Zombie Invasion

  * * *

  Every enlisted soldier in the company stood in a long line anxiously awaiting movement ahead of them. They looked anxiously around trying to see ahead. A few were impatient, yelling at those ahead to move faster.

  A long line extended from the inside of a small building. The line meandered down the street and contained only low-level soldiers. Those of high rank had already received the information these new recruits were about to receive. What was so fascinating that all had to see? It was a list of names tacked to a bulletin board inside a small building.

  Earlier, each soldier made a list of their nearest relatives and their location. The army hierarchy believed it to be the best approach to overall moral policing: put your men at ease and they will fight with focused energy. That is what they hoped would happen, it didn’t.

  Men and women, trained soldiers, exited the building with a look of utter dejection etched into their features.

  The hot sun pounded down on Jones and Brittany as they waited with the rest. The line moved slowly. A guard walked up to them and squared his shoulders, staring directly at Brittany.

  “Private Dushell?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Sergeant Welch needs to see you. Please come with me.” He moved forward to the head of the line. Brittany gave a sour look to Jones and then followed, meekly. The guard shouted at those around the door. “Make a hole!” soldiers separated and stood rigid.

  “Excuse me,” said Brittany as she squeezed by them. The guard led her to a far door. “Wait here until called, Private.”

  “Yes, sir.” Brittany swallowed hard and stood near the door, waiting for it to open.

  Mike Jones worried for his friend, but couldn’t follow. He kept his place in line and prayed for the line to move faster. It took two hours to get to the doorway. Inside, Jones saw a long line with all eyes facing forward. Armed guards stood at attention in every corner of the small room. Ahead, a young blond girl removed her cap and with deep apprehension, stepped forward to view the list. Her small ponytail moved back and forth with her head as a single finger scanned down one list, then back up as if double-checking. The girl stepped to her left to scan a new list. Halfway down, a shaky finger stopped, transfixed.

  The soldier let out a shriek capable of piercing ears, then collapsed in a heap. One of the armed soldiers moved his weapon upward, but didn’t point it at her. Brittany tensed as she viewed the scene. She caught a glimpse of Jones and shrugged. He returned her shrug. Both looked at the fallen soldier, fear building.

  Staff Sergeant Nora Scott knelt and helped the sobbing Private to her feet. Instead of leaving, they went to the far-left corner of the room that Brittany stood before. The woman rapped on the door then escorted the soldier inside. Brittany gave a quick look and saw Sergeant Welch and others. She gave a panicked smile and waited. His expression never changed as he nodded to the Staff Sergeant who promptly shut the door. Brittany searched for Jones a second time.

  The line moved forward.

  Jones complained with the rest while outside. Inside the building, he didn’t relish the idea of moving forward. A guard poked Jones in his side to prod him. He moved up to make way for a new soldier to glimpse his first view of the room.

  An eternity passed before Jones could get to the front. He resisted looking at his friend; he also resisted looking at the long lists while the person in front of him scanned. When his turn arrived, he scanned with a heavy heart. Jones found what he was looking for on the second sheet: the names of his parents and grandparents. He closed his eyes and grimaced in silence.

  Brittany saw pain on his face. Jones was private. It took weeks for him to open up about home. She knew in that moment he had lost a family. She wanted to leave the door and go to him and provide comfort. The door opened.

  “Sergeant Welch is ready for you,” said a guard.

  Brittany walked through the door as the disheveled Private had done. She entered with a look of confusion on her face, her bottom lip quivered.

  Behind the desk sat Captain Hawkes. “Dushell!”

  She stood at attention and saluted, “Sir!”

  Captain Hawkes gave a stern look. “News of your family reached us late. There was not enough time to include it on our master lists.”

  Hawkes nodded to Sergeant First Class Welch who stood and faced her. “At ease!”

  Brittany relaxed with her hands behind her back. She gripped the back of her leg to stop the trembling, hoping neither would notice. She remained rigid as she anticipated the worst.

