“There’s some place to go to?” Brendon asked hopefully.
“Sure as shit, mankind's last stand, Camp Custer.” Murphy said laughing.
Brendon could not even begin to pick up on the humor, but he saw hope if he could find the Talbots again he could bring them back to this camp. “Could I get a map of where this place is?”
“I think I know where you’re going with this and I can probably do you one better. Hey Sarge!” Murphy shouted to the man behind the first vehicle who looked somewhere between asleep and smoking a cigar.
“Yeah?” The sergeant said through clenched teeth, tilting his cover back up.
“This guy was with eight civvies and an English Bulldog.”
“No shit?” The sergeant yelled back.
Brendon was completely convinced the sergeant’s interest was piqued way more by Henry than any of the ‘civvies’.
“This guy.” Murphy started.
“Brendon.”
“Brendon.” Murphy began again. “Says he knows where they are going.”
“How much time they have on us son?” The sergeant asked Brendon.
Brendon knew his answer was critical but he knew the sergeant would pick up on a lie. “About a day and a half.”
“I’m sorry son.” And Brendon thought he was. “But we’ll never catch them, not in these.” He said, slapping the side of his armored troop transport.
Brendon saw one chance to convince the sergeant. “My girlfriend's father was a Marine.”
The sergeant stared hard into Brendon’s eyes. “You wouldn’t be shitting me son? Would you? I really hate being shit on, makes everything smelly. And then I’d be really pissed off. You understand where I’m going with this son?”
“Completely.” Brendon nodded. “He was stationed in Kaneohe Marine Corps Air Station, Hawaii.”
“Air wing, huh.” The sergeant said derisively. “Still one of us though. Mount up everyone. We never leave a Marine behind.”
BRENDON'S STORY - CHAPTER TEN -
Murphy got one of the privates to put a few gallons of gas into the Ford while he fished out a couple of Motrin for Brendon. "Wish I could give you something a little stronger for the pain but Motrin is the medicine of the Marine Corps. You sure you don’t just want to ride with us."
"Naw." Brendon said for the second time. "I've always wanted a truck and I've grown kind of fond of this one.
Murphy shook his head, there were car lots full of trucks that would never be driven again, but who was he to say. The Marines' pace pushed Brendon to his extreme. They most likely wouldn’t have stopped that first night if Brendon hadn't nearly skidded off the road.
The sergeant got out of the lead truck and walked over to Brendon who was leaning over his steering wheel, a fresh bead of sweat on his forehead. "You ready for a break son?"
"About three hours ago." Brendon answered honestly.
"Well why didn't you say something?" The sergeant asked walking away.
"Dickens, get the radar array up. Ramirez you have first watch."
"It's because I'm Mexican isn't it?" Ramirez yelled.
The sergeant stopped. "No, we go to your room on Wednesdays for Mexican food because you're Mexican and you cook like a Latin God, now shut the hell up and do your watch."
The men smiled, this seemed to be part of a ritual the tight knit unit had.
Brendon pointed to the dish Dickens was setting up. "What's that thing?"
"This?" Dickens said, smacking a large plastic case. "Is our HAZARD."
"Your HAZARD?"
"Yeah Have Any Zombies Arrived Radar Detector, HAZARD."
"Don’t mind him." Murphy said. "Marines are really into their acronyms, otherwise they can’t remember anything. That thing is pretty sweet though. Originally, it was used to track tanks but they dialed up the sensitivity and it can detect kid sized objects up to a mile away."
"It's saved our asses more than once." Dickens said, as he attached the second pole for added length. "Man this one time we were in a valley and it was so foggy you couldn't see your dick when you took a piss."
"Real eloquent." Murphy said to Dickens. "But you should tell our new guest that you can barely see your dick when the sun is shining."
"Real funny Murphy." Dickens replied.
Murphy hand motioned to Brendon as if to say 'See what I deal with.'
Brendon laughed, but he was wondering how he could come across his own HAZARD.
