All the Dead Are Here (22 page)

“This is Eagle one, General, over,” a woman’s voice hissed and crackled over the radio.

“Kate, I found myself a beautiful spot for a picnic. How are the ants?”

“Sir, I got three swarms. About a thousand, one click to the North, around an old church. A bigger one to the south, maybe four thousand round a Mall about three clicks, and East we got a stadium with about six or eight, and that’s two clicks away. The Church looked fortified.”

“Survivors?”

“No Sir, overrun.”

“Damn.”

“Sir, there is something weird, though. About five clicks East there was a hella crater, someone blew the shit outta something and took out a huge swarm of Z. What’s weird is that there’s bits of instruments and shit around.”

“Scientific Instruments?”

“Musical Instruments!”

“Well remind me when I to get to Hell to find the sum bitches who threw them a party and thank them,” the General said dryly.

“Will do, Sir.”

“Ok hun, we are camping right here so get that whirlybird an’ yo sweet ass back to my location in twenty minutes. Until then you know the drill. Find me fuel and supplies.”

“Yes, Sir.”

The General turned to the Humvee, “Lieutenant, Corale is here. I want the ramps to that fella over there,” he waved towards the statue. “An’ I want them pointing down the road there. Give the boys a run up!”

“YES SIR!” came a voice from the Humvee.

Orders were barked in the vehicle behind but the General just stood admiring the view, hands on hips. The breeze felt fresh against his face after the heat of the Humvee and it reminded him that one day, when finished, he could stand like this again, free from the Z. One foot on the corpse below him, he thought about the position, the tactics, the fight. Finally, as the trucks rumbled in behind him, he took the short stub of the cigar from his mouth studied it for a moment, and flicked it in the face of the corpse below.
“Last cigar,”
he thought.

Thirty huge, modified trucks rumbled into view. They had dead-plough fronts and armoured windows covered with wire mesh. Heavy calibre guns were mounted on the top and on the left side of each truck, a huge aluminium plate extended down part way over the wheels and back from the end of the trailer, almost a full cab’s length. It also extended up about the top of the trailer about four feet. Behind the trucks, a tank, a tanker, a selection of Humvees and transport trucks. The General resumed his position on the bonnet of the Humvee and watched his army surround him.

Like an oiled machine the support vehicles joined the General in the centre as the trucks circled their position until one particular truck sat to the north. The leader stopped slowly and cut its engine. Behind that the next one manoeuvred into position so the cab sat behind the extended aluminium wall of the one in front. The driver nudged it forward until the steel clamps welded into the front, engaged with the clamps on the back of the truck ahead, setting the angle and position of the two vehicles perfectly and lighting a small green pillar lamp on top of the cab for all to see. Each vehicle joined the one in front to form a perfect ring of impenetrable aluminium wall. Then the General raised his arms and turned to the drivers of the trucks, spinning around as he did so. Then he lowered his arms and the sound of gas escaping from air shocks surrounded him until all the trucks lowered on their shocks and the bottom of the outer wall sat flat against the ground.

The men and women emerged from the vehicles, stretching and lighting cigarettes. Some jogged around the inside of the makeshift compound but they all looked tired and drawn. Some of them smoked and all of them walked away from their co-driver, anxious to talk to a fresh face after the long drive. The General decided to give them a few minutes respite and walked back to the command vehicle where his bunk and quarters lay.

Overhead the distant sound of a chopper echoed through the empty city as it approached and this spurred the crew into action. The way was cleared, the chopper landed in a whorl of grass and refuelled by the time Kate re-emerged from the Command Vehicle with the General. She was as tall as he was and Amazonian, yet her features were too unbalanced to be considered beautiful. However, as only one of twenty women from the two hundred men, she received attention, but all of it polite. The General would stand for no disrespect of women in his crew.

The men assembled slowly at the General’s approach until he indicated for silence. He paused. “It appears we have a unique opportunity, Ladies and Gentlemen.” He started to pace and removed his glasses, staring into the eyes of his troops. “I heard over the grapevine that General Tasker once took out ten thousand Zombies in one day... Can you imagine that..? Ten thousand Zombies in one day... I heard they were piled halfway up the trucks!” He held one hand high to illustrate. “Did you hear that, Hamilton?” He turned to a young Soldier who smiled.

“I did hear that, YES SIR.”

“Tell ’em Kate.” The General turned away as she stepped forward.

“North, one click, one thousand. South three clicks, four thousand and East two clicks, seven thousand.” The men shifted as they realised.

“How many does that make?” the General asked the soldier again.

“Erm...twelve thousand, Sir?”

“Twelve thousand... Now I make that two thousand more than General Tasker. Is my math correct, Soldier?”

“Sir, yes sir!” the soldier exclaimed.

The General, being a deeply religious man, then lead his troops in prayer, a solemn prayer of hope and fortitude against the coming fight. The troops lowered their head in reverence as the one thing demanded along with respect for women was respect for the Lord. Finally, with a solemn “Amen” the group raised their heads.

The General turned, addressing his men and his watch. “Now I make it ten thirty in the morning, so I want to be enjoying my picnic by midday. Get to it people!”

“Sir, YES SIR!” the troops exploded, before sprinting off. Trucks were unloaded of ammo, guns and equipment and scaffolding was built to reinforce the structure and create covered gun towers. Then lights and speakers were added and power cables back to the support vehicles were suspended above head height. On the lead truck, two large interconnected ramps were swung by A frame into position out from the edge of the fortress and locked hydraulically so they could be raised and lowered at will. In the centre of the support vehicle a tall scaffold tower was raised with a satellite dish and crow’s nest. Finally, at ten forty-eight, six bikes were raised up onto the raised truck. Their riders bent over a map on the crushed grass as the General developed the route. The plan was simple. Bring each swarm into the fortress one at a time, just tempting enough forward to thin them out and prevent a mass rush of thousands. The General once described it as reverse sheep herding. It seemed appropriate.

