Escape The 1st Omnibus: WTF Books 1-3 (3 page)

He woke to the muffled sounds of screaming. Instinctively, he knew it wasn’t his men; it was a loud howling moan, almost inhuman. He jumped out of his MRAP and saw his men gathered around the Humvee.

They were stone silent in disbelief. Inside, PFC Ryan was clawing at the doors and tugging on the handles trying to get out. Ryan’s face was a mask of rage.

“I don’t know what happened, Sergeant! I heard a noise in the Humvee and when I got close Ryan saw me and just started screaming. He’s going crazy in there. There is no way in hell I’m going to open the door,” Cole said.

“It’s okay, Cole, you were right not to open it or let him out. I’m not sure what’s going on, but looks like he may be infected with whatever turned those people on the road,” Brad answered.

“What do we do with him?” asked Cole.

Eric stepped between the men and the Humvee. “We can’t kill him like the others. He’s one of us.”

Cole raised his hand and pointed at the vehicle, “He’s making too much noise. He’ll attract the crazies. We have to shut him up!”

“What the fuck do you mean ‘shut him up’?” countered Eric.

“I mean if he doesn’t stop screaming, he is going to get us all killed,” Cole shouted back.

Brad just looked on. “He’s right,” he said, raising his hand, “and we’ve got to silence him.”

Eric stood his ground in front of them and pleaded, “Wait, how about you guys open the door, I’ll tackle him, we zip tie him, and cover his mouth. We don’t know what this is. Maybe it will wear off. Maybe there’s a cure. We can’t just kill him without knowing.”

After a heavy pause, Brad replied, “Fine, we’ll do that then, but let’s get it done quickly.”

The men gathered around the Humvee door on the far side. The plan was for Cole to open the door and when Ryan ran out at Brad and Méndez, Henry and Cole would drop a canvas tarp over him and wrestle him to the ground. Meanwhile, Eric would apply the restraints to his wrists and then gag him.

As soon as they opened the door, Brad knew their plan wasn’t going to work. He could see by the fear in the other men’s eyes that they knew it also. Ryan wasn’t a big man, and he wasn’t considered strong, but this version of Ryan did not tire out. Ryan kept fighting and clawing at the canvas. He bit at Brad’s leg through the tarp and the pain was unreal. Lucky for Brad, Ryan’s teeth couldn’t get through the heavy material.

They struggled with Ryan until they were all near exhaustion. Eric had only managed to put one wrist in a zip cuff, and it was taking everything Méndez and Brad had to keep Ryan’s head pinned to the ground. The whole time Ryan was letting out screams of rage. Brad’s arms began to get numb and he lost his grip. Even with the bad shoulder and bandaged arm, Ryan gained leverage. He was able to get a foot planted and he began to stand. Easily, he tossed Henry from his back, grabbed at Eric’s pants, and then started to lunge. Suddenly, his body went limp and he slumped to the ground on top of Eric, his single zip tied hand gripping Eric’s throat. Eric pushed Ryan off and saw that there was a knife planted square in the back of Ryan’s head.

“I’m sorry, it was too much, I didn’t have a choice,” cried Méndez.

“Wha … wha … You murdered him! You killed Ryan,” Eric squealed as he got to his feet and made a move toward Méndez.

With no thought, Brad stepped between the two men, slapped Eric and yelled, “Shut the fuck up, that wasn’t Ryan! He would have killed all of us. I don’t know what’s happening but if we’re going to make it … you better harden the fuck up!”

Brad paused for a moment to let it sink in before he continued. “Méndez! Grab your shovel and help me bury this soldier. The rest of you get packed up. We are rolling out of here as soon as it gets light.”

Méndez and Brad lifted Ryan’s limp body and carried him away from the trucks. They took one of his dog tags and his wallet. Without a word, they put his military ID card and another tag in Ryan’s breast pocket and buried him in the sand. When they were finished, they quietly walked back to their vehicles.

Brad went straight to the MRAP and saw Cole helping Eric load his gear into the back of the truck. “What’s going on, Cole?” Brad said.

“Well, Eric doesn’t want to ride in that Humvee after what happened, and I tend to agree with him. Besides, this way we can ride together and we can save on fuel. Who knows how far we will have to drive?” Cole answered. Brad nodded his agreement and helped them cross-load the rest of their gear from the Humvee.

