Trudge: Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse (8 page)

Rawley provided his identification and received the same stock informative lecture, followed by the same questions from the officer. Because of his tattoos and long hair, his driver’s license received more than a cursory inspection. Rawley informed the officer that he was going camping with the guys in the truck ahead of him, gesturing with his thumb towards the camping gear that was shielding his rifle from view. Rawley got his driver’s license back and the trooper indicated he could follow Cade and the boys through the roadblock.

Cade patiently watched as the trooper returned to the Sequoia. Behind him the drivers in the cars that were lining up started honking intermittently. The trooper reached in the window and handed the ID card back to Cade and then queried him about his service.

Downplaying his role, Cade said, “I did a tour in Iraq, nothing worthy of a medal. I was mostly in the green zone.”

After a short pause, “Thanks for your service son” and with a tip of his stiff brimmed hat the older trooper exclaimed loud enough to be heard over the honking, “you… and you!” pointing at the Sequoia and the Bronco, “carry on!” and waved them through. He then faced the unenviable task of telling the rest of the drivers in queue that I-84 was now closed.

Wasting no time, Cade started the Sequoia and hurriedly pulled away from the roadblock.

Rawley threw the trooper a quick smart ass salute as he rolled past him heading east away from the city of 1.2 million.

Chapter 17

Day 2 Interstate-84 Roadblock

Trooper Gary England stood his ground, as each person in front of him plead their case. His stature was imposing to most and people usually listened to what he had to say. Today the people he was trying to reason with were attempting to flee the unknown carnage that was unfolding twenty miles to the west in Portland, Oregon. Bottom line, he was holding court with anxiety, panic and pandemonium.

An attractive young woman in denim shorts and a tank top shrilly dressed him down.

“You are not listening to me. My daughter is four years old and she is sitting in that car in the hot sun” she said while wildly stabbing her manicured nail at the black Mercedes.

“
And you lady, are not hearing me
! I repeat no one is getting through. The city is under forty eight hour quarantine.”

A balding middle aged man and his wife started whining about the idiots in the city looting and wilding.

“I want your badge number!” the half-drunk wife bellowed.

She wasn’t used to being told “no”.

The trooper did his best to try and turn around the fifteen or so people that got out of their cars to “help” with the lobbying process.

Like a clap of thunder, the sound of approaching V-twin engines drowned out all conversation. Scores of bikes pulled up on both sides of the group of people trying to gain passage into the gorge.

Most of the outlaw bikers were flying their colors. Greasy leather jackets emblazoned with the “Nomad Jester” patch, it had a devious looking jester wearing a floppy hat with round tassels on the end. Instead of a silly smile on its face it wore a devilish sneer; across its chest was an AK-47 held at port arms.

Trooper England, his hand on his Beretta, stared down the lead element of the pack.

One of the biggest bikers he had ever seen dismounted his black Harley. The behemoth extended the kickstand with his scuffed black leather boot. The red bearded outlaw squared up with the trooper. He didn’t offer his hand to the law let alone a modicum of respect.

“Just as I have been telling these fine citizens, the City of Portland is under quarantine for the next forty eight hours” hitching up his gun belt he added, “You all need to turn around and go ho....”

Before Trooper Gary England could finish his sentence, a fifty caliber bullet traveling at 2800 feet per second entered just below his eye socket. His head became a pink mist that covered the travellers around him with tiny pieces of vaporized brain, blood and pebble sized flecks of bone. Time seemed to stand still for the people clustered around the man. The people gathered their wits and pandemonium broke out. The shrieking started with the drunk lady first. Most everyone made for their cars in an attempt to escape the menacing gang.

Three hundred yards away the ex-marine scout sniper turned outlaw biker, put down his Barrett sniper rifle and high fived his buddy.

As if on cue, the rest of the gang attacked the innocent people with fists, knives and guns. Men were not spared. One biker decapitated the whiny middle aged man with a machete. While his lifeblood pumped from the stump of his neck the assailants dragged his drunken wife away kicking and screaming. She was flex cuffed and thrown into a civilian Hummer2 driven by one of the biker’s old ladies.

The massacre was swift and complete. They spared the mom that had been in the trooper’s face, two teenage girls that had just witnessed their parent’s murder and a twenty something redhead that had been hitchhiking with an elderly man. They were all trying to flee the madness in Portland and this is what they received in return.

Had he arrived two minutes sooner the man would have found himself in the middle of a massacre. While he watched helplessly two of the bikers held up the little girl. While she struggled valiantly the big red bearded animal gutted her with his machete. Duncan hadn’t witnessed anything like this since his first tour in Vietnam. The mom wailed on her hands and knees cradling the remains of her little girl as the bikers laughed.

It took a three point turn for him get the wide, long bed pickup pointing in the other direction on the narrow two lane road. Trying to literally put the scene in his rear view mirror he raced east on the old scenic highway.

Chapter 18

Day 2 Fort Bragg, North Carolina

Mike Desanto was on the phone with his base commander Major Phillip Link giving him a situation report.

"Sir, the call has been made; all of the active shooters have been ordered RTB. Half of our active Alpha Teams are in the Stan, and days away. Coronado is calling in all of their support personnel, SEAL teams 1 and 10 are on deployment but most of the other teams have formed up and are on base. I just received word that the east coast garrisons are doing call backs. SEAL team 6 is in Pakistan looking for Bin-Laden. We recently received a sit-rep from them, they want an exfil ASAP. Their last transmission indicated that everyone in the Middle East is going to meet their seventy two virgins pretty soon. Almost all of the civilian communications are down. At least we have our satellite comms up and running for our operators.”