A few minutes later, with the briefing finished, Sergeant Jones led his team onto the roof of the lead bus. The ramps were lifted from ground level up to the side of the bus and the collection of battered trail bikes started. With a nod from the General, they rode down the ramp, across the park and roared down the street towards the North. Soon enough, the repeating drone of the bikes faded into the distance. With the bait gone, the men assumed their positions on top of each bus, armed and ready.

The General watched the bikers disappear into the distance from the top of the scaffold tower and reached into his pocket for the battered MP3 player. He connected it to the jack and cable that ran down into the control vehicle and pressed ‘Play’. There was a hum from the speakers ringing the compound out towards the city beyond and then Jimi Hendrix exploded from the speakers with ‘Fire’.

The General stood with large binoculars, looking out around the city for signs of attack and waited.

Around the compound the troops sat ready, but with feet tapping and heads nodding. One of the perks of the job was having music every day, even if it was under exceptional circumstances. It took a few minutes before a small group emerged from a subway station. They had obviously been commuters in their former lives. Females in twin set suits and males in shirt and ties with missing limbs and bite marks shambled towards the rumpus from the mobile fort. The General raised the microphone from his hook and pressed the button to cut into the wails of Jimi’s guitar.

“Weapons free,” he said calmly as each soldier cocked their weapon, metal clicking outshining the music for a second. As the small group approached, the fire team closest to them announced their targets. Given the rarity of ammo, not one shot would be wasted and the penalty for automatic fire was severe. Each member of the team announced their target to the others; they started from left to right and took a target matching their position.

“Short woman.”

“Business guy.”

“Nice brogues.”

“Black briefcase.”

The major identifying feature was called to ensure not one bullet was wasted. When the Z density increased this convention was dropped but when the small groups came before the swarm it was a good way of ensuring clean kills.

Targets assigned, they waited until the group was close, within a hundred feet of the compound. The first shots of the battle rang out and each of the small group flopped to the ground, each with a neat hole in the forehead. By the time this group had dropped, small cohorts of ten or twenty Zombies had appeared at other positions around the fort. These were dispatched clinically and after half an hour of dealing with ‘Randoms’, the drone of the bike team could be heard in the distance. The General looked far up the road to see the bikers ride for a hundred feet or so, three bikers taunting the Dead who shambled after them; three on lookout to ensure they weren’t jumped from a blindside.

In almost a year of operations, not one biker had been lost. Slowly, the bikers taunted the mass of Zombies forward until they could hear the music and gunfire. Now, certain the Zombies would be attracted by this, they whooped and hollered their way back to the ramps that had been raised to allow the bikes to get to the top of the truck. As soon as the bikers were in the ramps were dropped and the General announced, “North Swarm! Targets free!”

Immediately, fire teams that had little or nothing to do moved around the tops of the trucks to the north, leaving only a few spotters around. ‘Targets free’ dropped the naming convention and allowed free target selection. There were some wasted bullets but rapid fire and targeting was the price you paid, especially when the Z density increased to maximum fire capacity.

To the boffins back at base, killing the Z had become a science: a mathematical and statistical study in probability and consequence. The maximisation of resources and manpower had eclipsed all other scientific study to the point of obsession once the possibility of a cure had been discounted because of impracticability.

The percussion of gunfire continued, echoing around the city as the music rose and fell in the gaps between volleys. Not as singular as automatic fire, more random and controlled as each troop picked their targets then felled them, crumpling to the ground in waves, slowing their colleagues around them as they stumbled over the truly dead underfoot. After a few minutes, the tempo slowed as the group thinned, and the troops relaxed. The General looked at his watch, mentally calculating the distances and the walking speeds of the Dead.

“Jones. Get your boys out again. Group two East. Everyone, this is the big one,” he bellowed over the Tannoy.

The troops collected their gear, ammo and wits and moved around the tops of the trucks to the south side, footsteps pounding on the hollow aluminium of the truck roofs. They hunkered down behind the raised wall of the truck siding and waited. Inside the compound runners fetched water and magazines as the troops barked requests at them. The Bikers kicked their droning steeds into life and sped down the lowered ramp, around the mobile fortress and off though the city’s resonant canyons in search of more targets.

High up in his crow’s nest, the General reached for a cigar, finding none. He smelt sweat on the breeze and was wondering where it came from when a small voice from behind him squeaked,
“Whatcha doooin’?”

The General span to see a figure right behind him, wild eyed at the top of the ladder. Shocked, he lashed out to grab the figures’ skinny, bare arm, but his reactions were quick and he leant back over the balustrade out of the General’s reach. Quick as a flash, the General took his pistol and placed it square between the figure’s eyes. They stood stock still for a moment, the figure’s eyes crossed to look at the end of the gun.

“Well. That’s not very polite now, is it?” said the figure. The General stared at the dirty figure in front of him. Scum encrusted his mouth and eyes, and his wild grey hair and beard stank of sweat and grease. Yet his eyes were bright and blue and stared intently at the barrel not an inch from his face.

“Who the fuck are you and how did you get up here?” the General snarled.

“Who am I? There IS a question. I’m not the one who appeared in me park and started driving tanks all over the grass now am I? I’m not the one who started shooting up the place leaving stinky corpses everywhere? I should be the one asking questions shouldn’t I? Eh? Eh?” The figure flopped his head about as he questioned. The General’s eyes narrowed, but the muzzle of the gun didn’t waiver an inch. There was a commotion from below as the Lieutenant realised the General was not alone on his tower.