Before the Dead Walked, page 6
“Captain Jenkins, will you take over this bird, while I talk to that Navy weather specialist Alvarez up here,” Hatch spoke after a couple seconds of silence.
“Sure thing, Colonel,” the young captain replied, scooting his seat forward and taking the controls in his hands.
The female officer maneuvered into the cabin and announced herself, “Ensign Lupita Alvarez reporting, sir.”
“Please take the navigator’s chair again, Ensign,” Colonel Hatch said politely.
The colonel couldn’t help but notice her curves as she eased her way into the unoccupied seat. He caught a whiff of her perfume, the freshness. It was such a nice thing after smelling the shit he had been spraying the past few weeks.
The image of her tight body lingered. That was a damn fine thing too.
He thought she was very attractive. She had long black hair, which was swept back in a regulation ponytail. Her big brown eyes were captivating, with blinding white teeth and inviting lips. Alvarez was in great shape, but obviously worked out a lot, because even through the flight suit, her butt was tight, heart-shaped.
“We’ve only got two more missions after today, but is the weather going to hold?” he asked for her professional opinion.
“I’m not sure, Colonel, sir, because every year, around the middle of August, we have a shift in the upper atmosphere,” Alvarez detailed. “That causes the polar express to dip further south as winter approaches.”
She was smart enough to explain things without all the technical mumbo-jumbo.
Hatch really couldn’t have cared less about the weather just then, because he only wanted to flirt with her. It was so unusual to hear the sound of an American woman’s voice in this part of the world, unless it was some nosey female journalist snooping around for some hot story scoop. It was rare to be able to show some attention to a real woman, even at an official level. He was horny and lonely, that was for sure. Besides, she was perfect. That was all he knew and he was feeling urges long suppressed. So he had to be careful. He knew there could never be a real relationship. Robert knew the consequences of dating a subordinate. He was not going to mess up his retirement over a piece of ass, no matter how fine it was.
Indeed, she had a very nice backside, highlighted by her tight suit. In fact, his mind wandered anyway, wondering what it would be like to have sex with a woman who looked as delicious as she did.
He shook off the fantasies.
“Initial reports coming in show that many of the herders or farmers or bomb-makers, are dying like flies,” she spoke up again.
The colonel was amazed. How did she know that? It had to be classified intelligence. It was the small pieces that complete a puzzle and her statement made Colonel Hatch believe there was more to her story than he was privy to.
What he hadn’t realized was that Alvarez had been throwing hints at him for several weeks now. Lupita Alvarez knew all about Ashat and his group. She also knew there were many other herds of goats wiped out since the operation began. The ensign had major concerns over the lingering effects of the enzyme and the dispersing agents.
Just how long would the liquid sit in the atmosphere?
How far could it travel, and remain potent?
What would happen when goat herds in China started dying?
Her concerns about the shifting jet stream were going nowhere with her superiors. There were also some reports of the enzyme mutating. She was fully aware that the goats were reanimating. The scene played out at Ashat’s camp was repeated dozens of times. Goats dying, coming back to life, going crazy biting and eating people. The mutated variant was grabbing her attention.
Yet she couldn’t say anything. She wouldn’t say anything. Lupita was dedicated to her job. For some inexplicable reason, however, Colonel Hatch was different. Alvarez always had trust issues. People were always betraying her, back when she was a little girl and teenager, so the line between truth and honesty faded away. That’s why her handlers in Langley thought she was one of the best.
Getting back to Colonel Hatch, it bugged her that she seemed to know things that he didn’t. Shouldn’t this man be aware of the consequences of his actions? She certainly had been dropping hints to see if Hatch would engage her in dialogue, so he would figure out some of what she knew on his own.
