. I snapped out of my shock and floored the truck. We accelerated away from the ambush.

Small arms fire erupted from the forest on either side, raking the cargo truck. I saw its brake lights go out and then its reverse light came on. It pulled back towards us, weaving erratically. I craned my head around, trying desperately to keep the Humvee on the track.

A few stray bullets hit our front end; one cracked the windshield, but no one was hit.

We backed around a tight corner, out of the fire.

“Slow down, wait for the others,” McAllister ordered.

I reluctantly eased off the accelerator until we were creeping back the way we had come. The cargo truck slewed around the corner and sped towards us.

I flashed my headlights at the driver. He stood on the brakes, barely missing me. We retreated about three miles back down the road. Finally, McAllister ordered me to stop.

We pulled to the side of the track and bailed out of the trucks. Flashlights pierced the darkness.

McAllister ran forward. One of the men from 2nd Platoon had been shot through the thigh. The others helped him out, and the sergeant worked to stop the bleeding.

Maj. Dorset walked back and forth on the track, screaming obscenities at the forest.

He moved towards the others. “Why did they fire on us?” he asked. “Someone answer me!”

McAllister looked up in exasperation. “Sir, this is Africa. They don’t need a reason. You definitely offended their leader when we forced our way into the village. They have probably been waiting us the whole time; they knew we would have to come back up that road,” he explained.

I walked slowly forward toward the other survivors. Counting the wounded man there were only ten of us left, half of them noncombatants. Sgt. Price and the other mechanic had died in the RPG attack.

McAllister finished stabilizing the wounded man by wrapping a compression bandage around his leg. He looked up as I approached.

“Get the gear out of the Humvee,” he growled. “We are walking out.”

The major stomped over. “What?” he demanded.

“We have to walk out, around the rebels,” McAllister explained. “It is our only chance.”

“We can’t leave the vehicles, it is a good twenty miles to the air field,” the major stated.

“Sir, the road is now completely impassible. We can’t go forward into another ambush, and we can’t go back to the village. We have to circle around the rebels to the airfield. They won’t expect us to take to the forest. We should be able to slip past them,” the sergeant explained. He poured water from his canteen over his hands to wash the blood away. 

“We can’t just wander off into the rain forest, Sergeant. It’s dark and we’ll lose our way,” the major complained.

“I’ve got a map and compass, and my GPS,” McAllister countered.

The major digested this for a few seconds. He seemed indecisive. “Fine,” he relented.

He walked to the rear of the cargo truck.

“We will take as many of the survivors with us as we can carry,” the major snapped. “You corpsmen, unload the stretchers.”

The medics walked slowly to the truck and began to unload the struggling zombies still strapped to their stretchers.

Sgt. McAllister shook his head in disbelief.

“Sir, we can’t carry those things twenty miles through the brush,” he growled.

“We can, and we will,” the major retorted. “That’s a fucking order, Sergeant.”

I could tell that McAllister was close to the breaking point. Even he was not believing how crazy this order was.

“Sir…” he began again.

“Sgt. McAllister, I have just issued you a lawful order. Do you feel that this order is in any way unlawful?” the major asked calmly.

“Not unlawful, just insane,” McAllister responded. “We can’t carry them that far. They will slow us down to a crawl, and there is no reason to take them. They’re not survivors; they are fucking dead, sir! And not just dead, but dead weight. I honestly don’t understand what you are hoping to accomplish with this, sir.”

“I will not return without them,” the major grated. “We were sent here to rescue these men. We will take them home!”

McAllister considered this for a long moment. “Alright, I reckon we can carry two of them, but that’s it. We can switch out in pairs, and somebody has to stay on point. There’s exactly nine of us, not counting Smith, there, with a bullet in his leg. You’ll have to carry some too, sir.”

The major smiled, “Excellent, Sergeant. That’s the spirit.” He pointed to the two nearest cadavers. “We’ll take these two brave men home.”

McAllister walked back to the Humvee. He pulled me along.

“Let’s get what we can carry,” he suggested.

“What was that all about?” I asked.

“I don’t know what to make of that,” the sergeant responded. “I think that somehow the major feels like we need to at least bring something out, so that the mission doesn’t seem like such a complete failure.”

We rummaged through the vehicle. The sergeant grabbed the last SAW and its remaining ammo. He stuffed our last grenades and Claymores into a sack, and slung it over his shoulder.

“You want me to carry some of that,
Sarge?” I asked.

“
Naw, I got this shit. You take the mobile radio, and carry all the spare water and food you can. We’ll need it before we get to the field. It’ll take us two days to get there, maybe three.”

I grabbed some MREs and as much water as I figured I could haul. I shrugged on my pack, it weighed at least sixty pounds.

