John Holmes - Even Zombie Killers Need a Break

“Will do Lex, I have to kick these civis out man, or I won’t have the power.”

“Bullshit! You have a half a tank of gas bro you can take 5 more people!!”

“Rodger that, 64s are on the way btw bro.” he shot over the radio. We started across the field. Ski and I had jackal in a two man chair carry, and Slim was had Thompson over his shoulder.

“Awesome glad to hear, we’re PZ posture you should be clear down man.” The radio cracked again, Buck said something but I couldn’t understand it. Jackal started coughing “New guys always fucking suck on the Radio” he mumbled with a pale smirk.

“Zs incoming!” As if almost on queue a fucking horde of zombies started to make their way towards the crash site; Ski opened on the 240 and Slim and I started firing away. Jim was on short approach final but these motherfuckers were getting close. I could hear the identifiable gargle and growl of the zombies as they got closer.

“LOADING!” Ski shouted, as he changed belts on the 240. I hit a chick in a jogging suit, and they waxed a dude in one of those foam hot dog suits you see people on the side of the road. Dropped some club rat looking thug and popped the face off of some Hipster looking dude.

“Where fuck are we!? WHY ARE WE FUCKING SHOOTING?! FUCK WE CRASHED!!!” Jackal came out of his blacked out state, he freaked for a minute back pedaling in the dirt. “HOLY FUCK! Zs!!!” he said with great emphasis. “Can you stand?” I yelled over the sound of 240 fire. “YEAH I think so, he stumbled to his feet grabbed his suppressed UMP and started blasting Zs covering our Six. “LOADING”! I yelled as I slapped another fresh mag in my weapon.

“BOOM MOTHER FUCKERS!!!” Jackal threw a frag grenade at deep in to encroaching horde, sending body parts flying everywhere. ”Last MAG!” Slim shouted, his weapon jammed on the first round “FUCK ME!!!” he shouted.

I threw him mine “Here!” then transitioned to my M9. The zombies were within 20 meters of us. Jim swooped in, his door gunners blasting away cutting down the horde of Zs coming our way… “COME ON COME ON COME ON!!” He yelled over the deafening sound of the Black Hawk’s rotors. We loaded up Thompson, then Ski, Slim and I jumped on the aircraft the Zs were within 10 feet from the aircraft , we lifted off emptying out magazines on the horde. Jackal sent a burst through a terribly obese man, his stomach exploding onto the Z next to him. I unloaded my last magazine on a construction worker Z, the rounds punching through his hard hat that had somehow stayed on his head.

“FUCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!” Ski yelled as we took off, blasting away at the mob below us. I looked down to see a severed hand wrapped around Ski’s ankle He shook it off, and lit a cigarette. He Looked at us and yelled “DAMN I MISS THIS SHIT!” I went up on headset , looked at Jim, who turned around and said “You alright?

“Yeah….” I said out of breath. “I’m all right.” The rest of the flight was quiet, as we flew away from the central park the Apaches rolled in blasting 30mm and Rockets, then rolled out soon as we departed the park.

I met Jackal at the Aid Station when we got back. His bed was in the hallway. “What the fuck are you doing in the hallway?” I asked

“They kicked me out for slapping one of nurse’s asses” he said with his usual grin.

“Just one?” I said with a smirk.

“I got a few fractured ribs and a shallow GSW on the shoulder. Doc said it just missed an artery. Said I should be back and flying in a few weeks.”

“Good to hear bro, take it a day at a time, do you remember what happened when we got hit?”

“Nope, I just remember waking up and seeing that crazy guy in the blue shirt shooting fucking zombies and bleeding all over myself.” He paused for a minute looked down at this hospital bracelet and looked up at me with his serious Jackal face and said “Alex, I don’t ever want you to beat yourself up about what happened out there, you were able to put an aircraft down that was seriously fucked up. I don’t even know If I could have done the same. is Thompson Okay?”

“Yeah, funny enough he was actually In better shape that we thought, he should be good to go in 2 weeks, Oh and hey. I know you’re not supposed to have theses either but whose knows, maybe it will help.”

I cracked the top of a Sam Adams and handed it to him, put the others by his feet, raised my beer and said “Juambo!” which was “cheers” in Swahlili, meaning “brothers”. He smiled, klinked his beer and said “Juambo!”

Sacramento, California

Day Date Month Year

0900 Hours Local

Jake moved quickly and quietly through the suburban terrain. He had left his team on the roof of a convenience store a couple blocks back. He was out to forage a bit for his team and to also get a feel for the environment in the area. They had been inserted into the area to scout in preparation for a push to retake the agricultural area that the Sacramento Valley represented. The ability to grow more food would be a great relief to the American enclave that the Pacific Northwest had become. While the climate and terrain had made it naturally defensible, the growing season was restricted by the same. While surveillance of the area showed only moderate numbers of Zs, there had been a larger than normal presence of rogue survivor bands. Double-edged swords. Life was all about double-edged swords those days.

For his little excursion, which would have pissed the Task Force CO off, Jake traveled light. His clothes were fairly basic. Baseball cap, tactical “bite shirt,” blue jeans, and hiking boots. Tyr Tactical “PICO” plate carrier, “war belt,” and his rifle rounded out his gear. The plate carrier and war belt were a hodge-podge of different color/camo pouches that resulted from the previous few years of adapting to the Z War. Multicam, coyote brown, black, and olive drab pouches were all present on his gear, though Multicam was the predominant camo. Multicam had just become the primary camouflage pattern at the time of the The Fall and was “Tacticool” with SWAT Teams around the country at the time.

Wearing the plate carrier sucked. It was heavy. Front and rear ESAPI plates along with side plates came out to about twenty pounds of weight alone. The carrier, made of heavy Cordura nylon, weighed a couple more pounds. The pouches were weight. Then, the contents of the pouches added even more weight. Six rifle mags that each weighed a pound, two grenades that added another pound, a couple of smoke grenades, a heavy Strider fighting knife, medical kit, tactical radio, and other accoutrements of battle. While, some would argue that you could ditch the body armor in the time of zombies, the threat from the independent and rogue human groups threw a wrench into that concept. What good would the cool “bite suits” be if some hillbillie whacked you with a hundred year old .30-06?

As Jake moved, his eyes tracked in a tried and true manner. He scanned his surroundings then the ground in front of him every few steps. Moving like a “ninja” would quickly cease if stepped on a noisy “tattle tale” like broken glass or if he ran a nail up through his boot. As he moved, he let his senses work. For someone who had used to live in the Sacramento area, the absolute silence was unreal. There was no sound of airlines in the pattern for Sac International, no trains, no cars on the freeways or city streets. There were very little bird sounds, though more than a few birds about. Even the birds had learned that sound attracted Zs like little else would. The silence was a good thing from a tactical stance. Most Zs were not quiet. They groaned, shuffled, dragged legs, bumped into things, and stumbled about like drunks. If a Z was on the trail of something living, it’s howl could be heard at some distance. That howl would attract other Zs and before long, a herd would be on a single-minded hunt for some poor soul, or even a squirrel, that had gotten the attention of the Z. It often took days for the zombies to cease their chase.