It was one thing to reanimate a goat with an enzyme that came from a fly, through a bee, but to read field reports of humans reanimating was beyond her imagination. That kind of stuff was fiction, make believe, the plot devices of bad horror movies. Yet the proof was on her laptop. Satellite recon photos clearly showed dead herds and some dead farmers. By the next pass, the satellite picked up the herd, scattered but moving. The number of dead people in the group had shrunken however. There were four people, who according to photographs were dead. The recon team that went in to confirm saw the dead and photographed them up close. They had been viciously bitten and bled out. Their bodies were left for the buzzards. On the third pass the satellite picked up the image of only three bodies. Initially the thought was dogs dragged the body away. Perhaps some family members claimed it and took it with them. It wasn’t until the satellite was scanning a few hundred yards away that it picked up a man walking.
His progress was slow, but he was walking.
The recon team confirmed the kills with photographs.
There was nobody left alive on the hill.
There were only a bunch of mad goats, butting anything that moved.
A special US Recon Team was ordered back to pick up that walker and bring him back to the FOB. Two Rangers were sent out. They never returned. Ensign Alvarez knew that something went wrong when she saw COMSAT images of three figures walking slowly not far from the Humvee.
“I love the smell of coffee,” Lupita stated matter-of-factly, expecting some, hoping to interrupt her train of thought.
Hatch handed her his thermos and she poured herself some in the cup.
“A shot of Jack Daniels in coffee is delicious any time of day or night,” he added, chuckling. “But only when I’m not on duty, of course.”
“So says you,” Ensign Alvarez said sarcastically.
The colonel was surprised by the caustic tone in her voice.
Lupita took another sip and frowned. “Not even dark French roast will rid you of the smell.”
“What do you mean by that?” Hatch demanded.
Alvarez sighed. “I’m sorry, Colonel, but I think we just killed ourselves.”
Chapter 4
Rangers Lead the Way
Ranger First Sergeant Maxwell Darby climbed up the hill to his five men, who were the first to witness the chaos on the ground. Team Echo was positioned high on a hill overlooking most of Kabul when the first distress call came over their radio. The US Embassy was under siege. The sandstone-colored building was built to withstand rocket-propelled grenades, with bullet-proof glass and a 30-man Marine detachment assigned for extra security. The helicopter landing pad on the roof, which had become a mandatory design feature on all new American embassies around the world, was built for rapid extraction.
“Was everything copacetic, Sarge?” Specialist John Powers asked.
Darby nodded and took a hit from his canteen. There was a spot of blood on his hand, which he quickly wiped away.
The Rangers saw smoke rising from hundreds of different locations throughout the burning city. Their first thoughts were that members of the Taliban or Al-Qaeda were mounting a major offensive. It only made sense, as their Intel pointed to something big being planned. No one knew when or where. The radio chatter had been going on for days. However, all that noise suddenly ceased. The airwaves were filled with nothing but static.
Team Echo’s mission had been simply stated, while being a bit unusual. Take a look at the rebel camps situated in the outlying hills for signs of goats.
“What a waste of good fighting men.” Specialist Timothy Thomas mumbled. “We’re supposed to count their fucking goats? These idiots can keep their fucking goats.”
“That’s enough, Thomas.” Darby grunted. He took pride in his leadership ability, but demanded discipline. He tolerated no less from his men. His grandfather had served in the Second World War. Darby’s Rangers they came to be known. Now First Sergeant Max Darby had his own squad and although the family history meant everything to him and the historians, all his men knew was that he had saved their lives on more than one occasion. They respected him. In fact, they loved him like brothers. His hair, cut regulation short, was still jet black, but soaked with sweat.
“Sorry Top, it won’t happen again,” the specialist replied.
Darby knew his men were frustrated. Two weeks earlier they were engaging enemy forces. These guys lived for it. They had given up their lives of peace and prosperity for fighting and killing. Together, they had been deployed in Iraq during the Fallujah uprisings and together they had been in Afghanistan for five deployments. Now they were asked to seek out camps and farms to recon for dead goats.
“We may not be able to help the diplomats,” Darby continued. “But we can still relay up-to-date intelligence. Several choppers are on the way to extradite the staff from the US Embassy in Kabul.”