  Welch pulled out a piece of paper. He cleared his throat. “April Dushell, mother of Private Brittany Dushell, was repeatedly struck by an unknown assailant in an alley. An anonymous tip led police to the area. She was pronounced dead by the coroner at the scene.”

  Private Dushell found it hard to swallow. Breathing came in heavy sighs. She felt a formation of sweat droplets on her forehead. “Zombies, sir?”

  “No, Private,” said Welch, “cause of death is listed as,” he checked the paper, “Assault and Battery. I wanted to inform you of the news before we begin Operation Midnight.”

  Captain Hawkes stood and faced her. “Take time to mourn, Private. We move out tomorrow and I need you sharp. Is that clear, Private?”

  Brittany returned to her military position. “Yes sir, Captain, sir.”

  “Dismissed.”

  Brittany saluted before whirling to leave. She became dizzy. She wasn’t sure if it was from her quick turn or the news of her mother’s death. She had cut the cord long ago, but the news floored her. Brittany exited the room as fast as her shaky legs would carry her. She descended the steps and ran to her barracks. She had to get there and to privacy before the dam burst. She already felt the tears pooling.

  She ran inside, near her breaking point. Before she could open the floodgates and wail, a knock came from the door. “What?” she screamed.

  The door creaked open and Jones walked through, a smile beneath his lips. “You need a Sandman?”

  She held up her finger. “Don’t!” Blood rushed to fill her face and turn it a rosy red.

  Jones gave his too-familiar grin. After which, he held up his hands in surrender. Slowly approaching his caged tiger, he broadened his grin. He reached her and the grin faded, replaced with concern.

  Brittany focused her gaze on the floor, not wanting to meet his eyes.

  “What do you want to do?” Jones asked with sincerity.

  “There’s nothing I can do,” she said.

  Several chatty female soldiers walked in. All gawked at the man who had the nerve to enter the women’s barracks. One moved forward but another caught her arm.

  “I’ll give you some space,” said Jones. He gave the women a warm smile as he went past them.

  Later that evening, Jones was on guard duty. He saw the women’s barracks door open and a figure blended with the night. He thought it strange and focused his vision. Against the night he saw what appeared to be a shadow moving. Closer examination proved it to be a person of his acquaintance.

  With gun in hand, Jones left his position to shadow the shadow.

  Jones followed the stealth figure across three barracks and two buildings to the Jeep Pool. When the shadow entered a Jeep, he ran to the other side and hopped in. “Surprise!”

  “Jesus, Jones!” said a shocked Brittany Dushell. “What the fuck?”

  He reached over and pulled the key out of the ignition switch. “I think I should be asking that, don’t you think?”

  Blood left her face, leaving it a pale mask. She performed her earlier maneuver and avoided his brown eyes. Several unsuccessful attempts were made at swallowing while concentrating on the Jeep’s instrument panel. In the end, she lifted blue eyes to face the inevitable. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t give me that, Private.” Jones spoke softly but through clenched teeth. “You talk now or I’m going to throw your ass so far in the back of the stockades, you won’t see sunshine until you’re fifty.” r />
  “I’m going home to take care of my mother.”

  “Your mother’s dead.”

  “I know!”

  “Explain yourself, Private!”

  “They don’t always tell us everything. I need to see for myself.”

  “So you go AWOL? On the eve of our greatest mission?”

  She swallowed hard. “I owe her that much.” The great effort it took to hold back the tears was almost at an end. Jones, however, ignored it and moved toward her with clenched fists and teeth.

  “She’s dead.”

  “I know she’s fucking dead, okay!”

  Jones sat and stared.

  “I can’t say it any plainer. I’m not deserting and will be back. If I ask for permission, they won’t let me go, or will take so long deciding that it will be too late. I have to go now. Let me go, Jones.”

  “If they catch you, you will be hanged as a deserter, if you’re lucky.”

  “I’ll take that chance.”

