Sever, p.8
Sever, page 8
“Rachel, it’s no problem. You’re right, I’m still hung up on Allyson, but we can move past that.”
She rested her head alongside his neck and asked, “If she came back to you, would you take her?”
Shit, so this was it then. He had to tell her the truth. He wouldn’t tell her about what he’d done or the operation that he’d participated in, so he wasn’t violating his oath of secrecy. “There are some things that I need to tell you.”
She slid off of him and sat up. She looked like she was ready to cry as she stared at her ankles. “You’re not single, are you?”
Asher sat up quickly and placed a hand on her shoulder, then used his other hand to cup her chin and lift her face to him. “No, I’m absolutely single. It’s just… There are some things about my past that I haven’t been entirely honest about.”
Her pupils narrowed as she focused on him, “What do you mean?”
“Do you want to go get the coffee and we can sit at the kitchen table?”
“No, I want to know what you mean when you say that you haven’t been honest with me,” she said as she crossed her arms across her chest, covering her erect nipples that poked through her thin nightshirt.
“Okay, first off, Allyson and I didn’t break up. She was an FBI agent and was shot and killed last July.”
“Holy shit! Are you serious?”
“Yeah, that’s why I’m still hung up on her. I wasn’t even able to be with her when she died.”
“Asher, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. Why didn’t you tell me?”
He held up his hands, “It’s alright. You had no way of knowing. Anyways, we met through my old job.”
“In contract negotiations?” she asked.
He dropped his hands and placed them on her feet. “Rachel, I want to be honest with you, but you have to know that what I’m about to tell you, you can’t ever tell anyone, okay?”
Her eyes narrowed once more and she slowly replied, “Okay.”
“I didn’t really negotiate contracts for an energy company. You know those pictures of me in the Navy?”
“Yeah?”
“I was a SEAL for fourteen years and then I worked for the government for an additional seventeen after that.”
He read the look that crossed her face immediately and already knew what she was going to say. “I’m not some stupid bimbo at the bar, Asher. Do you really expect me to believe that you were a SEAL and some secret agent or something? Now I know that you’re lying to me.”
“I’m not, Rachel. I promise.” He pointed toward the three raised scars near his clavicle. “AK-47 in Djibouti, not a frog spear as a kid.” Next he pointed at the long vertical scar along his ribs and then at seven other smaller welts, “Shrapnel from when an Afghan kid blew himself up next to my best friend Matt Henderson—that’s his picture on the television stand.” Then he pointed to his thigh, “You haven’t seen this one. I got hacked by a machete in East Timor—that one almost killed me. Between the blood loss and the infection from God knows what was on the blade, I was that close to dying.” He held his thumb and forefinger close together in front of her nose.
She took a moment to put her thoughts together and said, “So, did you work for the FBI too?”
“No, I worked outside the country; the FBI is mostly concerned with domestic crimes. When I retired, I bought this place because it was still relatively close to all the government installations that I might need to visit for healthcare and such. I met Allyson last spring when she recruited me for a mission in Washington, DC.”
“Wait,” Rachel said as she unfolded her arms and placed her hands over Asher’s. “Last spring, you went into DC, with the zombies?”
“Yeah, I was on the Constitution recovery team.”
“Wow… Holy shit, either you’re a really good liar or you’re some kind of badass,” she exclaimed, appraising his body anew.
“I’ve been extremely lucky and I’m very good with firearms.” He grinned at her and continued, “I’m not a badass.”
She smiled back at him. “And because you were in DC, that’s how you know so much about the zombies…”
“Yes, ma’am. I think we might have stirred up the hornet’s nest by going in there. We should have wiped them out when we had the chance and now we’re getting our asses kicked by those things.”
“Okay, I think that I could use that coffee now,” Rachel stated and rolled sideways to get off the bed.
Asher followed her out of the room, letting Boomer inside before he went into the kitchen to get his cup of coffee. He was still pouring when Rachel walked up behind him and hugged him. She placed her head against his back and said softly, “So, when are we leaving?”
He snorted and turned around to face her. “You want to go with me?”
She looked up into his eyes and replied, “If you’ll take me, I want to go with you. Your recommendations just got a lot more valid.”
“So when I was just a contract negotiator, you didn’t believe me?” he smirked.
“No! I…”
He bent down and brushed his lips lightly across hers. “It’s okay, I’m just kidding. I’ve been thinking—mind if I finish getting my coffee and we can sit and talk?”
“Oh, yeah, of course,” she answered and stepped back from him.
He finished making his coffee and they sat at the table. “We lost New York almost two weeks ago. I really wanted to leave the day that the city fell, but I stuck around. Then when blowing up the bridges didn’t work, I hooked the trailer up to my truck. As of yesterday, the horde was coming back south from New England and ravaging Boston. I—What?” he asked, his eyebrows rising quizzically at Rachel’s laugh.
She covered her mouth. “I’m sorry. I know it’s not funny, but you actually said… You used the word ‘ravaged’ in a sentence!”
His scowl turned to an off-sided grin. “Yeah, I guess I did. Okay, the zombies killed millions of people up north.”