Unfortunately, what they saw next would haunt these soldiers for the rest of their combined lives. Hordes of people were slowly moving through the narrow streets. They were being shot by their own people. Yet they weren’t falling down. They weren’t shooting back. They were just shuffling along, blank-faced and silent.
Darby pulled his binoculars away from his eyes in disbelief.
“Do you guys see that?” the squad leader asked in desperation.
For several minutes, silence was his only answer.
“Fuck that shit!” Specialist John Powers exclaimed. “They’re fucking cannibals.”
The entire team witnessed everything.
A wounded civilian hopped away from his fellow locals, but was overtaken by the masses of shambling creatures. They began chewing, biting and pulling his flesh off of his arm, face and body. Ten and then twenty people piled on top of the screaming man, hands reaching into and pulling out his internal organs. They were eating him. The screaming ended and the group rejoined the ever growing throng of horrible excuses for people.
“It’s not fucking possible,” Chief Warrant Officer Mark Collins cried out. He was their technological genius, originally from Chicago, Illinois. He was also their chopper pilot, whenever they needed to bug out on their own. He was a big man, broad shouldered, with skin that looked like chocolate mocha with a touch of cream. He was a handsome man, with an infectious laugh.
“Top, what is going on?” Specialist Thomas was barely able to get the words out.
“They’re fucking zombies!” Sergeant Bailey Stillwell, from San Antonio, Texas, growled. He was 29-years-old, but already almost entirely bald.
The five men all looked at Darby.
He said nothing. The sergeant was busy still staring at the body on the blood-soaked ground. It was moving, what was left of it, crawling. The half-eaten man was pulling himself by his stumped arm and shoulder bone. Severed leg bones were scooting to catch up behind him as he moved forward.
“It just can’t be,” Darby mumbled.
Thump, thump, thump, thump.
The unique sound of helicopter blades overhead told them the Black Hawks were quickly approaching. Just as they heard them, the choppers pushed the wind down on them as they flew overhead into the city. The swirls of dust enveloped the squad for a few brief seconds.
“Oh shit.”
All eyes turned to look at Sergeant Pedro Ramirez.
His foot had pushed over a rock and uncovered a cow bee’s nest. Similar to yellow jackets in the southern United States, these red ground dwellers packed a wallop of a sting. The tension was broken for a moment, as the group of men who had taken bullets and everything horrible that mankind threw at them, were instantly reduced to a bunch of first-graders in fear of a bee sting.
Half laughing and half cursing, the burly Ramirez pulled a can of Sterno from his pack and flamed the hole.
“Snakes, scorpions, and fucking bees,” Ramirez grumbled. “Shit, I hate this country.”
The big man of Mexican heritage took some chewing tobacco out of his mouth and placed it on the sting. There was nearly instant relief, so he could remove the stinger at least. Ramirez, at least on the outside, wasn’t typical Hispanic in any way, but his heritage was important to him. All his buddies knew he was very close to his mother, who sent him care packages every month.
Slowly the men sat down on the ridgeline to collect themselves. They couldn’t help but watch the insanity of humans chewing on other humans. There were people actually eating each other. There were armed tribesmen shooting their comrades and the victims didn’t die. The poor buggers didn’t know they were already dead.
The embassy rooftop was empty when the first Black Hawk skidded across the blacktop surface. A door burst open and four suits ran out the door, guns blazing at slowly moving targets behind them. One, four, ten, thirty, and then a hundred people stumbled out the door in pursuit. The guns seemed to have no effect on them. The Black Hawk gunner opened fire, the minigun cutting many in half, yet they kept moving, crawling and stumbling forward. The roof was now covered in blackish ooze flowing from those who had just been shot.
Their blood was no longer red, but looked like an oil slick.
High up on the hillside, the fire-team of six Army Rangers, who had seen everything war could show them, merely watched in horror.
