Jason Campagna - White Ash on Bone - A Zombie Novel

“Sir,” Winters said, “we’re pretty low on ammo.”

“Just make do,” Anderson said. “You civilians better make sure you stay in the center of the group.”

They moved out of the building through motion-activated sliding glass doors.

To get back to the armory, they would have to cross two-hundred yards of empty space and then through rows of single story brick residences. Past the buildings was a tree lined dirt road that connected to the armory.

The zombies locked onto the group, and closed in from all sides. The soldiers had to slow down because several of the civilians were struggling with injuries. They continued to drop zombie after zombie, but ammo was becoming a real issue.

Anderson heard soldier after soldier shout, “Out of ammo.” Anderson recognized his group was about to become a moving buffet.

“New plan,” Anderson shouted, “Grab the injured; we’re going to have to run for it.”

Several of his men doubled up to assist in carrying the wounded. The group picked up its pace, but lacking firepower, the zombies edged closer. The group was forced to fight hand to hand battles on the run with the undead.

Winters ran up to the nearest zombie and bludgeoned it in the face with his rifle. He kept moving toward his destination as the zombie fell to the ground.

A guardsman on the other side of the group found his feet wrapped up with a zombie when he tried a similar move. Three other soldiers and two civilians stopped to help the downed man. They fell behind the main group, and a dozen zombies filled in the gap.

“Don’t stop!” Anderson shouted, but it was too late.

Unarmed, the civilians were torn to pieces leaving the soldiers to fend for themselves.

The cut off soldiers swung their rifles like clubs hitting the zombies around them. They beat three of the undead to the ground. They tried to fight back to back, but a dozen or more of the undead came at them from all sides. They pushed in at the soldiers at the same time, and the living disappeared under the wave with screams.

Anderson watched from a distance while his men were cut off and overwhelmed. I’ll never forgive myself, Anderson thought. He moved on with his 10 remaining troops and 30 civilians.

They raced past the burning brick residential buildings. Smoke billowed out of broken windows. Anderson noticed a child’s big-wheel that was too close to one of the burning buildings; the wheels were half melted into the ground. The VA campus housed a fire department, but the firefighters were either with the undead, or had run off.

The rest of the trip they ran down the dirt road that went through a patch of woods to the armory. The path was clear, and the rest of the trip went without incident.

Anderson ordered a couple of his men to secure the gates to the armory, and he led everyone else into the main building. A number of civilians in vehicles pulled over on the highway when they saw the soldiers.

“Sir,” Winters said, “we’ve got civilians on the highway looking for sanctuary.”

“As long as they’re not zombies, let anybody in that we safely can,” Anderson said. “And if they can handle a weapon, give them one.”

In the fading light, Anderson heard two large booms in the distance. “Winters,” Anderson said, “Get on the radio and find out what is going on out there.”

The Sergeant grabbed his radio and put the speaker to his ear. “Sir, from what I can gather, Penn Township just blew up two fuel trucks. They set them off on the bridge on Route 8 to slow the zombies down. They are directing anyone who can make it to bring ammo and food the Butler County Airport.”

“Alright, Anderson said. The back roads should still be open. Let’s pack up everything not nailed down and load it in the Strykers and Humvees. We’ll move out as soon as we have the gear and civilians squared away.”

###

Peggy Davil sat in an aircraft hanger of the 911th Air Reserve Base attached to the Pittsburgh International Airport. Sulla had given her the severed zombie head in a cooler, and asked her to get it to the proper authorities. Her news chopper headed to the base that stationed the C-130 that did the over flight of Butler. The military had promptly quarantined her and her pilot in the hanger. An intelligence officer who identified himself as Major Smith sat across a table from Davil. He wore bio-chemical gear giving him inhuman proportions.

Flanking Major Smith were two Air Police in the same gear but with the addition of rifles.

Several medical personnel had taken blood, hair, and saliva samples of her and her pilot when they arrived on base. Since then, they returned every hour to retake samples. Major Smith updated them on their current situation.

"The best we can tell, the head you brought us is scientifically dead,” the Major said. “Yet it continues to animate for reasons we don’t yet understand. The medicos have found no trace of infection in you or your pilot. That being said, we are going to continue to monitor you. We don’t know what we’re dealing with or how the pathology of this thing works. We’re putting the head you brought us on a transport and sending it to a secure facility out West where we can properly study it. The government is asking that the two of you go along as well. You’re already in a quarantine situation, and you have first hand knowledge of what we’re dealing with. It is very important for National Security that you cooperate."

"What's going to happen with the people in Butler?" the pilot asked.

The Major shifted in his seat. “The Administration is in information gathering mode. We repositioned a satellite over Western Pennsylvania at about one this morning. We got a pretty good thermal mapping of Butler County, and it showed some pretty disturbing trends. It is important to understand that thermal traces are observable for up to 24 hours after death, and our equipment can see through structures. What we estimate is that 65 percent of observable heat traces in and around the city of Butler are post mortem traces. The normal thermals appear to be clustered in buildings or in the area of the County Airport.

The President has issued an order that he will not commit troops until we know how the contagion is spread.

“Is Pittsburgh being secured?” Davil asked.

“Pittsburgh,” the Major replied, “is fighting for its life as we speak.” His shoulders seem to sag a bit and he continued. “We also have reports of activity in Cleveland, Wheeling, Erie, and Harrisburg. In other words, as people are fleeing the area they are somehow spreading the infection.”

“Listen,” the pilot explained, “I have a family I have to get to. I’m not going with you guys.”

“If you try to leave, these soldiers have already been ordered to shoot you,” the Major said.

“You’re not doing shit, I have rights,” the pilot responded.

“Please,” Peggy cut in, “It’s obvious we have lives here and threats are the last thing going-”

The pilot stood up and flipped the table in the direction of the Major and his guards. One of the guards brought up his M-16 as the pilot turned to run for the door.

Peggy watched him flick off the safety, and she dove for the floor. The guard pulled the trigger and shot the pilot in the leg. The wound dropped the pilot who continued to slide on the floor for several feet.

"I had hoped we could be civilized about this," the Major said. "Restrain them both, I’m not going to take any other chances, and see to it that he gets that leg looked at."

Chapter Seven

Alison sat in the back seat of the black Mega Cab Dodge Ram that was safely inside a closed garage bay. Hours had passed as the group had listened to the radio. Eventually, everyone had fallen asleep except for Alison and Rex. He sat in the seat on her left directly behind the driver. While they were both awake, neither had said a word in hours. Alison spun her wedding ring on her finger; the activity kept her hands busy throughout the night. A teenaged girl, Brandi, slept on Alison's right shoulder; they had rescued her from the mall parking lot.