  “Dushell? I know what you want to do and it is not necessary. She is good and dead. Don’t throw away your career on a fool’s errand. Sal, Tommy, and Barney all did the same thing and they are more than likely dead. Don’t do it.”

  The dam broke. Brittany burst into tears, clutching her face to stem the tide and hide. After a while, she turned her tired face to him. “We don’t know that, Jones. I can’t trust that they are not lying to us. I have to, I owe her. I know from what I’ve said about her that that’s plain stupid, but it’s true. I have to go, Jones.”

  He put the key in the ignition and turned it. The Jeep roared to life. “Let’s go.”

  She shook her head with great force. “No!”

  “Let’s go,” he grunted.

  “You have a career. If we get caught . . .”

  “Did you not hear me, Private? Get your ass in gear and get this vehicle moving.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  As they drove off into the night, Brittany’s watery eyes and pale face formed a grin to make Jones proud.

  The short journey from Fort Leonard Wood to St. Louis took three hours. It took another hour to find the morgue. They broke into the morgue at three o’clock in the morning. Making their way to the back, Jones found the clipboard and the correct freezer. He opened it and pulled out the long metal tray. While Brittany watched, shifting on the balls of her feet, Jones lifted the white sheet and turned to his friend.

  April Dushell lay on the cold hard slab, lifeless. Death could not steal her beauty and she seemed to only be in deep sleep. Maybe they were wrong and she was truly sleeping. A glow was in her cheek. Perhaps, perhaps, thought Brittany. No, that was pure fantasy.

  Brittany brought her hands to her mouth in an attempt not to cry out. The muffled sound she made expressed her shock. April was dead. Jones pulled the sheet down more to reveal a torso peppered with black-and-blue bruises. Perhaps one of her vicious clients pummeled her to death. At least he showed mercy and left her face undamaged, that was something.

  Jones pulled the sheet back to above her breasts. His eye caught something shiny on a table. He left Brittany to say her good-byes. He returned to find a daughter caressing the face of a loved mother. At his side, he concealed his shiny object—a machete.

  Moving his friend to the side, he gripped the machete with both hands. One sharp blow would sever head from body. As he readied to make his swing, “Stop!” shouted Brittany.

  “What? I thought this is what you wanted?”

  “I have to do it,” said Brittany.

  “All right.”

  Jones handed her the weapon. Without thinking, she drove the blade home, slicing cleanly through April’s neck. As the head rolled, so did Brittany. She fell to the floor in a steady stream of “I’m sorry, momma.”

  Jones left her there. At first, he made a move to comfort her, then backed away. He did the same dance two more times. Then, he decided to let her be and retrieve the head. Jones placed April’s head back on its neck. On second thought, what if the army was lying? He found a plastic bag in the room and put the head inside. He placed the sealed bag next to the feet, pulled the white sheet over the body, and slid the tray back into the freezer. No way would April Dushell wake as a zombie.

  Brittany’s face was splotchy and wet as Jones helped her into the Jeep. He strapped her inside and drove them back in silence. He offered his hand and she held it. She never looked at him once, or spoke. Jones drove through the night to make it back to the base on the hopes that they hadn’t been discovered missing.

  Luck would not be on their side. The sun was shining and the camp was buzzing with activity as they pulled to the entrance gate. An armed guard directed them inside. Once inside of the massive gate, they were met by army military police. The MP’s escorted them to a small building, the Commanding Officers’ Quarters. He knocked on the door and then made his announcement, “Corporal Jones and Private Dushell.” He moved so they could enter, then closed the door.

  “Sir,” responded Jones, his arm bent in salute.

  Brittany assumed the same posture. Across from him stood a red-faced Sergeant First Class Welch, his immediate superior. Captain Hawkes towered over him, making him appear smaller.

  “Give me one reason I don’t lock your sorry ass up until hell freezes over.” Spittle accompanied each word as Welch stood before Jones with clenched fists, scowling.

  “No reason, sir.”

