“Faith, I think you’re less sane than Charles Manson…”
CHAPTER 26
“The Trans-Canada highway is clear of infected from Wawa to Thunder Bay. Long ride on a snowmobile, ey? But at least the Mounties weren’t on me for speeding…”
“That’s no space station,” Faith said, looking up at the island of Saba. “That’s a moon!”
Saba was quite simply a currently inactive volcano rising up out of the Caribbean Sea. It looked like a shorter version of Mount Rainier with fewer trees. There was a small “harbor” big enough to get a few yachts in and cliffs with straggling bright green vegetation trying to keep hold.
From the satellites and the limited intel on the island, the main town, “The Bottom,” was at the top of the mountain in the caldera of the extinct volcano. The entire area had been cloudy during the one direct overhead pass and images were blurred. They, thus, had no intel on survivors or probable infected numbers. From her own experience, right at eight hundred infected would be about right.
“Now fill it with twenty-eight thousand heavily armed, fanatical, Japanese soldiers in bunkers and you’ve got some idea what taking Iwo Jima was like, Lieutenant,” Gunnery Sergeant Sands said. “It’s even got a sulfur mine.”
Faith thought about it for a few seconds, took another look through the binoculars and shook her head.
“There’s no way,” she said. “Taking this place against an armed force would be impossible.”
“Not for the United States Marine Corps, Lieutenant,” Gunny Sands said proudly.
“That climb is going to be a bitch,” Faith said, looking up at what could be seen of the road. Seeing the island on the satellite overhead had not prepared her for the reality.
“No, Lieutenant,” Sands said, pointing at the vertical cliffs. “Climbing that would be a bitch, ma’am. And if that was what it took to complete the mission, that is what we would do, ma’am. Climbing the road will be a minor hump. Especially compared to some of the stuff we’ve done in Afghanistan.”
“Point,” Faith said, nodding. “Very valid point, Gunnery Sergeant. Never thought of Marines as mountain climbers but… Well, time to get it on and go for a little stroll. And we’d better make sure everybody drinks!”
It was ninety degrees and despite the trade winds the conditions were sweltering.
“Aye, aye, ma’am,” Gunny Sands said, smiling slightly.
“I think we need to stay frosty on this one, Gunny,” Faith said as they landed on the small breakwater. She had gotten a pretty good feel for how many infected to expect the Navy to chew up compared to the population density. Total pre-plague population of Saba in the off-season was about 1800. From that and given only two “clearance” points, the other on the far side of the island, there should have been about three hundred infected chewed up on the beach. There were barely twenty.
“Not enough carrion, ma’am?” Gunny Sands said.
“Not nearly enough,” Faith replied. “I want us to proceed with caution on this one. There’s going to be a concentration, somewhere. In The Bottom would be the most obvious choice. We’re going to do a hold for more two-forty ammo and I’m going to go ‘coordinate’ with the Navy landing force.”
“That’s not enough bodies, Sis,” Sophia said, gesturing with her chin to the small pile.
“Noticed that,” Faith said. “My guess is most of the rest are going to be in the Bottom. From there they just wouldn’t have noticed the lights and sound. And even if they did they might not have been able to find this place. I’m bringing up more two-forty ammo. My intent is to move up to the pass, then recon the objective. We may need resupply runs and, as usual in the fricking Caribbean, there aren’t any cars.”
There were a few cars. Tidal surge had pushed most of them off into the harbor or the surrounding waters. The few on land were on their sides or, in one case, high-sided on a wall. It must have been one hell of a storm.
“You think your people can hump the ammo or do we need to come back for it?”
“We can do that,” Sophia said, nodding. “I mean, if you’ve got the people free…But if you need it we’re there.”
“I’m going to commo up with higher,” Faith said. “Get approvals on that. But I’m pretty sure we’re going to need the support at some point….”
“That’s the sitrep, Force. Hotwash is majority threat not say again not eliminated by Naval fire. Request on-call materials support from NavLand if necessary, over.”
“Understood,” Hamilton said, nodding. “Concur. Note: Personnel not materially prepared for scrum. Avoid physical engagement.”
“Concur, Force. Not interested in scrumming in regular uniform. Any further, over?”
“Negative,” Hamilton said, looking at the narrow road up to the main town. “Use caution and in this case will remind you of Maxim Thirty-Seven.”
“Maxim Thirty-Seven, aye, Force. That’s why we’re calling for more ammo. First Platoon, out.”
“Maxim Thirty-Seven?” Ernest Zumwald asked curiously. The former Hollywood executive had rendezvoused with the Force at sea during the crossing and had been designated to “handle” the refugees from St. Barts who couldn’t figure out that a zombie apocalypse trumped “do you know who I am?” He was getting ready for the first meeting on the subject and “touching base” with the colonel on what he’d like covered.
“There is no overkill,” Colonel Hamilton said. “There is only ‘Open Fire’ and ‘Cover me while I reload!’”
“Cover me while I reload!” Sergeant Smith shouted, ripping out another magazine.
The road up from the harbor to the pass had been nearly straight uphill, twisting back and forth through a narrow gorge but only hairpinning once. The road was broken concrete with a small “curb” less than knee height on the sweating Marines marching up it. The sides were nearly vertical walls of rough pumice with viney vegetation and straggling grasses covering the black earth and rock. The vegetation hadn’t been enough to keep the material together in one or more tropical storms: there were several washouts and landslides, one of them completely covering the road in dirt and rock.
But there had also been zero infected. Apparently all the ones with territories on the seaward side had turned up for the party.
The road down from the pass hairpinned several times. At one point there was a small turnaround or water run-off point, Faith wasn’t sure which. But it was a large enough, fairly open area that was protected on most sides by vertical rock walls or the road cuts of the road itself with a good overlook of the terrain. She had had the platoon hold there while they evaluated the situation.
Barely had the Marines dropped their rucks when the first infected came into view. Smitty had, on orders, taken it out with a single aimed shot. Even with a stock M4, a Marine Scout Sniper does that sort of thing. Then the birds had descended. Then more infected had showed up to see what the birds were eating. Then more. And more. And then they realized the Marines on the overlook were fresh meat.
There was a trail of bodies from the hairpin where the first infected had been killed. And it was getting inexorably closer to the Marines as more and more and MORE infected turned up for the feast. The only good part was, the terrain was so steep they were channeled into the road.
“Grenades!” Faith yelled as the lead group of infected got within thirty meters.