John Holmes - Even Zombie Killers Can Die

We heard them long before we saw them. A long causeway extended from the mainland to the island, probably part of an old railway. I had been this way before, on a fishing trip, and I knew there was a break in the causeway that you could run your boat through. Well, there used to be a break. Now there was a bridge, and just before that, a large wall extending thirty feet up in the air, completely blocking the road.

Trailing off southward down the causeway were zombies. Thousands. Tens of thousands. Seemingly as one, they turned to the sound of our motor. All howling in symphony, but staying away from the water. Ahmed cut the engine and we drifted slowly about a hundred feet off shore.

“Holy crap,” said Ahmed. “That must be every single zombie in the Burlington area.”

“Ya think? Frigging rocket scientist, this one.”

Hart scanned the barrier and the bridge behind it with a pair of binoculars. I saw her stop and then lean forward, trying to get a better look.

“Ahmed, can you bring us around the back side of the barrier?” she asked.

“Paddles, everyone. No need to get them any more worked up than they are already.” We broke out the oars and started pulling around.

“Yep, I thought so.” Hart handed me the binos.

“What am I looking for?”

“Look at the base of the barrier. There are charges set around the whole thing. Looks like construction demolitions, the kind used to take down derelict buildings.”

“Are they set to blow the bridge?”

“Nope, if they go, they’ll take down the barrier only.”

Brit couldn’t resist. “And how do you know all this, Lady Brianne?”

“Because, Miss Wiseass, while you were getting stoned and laid in college, I was defusing IEDs in Iraq and Afghanistan.”

For once, Brit was speechless. Hart went back to studying the barrier.

She put the binos down. “I can’t figure it. Blowing the charges would eliminate the barrier completely. I can see if the wired the bridge, but the barrier…”

“It’s a threat,” said Ahmed. “The General is holding this over his people’s heads. Maybe not overtly, but if push came to shove, he could always use the threat of these zombies to justify martial law. If you look closely, you will find a radio receiver hooked to a detonator. His military forces probably have a fortress that can resist even the whole horde, with high walls. In the event of revolt by the civilians, they hole up, blow the barrier, and the civilians are done. Probably have an escape route too. Boats, most likely.”

I nodded. “So much for the job of the military being to protect and defend civilians.”

Hart turned to me. “Do you want me to disable it?”

“Can you do it without setting it off, one hundred percent guaranteed?”

She thought about it for a minute, studying it again with the binos. Finally she answered with a flat “no”.

“Odds are, it’s rigged. Not to blow, but there are probably anti-personnel mines all over the place.”

“OK, well, that settles that. Let’s get away from here and go talk to the mad man.”

“OK, Ahmed, you’re out. Red, you’re his spotter. Lay low and watch for my signal. This could go bad pretty quick.” We slowed the boat, and they slipped over the side into the water, weapons and packs balanced on two inflated inner tubes.

We had left them on the empty, northern part of the causeway. Hopefully the watchers on the shore hadn’t noticed us slow down. It left them no avenue of retreat, which I wasn’t comfortable with, but they both took inflatable life vests so they could take to the water if necessary.

“If we’re not back in twenty-four hours, then Hart will come get you with the boat. Do hourly radio checks with Liberty Main, and call in the hammer if things go bad. Level that.” I pointed to a building which crouched on the shore, surrounded by Texas barriers, ten foot high slabs of concrete. From it flew the Vermont state flag, and underneath that flew the yellow Gasden “Don’t Tread On Me” flag. Through the binoculars I had counted three guards standing on a platform inside the wall.

“Time to poke the dragon,” said Brit, and she, Hart and I headed out in the Zodiac, towards a dock that stretched out into the water. The half mile passed quickly, and as we pulled up, we could see a reception committee waiting for us. A half dozen soldiers, backed by a .50 caliber heavy machine gun. Hart kept her MK-19, mounted on a pintle in the boat, trained on the machine gun crew. They tracked us all the way in until we pulled up to the dock. I climbed up the ladder onto the dock, and Brit backed the boat away, idling about a hundred meters off shore.

I stepped forward and saluted the two star Major General standing in front of me. He was a short, compact man, wearing full battle rattle, and he had an intense, blue-eyed stare. He glared at me for a moment, and then quickly returned my salute, seemingly out of habit more than anything. Behind him, four bodies hung from a makeshift gibbet, swaying gently in the breeze. No quick deaths, those. Instead of dropping them and breaking their necks, a quick death, these scumbags had pulled them up, leaving them up to strangle. I tried hard to hide the look of disgust on my face, but the man standing in front of me saw it. His expression hardened.

“Sergeant. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and for men with hearts of iron.”

“Save me the speech, General. Next you’re going to say you’re a sheepdog, guarding the flock from wolves.”

We stood that way for what seemed like an eternity and was probably no more than fifteen seconds. Behind him stood a man wearing full Colonel rank, and two guys from what I figured were his brute squad. They were both over six feet and muscle-bound. I ignored them and looked at Danny Westbrook, who brought up the rear. He nodded to me.

The General broke the silence.

“Staff Sergeant Westbrook here tells me that you are with the Regular Army, some kind of scout team. I’d like to see some credentials, please. And a copy of your orders.”

Seriously? Orders? What planet was this guy living on?

“Ah, General, the only thing I can show you is my old ID card. In case you haven’t noticed, things have been a bit squirrely over the last few years. I have no written orders. In fact, I’m just here to get my men. I understand they have been your guests over the last few weeks.”

“Um, guests, no, not actually. They are prisoners, on trial for murdering several of my men.” He waved his hand, and Ziv and Doc were escorted out of the gate of the fortress. Actually, Ziv walked out under his own power, in handcuffs, but Doc was dragged out by two men and dumped at my feet. The guards went back inside the gate, and I knelt down to him.

“Hey, Nick,” Doc managed to whisper. “You’re late.” His face was a mass of bruises, and there were cigarette burns on his arms. No fingernails on his right hand. “I never said shit.”

I looked up at the General. “Am I supposed to be impressed? I’ve seen worse in Afghanistan. What, exactly, is your point?”

“My point is, Sergeant, that I am the law here. This is the Sovereign State of Vermont, and we are no longer a part of the United States. If there even is such a thing, which I doubt.”

This wasn’t going to work. I had seen it before, leaders who let power go to their heads. Little warlords who wanted to set up their own little kingdoms. I despised them. Still, I had to try.

“General, let me explain something to you. Right now the US Army is fighting a massive brawl down by New York City. Last year we retook Denver. Next year we will be taking back Northern California. We seized the oil fields in Mexico. It may take a year, or two, or even three years, but the Feds will be here. You are sitting on top of a vital transit route and shipping line, once we get the canals back in order. Oh, and in case you hadn’t noticed, we settled the whole secession thing more than a century ago.”