“Terminator, Summit-if they go underground, we’ll lose commo with them. That’s a non-starter, over.”
“Six, you want your troops coming back to you alive? If not, they’ll come back to you dead, and some of them might still remember how to use their guns. It is what it is, Six. Get ‘em underground and save some of them, or lose them all. Over.”
Summit Six’s voice was grim. “Roger that, Terminator. Thanks for the assist. We’ll see what we can do about getting you some transport out of there. Falcon will remain on this frequency. Summit Six, out.” The infantry commander disappeared from the radio before Gartrell could reply.
How rude, he thought.
“Ah, Terminator, this is Falcon Four, over.”
“Go ahead, Falcon.”
“Terminator, Falcon…look, thanks for trying to help our guys out. I hear the colonel now, he’s ordering everyone to either fall back or get into the subway tunnels if they can. It sounds like it’s probably their only chance, and no one here was even thinking that way before you brought it up. Over.”
“Falcon, if you’re trying to cheer me up by painting me was a genius among idiots, do note that I’m currently depending on those same idiots to save my ass, along with the two civilians I’m trapped behind the lines with. Over.”
“Roger that, Terminator.”
“Falcon, Terminator. Can you give me a run-down on what’s been happening over the past twenty-four hours or so? I’ve been a bit out of the loop, and Terminator Six took the sat phone so I haven’t exactly been able to keep tabs on current events. Over.”
There was a long pause before Falcon came back. “Terminator, this is Falcon. I don’t know how much I can tell you, but things aren’t improving. We’re trying to contain New York City, but there are outbreaks happening all over the country. Mostly on the East Coast, I think. Florida, DC, the Carolinas, Maryland, New Jersey…seems like wherever there’s a major seaport, these things are getting in. Homeland Security is trying to lock down the coastline, but that’s not really happening. All airspace has been sanitized for the past eighteen hours after a plane landed in Chicago with zeds on it. Don’t know much about the West Coast, but things have been pretty quiet over there. Over.”
“Falcon, Terminator. What about Europe? Over.”
“Ah…Terminator, I’m not sure. Russia’s gone dark, and a lot of Eastern Europe too. Germany and France are fighting zeds in their own countries. Seems like Britain and Switzerland are still hanging tough, along with the northern European countries, but beyond that, I don’t really know. The BBC was still broadcasting last I knew, but I haven’t been able to check into that lately.” There was another pause. “Sorry man, the questions you’re asking are way above my pay grade right now. Over.”
Gartrell digested that for a long moment. The news, while not unexpected, was still chilling. Was the United States falling before a…a zombie apocalypse, like in the movie Dawn of the Dead?
Jesus, what about Laurie and the kids? Is the cabin remote enough? Can they get to it? Can they defend it?
“Terminator, you still there? Over.”
Gartrell pushed the thoughts of his family away for the moment. “Roger that, Falcon. Terminator’s still here. Listen, when do you think you might be able to report back on an extraction? I’m here with a mother and a special needs child. If things go to hell, I’m going to be in a pretty tough spot. Over.”
“Terminator, Falcon. Roger that, I get what you’re saying. We’re going to do our very best, but for the time being, you’d better just lay low. Over.”
“Falcon, listen to me. I’ve been in this position just a few hours ago, and we had a fortified location with enough food and water to last for weeks. We had several Special Forces hooahs and troops from the 160 SOAR to keep the goblins at bay, and we still got pushed out. These things, they can bring a hell of a lot of mass to bear. I’m in a fourth floor apartment, man. If these things decide they want to come up and see what’s on the menu, the only thing that’s standing between the stenches and a kid and his mother is me, and I’ve got about ten seconds of combat time before I’m weapons dry. I don’t mean to sound like my mascara is starting to run, but you get what I’m saying here? Over.”
“Roger that, Terminator. Get what you’re saying a hundred percent. But I’m telling you the truth, we don’t have the assets to get you out just yet. I’ve heard there are some Chinooks spooling up from a Pennsylvania National Guard unit-other ‘Hook units from Connecticut and upstate New York are standing up now. Those are your best shot, but they’re not here yet. As soon as they come in, we’ll send something your way. Even sooner if another unit makes it on site, but for now, you have to wait. Over.” Falcon sounded sincere enough, but Gartrell knew the man was just a public affairs officer. How much horsepower could he possibly have? Even though PAOs were part of the Army structure, Gartrell had very little faith in a media wrangler whose only job was to blow sunshine through innocuous press releases.
“Falcon, this is Terminator. Roger your last. We’ll keep our heads down and do the best we can until we can get some support. What do you recommend for a contact schedule? Over.”
“Terminator, Falcon Four. Let’s talk in sixty minutes, hooah?”
“Roger Falcon, sixty minutes. Terminator Five, out.”
Gartrell slowly removed his radio headset and rubbed his eyes. Despite having fallen into a dreamless sleep, he still felt exhausted. And his body ached-all his joints were stiff and sore, and his thigh muscles twitched and burned. He forced himself to his feet and walked into the microscopic bathroom that adjoined the bedroom. A shower stall was to his left. To his right was the toilet, and dead ahead was a small sink with a medicine cabinet. He looked at his face in the mirror there, and was surprised to see just how haggard and run-down he looked. His cheeks, chin, and neck were covered with blond-brown razor stubble that was sprinkled liberally with gray. The creases in his forehead and the wrinkles around his dark eyes and mouth seemed as deep as canyons. The skin beneath his eyes was puffy, and dirt marred his features, serving only to exacerbate his overall unhealthy look. He looked at his hands. They were covered with grime, as was his uniform. First Sergeant David Gartrell definitely looked like a troop who had been to hell and back again.
And to think it’s only starting.
He opened the medicine cabinet. Inside was a box of cotton balls, rubbing alcohol, hydrogen peroxide, a tiny bottle of Tylenol that expired almost a year ago. He opened it and dry-swallowed two of the caplets inside, then turned to the toilet. After he lifted the lid and undid his trousers, he hesitated for a moment. The water in the toilet bowl was clear and clean. Water might soon become a precious resource. He turned and pissed into the sink instead, and listened to his urine wind its way down the drain. He was certain the lady of the house would disapprove of his measures, but if she ever discovered his transgression and made to complain, he would remind her of his foresight should it ever come to pass they needed the water in the toilet bowl. Just the same, when he was finished he opened the sink faucet. A small stream of water trickled out before the pipe started burping air, and he turned it off quickly. At least enough water had run down the drain to reduce the smell of his urine.
And it’s the small pleasures I take comfort in, he thought.
He then inventoried his gear.
The rest of the apartment was dark and gloomy with the shades drawn. Gartrell stepped quietly into the kitchen and took a quick inventory of the items out in plain view. Ignoring the usual fixtures-microwave, toaster, coffee maker (God, some Joe would taste fucking awesome right now, he thought), other kitchen appliances-he saw there were bags of chips, half a case of bottled water, four two-liter bottles of Pepsi, a box of cookies, half a loaf of Martin’s potato bread. He smelled something rank and sour coming from the stainless steel waste can standing near the doorway to the dining room. It was the stench of feces, still odious beneath a liberal dose of Lysol. He wrinkled his nose in disgust and slowly walked into the dining room.