  “He was—”

  “Can-it, Private!” Jones never dropped his salute or faced Brittany.

  “Outstanding!”

  Captain Hawkes throaty chuckle brought a greater redness to Welch’s round face. Welch brought his face to Jones’. “You had potential boy, command presence. You throw it all away for a piece of ass, army ass at that! Now you have nothing! You worthless grunt!”

  Jones’ hand wavered. Maintaining his salute grew difficult. “Sir. I protect my men, sir, the army way, sir.”

  Sergeant Welch brought his face into Jones, scowling. “You perform a harebrained maneuver on the eve of battle and claim army pride?”

  “No, sir, Sergeant First Class, sir!”

  “Because we are in a state of war!” boomed Welch. “I don’t have the luxury of knocking you on your ass and locking you the fuck up. Instead, you are reduced in rank two steps.”

  “Sir?” Jones found it difficult to swallow and his legs were becoming jelly at the news.

  “You heard me. You are back to being a Private, where you will stay until zombies eat your ass or you grow old and die. Whichever comes first. You hear me, boy?”

  “Sir, yes sir!”

  “Outstanding!” Welch finally turned his gaze to a rigid Private Brittany Dushell. Her salute was on the verge of wavering. Her chest heaved. He brought his face in tight to sneer and test. “Dismissed, Private!”

  “Sir! Yes, sir!”

  Brittany and Jones turned to exit.

  “Halt!”

  They turned on the orders of Captain Hawkes. “Sir?” asked Jones. Each put a hand to their brow to salute.

  Hawkes’ grin was malevolent. “No one can doubt the chain of command. Every act you perform reflects on those higher in that chain. You don’t disgrace yourselves, you disgrace those whose orders you must obey.” With a sneer, he turned to their leader. “Sergeant First Class Welch!”

  “Sir, yes, sir!” bellowed Welch, saluting.

  “You are reduced two steps in rank. If you can’t control your people, I will find someone who can. Dismissed.”

  “Sir, yes sir!”

  All escaped the room as quickly as they could. Once away, Jones stopped and turned to Welch. “Sir, I’m sorry, sir.”

  “Save it.” He looked at Brittany to deliver his final words. “I would have done the same, only I wouldn’t have gotten caught. You left your pipe so I knew you would be back. It wasn’t hard to figure out where you had gone.” He winked at her and gave a grin before assuming his command posture. “Private Dushell! You are reduced from fighter
to aid, make ready to provide support. You will not be going in with the others.”

  “Sir! I’m here to fight.”

  “You will get plenty of chances to fight, Dushell. Don’t be in such a hurry. Private Jones! Since I have no other candidates, you’re still squad leader with no rank. Get ready; we go into the caves in three hours. Gear up, People!”

  “Yes, sir,” said both.

  Welch marched away giving them time to say their good-byes.

  “You shouldn’t have gone,” said Brittany.

  “You heard the man, I’m still in charge of you dickwads,” the infamous grin returned.

  “I’m sorry, Matt.”

  Jones braved the moment and gave her a loving embrace. “Call me that again and I will kill you.” They kissed and ran in different directions to join the bevy of activity around them.

  Jones hadn’t had time to read the paper he was given. He stopped and felt his back pocket to make sure it was still there. To open it meant to acknowledge the deaths of his parents and all those in the southern tip of Florida and he hadn’t. Jones took in a gulp of air. He opened the letter and read:

  Dear Son: Not even I could have imagined the world going the way it has gone. My spirit animal, for which I place my full trust in, has showed me the future and told me this. I was to teach you and train you for your future. You will do great things my son and save many, but only if you embrace the ways of the spirit. I implore you son, whenever your spirit animal makes itself known, listen, take heed. Follow your guide and you will live to see all this come to pass. You will take part in a great undertaking to save us all. Listen, my son. You are the Hammer foretold in my visions. I pray you listen to your guide.

  With all my love, Pipi.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight: Blake