The horde moved onto the Black Hawk before they could finish loading the officials. As the last one was trying to get aboard, his leg was grabbed by someone who sank their teeth into the screaming diplomat. Others grabbed hold of the chopper, as if it was also something to devour.
The gunner tried his best to keep them away from the lifting craft.
Zip, zip, zip, zip, zip, zip, zip, the minigun was spraying off rounds like a buzzsaw, but with little effect.
More and more people kept pouring out of the door.
“Where the hell are they coming from?” Darby wondered out loud.
The whole team had wondered the same thing.
The Rangers couldn’t hear what the gunner was screaming, but they all knew the words. They had lived it, but not to this end.
The other choppers were circling the embassy, adding their gunfire for support, but it was a waste of time. The hordes just kept coming.
The Black Hawk was vainly trying to lift off, but it was also being pushed. The weight of the mass of zombies was pushing it towards the edge of the roof. The blades were now spinning at full throttle, but it was doing no good. Within seconds, the people were pushing against each other so hard, they were crushing themselves. Suddenly the helicopter tilted over the roof. People were falling down with it, as dozens followed it over the edge, stumbling off the edge. They seemed oblivious to the fact that they were several stories high.
The spinning blades, as if in slow motion, hacked them to pieces.
Kaboom!
The Black Hawk exploded on impact.
A fireball soared upwards, enveloping the building in flames. Many bodies were incinerated instantly. Others were walking around in flames. No one was trying to put the fire out. They ignored the burning humans.
There was sporadic shooting still going on around the city, but the location couldn’t be pinpointed. There was so much smoke from the burning buildings that it didn’t matter. In fact, they could hear more screaming than gunshots.
The Rangers were over a mile away, on top of the ridgeline.
Kabul was lost.
What just happened?
Who were those wretched creatures?
“Thomas?” Darby shouted. “Get on the horn, and get us out of here.”
“I’m on it, Sarge,” the specialist answered.
Several seconds later, Thomas reported, “We’re on our own, Sarge. Base said all assets are grounded indefinitely.”
“Okay gentleman, nothing new. We gotta walk home. We’ll be there in four or five days, depending on our luck,” Darby informed his men. “Mount up! Let’s get out of here.”
He nearly forgot to take photographic evidence.
Darby grabbed his pocket cam, snapped thirty or so quick images of the carnage, because even at a long distance, the images showed destruction along with hordes of people.
Were they just civilians?
Were those the enemy?
“Let the brass figure it out,” Darby muttered under his breath as he stowed the camera away. He sent the images attached to a text.
The Rangers took one last look at the once beautiful and ancient city. Now it lay in ruins. They would never forget the thousands and thousands of people wandering around, stumbling around. They would never forget the seemingly meaningless behavior, or the cannibalism.
Somehow the soldiers knew they would see plenty more.
Chapter 5
More Chaos in the Peach State
It had been a long night for Jack Watson. Putting out the apartment fire was nothing compared to the car wrecks that were occurring. He heard the report of the ambulance hauling Marshall wrecking. He and his team rolled down Hwy 27 to offer assistance if needed. They never made it to the ambulance. There were no less than thirty or forty pileups that blocked the route.
Most of the wrecks were fender benders, some more damaging. They dismounted their engine and began assessing who to help. Up ahead on the left, they saw a car burning. They could not get the engine through so they grabbed what gear they could carry and ran toward the inferno.
A woman screamed that her children were trapped inside. There was nothing the crew could do but pull the woman away.
Other people were ambling up and down the road. Many yelled at other drivers. Some cars were flipped in the ditch.
Jack went over to one car that lay on its roof. The driver was still inside. The airbag had deployed. Jack knelt down to inspect more closely. What he saw made him jump back. The driver was clearly dead. His neck had been snapped like a twig, swinging to and fro. But the driver’s mouth was agape, snapping at Jack. His eyes were a grey mass of bubbling film.
