Page 26 of Redemption
Waverly, a Staff Sergeant like me but from another platoon, forces our focus on him for a moment. His brows, dripping with sweat, turn down with concentration as a plan formulates behind his gaze. “Fuck. Ok. Listen up. I think we should make for the bunkers under base,” he suggests.
The men who came with him nod approvingly, eagerly taking his direction, while the lower ranks from my platoon look to one another with clear confusion lining their faces, not necessarily trusting the leadership of the new sergeant they’ve yet to vet. I look back to Waverly in contemplation, turning over the schematics of his suggestion.
The subterranean bunkers were prepared years ago and stocked with everything from shelf-sustainable food rations and supplies to enough weaponry and technology to withstand a nuclear attack for months. Beneath the surface, it resembled that of a berthing commonly found on naval ships. Rows and rows of bunks layered on top of one another provided sleeping quarters, while other areas of the bunker held office settings used to house the communications technology as well as weapons and ammunition, food rations, medical supplies, and anything else a person might need if they found themselves in the midst of a nuclear war. Or, in our case, a domestic, biologically hostile epidemic. They’re nothing luxurious, but they’re at least someplace safe and out of reach from any infected individuals.
Good enough for me.
Once I agree with Waverly, the rest of my unit nod as well, trusting my guidance as their Staff NCO.
“Ok. There’s an access point not too far from here. Follow me!”
I readjust my grip on my weapon and motion for the others to follow him as I take up the rear and look out for my guys, making sure no one gets left behind. Almost immediately after we leave the building’s cover, however, we’re ambushed. It’s like everyone that was alive minutes ago has contracted the virus and is in the throes of transitioning. Dozens turning into hundreds at the flip of a coin. The rapid rate of contagion, terrifying. The souls I once molded, trained, and fought with now look back at me with vacant and soulless eyes. Rage, helplessness, and sorrow have taken over as they rush at us, now fighting on the opposite side of the war.
Conley, a saw gunner from 2ndPlatoon, turns my way, hunger in his whitened, hollow stare as frothing drool falls from his lips. My eyes widen at his vacant expression. Like his mind has been emptied of every thought except for the insatiable desire to kill. To consume. To devour.
Like a zombie...
I remember him being a blue-eyed dreamer, bragging about his girlfriend from back home in Ohio and about how much he loved football. A Buckeye fan, through and through, made even better when his girlfriend went to Ohio State and was one of their cheerleaders. A few months ago, he was even talking about how he wanted to surprise her at a game next season and propose to her on the fifty-yard line. But, with a deafening growl, the memories fade as he charges, absolutely nothing standing in his way between us besides the future plans he so meticulously laid out, now shattered to dust. Tears fallfrom my face as I step towards him and sink my knife into his skull.
With so many movies, TV shows, and books illustrating what a viral contagion would look like, you would think you could rely on your imagination to prepare you for the worst. For how you’d expect an outbreak of this magnitude to be. But it only helped so much, and not nearly enough.
We knew that it was highly contagious. The symptoms. The signs. But never did they say the infected would become hostile. That they would turn and attack their best friend, killing them within seconds as they bit their windpipe right out of their neck.
Turning away from Conley, I stare at the scene unfolding not even ten feet from where I stand. Unable to move. Unable to breathe. Unable to process what’s happening right now.
That’s PFC Sanbar. I knew him from one of the other squads in our platoon. He and Lance Corporal Duggins were thick as thieves, always getting in trouble and doing stupid shit together. Last I saw, they were hauling that cargo trolley across the lawn, joking around and helping one another get through the unconventional punishment.
They’re still together, but not as I’ve ever seen before. Sanbar’s lifeless body lies drenched in his own blood, spread out upon the grass, while Duggins hovers over him, his teeth gnashing together as he rips his brother apart right in front of me. Time slows. Sound muffles. Eyesight begins to fade on the edges. I’m frozen, watching the horror play out, knowing, without a shadow of a doubt, that I could be next.
A sharp pull comes from my right as Waverly grabs me, pulling me behind him as he takes out another hostile with agunshot to the face. He turns to me, pulling my focus back to our mission, my shock at the utter destruction in front of me causing me to hesitate one second too long.
That’s never happened to me before.
I’ve been deployed over six times since I joined. All to active war zones. I’ve seen guys get shot, blown up, and lose limbs right in front of my eyes. Hell, I’ve gotten shot before.
But this…
Nothing could’ve prepared a person for this except living it.
“MOVE!” He instructs me where to go, then pushes me in front of him, choosing to take the rear while I fix my fucking head. If I don’t pull myself together, more people will get killed, and that will be on me.Myfault. I need to get them to safety... at all costs. No excuses. I can fall apart and put my pieces back together once they’re secured.
“Good to go, Staff Sarge?” Corporal Weitz asks. I don’t have any words yet, so I simply nod in return. Andrew and I went to boot camp together, but I was the son of a bitch that got my rank sooner. I suddenly no longer want it, but I have no fucking choice. They’re all my responsibility now.
Forcing myself back to the here and now, I pick up the pace, pushing my team to the checkpoint, fighting everything that comes our way because that’s my job. My purpose. My mission. There is nothing else. Only survival.
We turn the corner just as one of our grenades goes off, blood and guts flying over our group as we take out the infected that try to cut off our path. The carnage turns into a blur of adrenaline and survival. There’s no rhyme or reason to it. Just our squad of mismatched Marines and our undying need tosurvive. We’re exhausted, drained after fighting and running for so long. Our lungs seizing as we force ourselves to keep going, battling our way through the cannibalistic horde.
Suddenly, a scream comes from the left, interrupting the collective grunts and groans of combat. I turn my head towards the sound, but it’s already too late to help.
“WEITZ!” He’s engulfed by four of them, falling from my sight within seconds as they devour him alive. The squelching sound of their ravenous hunger mixes with his pleading cries for help before finally ending with a sickening crunch.
He just got engaged a few months ago. A baby on the way. His fiancée was practically glowing as she told the rest of us at the family day picnic. She must be close to seven or eight months along in her pregnancy by now. I gasp as the truth sets in hard: Weitz will never be able to meet his daughter. She’ll never get to know, firsthand, how incredible her father was.
“Fuck!” The word comes out in a vengeful growl, wishing I could’ve done something more to help him but knowing we’re at a massive disadvantage. They have the numbers and are growing exponentially by the second. Nearly indestructible. Wildly insatiable.
Another helicopter goes down, crashing just a few roads away. That makes seven so far. The tangled metal and burning fuselages can be seen all around us. The aerial assault we were counting on to help us out of this mess, dead in the dirt.
We need to move.
