John Holmes - Even Zombie Killers Can Die

On the roof, Doc was grateful for a chance to get some extra shut eye. He still wasn’t completely healed from the torture he had gotten on Grand Isle, and he gingerly let himself down through the trapdoor in the roof.

Ahmed sat watching the woods and fields through his scope mounted on his rifle, and I picked up the NVG’ Doc had left.

“What’s going on, Ahmed?”

He didn’t take his eyes off the scope. “Having trouble sleeping again?”

How did he know this stuff? Before I could answer, he said “I heard you scream. Well, I heard Brit scream, too, but that was much earlier, and probably for a different reason.”

I laughed. OK, so maybe we were a bit noisy. “Yeah, well, I had a hell of a nightmare. Dreamed Ziv betrayed us and most everyone was dead.”

“Really? How did I die?”

“Ziv stabbed you in the chest with that big Rambo knife of his.”

“Ha, I like the thought of that. Traditional, almost like dying in a sword fight like my ancestors. I would like to fight Ziv one day, with swords. Christian against Muslim, like in the old days.” He chuckled quietly, never taking his eyes off the scope.

“Lunatics. My entire frigging squad. All of you.”

His laughter stopped short, and I felt him tense up.

“Nick, we have company.”

“Zombies?”

“Yes. Maybe two dozen. Behind them, there are hotter figures, looks like six, following. They have just appeared out from behind the rise, maybe 300 hundred meters. Due East.”

“Take out the hot spots. Those are Morano’s mercenaries. Shit shit shit. I’m on my way downstairs. Stay in radio contact, report anything else. I’ll send Joe up here to watch the other side, make sure they aren’t trying to sneak up from the river. Remember, claymores at the field wall, one hundred meters.”

Ahmed didn’t say anything, just started firing. I slapped the alarm button, sending a siren shrieking through the farm.

On the way down the stairs, I threw the breaker on the outside floodlights. They were angled to cover the grounds outward, blinding any attackers. Also attracting any Zombies within 10 miles, but that was a chance we had to take. Return fire started thumping into the house, then died off when the lights powered up.

I met Joe coming up the hallway. “Backup Ahmed, watch for an assault from. 2 dozen zombies approaching from the east, backed up by mercenaries. Go!” He took off down the hall and started up the stair to the roof.

Brit and the rest of the guys were busy slamming the steel shutters shut over the windows. I had installed them a few months ago, cut from used sheet metal. They would stop everything up to a 7.62 round. Just as I thought that, a loud BANG sounded from one of the window on the West Side, and a hole appeared in the steel. The round buried itself in one of the kitchen cabinets as we hit the floor.

“Barrett .50 cal!” yelled Doc. That was not good. Another round banged through the wall and gouged its way across the kitchen table, shattering it.

I got on the radio to Ahmed. “TAKE OUT THAT .50!” I yelled probably way too loud. Joe came back on the radio. “Nick, Ahmed is down. I have movement on the west shore of the river, looks like a Zodiac boat, maybe another 6 guys.”

Damn. We had to act.

“Ziv, take Brit and Red. Go south and then cross the canal. Wait. Wait a minute.”

I wasn’t thinking straight. Of course. We were on a frigging island. The attack from the east, the harrassing fire from the Barret, were all just diversions. There was no way the zombies could get across the canal; the doors were open, and we had used cutting torches to take out the foot bridges. The only way onto the island was by boat or by foot or vehicle from the North, or by…

“Ziv, head south. Take Hart and Red with you. Cover the south field, expect an airborne or helo insertion. Take the 240, GO!” They rushed out the back door, Red grabbing extra ammo cans.

“Jim, you and Donny deal with the boat, I’m sure a couple of 40mm grenades will discourage them. The big former Marine nodded. Donny laughed his retarded laugh, and started fitting an HE round into the M203 under his rifle. Frigging weirdo. “Then head north, cover the road. I don’t think they can get through the wall we built with anything short of a couple pounds of C-4, but just make sure.”

“Brit, go see how Ahmed is, see if he needs any more help.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going zombie hunting, baby. Give me a kiss, and give me some cover from up top.”

“Nick, if you don’t come back, I’m going to kill you.”

I grinned at her and then had a thought and turned toward the radio.

“Orange Main, this is Lost Boys, over.”

“Orange Main, this is Lost Boys, Over!”

Figures. Stupid RTO was probably asleep or playing X-Box. Not to worry, I had a backup plan. I flipped frequencies.

“Sheriff, Sheriff, this is Lost Boys, Over.”

“Lost Boys, this is Sheriff, what’s up, Nick?”

High over the Hudson Valley, running a racetrack pattern, an Air Force EC-130H “Compass Call” aircraft was providing radio retrans and coverage for the Upper Hudson Valley and the forces operating in a 150 mile radius from Albany. Their call sign was “Sherriff”, and ANY unit in trouble could reach them, 24 hours a day.

“Kevin, I have unknown forces attacking my position” and I quickly told him the grid to the island, which I had memorized long ago. “Do you have anything on call?”

“Roger, Nick, I have a AC-130 gunship returning from Z suppression in NYC, ETA Albany in 5 mikes. I can divert, but only for a few passes, he is almost bingo ammo.”

“That will be fine, tell them to run on any hot spots east of my grid. One or two passes will suffice.”

“Roger that, our TAC has handed them off and they will reach you in about eight, I say again zero eight minutes. Can you hold till then?”

“Check. Thanks, Kevin, I owe you one.”

“You owe me three, now, Nick, but I’m not counting, over.”

“Come by the farm someday. Lost Boys Out.”

I love it when a backup plan comes together.

I ran upstairs, passing Brit along the way as she and Joe carried a bloody Ahmed down the hallway. “How is he?” Brit shook her head, not taking her hand off the wound in his shoulder area. Damn.

As I reached the roof, I heard several grenades detonate, their flat CRACK muted by going off in the water. A red glow started behind the trees that shielded the house from the river. Something hot had set off one of the gas tanks in the Zodiac. Nothing to worry about from that end.

Almost at the same instant, a long stream of tracers suddenly ripped across the south field. I hurriedly put on the NVG’s that Joe had left on the roof, just in time to see another short, 3 second burst dance its way through the figure that were struggling out of parachute harnesses. One started to fire back, then crumpled to the ground as rifle fire joined in. Two of them ran south for the river, away from the gunfire. I guess that mercenary paycheck just wasn’t enough.

Two sides secure. I looked North, but I could see nothing on the road, so I turned East. Overhead, I could hear the drone of the AC-130 approaching from downriver. A few more minutes and the zombies and mercs prowling the woods and fields out there would be smears on the dirt, fertilizer for next year’s corn crop. What I wanted had to be somewhere past them.

I took off the NVG’s and lifted Ahmed’s scoped rifle to my eye. He used an Infrared scope, rather than an ambient, low light one. I scanned the far fields until my eye caught two figures, far behind the attacking force. One was bulky, wearing combat armor and a helmet. The other was smaller, not even carrying a weapon.