They pulled out of the hide at first light. Not really knowing where to go, they decided the best bet was to follow the two MRAPs that had fled the mob ambush on the road. Their MRAP now had two more passengers, bringing the crew to five. It was a bit more crowded, but they all felt more secure being locked tight in one vehicle; Méndez and Eric, in particular, after what had happened in the Humvee. They drove past the quiet ambush site of the convoy and fell into the tire tracks of the two missing vehicles.

After a good hour of driving they saw a makeshift campsite surrounded by a pile of bodies. “They must have discovered what we did yesterday, the bastards like to follow,” said Brad.

“From the looks of it, the guards spotted them early and took off before they got close. We’re still a good hundred feet from the stop site,” said Cole.

Méndez stood to look out of the turret. “Good for them, maybe we’ll have some good news today.”

They settled back into the MRAP and continued to follow the trail. They drove all day and never saw anything else. When it got dark they decided to continue on, in hopes of meeting up with the missing vehicles. Brad eventually dozed off, lulled by the motion of the vehicle.

Henry woke Brad up with a shake. “Sergeant, where now?” It was early morning and the moon was still bright in the sky. They had come to a paved road and the tracks ended. It was hard to tell which way the trucks had gone. Brad exited his MRAP and took a knee on the pavement, searching for clues. He could see where the mob of crazies had entered the road, but it didn’t look like they knew which direction to go either. Some of the pack appeared to have just crossed the road and kept going. The rest traveled both left and right as if they couldn’t make a decision. Brad was surprised that they didn’t stick together; maybe they didn’t have the pack mentality he’d presumed.

He stood and walked back toward the truck, stopping when he heard a distant, familiar buzzing. He looked up and saw a small predator drone circling high above. Brad waved at the drone and turned on his IR strobe, hoping to let the drone know that he saw it. The drone reversed the direction of its orbit and reversed it again. Brad took this as a sign they had been seen, but he still didn’t know what to do. Then the drone went to a lower altitude and followed the road to the north before going higher and back out of sight.

Brad entered the vehicle and said, “Well I guess that settles that, follow the drone.”

“But Sergeant, that’s away from the main base. Nothing is that way but Uzbekistan,” argued Méndez.

“Corporal, it’s almost four hundred kilometers to the main air base; we aren’t going to make it there on our fuel and in these conditions. The border crossing at Hairatan is our best bet. There’s a railroad and a lot of truck traffic there so somebody should see us. The drone saw us, so they know where we’re at. Hopefully, we can join up with the other trucks and they will send someone for us.” The men reluctantly nodded in agreement, and Henry pulled the truck onto the road and headed north.

The going was slow as the MRAP rolled along the blacktop at close to forty miles an hour. It wasn’t a well-maintained road and Henry had to stay wary of obstacles and potholes; this was no time for a broken axle. Brad had traveled the Hairatan road early in his tour and knew that it ended at a bridge and border crossing. Last time he was there, he’d visited the small Afghan Army post and had lunch with some of the U.S. soldiers who were stationed there as trainers and advisors. He hoped they were still there.

Henry slowed the truck down to a stop again. Brad looked up and saw a silent MRAP sitting in the center of the road. Nothing moved around the lonely vehicle. The sun had just come up, and they could see that the doors were all closed.

“Bring it in slow, Henry,” Brad said.

Henry eased the truck forward and when they were about fifty feet away Brad told him to stop. Cole was already in the turret and said he saw no movement. Brad, Méndez, and Eric dismounted the MRAP and slowly approached the vehicle.

“Cover me while I move up,” Brad ordered the two soldiers behind him.

He slowly crept forward and hugged the back corner of the large vehicle. He looked for signs of people but found nothing. He put a foot on the back step and raised himself up to peek into the truck. It appeared empty but unlike the vehicles at the ambush site, this one had the gun removed from its turret. Brad walked around to the driver’s door and slowly opened it while trying to keep his M4 aimed with his free hand. The door squeaked open to reveal an empty cab. Brad stepped up into the vehicle to find a handwritten note.

Anyone who finds this.

We are the six survivors of Echo Company, 2
^nd
Brigade. We were attacked on route A62 by a large population that approached us yesterday in the late afternoon. They ignored warnings from our roadblock to stop, and kept running for our perimeter. We used the limited bean bag shotgun rounds to try and turn them, but they had no effect. We opened up with our rifles, but we were quickly overrun, and they were in so close it was hard to fire effectively without hitting each other.

