I handed the binoculars to Doc. After a few seconds of looking, he handed them back to me and spit on the ground in front of us. “Ugh. Fucking Reaver jerkoffs.” I couldn’t stand them either. Zombies I killed without passion. They were what they were. People trying to survive I left alone if they let me alone, and helped them out when I could. Cannibals we shot on the spot, if there was evidence of it. Mad Maxes though, were scumbags who preyed on other survivors. Looting and stealing, killing just for the sheer fun of it. Many of them were criminals who hadn’t really been able to function in the real world anyway. They loved the mayhem the Zombie Apocalypse created. Some people called them “Mad Maxes”. Others called them “Reavers”. Didn’t matter what you called them, they had no place in society if we were going to claw our way out of this mess.
“Look at that shit, they even have a frigging pirate flag hanging off the ass end.”
Apparently someone in command at the base had noticed it too, because I heard a cheer go up around me and turned to look. A makeshift flag pole had been set up on the highest point of the island, and up it ran the stars and stripes. At that, the ship started to turn away and the guys in the assault boat put it into high gear.
The guy in the next hole yelled, “Hell yes, there’s a new sheriff in town, Scumbags!” just as the ship started firing at the assault boat with rifle and a smattering of machine gun fire. Ahmed leaned forward, put his eye to his rifle scope and shot the man who was working the heavy gun on the back of the craft. The assault boat swerved away under full power.
Doc racked a round into the 19 and started walking grenades toward the ship but they were just out of range. Tracers were already reaching out to it from the .50 caliber set next to us when an enormous CRACK came from the western howitzer position, and the ship exploded in a muffled BOOM that echoed across the water. A high explosive round with a point-detonating fuse, fired over an open site from the 105 mm howitzer, had impacted on the steel plate welded to the back deck and blown the ship in half. The front half started to burn, while the rear sank quickly into the water. As we watched, burning figures jumped from the wheelhouse into the water. Ahmed shot them as they fell, muttering a prayer for mercy as he fired.
The assault boat moved in after the front half had slipped beneath the water, leaving a patch of burning oil on the surface. I watched them through my binos as they went from body to body, pulling each one up to check for signs of life, to see if we could get a prisoner. They turned back empty.
Chapter 6
Someone, I don’t remember who, once said that all warfare is logistics. That never held more truth than when fighting Zombies. One on one, maybe, you can beat a zombie, though they are strong, and once they start attacking, they never, ever stop. More than one, unarmed, you’re dead, or even worse, joining their ranks, if your heart doesn’t give out fast enough. A baseball bat or some other kind of knocker, you can hold out for a while, but having more than a few around you, you’re going to get swamped, like Jonesy when he went down fighting at West Point.
The key to beating zombies is equipment and keeping your distance. Ammunition, working weapons, and most important, a solid defense. I’ll sit all day behind a concrete wall and poke zombies through a murder hole with a spear, provided too many bodies don’t pile up and they start climbing over the wall. After that happens, of course, you’re screwed.
With that in mind and not knowing where our destination was, Doc, Brit and I sat down and started working on a packing list. It was going to be an airborne insertion, and I had no faith in the Navy coming to pull us out in time, so I wanted a pallet to be dropped with us. Screw that, I wanted two pallets, each a duplicate of the other. I was pretty sure we would have to settle for one, though.
What we came up with, after more than an hour of deliberating and arguing was:
• Ammunition:
— 20,000 rounds of .22 magnum ammunition for our rifles, preloaded into 50 round magazines
— 1000 rounds of 7.62 for Ahmed’s rifle
— 2000 rounds of straight .22 for our pistols
— 3 spare rifles and 3 spare pistols
— 1 case of thumpers
— Three AT-4 anti-tank rockets. If we needed to blow a hole in the side of a building, we were going to need to do it fast.
I wasn’t sure we were going to get that much ammo, much less the magazines, but I left that up to Brit to try to wheedle it out of the fat supply sergeant up at Fort Orange.
• Demolition Supplies:
— 5kw Generator, along with a spare parts set. Electricity was a huge combat multiplier.
— 20 gallons of gasoline. I was sure we would be able to scrounge more, but I didn’t want to count on it. Along with that I added 3 empty 5 gallon fuel cans, and a fuel filtering unit. A lot of the gas you could scrounge from cars had gone bad with water contamination. I also added a hand-cranked fuel pump and 20 feet of rubber hose.
— Six 100’ extension cords
— 3 drills, along with screws, hammers, and nails
— 2 sledge hammers and two axes
— 500 feet of ¼” steel cable, in 50’ lengths. We had found this useful strung up either ankle- or chest-high. It often stopped or seriously delayed a horde of zombies.
— 2 electric saws-alls, along with a gasoline-powered demolition saw
— 5 lbs of C-4, along with blasting caps. I let Doc deal with that. I don’t like explosives, never did, but I wanted the ability to drop a building if I had to.
— 10 sets of halogen worklight bulbs. I could probably scrounge lights themselves, since there were hardware stores all over the city, and lights were the last thing looters went after. Night vision equipment was great but I wanted the ability to light up any field of fire we had. It would save ammunition and fighting in the light is always better for morale.
— Two 15’ collapsible assault ladders. In the city, many of the older buildings had floors that more than twelve feet apart. They could also be used to span an alley between roofs.
• Portable water purification unit., along with 30 gallons of water in 5 gallon cans.
• Three cases of MREs, along with 5 rolls of toilet paper. Never forget that.
Brit finished making a copy of the list and sent it by e-mail to the S-4 section at Fort Orange.
“I’m probably going to go up there to make this happen myself,” she said, “but I know a supply sergeant who owes me some, um, favors.” She shot me a guilty look, the “we need to talk” look. I nodded at her.
Doc pulled out his Garmin and brought up the local hardware stores. “Well, looks like we have to go raid a Home Depot. According to the GPS, there is one in Fishkill on Route 9. I’ll see if I can get some air support and fly in instead of a boat mission.”
“I’m going to go over the Infantry, see if we can get a couple more guys for this mission. I think Killian and two more riflemen would be good. They can make their own fire team. Let’s plan on doing the scrounge mission tomorrow at noon. You know the drill, pre-combat checks and inspections.”
We broke up and went our separate ways to start getting ready. Brit followed me on my way over to the Infantry Command Post.
“Nick, we need to talk.”
I hated those words. I’d rather hear a full horde screaming the zombie moan than hear a woman say that.
“OK, Brit, go ahead.”