John Holmes - Even Zombie Killers Get the Blues

Ahmed: “Forty-two rounds for my rifle, a hundred percent for my pistol.”

The LT and Mya were down to less than twenty-five percent each. I expected that, since this was their first op and they had been spraying rounds left and right with little fire discipline. I was tempted to cross-level ammo with them but they would waste it. We were out of thumpers altogether, too.

“Mya, give Jonesy your weapon. Stay back with Redshirt, make sure he’s doing OK, and if it looks like we’re getting over run…”

“… Jump into the water with him?”

“No, put a round through his head and jump in the water yourself.”

At that, Redshirt sat up, and demanded a weapon. Damn, this kid was tough! I gave him my pistol, and told him I’d save one for him if we got overrun. He laughed and said, “Bring it, Chief.” Then his eyes rolled back in his head, and he passed out again. I took my pistol back.

We waited for four hours before the first Zs showed up. They first came wandering down the hill, in ones and twos every few minutes. Ahmed quietly took them out from a long distance, setting his rifle on some debris and popping heads from five hundred meters out. The red eyes would flare briefly when the rounds hit them, then go out.

“Hey Brit.”

“Yeah, Jonesy?”

“Ain’t it true that redheads started the damn zombie apocalypse, stealin’ too many souls, an’ it just kinda got outta hand?”

“Kiss my ass, you big chocolate hunk of muscle.”

“You should have seen mah muscles, honey, before you redheads done brought the world to ruination. I ain’t had watermelon an’ ribs in forever!”

“You people.”

“What do you mean, YOU PEOPLE?”

“Zip it, both of you, and watch your lane.”

More started showing up and they started to get closer. The guys joined in the firing, less accurately than Ahmed, when they reached two hundred meters. We had a lull for a few minutes, then a huge, long moan wailed from behind the hilltop, and a horde came charging over the hill, eyes blazing.

“Uh, Nick, this kinda looks bad!”

“CASTLE, CASTLE, WE ARE UP SHIT’S CREEK, OVER!”

“Lost Boys, understand. Bird is on its way south, ETA thirty minutes, over.”

“Roger. Well, maybe we’ll be here, and maybe we won’t. Switching over to CAS.”

I switched freqs over to the Navy Close Air Support Channel.

“Stinger 52, this is Lost Boys 6, over.”

The answer came back choppy, thousands of pounds of thrust distorting the pilots’ voice.

“Lost Boys, this is Stinger, on station with short load. Expended most ammo popping hordes down the City. Enough for two runs. Over.” She had a sweet voice, and I imagined Scarlett Johansson in a flight suit. Reality was, she probably had gotten beaten with the ugly stick when she was a kid and was overcompensating by being a fighter pilot, but I would kiss her if she got us out of this.

“Understood, be advised, horde is about four hundred meters from IR strobe, azimuth twenty-two degrees. Strobe marks our position, do not drop on strobe. Hurry up, over.”

“Roger, four hundred meters azimuth 22 degrees. Standby.”

A minute passed, and then she came back over the radio. “Dropped, heads down.”

“INCOMING!” I yelled, and buried my face in my arms. A tremendous WHAM lifted me off the dock and set me back down, and I looked up to see a fireball rising in front of us. Bits of body parts flew through the air.

“Stinger, dead on, put one more just past it, over.”

“Roger that, then I’m out. Good luck, Lost Boys, next air on station an hour from now. Buy me a beer next time you’re in the City. Stinger out.”

The follow on JDAM blasted another hole in the horde, but they kept coming. We opened fire but more and more of the red eyes glowed in the moonlight, hundreds coming over the hill in front of us. The barrel of my M-4 was getting hotter as the bolt locked back on an empty magazine. Reload. Release the bolt. Aim. Squeeze. Shoot.

Fifty meters. They were coming closer, despite our knocking them down in rows. The bodies were piling up, and the Zs were screaming now, charging towards us, climbing over the bodies. I heard, over the scream, the thudding of chopper blades coming from up river.

Twenty meters. I could see the flashing navigation lights and a long stream of machine gun fire arched out of the night and into the horde, to no effect. The rounds shot through their bodies, only hitting their heads here and there, dropping a few. The rest kept charging at us.

Ten meters . I reached for another magazine, and there weren’t any. I pulled out my pistol and started taking single shots. The rotor wash from the helo threw off my aim. Next to me, Brit pulled out her crowbar and started swinging hard, smashing at the first Zs that grabbed toward her. Jonesy was swinging his iron bar in a wide circle, savagely knocking them down and cursing at the top of his lungs.

The helo came to a hover at the end of the dock, and I risked a quick glance behind me to see Doc and Mya throw Redshirt into the open doors. Mya climbed in next to her, followed by Doc, but the LT came running back to us, firing and charging into the melee, swinging his plastic-stocked rifle at the closest Z. I saw him go down as I smashed one in the head, swarmed by a dozen who immediately started tearing him apart. Ahmed ran backwards, firing his pistol until the slide locked back, then turned and jumped in through the open door.

Jonesy had been separated by more Zs and there was no way for him to get to us. He swung his bar again, clearing a space around himself, and yelled, “I’LLSEE YOU IN HELL, NICK!” and started moving away from the helo, swinging hard, smashing them down, leading them away from us. One grabbed his ankle, and he started to fall. A shot rang out from the helo, and Jonesy collapsed to the ground, shot through the heart by Ahmed.

Brit was bleeding from the stomach, blood staining her uniform where her stitches had ripped open. She flung her crowbar at the head of the nearest Zombie, then turned and ran, clutching her side. I followed close behind her, the Zs right behind us, howling and screaming. A gust of wind pushed the helo away from the dock just as Brit jumped for it and the door gunner opened up with his 240. I saw her fall into the water, slipping down between the helo and the edge of the dock.

In front of me, the door, and salvation, gaped wide open. Ahmed and Mya reached for me, hands held out, while Doc fired over my head, knocking Zs back from me.

I dove off the dock, and the cold river water closed over my head.

Even with the full moon shining on it, under the surface was black as hell until a bright light stabbed downward. I could hear the thump of the helo blades coming down through the water. I unsnapped my gear and dropped my weapon as I sank towards the bottom, shrugged out of my body armor, kicked for the surface. Taking a deep breath, I turned over and dove for the bottom, trying to feel for where the current was running. Next to me another figure splashed into the water, and Doc dove down with me.

Fortunately, in the shelter of the point, the water was almost still and only about fifteen feet deep. I could see the bottom in the glare of the powerful spotlight on the helo, and after three dives I saw Brit’s body. I slapped Doc’s leg, and he turned and followed me over to her.

She had struggled half out of her armor, but floated unmoving, her eyes and mouth open, red blonde hair hanging in front of her face. I started pulling at her armor, my head starting to hammer for oxygen. Doc pushed me aside and cut it off where it had caught on her uniform. We each grabbed an arm and kicked for the surface.