The captain got his bearings before looking east with a pair of binoculars. Looked at the church and the homes about three-quarters of a mile down the road. The road we couldn’t even see under all the exes. He shook his head. He knew what I knew. Even if every single round in every weapon we had took out a zombie, we didn’t have enough. Not enough ammo. Not enough time to use it if we had it.
I looked at my watch. It was eleven-hundred hours on the nose. I knew right then we weren’t going to be reaching those possible survivors on the south side of the city. They were going to have to hold out for a few more days.
Credit where credit’s due, like I said before, the captain’s got a brain in that head of his. Some officers will bury their soldiers rather than admit they need to change tactics. Not many, but enough of them. Freedom’s willing to toss a plan on the spot if common sense tells him things have to be done different.
I’ll also go on record and say he made the right call. If anyone reading this has any doubts, Captain Freedom made a difficult choice, but the only viable one. I would’ve made the same one if I’d been in command.
He dropped back down onto the semi. We all felt the roof tremble. He was a big guy. “First Sergeant Paine,” he told me, “let’s fall back and regroup with the transport. Tell Twenty-two and Thirty-one to hold and give us cover until we’re back on the ground and clear of this traffic jam. Everyone else moves now.”
“Yes sir,” I said. I sent the order down the lines and got back a drumroll of confirmations. Across the intersection Sergeant Pierce with Twenty-two gestured his understanding and his team’s readiness.
The exes were thick around the semi-trailer now. They were flowing between the cars, like water finding the path of least resistance. The bodies Twenty-one had dropped to get up here were being mashed under hundreds of stumbling feet. The captain could’ve jumped clear to safety, but no way the rest of us could.
“The cars,” he said. “Don’t jump for the ground, jump for the tops of the cars. It’s too high up for them to reach us.” He pointed out a path, from an SUV to a battered station wagon to a minivan to another minivan to another SUV to a shiny Lexus and hitting the pavement right near section Twenty-two. “Once we go, we go as fast as we can. Don’t stop or they’ll have time to grab you and overwhelm you.”
Again, training kicks in. Discussing tactics right in front of the enemy in a loud voice. It feels wrong. It’s hard to take it seriously.
“Section Twenty-one then Eleven,” I told them. “You heard the captain. Hop, skip, and a jump. Line up and make it snappy.”
Another burst of gunfire from the ground. Section Thirty-one had a steady stream of exes coming at them from two directions. Their support section of Real Men moved in and laid down more fire. Some of the dead things shifted course for the sound. Most of them kept heading for Twenty-two and the sections falling back.
Hayes, Polk, and Taylor moved bang, bang, bang. SUV, station wagon, minivan, minivan, SUV, Lexus. All three were safe and some of the exes were still raising their arms. Too slow to get them, too slow to shift targets. Sergeant Harrison gave them a moment to make sure they were clear. Then he moved.
Franklin, Truman, and Jefferson from Twenty-one were next. Truman’s foot slipped on the second SUV and he stumbled for a moment. In that moment I pictured Jefferson slamming into him from behind and both of them falling down into a crowd of exes. I don’t think I was the only one picturing it. Truman went with it, though. Threw himself forward again with the stumble. He pretty much hit the Lexus on all fours and pushed himself off as hard and fast as he could. Shoved himself back into the air with his arms. Right there, super-strength paying for itself with one life. He hit the ground by Twenty-two face first and rolled away before Jefferson landed on him. Sergeant Monroe hit the ground a few seconds later.
It left me, Captain Freedom, and Unbreakable Seventeen—Platoon Sergeant Kennedy—on top of the truck. She’s another damn fine soldier. “Ladies first,” I told her.
Her lips twisted from a scowl to a tight grin. “With all due respect,” she said, “screw you, First Sergeant.”
“Noted,” I said. “Get yourself down there.”
“Nosebleed.” I gave her a blank look. She mimed wiping her upper lip and pointed the finger at me. “You’re leaking, Top.”
My glove came back red when I wiped it across the bottom of my nose. I didn’t remember getting hit or bumping anything. Damn air’s so dry out here. I wiped it again and pointed Kennedy off the truck.
She jumped down to the first SUV. It was a little tougher for her. The exes were already gathered around the cars, already had their hands up. And there were a lot more of them making their way through the pile-up. She was fast, though. Bang, bang, bang. They reached for her. They grabbed air every time.
“After you, Paine,” said Freedom.
“After you, sir.”
“It’s getting tight. You should go next.”
“Sir,” I told him, “don’t make me push you.”
He gave me a look and launched himself into the air. The truck’s shocks squealed as it rocked. He hit the pavement right next to Monroe.