Cutting his friend off he said “Mike I need to see you ASAP. I have a high priority mission for you.”

“Right away sir, give me five mikes.”

Captain Desantos walked across the base from the north entry to have a face to face with his commander. He was summoned in after knocking on the door to the air conditioned communications room.

Mike saluted his superior and was greeted with the same, followed by “At ease” coming from Major Link.

“What do you have for me sir?”

Straight and to the point Link said, “POTUS is incommunicado and has been since 03:00 EST.”

Mikes face blanched at the news, “Last known location?” he asked.

“1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. Stubborn SOB thought he would be safe there… ride it out with his family” the Major said shaking his head.

All comms are down in the district. Our NSA bird sent back images of Marine One sitting on the south lawn. The walking dead are on the grounds and no living beings have been seen in the vicinity since communications ceased.”

“ROE?” (Rules of Engagement) “Shoot to kill any undead on site no matter who they may be. POTUS and all VIPs must be rescued at all costs. If there are any casualties amongst them, then documentation is necessary. Take any credentials from the bodies and obtain DNA swabs and digital video to confirm their identity and condition.”

“Protect you and your men at all costs” the Colonel said while patting the operator on the shoulder.

“I’ll take two teams of six. Have the Night Stalkers been briefed?”

“Yes. They will be ready in thirty mikes. Two 160th SOAR Pave Hawks with Apache support” the Major paused and adjusted his black beret before saying “It’s bad out there…worse than any of our war gaming scenarios suggested. Watch your six Cowboy.”

The two men exchanged salutes.

The red phone on the commander’s desk chirped.

An MP made it very clear that the perimeter needed fortification and he wanted to call McCord AFB to request that a Spectre gunship be brought on station. The Spectre was a close air support modified AC-130 with multiple weapons that was proven to be devastating against enemy forces on the ground.

"I’ll make it happen, in the meantime keep me updated" the base commander Major Phillip Link said as he hung up.

The moment President Odero called for nationwide martial law; secure smart phones rang and vibrated across the country as operators were mobilized to return to post. The Tier-1 operators all had secure encrypted phones utilizing government satellites to keep everyone in constant contact.

*****

At SOCOM headquarters, Fort Bragg North Carolina, MPs were checking identifications at the double gate in front of the compound. Cars and SUVs full of soldiers and family that usually lived off of base were lined up for blocks. The first priority of the guards would be to quarantine the injured and ensure that none of the infected got inside.

Overnight several hundred walkers had amassed around the perimeter having been attracted by the commotion and halide lights. The snipers in the guard towers had orders to confirm with thermal imaging if their targets were in fact walking dead before engaging them. The undead didn't have the same heat signature as the living. The newly turned did show up as almost normal for the first few minutes, therefore any questionable targets also required a visual identification.

Dawn broke and the day wore on as hundreds more of the infected streamed across the highway from the hospital and the surrounding businesses. Bodies of the infected were bulldozed into mass graves as fast as the snipers and tower guards could put them down.

Mike had checked his phone for personal messages. One was from his wife Annie, saying she was en route with their three girls. Annie was pregnant with Mike’s first boy. Mike thought,
only two more months of being the only male of the household
. Message number two was Cade; Mike listened intently, hung up and called the three gate houses one at a time. He left orders to look out for anyone fitting Brook’s description as well as anyone that was with her. They were to let them in and contact Mike immediately. Cade’s family was his family, as far as Mike was concerned.

*****

Private First Class Chillcut had his hands full checking identities and making sure that the infected were kept outside of the wire. Things at the south entrance were getting hairy.

Back to back, staccato reports of automatic gunfire came from his left, the third vehicle in line failed to move forward. Inside the car, one of his soldiers had turned undead and attacked the other occupants of the Ford Taurus wagon. The driver shrieked as her head was pulled towards the backseat, her undead husband’s teeth sank into the soft part of her neck ripping free a mouth full of flesh, he then turned his attention to the crying baby in the car seat. The babies wailing intensified as the monster tried to wrest it from the car seat.

Seeing this happening through his thermal scope, the sniper in the nearest tower opened fire. The bullet entered the ghoul’s head at the base of the neck causing it to slump over the baby.

Having just bled out, the mom in the front seat reanimated and began banging on the driver’s side window. Bursts of gunfire from the soldiers at the checkpoint killed her. The troops rushed to the car to check for survivors. The first to arrive at the vehicles open window could hear muffled cries escaping from under the dead ghoul. Afraid of what he would find, Private First Class Chillcut reluctantly pulled the corpse off of the infant in the car seat, and then screamed "corpsman!" at the top of his lungs. The orphaned baby kept screaming, miraculously she was unhurt.

*****

The sky over Fort Bragg faded from a brilliant blue to a burnt orange as the sun set on what was to be the most difficult twenty four hours of Mike Desanto’s life. He ran the impending mission through his head as he watched four black helicopters of the 160th SOAR bleed off airspeed, flair at the last moment and softly land in tight formation on the tarmac.

The show in the heavens was finishing its run with deep purples and blues slowly fading to black. Stars emerged, winking at those still among the living, willing to look up and imagine a world where the dead didn’t roam.

Mike walked with purpose to greet the Night Stalkers and bring the other eleven operators that would accompany him on this very important mission up to speed.

Mike “Cowboy” Desanto looked at the stars one last time and prayed to anyone listening to deliver his family to safety. Mike and his Delta Operators were fully kitted out and ready to undertake Operation Eagle Aerie.