Sgt. McAllister opened the hood of the Humvee. He jerked loose the battery cables, then pulled out his knife and sawed through the main wiring harness at the firewall. He walked forward and repeated the operation on the cargo truck.

“Do you think that’s wise, Sergeant?” Maj. Dorset asked.

“I’m not leaving them for the rebels, sir,” he countered. “Trust me; we ain’t ever coming back here.” 

We reformed our sadly depleted group. The four remaining corpsmen picked up the stretchers. At least they were used to this shit. I wasn’t looking forward to humping a zombie on a stretcher through the woods all night long. I knew it was going to suck.

The sergeant briefed us in a low voice, “Cat’s eyes, everyone follow the man ahead of him, stay tight and quiet.”

McAllister gave a band to the rear corpsman on each stretcher. He had remembered to bring them along, just in case. He was good at that shit. Combat troops already had them on the back of our helmets or hats. The tabs glowed a faint green, just enough to follow in the darkness. They didn’t keep you from tripping over roots and falling into mud holes.

The sergeant continued, “We’ll march until I’m sure we’ve gotten clear of the rebels, then we’ll rest until first light.”

McAllister strode out ahead on point and didn’t look back. He was the only one who knew where he was going.

The major pointed after him and ordered us to march. We fell into a line with the stretchers in the middle. Gordo and I joined the dejected little parade as we moved off into the rain forest. Smith hobbled along behind us as best he could. I looked back at the struggling corpses we were leaving behind on their stretchers in the road and shuddered.

Ten steps off the track the forest closed in on all sides. We plunged into the darkness and slowly felt our way forward. Sgt. McAllister led us away from the road, east towards the Congo River. The rebels would not expect us to go that way. I continually tripped and stumbled over rocks and roots. I followed the man ahead of me; his tab bobbed up and down in the darkness, a faint green blob of light.

We struggled on through the rough terrain. At least the ground was fairly flat and level. I quickly began to sweat. I smelled almost as bad as the zombies we had been fighting. I was thirsty and hungry and absolutely miserable. I slowly ate a cold MRE packet of chicken noodles as I stumped along. I ended up wearing more of it than I ate. My pack straps dug into my shoulders mercilessly, and my legs hurt like a bitch. Just when I thought I couldn’t take it anymore we stopped.

I plopped down with a groan and drank some very warm canteen water. I wished in vain for an ice cold beer. After a few minutes, the sergeant walked back down the line. He told me and Gordo to switch out with the corpsmen, my pack for the stretcher. I was too tired to complain.

I gratefully gave my heavy bag to the medic and walked forward. Gordo and I lifted the stretcher. The fucking zombie thrashed back and forth, jerking the handles in my hands. You have to carry a stretcher to truly appreciate it. After five minutes I was ready to pitch the fucker into the brush and take the ass ripping, but I gritted my teeth and sucked it up.

Gordo and I staggered along, pulling and pushing against each other as our footing changed with the ground. I went down hard as I stepped into a mud hole. The stretcher got away from me, and Gordo cussed me for a clumsy bastard. I climbed out of the clinging mud and retrieved our passenger. We lifted him with a groan and staggered onward. The time we carried the zombie extended out into one long, agonizing stretch of pulled muscles, twisted ankles and banged up shins. I pushed myself beyond the limits of pain and strength.

I didn’t remember stopping, but Gordo had dropped his end. He came forward and helped me lower the
stretcher. The line had stopped for a rest. I staggered over to a nearby tree trunk and collapsed gratefully back against it. My arms were numb, and my back was a twitching mass of spasms and pain. I stretched and rubbed my arms and legs, trying to work out the cramps. I was there for maybe ten minutes before the corpsman came back with my pack and dumped it at my feet. He and his partner slowly lifted the stretcher and painfully limped away with it. I struggled back into my pack with a groan, and followed them down the trail.

We moved slowly east as the night wore on, the sergeant kept us going in the right direction. We were all dead on our feet, and it seemed that the nightmare of walking through the dark rain forest would never end. Finally McAllister felt we were in the clear and we stopped.

Everyone just plopped down wherever they were, with groans and general cursing. I dropped my pack and leaned back against it. The sergeant walked up and down the line, making sure we were all there. Smith limped in last, his leg had gone completely rigid, it was all he could do to walk on it. He sank stiffly down at the end of the line, and lay there groaning softly. I was asleep before I even closed my eyes.

I may have slept for three hours before Smith’s screams woke me up. It was still pitch dark, and I was completely disoriented. I had no idea where I was. I snapped bolt upright, clutching my rifle and straining to see into the pitch dark around me. The zombies had found us, I could smell them. Smith screamed again, he was very close.