World of Ashes II (8 page)

“Where are we going” Daniel asked.

“There’s another checkpoint about ten miles from here. If we can get there before this outbreak we can jump a flight out of here. This whole region is about to become a war zone. I was on the radio, that convoy is being swarmed. The Air Force is on standby to pound this valley with thermobaric weapons, it’s already happened in Arizona.”

Daniel stared at Graystone, “They’re bombing Americans?”

“We’re teetering dangerously close to Martial Law.” Graystone saw a car coming up behind them on the outlet road, an after-market 90’s model Mustang, the vibration from its exhaust catching up with them before they could even see it. The driver didn’t look at Wendy’s beat up old Pontiac, he was in too big of a hurry to be somewhere else right now. Daniel saw people in the cramped back seats, a pretty woman in the passenger seat, holding something bloody wrapped in pink blankets. He wanted to hope it was just a dog or a pile of clothes, but that was probably unwarranted optimism these days.

Someone in the back seat pulled the trigger on a gun after the Mustang was a few car lengths ahead of them. Blood and glass sprayed out the passenger window the pretty woman was sitting in. The Mustang swerved, lost traction in the light layer of soft ash covering the road, skidded sideways in what seemed like slow motion and slammed into a small tree on a curve at over a hundred miles per hour. The fuel in the car ignited as it was torn in half by the solid maple tree. Fire engulfed the rear section of the car where the tank was. The two passengers in the back seats had actually been buckled in, surviving the crash somehow, yet the fire burned them alive anyhow. The front half continued on into the field, throwing both the overweight driver and his headless girlfriend in ragdoll-cartwheels out over a cow pasture. The sight was so dramatic, so horrifying, Daniel and Wendy didn’t say anything for a long time. At least Kaylee hadn’t been watching, her toy dinosaur was riding a pink pony right now.

The next checkpoint was in complete chaos too, a traffic jam a mile long waited to get through it. Graystone still had her radio and tried to make contact with anyone who would answer. She found the channel for the checkpoint at Cheat Lake. The Troop Medical Center was hogging the line with urgent demands for air-evac and she couldn’t get anyone to respond. Another channel found some Cav Scouts doing an MP’s job at a smaller bridge across the lake, the main line clogged by a FEMA checkpoint. This secondary bridge was meant for military traffic, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep civilians off of it.

“This is Sergeant Graystone, 3-5 BSTB, 3
rd
Brigade, Ten Mountain. Does anyone read me?” Graystone said into the mike.

“
This is 4/25, West Virginia Guard. Do you have a callsign? No names over the net
.” The voice responded. It was shaky and high pitch, whoever was on the radio was not a combat veteran and the chaos had them in shambles.

“No. I’ve got two Green Tag Patients who need priority passage. The Romney checkpoint is being attacked, we can’t stay in this traffic line.”

There was a pause, a new voice taking over. “
You’re going to have to wait your turn, Sergeant. The small bridge is for priority military transportation only. The checkpoint is still moving, you’ll be through it in no time.
”

Wendy threw the radio out the window. Not the best idea ever, but she was pissed. Kaylee started crying, turning around and watching out the back window for the crazy people to show up. They were pretty far from the last checkpoint already, but time and distance don’t mean much to a child. They decided to leave the Aztec when it overheated in the queue, taking what water they could and following the stream of refugees walking across the main bridge.

Tall trees surrounded the picturesque lake town hat was now overrun with the desperate and needy. A small one lane bridge to the far left of them was the one the Cavalry unit had told them to stay off of, and upon seeing it Graystone dragged them toward it. No one stopped them, just figuring the sergeant was escorting them somewhere on official business.     

An LMTV stopped in front of Daniel before the curve that split either into a small parking lot for launching fishing boats, or across the bridge. The driver told them he was taking Green Tag wounded to a hospital and that there was room for more. He’d probably stopped because he didn’t want to see Kaylee walk across such a low bridge with see-through iron decking. Lots of these men in uniform were fathers and mothers themselves, even if their higher ups had no soul, these guys were all heart. Wendy accepted his excuse for them and climbed aboard with Kaylee in her lap.

