We reached the bridge over the Hudson where the highway turns into Hoosick Street, just as the sun was rising in the East. The sky was light above the hills, but down in the river valley, it was still covered in shadows. As we pulled up to the barricade that stretched across the bridge, Jonesy let loose with a burst from the 240B machine gun in the turret to call the Zombies, aiming it out over the water. The gunshots echoed through the dead city on either side of the river, and immediately on the other side of the barrier the Zombie moan started, first one, then more as they started to stumble toward the sound of the shots. All along the Hudson, all the way down the river to Newburgh, Army Engineers had built a barricade across each bridge, a ten foot high barrier that stretched across the width of the bridge. There was a lockable, heavy wooden gate that could be opened to let vehicles through, and a ladder on either side that would allow people to climb up and over. Sensors and cameras were embedded in the barrier to let the troops in the Operations center know if anyone was passing through. These walls were put up to keep the Zombies on the east side of the Hudson from crossing over to the west side and re-contaminating any cleared areas. The same was true for the bridges over the Mohawk River and just about any other major bridge. It was SOP for the Army when they went in to clear an area. Either build it, or blow it, and isolate an area. Zombies can cross water, but don’t like to, so rivers made a great barrier to them.
I jumped out and climbed the ladder, up into the tower that overlooked the rest of the bridge, being careful to keep out of the camera angles. There were a dozen Zs there already, and more were moving west onto the bridge. Their red eyes glowed faintly in the shadow of the hills, and that annoying, harsh moan was starting to get to me. It made me want to puke, and my nerves were getting jangled. I yanked out the power cables that ran to the solar collectors. Now no one was monitoring the bridge. In a couple of hours, a patrol would come out by Humvee or chopper and find the damage, but we had time. The monitors failed at a pretty good rate.
Brit was climbing down slowly from the truck. I could see she was still hurting from her wound, and I didn’t want her to tear any of her surgical staples. The sooner we got her back to a clean environment, the better.
Ahmed was, as always, pulling security, looking back down the highway to keep an eye on our rear. Doc and Jonesy hauled LTC Jackass out of the back of the truck, dumping him roughly on the ground. I took his hood off and ripped the tape from his mouth. He immediately started cursing all of us, telling us how he was going to have us arrested, shot, thrown in Leavenworth.
I let him rant a little to remind me why we were doing this. Then I pulled out my .22 pistol and pointed it at his face. That shut him up, but I’ll give him credit. He pissed his pants again, but still looked me in the eye.
“Lieutenant Colonel MacDonald, you tried to kill me and every member of my team. You were going to let Brit die. You bombed our home. As far as I’m concerned, you are responsible for killing more than thirty civilians when you shelled St. Johnsville, despite me telling you that there were civilians holed up there. You’re going to do it again, next chance you get. All for your glory.”
He started to argue but I slapped tape back over his mouth. I didn’t want to hear his excuses. Jonesy and I carried him up the ladder, walked across the top of the wall, and dropped him into the waiting arms of the Zombies. I’m not even sure he screamed.
“What, no long speech or convoluted plot to torture LTC Jackass?” asked Doc.
I made a cutting gesture across my throat. “Screw that. I hated those movies where you have someone in your sights, and you take time to talk to them, or leave them tied up someplace to save them for later, then they get away. As far as I’m concerned, you have a chance to kill someone who needs killing, you go ahead and do it. Just like Captain Mal says.”
“Damn, Nick, you are one stone-cold prick. And you gotta stop watching Firefly reruns,” said Jonesy.
“Jonesy, you weren’t there in St. Johnsville. I said thirty civilians. It was adults and about twenty-five children, from what I could tell from the amount of body parts. Kids. Toddlers. They’d held out for almost two years, and fought so damn hard to protect those children. Along comes that asswipe and he just levels the town. He had me arrested when I tried to countermand his orders over the Fires Net.”
Below me, the Zs we gnawing on the still-struggling LTC Jackass. He gave one last thrash, then died.
“I had to go in there for “effects assessment” because that asshole had to try out his new toys, see how well they did. Do you know what a couple hundred steel bearings do to a three year-old?”
I leaned over and spit on the still corpse of LTC Jackass, watching. I didn’t have long to wait. It struggled to stand, collapsing on one chewed off leg. Funny, but as soon as you were dead, the Zs often left you alone. It was as if they just wanted your life. That to me was even scarier than them eating your brains.
I leaned over and put two .22 rounds into the ranger brush cut of the fresh Zombie and it crumpled to the ground.
“What the hell did you do that for?” asked Doc.
“I may be a prick, like Jonesy said, but I’m not that much of a prick to leave him like that,” I said. “Next stop, Firebase Benedict.”
We rolled south on Interstate 787, taking the lane cleared by the Engineers. Occasionally we drove over a Zombie that had wandered onto the highway. The truck had an inverted V of metal welded onto the front, kinda like an old “cow catcher” that trains had on in the Old West. Hit a Z, and it got tossed to one side.
Brit drove, happy to be doing something after being confined to a hospital bed for more than two weeks. Every now and then she would see a Z on the road ahead, stomp on the gas and swerve to hit it. One splattered up and over the hood, spraying the windshield with blood. She laughed hysterically and hit the wipers.
“What the F is wrong with you, woman?” I yelled, trying to hold onto the radio mount so I didn’t get banged around. HUMVEE’s aren’t full of soft round leather curves. They are full of sharp, metal angles that will beat the crap out of you.
“I like to see them pop, and you gotta have some speed or else they just get crumbly. Hit them hard enough, and they pop.” She laughed maniacally, her deep, evil-villain laugh.
“You seriously need to get laid, woman!” yelled Jonesy from up in the turret.
“Ya think? How about it, J, you and me? Once you go white, you never go, ah… damn, nothing rhymes with white!”
“Where do I pick a number?”
“Get in line, Superstud.”
It was all good. My team was back together again.