John Holmes - Even Zombie Killers Can Die

He stared at me, glaring, then walked past me, looking out at the lake. The Colonel, who I assumed was his Chief of Staff, walked over to him and talked to him quietly. After a minute, I broke into their conversation.

“General, regardless, you and all of your troops were recalled to Active Duty three years ago. I know you have radios and you heard the broadcast. Right now, you and all your men are in a state of rebellion against the United States. I can’t hold your men responsible, because, for all I know, they think they are acting under legitimate orders, but you, as their commander, are liable. I’m giving you one chance. Stand down, turn over control of the island to the civilian population, and things can go back to normal. I won’t say anything about what happened before we made contact. This is a fight that you cannot win.”

He turned to me. The Colonel put his hand on his shoulder but he shrugged it off.

“My men know full well what they are doing.You have a lot of balls, Sergeant, I’ll give you that. It’s going to need an extra strong rope to hang you. We fought, all by ourselves, and survived. Where the hell were you and your precious federal government? No, we don’t need you. As far as those civilians you’re whining about, they’re a bunch of useless sheep who got us into this mess in the first place.”

He took a deep breath and shook his head. “No, the time for those things have passed. The US was rotting a long time before the Zombie Apocalypse, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let myself be ruled by a bunch of Liberal retards. You’re just another one of those New Army touchy-feely punks, coming here with a bunch of women to back you up. In fact, it will feel GOOD to hang you. Your friends, too.”

“Then, Sir, I have no option but to place you under arrest for rebellion, treason, and murder. You’ll be coming with us, back to Albany.” I placed my hand on the stock of my rifle, but I kept my eyes on Danny, wondering which way he was going to jump.

Danny stepped forward. “Sir, it’s time to let it go. Turn it over. What you did, hanging those civilians, was wrong. Nick is giving you an option. Please take it, before things get worse.”

“Sergeant Westbrook, your opinion is noted. Corporal, please arrest him, and Sergeant Agostine, also.”

One of the brute squad reached out to grab Danny, and all hell broke loose. Time seemed to slow down and speed up at the same time.

Danny leveled his M-4 and pointed it at the Corporal. “Stand down!” he yelled.

The Colonel pulled out his pistol and fired at Danny, catching him in the neck in a spray of blood.

Danny spun around and fired a full auto burst toward him, emptying his magazine before he fell, and rounds tore through the General’s legs, hurling him down to the ground.

The first guard brought his pistol up to fire at me, and his head exploded in a pink mist from a sniper round fired by Ahmed.

Ziv hit the other guard on the side of his face with his handcuffs and then started wrestling with him, trying to choke him, slamming his head against the ground and cursing at him in harsh Serbian.

The .50 caliber started hammering, but Hart was faster on the trigger, and a string of 40mm grenade rounds slammed into the sandbagged position, chewing through the bags and striking the gun, silencing it.

Brit slammed the boat into high gear towards the dock.

As he fired, the Colonel grabbed a Motorola two-way on his harness and hit the transmit button. A muffled BOOM rolled over the water. I shot him through the head and he fell to the ground.

Doc rolled over and kicked the guard struggling with Ziv in the head, stunning him.

Ahmed took out the remaining three guards in as many seconds with sniper fire.

I ran over to Danny, pulling a field bandage off my kit and pressing it to his neck. Blood was everywhere. He had been hit in an artery and was bleeding out quickly. I pressed my hand over the wound, but it kept squirting out. Not again. Just like that kid on the barge.

“DOC, HELP ME!” Doc crawled over, and pulled my hands off Danny’s neck.

“He’s dead, Nick. Let him go. We have to get out of here.” He was right; the flow of blood had stopped, Danny’s eyed had glazed over. I reached up and pushed his eyelids closed. Then, with a ripping sound, I pulled the Velcro American flag off my uniform sleeve and put it on Danny’s chest.

“All enemies, foreign and domestic. You did good, Brother.” Then I stood up and helped Ziv carry Doc to where Brit had pulled up to the dock.

As we passed the General, he tried to drag his pistol out of the holster and aim it at me. I kicked it away, then tied tourniquets around his legs. Each had a bullet hole through them, one in his thigh and the other through his kneecap.

“Help me!” he moaned.

“Fuck you, you traitor, I hope the zombies take a long time eating you. You swore an oath to your country and your state, and you broke both.” Then I kicked him in the wounded kneecap and he screamed.

“That was for Danny. And this is for Doc” and I kicked him again. He screamed even louder.

I started back towards the island and Brit shouted at me, “Nick, where the hell are you going?”

I yelled back, “I have to warn the civilians!” As I spoke, a UH-60 rose from the back side of the island and thundered off in the direction of Isle Le Motte. An air raid siren started sounding. I looked over to the right, and saw that the zombies were swarming down the causeway. I stopped, turned around, and ran back towards the boat. I guess they knew now.

As I ran down the dock, a crowd of civilians appeared, running for the gate to the fortress. Before they got there, it slammed shut, and a stream of tracers reached out into the crowd, chewing through their bodies. The crowd broke and ran, but the zombies were in among them, biting and clawing.

Hart had cast off the line holding the boat to the dock , and Brit yelled at me “Let’s go, you fat old slug!” I fell more than I jumped, landing on Ziv, who cursed me in Serbian. We pulled away and raced back over the water to where we had left Red and Ahmed. The spot where they had been was swarming with a nonstop stream of animated corpses, heading onto the island, but we picked up the two of them floating on their inner tubes, kicking hard away from the causeway.

“Hart, can you blow that bridge?”

“Sorry, Nick, my mouth just isn’t that big,” Hart deadpanned, then got serious. “How much C-4 do you have?” Brit handed her a brick, about a pound or so. “Oh hell yeah, that will work.”

She slipped over the side onto an inner tube and paddled over to the bridge. We backed off another hundred meters while she worked, packing the C-4 under one of the bridge pilings. As she did so, zombies were reaching down to grab at her. One got hold of her hair, and she coolly fired her pistol straight up into the zombie until it let go, then finished what she was doing. I guess she had gotten over the shock of seeing her team mates killed and was back to being a smooth operator.

When she got back to the boat, I nodded to Ahmed. He leaned forward with his rifle resting on the bow, and fired. A puff of dirt shot up just above the C-4. When Red snickered, he muttered “damn waves,” and fired again.

The C-4 exploded with a dull crump, and the bridge shattered into a million pieces, throwing wood and concrete into the air. The rush of zombies stopped short, some falling into the water, the volume of their howl kicking up a notch and carrying across the waves.

“Whoohoo, Hart! Put Red on your shoulders and I’m going to call you Master-Blaster instead of Lady Brianne!” She ignored her, and we watched as the pieces fell down into the water.

“You know several thousand got onto the island. Those civilians are dead,” said Ahmed.