The men in the truck were all non-infected wounded, or Green Tags. The obvious opposite would be a Red Tag, but none of those were docile enough to even be tagged, let alone transported. Daniel recognized one of the men from the Romney checkpoint. He was looking down, apparently uninterested in Sergeant Graystone or Daniel and Kaylee. Wendy recognized him too and tapped him on the head to get his attention.

“Oh, hey Sergeant.” He said, leaning against the stock of his M4, the barrel planted in the floor of the truck. His leg was bloody, the pants cut away to reveal a bandage and splint. “Good to see you made it too.”

“How did you get here so fast?” Graystone didn’t understand.

The LMTV stopped a few feet down the bridge, suspended over the water. Daniel thought he might become sick. If he had one irrational fear that could shut him down, it was of being on a collapsing bridge. Perhaps most of that fear was of heights, but this bridge was barely ten feet off the water and the anxiety was worse than ever.

“They landed a medevac bird in the town square. I was getting lunch just after you guys. I got attacked, but they didn’t bite me. Just tore me up real good.”

“Couldn’t have happened to a nicer bunch of people. Where’s the rest of your unit?” Daniel asked.

SPC Macon looked away. Either he didn’t know or he didn’t want to say. All he did say to Wendy was, “You ain’t gotta worry about Big Sarn’t no more. I saw him runnin’ through Main Street, blood pourin’ down his mouth… Those fuckin’ eyes, man…”

“Get some rest.” Graystone turned to Daniel, who was watching them, trying not to think about being on a bridge. “Can you look out the back and see why we’re not moving?”

“No.” Daniel responded quickly, burying his face in his sweat soaked shirt. The humidity over the lake hadn’t gotten any better and the back of the truck was making things a million times worse. He was hiding his eyes from the sight of water just as much as his nose from the sick odor of spoiling blood that now attracted flies in the truck by the hundreds.

“Fine.” Wendy got up and climbed on the truck’s tailgate to look over the top of it. The fresh air felt good but her eyes hadn’t yet adjusted when the truck jolted backward. Wendy’s grip was at an angle where she thought the truck might move forward, the sudden lurch to the rear slipped her grip as the driver put their them in reverse. She began to fall, nothing but bright blue sky above her and she never had a chance to scream. What surprised her even more than falling was that Daniel and SPC Macon had grabbed her before she went head first under the truck’s wheels. “Oh my God, thank you.” She said, panic finally catching up when they dragged her back inside.

“Why are we backing up?” Macon asked no one in particular.

A FEMA worker in the truck, a bloodied patch over his eye where a helicopter had thrown a rock into it, opened up his phone and typed something in on the website they were using for communications. A real time satellite feed of the surrounding few miles popped up without much lag. “Holy, shit, they’re in front of us too!” He exclaimed. “The Army’s sending choppers to evacuate the checkpoint but they’re half an hour out, the Infected are-“

Gunfire broke out on both sides of the bridge almost simultaneously. People began running in both directions, a mass of death and mayhem ensued. Daniel sucked up his fear and climbed out where Wendy had been and took a look for himself. Nothing was in front of their truck but a canvas top Humvee and two fat Army officers who’d gotten out to watch the runners sprint over the hills ahead, mauling everyone they met. Typical officers. Machine guns chattered and rifle fire echoed throughout the valley until it all seemed like one long roar.

Daniel climbed out and ran to the driver, a terrified Airman Basic who’d been in the Air Force just long enough to graduate BMT, almost shot him. She had forgotten to take the safety off the M9 and Daniel grabbed it. “I’ll drive.” He said, pushing her out of the way. The male Airman who’d offered them a ride had gotten out already and was trying to get the higher ranking men in front of him to move, so Daniel didn’t meet any resistance to his demands.