Dickens started up anew. "So we were taking a break figuring that driving was more dangerous than just sitting tight until the fog blew over. I had no sooner flipped on the power and we had multiple bogies converging on us."
"You sure they were zombies?" Brendon asked.
"They weren't deer. Plus most of them were up ahead almost like they were lying in wait for us to get there. I know that sounds crazy though. No such thing as smart zombies right?" Dickens looked to Brendon for confirmation on this crazy idea. Brendon merely shrugged. Zombies might not be smart but their leader sure as hell is. "I took down the HAZARD real quick like and we buttoned down into the trucks not twenty seconds 'fore they started running into us. It really wasn't much of a fight but without the radar they would have been on us 'fore we knew what do to. The fog really has a way of deadening sound, never even heard them coming. Fog scares the hell out of me now."
Zombies were bad enough. Zombies silently appearing out of the mist were the stuff of acid infused nightmares.
"We decided to stay somewhere else that night." Dickens added needlessly. Dickens finished setting up the array. The other Marines were still on alert, tense even. They didn't visibly relax until the green control panel lit up and the small eight by eight screen began to light up bogeys.
Brendon was alarmed when at least 4 different 'bleeps' showed themselves on the screen. "What are those?" He asked.
"Deer." Dickens said matter-of-factly.
"How do you know?" Brendon asked not entirely ready to trust Dickens expertise.
"Well size for one thing and secondly cuz they aren’t headed this way."
Brendon couldn't argue with that. Zombies had an uncanny ability to detect fresh meat from long distances and some of the blips weren't more than 500 yards out according to the screen. "Why post a guard then?"
The sergeant joined the conversation. "I can answer that question. You see this here, is Marine Corps equipment. Which means it is probably in excess of twenty years old and the army most likely had it first. They only give their stuff up when it doesn't work so well anymore."
"Comforting isn't it?" Murphy said. Brendon could only nod. "Sleep with your windows up, I'll get you some blankets."
That first night went virtually trouble free. The second night more than made up for it.
The drive was mind-numbingly boring, a white world of desolation, and still Brendon’s heart continuously slammed in his chest. He knew they were too late. “I should have never left her.” He berated himself to the empty cab for the umpteenth time. Each time they stopped for fuel or food he became increasingly agitated to the point where Murphy had somehow scrounged a Valium and damn near threatened Brendon with his life if he didn’t take it.
Brendon had swallowed it, but it had done painfully little to ease his feelings of dread. When the small convoy had stopped for the fifth time for the day Brendon nearly ripped his door off the hinge trying to ascertain ‘why in the hell they were once again stopping, maybe Dickens should just piss in his pants for once! That is if he could find his dick.’
Dickens true to the nature of his miniature bladder was first out of the hummer but it was not for relief, he looked scared and with good reason. “Whaddaya make of that?” He asked Brendon.
Brendon was too hot to think of anything other than ‘let’s get going already!’ But that changed in an instant when he looked out across the expanse and saw what could only be described as a horde. The zombies were traveling at varying speeds and having different degrees of success navigating over the
frozen ground. Speeders were well out in front, sometimes trampling over their slower companions. Many slipped and fell, got up and just started running full tilt again. The eerie quiet of so many zombies so close, traveling with what appeared to be a purpose only increased the tension Brendon was feeling. He knew where they were going.
“Well, will you look at that.” The sergeant said, lighting up one of his signature cigars that smelled suspiciously like chamomile. “They sure look like they’re in a real hurry to get somewhere. You ever seen anything like this?” The sergeant asked Brendon.
Brendon shook his head no, but somehow he got the distinct feeling the sergeant didn’t believe him. “Nope, never.” He said with a waver in his voice. ‘Great, that oughta really convince him now,’ he thought to himself.
“Sarge they aren’t even looking at us. They can’t be more than a couple of hundred yards away and they’re not even looking at us.” Dickens noted.
Murphy’s hand shook as he lit a cigarette. “Never did smoke before them.” He said motioning out into the field and he left it at that.
“I don’t like this at all.” The sergeant said.
