Even Zombie Killers Get The Blues (Zombie Killer Blues) by Holmes John

Author:Holmes, John [Holmes, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2013-03-21T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

Damn. Our packs sat where we had grounded them. The zombies were tearing through them, infuriated by the smell of living humans on them. As we watched, they scattered our extra ammo, rations, clothes, everything.

“Jonesy, please tell me you still have the radio.”

He pulled it out of the frame that it rode in on the back of his plate carrier and turned it over. Water poured out of it. He saw the look on my face.

“Well, it might work once we dries it out, Nick.”

“Yeah, it might. OK, how are we doing for ammo?”

I was alright, with a dozen full magazines. Doc and Jonesy were down to three mags each and I quickly cross-loaded so we each had six. Ahmed had about two dozen rounds left for his sniper rifle. We each had about fifty rounds for our .22 pistols and each of us had an MRE and some water stuffed in our assault packs.

“Well, we’re alright on food and water for the next day. Ammo should be fine if we avoid getting in the shit like we just did. We have one more set of locks to check out and then we can call for EVAC. Let’s move a mile or so down the road and then take a break. Take turns trying to dry out your clothes, and cleaning weapons, fifty percent security. Half an hour each.”

The mile went quickly, but we ran into three Zs that had been attracted by the commotion on the other side of the canal. We shot them, cleanly, and, even if I had my camera anymore, I wouldn’t have bothered taking their pictures. Not worth the time and effort anymore. From here on out, it was finish the mission, nothing else. We settled down in a bunch of trees, just off the side of the road. Doc and I took first watch. Jonesy quickly set about stripping the radio after he had cleaned his weapon, drying each part as best he could and laying the circuit boards out in the sun. Then we switched off, and last thing I did was reassemble the radio and test it out.

“Empire Main, this is Lost Boys, radio check, over.”

I pictured the commo geeks sitting high on Prospect Mountain over Lake George, barricaded in their little fortress/van. They had been air mobiled in a few weeks ago to coordinate coms and provide retransmitting capability to any of the teams operating in the southern Adirondacks. Our SINCGARS backpack radios would never reach back to TF Liberty, so they relayed the signals of all the teams operating in the area via microwave transmitter, line of sight to the big tower at Fort Orange. I wouldn’t want their job; endless hours of boredom punctuated by terror when you had to go out of your armored van to service the antennas or take a dump, or run the 20 feet to your armored sleeping trailer.

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