Her smile faded as the reality hit her. “Oh shit, I’m sorry. That’s… I’m not laughing at all those people’s death, Asher. I promise.”
Asher reached across the table, grasping her hand and used his thumb to stroke the ridges of her knuckles. “I know you weren’t. It is kinda funny; I don’t know where that word came from. Anyways, given how quickly they moved north and came back, if they came directly here, then we’d have about a week or so, but we don’t know where they’re going next. I don’t want to get cut off here somehow.”
“So, when are we leaving?” she asked again with a slight tremor in her voice.
“Hey, what is it?”
“I just… You didn’t answer me when I asked if you wanted me to go with you. Can I go with you, or are you going alone?”
He was in a playful mood and considered saying something along the lines that he wouldn’t be alone because he had Boomer, but decided that Rachel didn’t know him well enough yet to get the humor so he didn’t want to upset her further. “Rachel, I want you to come with me. You and I can make a great team… On one condition.”
She looked up from his hand resting on hers, “What condition?”
“You’ve got to learn to shoot first.”
*****
13 October, 0852 hrs local
Troy Meadows Wetlands
Parsippany-Troy Hills, New Jersey
“Sir, this is the most fucked up shit I’ve seen in a long time,” the crusty old soldier confided in his commander.
“I know First Sergeant. I argued with Colonel Shay that this is not how tanks were designed to fight,” Mike Miranda replied.
“It’s the same as at the goddamned bridge. They’ve got us in a stationary defense, canalized so we can’t maneuver and can’t even effectively mass fires, unless they attack through the neighborhood there,” he gestured in frustration toward the northeast.
It was true. The defensive line—if you could call it that—which the two remaining companies from the 101st Cavalry was situated along was the two interstates that fed into the city of Parsippany, New Jersey. The two roads formed a giant vee, funneling the creatures inwards. The problem was the terrain surrounding the roads. If the companies went forward, they would get mixed up in neighborhoods and behind them were marshy wetlands—absolute no-go territory for tanks—so they had to stick to the roads.
The twelve tanks operational from Mike’s Chaos Company were situated along Interstate 280. The way they were set up, only one or two vehicles would be able to get shots in if the creatures moved directly down the road, which Mike suspected that they would. It was the path of least resistance, so the shambling horde would likely just flow up the road like they’d flowed into New York along the roads.
The city behind him was teeming with dismounted soldiers, but as far as he knew the 101st was the only armored force here. The rumor was that there were little pockets of resistance between Parsippany and Washington, DC where this whole mess started, which made sense considering how quickly they moved through. The East Coast had taken the brunt of the attack so far, but the plan was to stop the zombies’ westward spread into the nation’s heartland.
Mike had his doubts about this kind of fighting though. In his mind, they needed to go to places that afforded the humans the luxury of standoff distance. The standard infantryman’s weapon, the M4 and the M16 carbine, had an effective range of about 500 meters, over 1,600 feet. They should set up long-range ambushes of the creatures, utilizing artillery and close air support to wipe these things out, not defending city-to-city, bad terrain-to-bad terrain.
Logically, he knew that the way they were doing it was the best way to ensure the evacuation of citizens, but the soldier in him abhorred the city fighting. At least the zombies couldn’t shoot back, so that was something.
A group of four Apache helicopters flew overhead toward the east. “Yeah, Top,” Mike answered using the familiar name for the company’s senior enlisted soldier. “We need to keep moving farther west to get some maneuver area.”
“You’re goddamned right we do, sir. You saw the devastation that this one company of tanks did to those things in that tunnel. We must have crushed three or four thousand of them without ever firing a shot.”
Mike shuddered at the memory of the blood and viscera that covered the Chaos tanks when they finally made it to the New Jersey National Guard’s rally point. “Yeah, but for every one we killed, a hundred more took its place.”
“Only in the beginning, there will come a point when there isn’t a huge group of people for them to murder and increase their numbers. Then when they can’t easily replace their losses, we’ll be able to push them back.”
The small satellite radio sitting on the front slope of the tank began to blare the emergency broadcast signal and several men from the company wandered over toward Mike’s tank. The radio had long ago stopped that noisy nonsense because everything was an emergency, so this must have actually been something important to the men on the ground. He glanced at the Chaos officers and NCOs and smiled; best to put on a good face.
Once the series of beeps reached a crescendo, they stopped and a female’s voice came out of the speakers. “This is the Emergency Alert System. There have been confirmed reports of multiple commercial airliners shot down over both the Atlantic and the Pacific Oceans. Last night, seven airliners filled with US citizens were shot down by a combined European Union response and at least four planes bound for Australia and China have disappeared. No one has claimed responsibility for any actions against the Pacific flights.
“In a statement given by the President of the European Union, Viktor Blythe has stated that the planes were ordered to divert from the European continent before they were ultimately fired upon. From this point forward, planes or boats from the Americas will not be allowed to cross the 30th Meridian for fear of allowing the zombie virus to spread beyond the Western Hemisphere. This is a major departure from Mr. Blythe’s previous declaration that the EU would assist the United States in any way possible. It would appear that we are truly alone in our fight against the zombies.