“I do.” Dickens replied. “They ain’t coming after us.”
“Yeah there’s something to be said for that.” The sergeant said pausing to ponder the situation. “But they do seem to be traveling in the direction we’re going.” He made sure to lean forward and look directly at Brendon. Dickens and Murphy also looked but were not connecting the dots at all.
The heat of so many gazes, flustered Brendon. “We sightseeing or are we going?”
“Oh we’re going, if for nothing more than to see how this pans out.” The sergeant said.
“How what pans out?” Dickens asked. But no one was listening; they were all getting back in their prospective rides. Dickens watched as a lone zombie peeled off from the rest and began its pursuit of him. “Fucking Gomer.” He said, placing a round in the zombie's shoulder, spinning it around and to the ground. Dickens was back in his truck before the zombie had regained its feet and started back after them.
The line of zombies was at least a couple of miles long and stayed parallel with the Marines until the highway made a sharp easterly turn and the zombies faded from view. Even the sergeant felt better when they were no longer in sight. For another fifteen miles they traveled, finally gaining entry into North Dakota. Night had descended quickly and the sergeant was hesitant to keep moving with that many zombies around.
“Dickens, I want you to set a land speed record for getting the HAZARD up and running. Ramirez, Henderson, dual watches tonight.”
The most ominous thing Brendon noticed was that there was not the usual banter or complaining. The Marines went about their business professionally, their training kicking in to help usher out the welling panic that threatened to overtake them all. The HAZARD kicked on, the green display completely devoid of life or death. Almost as one the Marines tensed up.
“That’s a good thing right?” Brendon said looking at the monitor and not able to discern the current mood from what he was seeing.
“Not really.” Dickens said tensely. “There’s usually something on the screen, even if it’s only a raccoon.”
Brendon got it now. “Nothing living likes to be around when the zombies are.”
“You nailed it.” Dickens said, holding tight to his rifle.
“How far out can that thing see?”
“When it was used just for tanks and vehicles it was specced at almost 4 miles. When they dialed the sensitivity up it lost distance.”
“So?”
“Supposedly 1000 yards, maybe more maybe less, depending on the surrounding landscape.”
Brendon instantly began to do the math of how fast the average man can run 1000 yards full tilt. “What’s that give us, a couple of minutes warning time?”
“At the most.” Dickens said straining to see into the murkiness of the darkening night.
“That’s plenty of time right?”
“Depends on how many of them there are.”
The world is full of seemingly unrelated random events that have profound impacts, sometimes for the positive, sometimes for the negative. Tonight was of the latter.
A rogue wave in Taipei, which coincidentally had wiped one of the few remaining human strongholds off the face of the planet had also caused water vapor to go high into the atmosphere. The result was a thick cloud cover that slipped into the El Nino slipstream that was four months early due to the global fires that still raged in most countries. The cloud cover raced across the United States and right across the dividing line between North and South Dakota. The last Farmer’s Almanac that would ever be printed had called for clear skies but how could they have known. The moon which was three quarters full, should have supplied ample light; unfortunately it was veiled.
Ramirez and Henderson were three hours into their four hour shift. The nerve racking silence was grating on Henderson. A pack of howling wolves would have been more comforting. Henderson purposefully sought out Ramirez just to break the oblivion.
“Psst, Ramirez.” Henderson whispered. It sounded preternaturally loud with nothing to diffuse the sound.
“Scared the shit out of me.” Ramirez said, appearing out of the gloom. “What are you doing here, you know we’re supposed to be on opposite ends. The Sarge finds out you abandoned your post he’ll shoot you.”
Henderson shivered, that was not an idle threat. “I know man, I’m just going crazy. I needed to know somebody else was alive out here.”
“I hear you man, been seeing ghosts my damn self.” ‘Ghosts referring to phantom images brought on under duress.’
“You want some chocolate?”
“Do Mexicans hate fences?”
“Huh?”
“Shit yeah, I want some chocolate.”
“Fences?” Henderson asked.
“Poor humor, give me some of that.”