There were fewer zombies on the far side of the bridge than the wall that came crashing down on the refugees from the direction they’d come. Gunfire and screams filled the air when the undead came, racing down the streets like they had in every corner of America by now. It was almost a month into the crisis and already the military was crumbling, overrun at every turn and swallowed in their entirety when they feebly met the enemy in wasteful open engagements. Daniel briefly imagined how the men and women deployed abroad were handling this. Were they on their way home? Would those reinforcements arrive in time, and even if they did, would they make any difference? This was bad. Really bad. As the undead reached the main bridge that bypassed this older one, people began leaping for their lives.

The Airman in the A-Driver’s seat pointed at the Humvee ahead when Daniel floored it, “Stop, that’s Colonel-“ She closed her eyes when Daniel rammed the parked Humvee, the two obese
Fobbit
* officers that had climbed out of their truck dived out of the way. One went over the side and into the water. Perhaps not the sharpest tool in the shed that one, when simply moving aside like his companion would have sufficed.

“Get out and turn the steering wheel on the Humvee at the gate. I want to use it as a road block. I’m gonna drop everyone here with you, then take this truck and block the other side. You with me, Airman?”

“I didn’t sign up for this.” She said, her face turning paper white despite being quite mocha colored to begin with.

“Cowboy the fuck up.” Daniel said, knifing the air with his hand like a Drill Sergeant just inches from her face. “People’s lives depend on
you
. There are wounded in the back. We have a responsibility to them as able bodied Servicemen. Got it? Good. Now fucking move, Airman!”

The female Airman jumped out and did what Daniel had told her. Technically he did outrank her as an E3 in the Army while she was an Air Force E1, but that layer of authority was pretty thin to begin with, especially across services and with Daniel looking like a dirty hippie. Daniel shouted for everyone else to get out, Wendy staying with Kaylee. The shitbag MP from the last checkpoint jumped in the cab with Daniel when the Airman got out, possibly to redeem his own flawed sense of honor.

“I don’t have time for your shit, Macon.” Daniel aimed his M9 at the man. “I’m an 88 Lima, Watercraft Mechanic, in the Wyoming Army National Guard, I’m not a civilian. I don’t like MP’s because you fuckers are Blue Falcons, and you’ve already proven yourself about as trustworthy as a Wall Street Banker. Now, either get out or do what I say.”

“We’re cool, bro.” Macon put his hands up slightly. “We don’t have time to hose down the decks with testosterone. I get what you’re doing, making the bridge into a bastion. Let’s just get it done, you can challenge me to the field of honor at dawn when we get done.”

“Deal.” Daniel put the truck in reverse and started backing down the bridge. When he had come up with the idea there hadn’t been anyone behind the LMTV. Now he was facing down a mid 90’s model Cadillac and a caravan of civilian cars behind it. Their lights were flashing, the drivers unwilling to stop until it was too late. The back wheels of the truck smashed the hood of the Cadillac and started over the top of it. The people inside got out, but rather than attack Daniel and Macon they just kept running down the bridge toward the other side, mortal terror chalking their car up as an acceptable loss.

“Just keep going!” Macon shouted, making sure the heavy armored doors were combat locked, meaning nobody outside could get in without time and an arc-welder. Daniel pushed down on the gas pedal and the engine roared. He drove completely over the ragtop luxury car and plowed into a church van behind it. The people got out of the van too, following the ones in front of them without a fuss. The powerful LMTV pushed the line of traffic back across the iron bridge like a yard-dog locomotive with a train. Daniel left the truck in park after wedging it sideways from railing to railing just feet out over the water.

Macon climbed out through the turret hatch, followed by Daniel. They were on the roof when the first raging plague victim reached the low lying bridge area. Macon leveled his M4 at the screaming teenager and shot her square in the chest. She dropped in a cloud of blood and slid in the grass on her side. People ran around her, making no effort to see if she was okay. Those who’d made it this far were becoming savvy to dealing with the undead, stopping to help someone was asking to die.

“She’ll get back up, watch for it. You have to shoot them in the head if you want to put them down for good.” Daniel took aim at another rager, but he tackled a victim behind a car. There was nothing Daniel could do for either of them now.

“Bullshit.” Macon looked at Daniel as if he were insane.