“In a joint statement this morning, the US and the Canadian governments have issued a general evacuation for the eastern sections of their respective nations. Every US citizen east of the Appalachian Mountains is hereby ordered to move westward to refugee processing centers in Birmingham, Nashville, Louisville, Cincinnati, Cleveland and Buffalo. If you live in the eastern part of Canada, you are ordered to move west of Ottawa to collection queues in Toronto, Barrie and Sudbury.”
The woman’s voice was replaced by a computer-generated male voice, “This has been an announcement from the Emergency Alert System. Standby for a repeat of this message.” The EAS tones sounded again and the men stared at each other in silence.
“Does that mean that we’re ordered to evacuate also, sir?” someone asked from the small group surrounding Mike.
“No. We’re here to delay these fuckers so our people can get away to those refugee centers,” he answered.
Or maybe we are supposed to go, how the hell do I know? The New Jersey Guard colonel was less than open with information. He was a Military Police officer by trade and kept information close to his breast. To make matters worse, he didn’t understand how to use any of the forces under his expanded command. Mike had gone to him several times with recommendations on improving their location, but after the first time he hadn’t even been able to get in and see the man because his adjutant wouldn’t allow it.
“Sir, where’s the closest refugee center to Hoosick Falls?” Burtucci, one of the younger privates in the company, asked.
The commander thought for a moment and said, “I guess it would be Buffalo. Did your family evacuate before we left?”
“My dad didn’t believe all of this was real, so he refused to leave. My mom wouldn’t leave without him. Now that this is official, I’m hoping they left.”
Mike decided that Burtucci’s parents were dead. If they didn’t leave before the horde swept north and took out most of New England, then they were likely part of the mass of zombies moving this way to attack. That was a sobering thought, What if some of his soldiers were faced with their reanimated loved ones? Cross that bridge when we get there…
“I’m sure they did. We’ll see about getting a phone number or something for the Buffalo place,” he glanced at the first sergeant.
“On it, sir,” Top said with a curt nod.
“Alright, any more questions?” he asked the men circled around his tank.
The first sergeant waited for a few seconds. When no one ventured another question he shouted, “Okay, get back to your tracks and get ready. If the Jersey Guard’s intel can be believed, those fuckers will be here within a few hours. That doesn’t mean that some of them won’t be early.”
Mike sighed and pulled his cell phone from his pocket. He sent a quick text message to his wife in Hawaii. He’d hoped to be able to call her today, but they’d been in a constant run-and-gun since the battle at the Tunnel. He tapped out a quick message saying that he was alright and that they were going to stop the creatures in New Jersey before they killed any more people. He typed it as a reassurance for her; he hoped that it was true.
*****
14 October, 1328 hrs local
Troy Meadows Defensive Perimeter
Parsippany-Troy Hills, New Jersey
The sound of machine gun fire echoed across the marsh as the defensive line of tanks half a mile away fired their weapons. Shawn Ford stared across the open space in front of him toward the tree line which ran alongside the highway and hid his view. On the other side of the trees, so close that it seemed like he could almost reach out and touch them, was where the tankers fired their weapons at God only knew what.
In a daze, he looked down at the rifle in his hands. The weapon seemed impossibly heavy and foreign to him. Shawn wasn’t a soldier. He’d spent his entire life about ten miles from this very spot, growing up in Newark. After high school, he began working full time in the family’s Italian restaurant. He’d gotten married to his high school sweetheart and had a beautiful daughter less than two years afterwards. Now his wife was dead and probably getting shot at by the tanks over on the road while she marched forward as part of the ever-growing zombie horde.
He and his wife, Shana, had been trying to pack up the car to leave town when the creature stumbled around the corner of their row home directly into Shana, who held an armload of picture albums. Shawn didn’t even have a chance to react before it had ripped her throat out and her arterial spray coated his face. It tasted salty. God help him, the only thing he could remember about that day was that his wife’s blood was salty.
The fight or flight syndrome that people in television shows always talked about was real. It took hold of him and he ran. As the zombie devoured pieces of his lovely wife, Shawn jumped into the car where little Annie was already strapped into her car seat. The last memory he had of his wife was that thing cramming a long, stringy muscle or tendon into its mouth.
He drove west away from that nightmare. They didn’t make it far before he was stopped at the Parsippany-Troy Hills defensive line. Even in his sickened, blubbering state, the guards had forced him to take off all of his clothes except for his underpants for an examination. Rightly so, the sheer amount of Shana’s blood that soaked his clothing and hair made them overly cautious that he’d been bitten.
Now here he was; waiting in the cold to shoot a gun that he’d barely knew how to shoot. The Army had asked if he was willing to defend his country and when he answered that he would do it as long as his daughter was safe they’d given him a rifle and the name of a facility in Cleveland where they’d relocate Annie before the end of the day. Then a sergeant had also handed each recruit four thirty-round magazines and told them to sit on the edge of the field, aim for the zombies’ heads and wait until they exhaled to squeeze the trigger. That was all the training he received.
They were the second line of defense behind the armored vehicles beyond the tree line. He assumed that there was another line somewhere behind him as well; otherwise if the zombies made it past the marsh, there’d be nothing to stop them from continuing toward the center of the country.