Henderson handed over half of a Hershey’s chocolate bar, which Ramirez promptly dropped. And to compound his error he booted the chocolate away, it skidded a good ten feet before it came to rest on the base of the HAZARD.
“Hell man, if you didn’t want it I would have eaten it.”
“Real funny and keep your voice down.” Ramirez' footfalls echoed off the stillness in the air. A cold wind blew through. Ramirez bent to pick up the fallen prize, the muzzle of his M-16 caught on the base of the HAZARD and as he stood the array came crashing down. One missed audible blip pinged the radar display before the whole assembly came crashing to the ground. “Shit.”
Henderson took off, not wanting to get caught this close to Ramirez’ post. Within seconds, Marines that had been slumbering heavily but uneasily were out and ready to face whatever threat had befallen them.
“It’s alright!” Ramirez shouted over the din. “I just knocked over the HAZARD.”
“Dickens!” The sergeant yelled.
“On it Sarge,” came Dickens voice from somewhere off to the left.
Brendon was beside his truck, his breath coming raggedly. Not from the commotion in the makeshift campsite but rather from the nightmare world from which he had just emerged. Nicole had been screaming in pain of his betrayal. 'Why did you leave me like this?' She had asked. It wasn’t so much the question as it was the condition of his fiancée. She had been completely skinned alive. Nothing remained of her to allow identification except for her diminutive size and her hair. Her fleshless lips had screamed his name, her bleeding arms had struck out seeking to cling to him. Her ravaged legs walked ever in circles as her sightless eyes moved rapidly looking for something that wasn’t there.
When the sergeant was convinced everything was in order he came over to see how Dickens and Ramirez were faring with the array. He could smell the chocolate on their breaths from two paces away. “I thought Henderson was the one with the sweet tooth.” Ramirez’ look of guilt was all the information he needed. Nobody was dead but this breach of protocol would not go unpuni
shed. “If this thing doesn’t work Ramirez, you and Henderson are going to be on patrol every night until we get back. Get back to your post. How’s it looking?” He asked Dickens.
“Couple more dents than before but it should be fine. I think it was built with its users in mind.” Dickens replied. The sergeant trained his flashlight on the wingnut the Corporal was tightening.
Brendon walked up just as Dickens was getting ready to cycle the machine back up. Then hell broke through the flimsy film between normalcy and the abyss. The sergeant's flashlight was punched out of his arm as the zombie ran full tilt into his side. The scene was surreally lit as the flashlight did cartwheels in the air. For one horrible flash, Brendon watched as the zombie bit deeply into the neck of Dickens. With the light removed, chaos ensued. As the light did one last arc a blaze of iridescence was tinged with the red of Dickens blood as it cascaded out of the gaping wound in the side of his neck.
Brendon’s first and fatal reaction was to push the zombie away from Dickens. The zombie latched on heavily to the webbing that separated Brendon’s thumb from his forefinger. The pain was excruciating as the zombie tore free. Brendon rolled off to the side, wrapping his damaged hand in his shirt. Three quick rounds later from the Sergeant's 1911 .45, and the zombie and Dickens lay forever still.
“Someone get some light over here quick!” The sergeant yelled a little louder than normal, the only clue that he was flustered in any way.
Brendon knew time was short, if the Sergeant saw his wound he would kill him as fast as he had taken out Dickens. At least three different flashlights were bobbing in from around the camp. Brendon stood up forcing the gorge in his throat down. All the lights were thankfully trained on the horrid scene before them. Brendon feigned sickness at the sight. It wasn’t too much of a stretch. The congealed brain matter of the zombie was intermingled with the pinker healthier looking brain matter of the friendly Marine tech Dickens.
“You alright Brendon?” The sergeant asked as Brendon moved away.
Blood flowed freely from his left hand, he had to make distance before it soaked through his shirt and onto the snow covered ground where it would stick out like a sore thumb. ‘Not funny’ he thought to himself. “Fine.” He grunted out, it sounded more like a retch but that was still fitting to the circumstances.