Most of our men were on the perimeter and were not able to flee to the safety of armored vehicles; several of us were able to board two MRAPs, but because of the mass of people we could provide little to no covering fire, instead we fled like cowards. As we left we could see our brothers fighting hand to hand, but they had little chance when up against 100 to 1 odds. We pushed our way out of the perimeter and into the desert with at least twenty of the things holding onto our trucks. We took turns shooting at each other’s vehicles through the firing ports until we lost the clingers.

We drove for several hours before stopping and resting for the night. Within a couple hours our guards heard the mob approaching, but this time we were ready and we opened up with our 50 cal and the light machine gun on the other truck. The mob went down but they didn’t stop, soon they closed to within one hundred meters and we were forced again to run. It appears that this enemy can take several hits, and is immune to pain or exhaustion. They do bleed out and die, but they are hardened and don’t quit until dead. Head shots work best.

We drove through the night until we hit the Hairatan road. We decided our best chance was to get to the Afghan Army base at the border so we traveled north. This truck is out of fuel and instead of splitting the precious fuel we have left we have decided to abandon this vehicle and use what we have to get to the border. We have almost no water left, and only a little food. We haven’t seen anyone or heard anyone on the radio for at least 24 hours.

If you find this note please give it to the nearest NATO ISAF military units for a reward.

Signed,

SFC Turner

Brad read the note and walked back to Méndez and Eric. He handed the note to Méndez and watched him read it silently.

“Oh shit, this is bad, man,” Méndez mumbled.

“Let’s get back in the truck. I need to think,” Brad said. They mounted the MRAP and sat quietly while Brad stared at the note.

“Sergeant, there is a haboob coming from up the road,” said Cole.

Brad looked up. Seeing the large gathering sandstorm, he ordered Cole to close the hatch.

As the sandstorm got close, Brad looked at it through his binos and saw that it wasn’t a storm at all, but a mob of at least a thousand coming down the Hairatan road.

“Shut off the engine, Henry, everyone lock the doors and get down,” Brad yelled.

“What are we doing Sergeant? Why don’t we run?” asked Henry.

“We don’t have time. I think if we are quiet they will go past us. They didn’t touch the abandoned MRAP. If we are lucky and keep our mouths shut, they will go right by.”

The mob hit them, but not with the violence of their first encounter. They didn’t seem to move as fast when they weren’t chasing prey. They walked quickly but not at the speed they’d seen earlier. They were clumsy, and Brad could hear them bumping against the heavy armored vehicle. A couple even climbed up and over the truck, but none looked inside the darkened interior. It took fifteen minutes for the herd to pass and another twenty minutes for the stragglers to go by.

Brad slowly lifted himself from the vehicle floor. The inside of the truck had gotten extremely hot with the windows closed and the AC turned off. He raised his head up and looked as best he could in a 360 to make sure they were alone. When he was certain, he gave the all clear and told Henry to fire up the engine as he opened his window. He looked outside and saw that the mob had made a wide path in the sand. The area surrounding them was littered with pieces of clothing and shoes. They seemed to march with purpose and didn’t quit. Gazing around, Brad found himself wondering how they decided where to go.

He got out of the MRAP and walked among some of the things dropped by the mob. He leaned down to pick up a shoe when he heard the shuffling sounds of something approaching. He looked back at his truck and saw his crew signaling for him to get to cover. But it was too late. The thing had already spotted him and started moving directly at him. Lucky for Brad this thing had a gimped leg; it looked like it had a blown-out knee by the way it dragged its foot behind it.

“Sergeant! Shoot it!” Cole yelled from the turret.

“No, hold your fire. If we shoot with the mob still that close they might come back for us,” Brad answered.

He pulled out his karambit knife and dropped into a fighter’s stance, waiting for the crazy to get within range. When it got close enough it lunged at Brad head first, which was a mistake, as Brad was an experienced wrestler. He grabbed it by the hair on the top of its head and buried the karambit deep into the side of its neck. He thought that would be the end of it, but the thing continued its lunge, grabbing at Brad’s legs. Brad had to make a deep sprawl so he could land on top of it and keep his legs out of range. He yanked out the knife and plunged it deep into the base of the thing’s skull. This time the creature went limp and settled onto the ground.