“Well, you all know what a mess things are out there in the wild, and how hard it is to get trained replacements on a regular basis. Anyone left out in the wild is obviously a survivor, used to living in areas that are infested. So the Irregular Scout Teams are composed of Regular Army, Reservists and civilians.” From the back of the auditorium Brit let out a yell. “That’s me, sucking the taxpayer’s tit!” The guys (and not a few ladies) laughed.
“Keep the comments from the peanut gallery down, please.” I continued on.
“Currently there are six”
“FIVE!” yelled Brit.
“Yes, sorry, five Irregular Scout Teams. Our business is a bit hazardous. We have had a roughly, um, three hundred percent casualty rate over the last year.”
A Captain in the first row spoke up. “Three hundred percent? Is that a bit much?”
“Sir, we do a very dangerous job. We’re out there all alone, trying to avoid zombies and people who would just as soon shoot us as welcome us. Last two missions, we lost, um, let’s see…” I added them together in my head. Ski, Jacob, Jonesy, Mya, Killeen dead, Redshirt, Brit and Desen wounded. “We’ve had 5 KIA, and 3 WIA. For an eight man team, that’s 100% casualties. IST-4 was wiped out to a man last week in Philadelphia.”
I turned my attention to the rest of the crowd. “We’re here today and for the next couple of weeks to help you understand a little more about fighting zombies, using the information that teams such as ours can bring you, and help you pass the info along to your trainees. We’re all volunteers, so whether we live or die, we will get you the information you need to do your jobs.”
Redshirt started a PowerPoint briefing, and a collective groan arose from the crowd. “Shit, not PowerPoint!” said someone in the back row. I grinned an evil grin and said, “Next slide, please!”
A picture of multiple undead appeared on the screen and I launched into the spiel I had been working on all night.
“First off, we’re not here to talk about the “why” of the Zombie Apocalypse. It happened, and no one knows why. Nor are we any closer to figuring out what a zombie actually is. Our job is to kill them. Actually, your job is to kill them. Ours is to scout areas you may be going into so that you don’t get your asses handed to you.”
“The very first thing your troops need to remember is that you are smarter than a zombie. Well, some of you. We’ll leave the junior officers out of this for now.” That brought a laugh from the crowd.
“The reason most people die out in the wild is they don’t use their heads. If you just use some freaking common sense, you can live out there. My team members back there, the two civilians,” I said, indicating Brit and Ziv, “did it for two years.”
Then we got down to the serious business. How zombies found you. Where they concentrated. How to avoid them. How to kill them. How to avoid getting killed or turned by them.
“I see all of you are wearing the new multicam uniforms. Notice the heavy kevlar panels sewn into the sleeves. Yeah, they are annoying, but if you cram your arm into a zombie’s mouth and let him chew on that for a few seconds, it will give you time to shoot or smash their brains. Just don’t inhale when it splatters back at you. Also, the hoods attached to the blouse can and will protect your head and necks from being bitten.”
After a break, Doc moved onto a session about emergency battlefield medicine.
“The one thing I can tell you, the one thing you must get these kids to understand, is that an infected soldier will turn into a Z quickly and break your lines. Many of you have seen that. As leaders, don’t be afraid to neutralize a former soldier of yours. There is no room for compassion.”
That didn’t sit well with the crowd. One of them raised a hand. “What if we, you know, cut off an arm or leg or something?”
“Are you willing to take that chance with the rest of your soldiers? In the middle of a zombie swarm? No. just shoot him. You will be doing him and your soldiers a favor.”
We finally broke for lunch. It was going to be a very long day.
Chapter 22
When I woke up it was pitch black. I tried to sit up but a strap was across my chest and another held down my legs. I lay back as the incredible stench of zombie hit me. Rotting putrid meat smell, and I gagged, trying not to throw up.
I lay there for several minutes, trying to figure out what was going on. I heard nothing. If there were Zs close by, if I smelled them that strongly, I should have heard them by now. I did hear something. Someone was breathing regularly, the deep breathing of sleep.
Last thing I remembered, Brit and I had been eating dinner at the mess hall on North Fort Lewis When you find yourself in tough situation, the number one rule is to not panic.
“Damn,” I muttered to myself. “No towel.”
As I said that, I heard a door open in the darkness and bright lights flickered on, just as I closed my eyes. I blinked them open after giving myself time to adjust, then lifted my head to look around.
To my left, strapped to a table just like I was, lay Brit, out cold. In front of me, accompanied by one of her goons, stood Dr. Morano.
“Nice shiner you got there, Bro. Can’t say it helps your looks,” I said to the Delta Operator. His right eye and jaw were black and green where Ziv had punched him at the restaurant two days ago. He started toward me, but Morano put her hand up.
“Sergeant Agostine, so glad to see you’re awake. Did you have a good sleep?” She smiled at me, but I could still see the red marks around her neck where Brit had tried to choke her. She started washing her hands leisurely at the sink.
“I actually feel like crap. Nice place you have here.” It was a lab, with several other tables and, over in one corner, a pile of severed body parts, including a head that kept snapping its jaws. The red eyes stared at me. “Actually, I think you need a new housekeeper.”
“I admire flippancy in the face of adverse conditions. Don’t worry, Nick, I’m not going to kill you. Or Ms. O’Neill, either. We live in civilized times, do we not?” She walked over to a cart with several instruments loaded into it, picked up a needle and a bottle, examined the contents and withdrew some clear liquid into the needle. She swapped out the used needle for a new one
She walked over to Brit. “For example, you’ve merely inconvenienced me. You haven’t killed anyone I love or who works for me, so why should I kill you, or any of your associates? Your little girlfriend here, however, did embarrass me at the restaurant the other night.” she said, wiping an alcohol swap around the corner of Brit’s right eye.
“What about Specialist Mya? She’s dead because of you.”
“Ah yes. Well, the nerve agent wouldn’t have worked on zombies anyway. It didn’t in the lab, but I thought it might in a field experiment. I can’t help it if your troops have no discipline, Sergeant.” She put on a pair of gloves.
She stood with her back to me, and moved so I couldn’t see what she was doing. I kept straining my neck to see. She stepped back and threw the needle into a disposal chute.
“Johanson, let’s go. Nick, before you swear revenge, or whatever your stupid moronic code of honor demands, remember this: I can get to you anywhere, any time. The Army needs me and my program, and they give me carte blanche to do whatever I want. I’ve arranged a nice little vacation for you and your friends in Denver. Please do have a good time.”
“Revenge? For tying me and Brit up like this? This is all you’ve got?”