John Holmes - Even Zombie Killers Need a Break

Just then Bull, who had wondered ahead on point, came tearing around a corner, sprinting at top speed.

I knew it was only a matter of time until we ran into the undead, lately, I had almost forgotten this was the zombie apocalypse.

The thing that followed him around the corner wasn’t a zombie though; to my surprise it was a dog, a big feral dog. I looked on in amazement as it leaped at Bull’s exposed back.

BANG! The shot from William’s rifle shattered the silence. His round hit the beast in the center of mass and it dropped harmlessly with a howl of pain.

The howl was answered by several more, all around us. I began to consider our options. We couldn’t flee, we were too far away to have a chance, we couldn’t call in any kind of support, the feral dogs were already too close.

“Circle up!” I yelled as the team began to form a perimeter in what once must have been an alley between warehouses.

Dozens of big mangy dogs appeared from the buildings, and at each end of the alley. I don’t know if they had been left behind the fence like junkyard dogs to protect the abandoned property once upon a time, or if they had sought refuge from the undead at some later date, but they seemed to be doing well. They must have been feeding on the wild squirrels and rabbits that had undergone a massive population boom in recent times since zombies couldn’t quite seem to catch them.

The dogs eyed us from all directions, baring their fangs and growling, a low rumbling growl. Then at once they charged.

We were unaccustomed to hitting anything moving this fast and our first shots were wild. As they got closer, and we remembered we didn’t have to aim for the head we began to score hits.

The quiet zips of Bull’s silenced MP5 on full auto and the loud booms of Markus’ shotgun mixed with the steady bangs from the rest of our carbines. As they quickly closed the distance our circle collapsed in on itself as we reflexively retreated.

As they reached point blank range the dogs jumped at our throats. Markus skewered one on his shotgun mounted bayonet, Ethan had already drawn his pistol and was pumping out 9mm, William was still getting off measured shots, Baublitz emptied his AR into one a few feet away and drew his pistol. Walls’s .45 pistol boomed repeatedly, a dog Marion shot continued into me and knocked my carbine out of my hands. A second mutt dove on her, but Bull, who had been swinging his ax like Paul Bunyan gave the beast a powerful kick in the ribs that lifted the animal clear off of her and sent it yelping.

Just like that the attack ended. The remaining dogs retreated warily, and we began to back off towards the waterfront, shadowed by a few of the big beasts.

Nobody threw up this time as CWO Magann deftly navigated us away from the area.

The useless scout of Sparrows Point had only taken a couple of hours to confirm what I had been afraid of all along. As we sat in the boat for the short trip to the Dundalk Marine Terminal, our second stop, and the most likely to be profitable, we reloaded mags and patched up cuts and scrapes.

This was the site of my near demise two years ago when the outbreak was just becoming public. It was weird to be so close to home. As far as I knew no military force had been back here since then.

The satellite images showed a large number of dormant zombies in the area, but hopefully with naval gunfire they could be cleared out safely. The overhead view of the facility showed mostly flat asphalt covered with rows upon rows of once brightly colored cargo containers and parking lots.

My plan was simple yet elegant. The terminal was a big square about a klick on each side that jutted out into the river with water on three sides. I traded one of the two M9 pistols I had bought from Chief Aquia to CWO Magann so I could borrow his MOLLE vest. The swabbies had special vests that had both bullet proof inserts and flotation inserts that cancelled out the weight of the armor. His vest also had the additional armor around the neck, groin, and sleeves that my vest lacked. Since there was a good chance I would end up in close proximity to zombies, or in the water I wanted a little extra insurance.

Walls was on the radio with Commander Owen coordinating a pair of fire missions. He signed off and almost immediately Sterett’s 5”/62 caliber bow gun began dropping HE rounds over our heads, one round every other second, scoring hits on the far side of the facility where we were.

While the shore bombardment was going on Walls pulled me aside. “Owen said IST3, the team in Philadelphia, has been out of contact for 24 hours. Our mission is currently being reevaluated. He said to continue on mission here, but we may get new orders later tonight.”

“I don’t believe for a second that IST3 is in trouble. Remember it wasn’t that long ago that the first teamers, IST1, were reported missing, presumed dead only to turn up again within the week. They walked right into base like nothing was wrong and continued with a new mission.” I almost shouted to be heard over the explosions from the high explosive shells.

“Yeah well they weren’t in the middle of Philadelphia when they were reported missing or Baltimore for that matter.”

The shelling stopped and we turned to watch the shoreline. Sure enough, zombies started wandering into the area to investigate the noise. The sound of their moaning and their stink assaulted our senses. All in all maybe a hundred curious zombies showed up, a fraction of the total estimated to be in the area.

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” I said with resignation.

Gill began to rack back the cocking mechanism of his twin fifties.

“Don’t shoot, you’re more likely to disable them than kill them, and we don’t want them disabled,” I said.

The PBR motored in towards the edge of the seawall.

“Why am I the one doing this again?” I asked.

“Because you’re always talking about how you’re a marathon runner,” said Ethan.

“Because you have no real authority,” said William.

“Because you want all the glory for yourself,” said Baublitz.

“Because you’re trying to impress Petty Officer Ramsey,” said Markus.

“Because you’re the only one in the Army who wears running shoes instead of boots,” said Walls.

“Because you’re an idiot,” said Marion.

“Yeah,” grunted Bull.

“I hate you all,” I said as I climbed up onto solid ground. Then I did my best impression of Sloth from The Goonies and yelled at the top of my lungs, “HEY YOU GUYSSSS!”

I took off running for the other end of the facility followed by the nearby zombies, which were worked up by their first smell of living human in years.

As I ran I squeezed off a few shots from my 9mm as they got close but for the most part I had outdistanced the group at the shelling site in no time at all. The trouble was all the zombies who had not been drawn to the shelling started popping out from behind shipping containers and crane legs as I ran past and I had to dodge and weave furiously to avoid their grasping hands.

More than once stealthy zombies came within inches of dragging me down but my luck held and I was able to dodge, shoot, or outrun all of them.

Less than three minutes later I was about to take a long walk off a short pier. After running all out I was beginning to tire, but the horde, now several hundred strong, was not tiring. They were catching up. My first biathlon was only halfway over however. I dove headfirst into the brown water.

The vest worked just as advertised and I popped to the surface just in time to see the fastest of my undead competitors complete the first stage of their biathlon and begin the water event.

I started swimming away from the edge of the seawall as fast as possible as more splashes sounded. I turned out towards the center of the river, swimming diagonally away from the point I had jumped from.