Scene 1

Standing beside the large support pillars in the SeaTac baggage claim area, I feel incredibly naked and vulnerable. Sure, I have my Browning Hi-Power, but eventually the bullets will run out. At least I could break into the locked baggage area and retrieve my weapons. God in heaven only knows where the rest of my luggage is. I doubt the conference will happen now, and neither will the competitive shooting match I signed up for.

Scanning the baggage claim area for movement takes a few moments. Using my peripheral vision prevents me from obsessing over one area. This type of scanning catches movement.

Not seeing any movement, I hunch over and quickly trot to grunge zombie's corpse. I kneeled on the carpet near her feet, placing my pistol on the floor to my right within easy reach.

I place my Cold Steel shovel on the floor to my left. As I set my shovel down on the floor, I notice the blade is covered in gore and spend a moment wiping it off on the carpet.

Thankfully, grunge zombie landed on her back when I killed her. These are some really nice Doc Marten boots and look to be close to my size. Shoving her once grunge-fashionable ripped-up Levis up her leg, I see an ugly, bluish-purple bulge around the top of her boots. Lividity caused fluid to pool around the top of her boots.

When she died and then reanimated with the KCAP virus, the decomposing body fluids pooled in her legs, starting just above the boots. She laced her boots tight to her legs, preventing the fluid from running down.

Her knees resemble two bluish-purple, pus-filled sacks of fluid. My stomach heaves at the thought of attempting to unlace the Doc Marten boots. I decide I do not want these boots after all. What I would have to do to get them is just too awful to contemplate further.

Grabbing my pistol and shovel, I quickly trot back to my little sanctuary. Nothing looks amiss as I scan the area for movement. Reaching through the shattered window, I open the door and slip quickly inside.

The sun is fully up now, and there is enough light to see. Despite the slight chill in the air, I am damp with sweat.

To my great relief, I see all my items are where I left them. Pulling my backpack out with my POF AR15 still tied to its side, I am relieved to have my weapons with me again. I keep my pistol out. After cleaning off the shovel's blade using an alcohol-soaked wet wipe, I put my shovel back in its kydex sheath.

With my purloined rental car keys, I am now ready to get the fuck out of this damn airport. Slipping my backpack on and adjusting the straps takes a moment or two. Eventually, I get the pack adjusted for my slight frame. Not terribly comfortable, but it will have to do. The weight of the pack is not too bad, maybe a couple kilos less than what I had to carry when I served in the IDF.

Even with the Scottevest jacket tied to my pack, it makes a fairly compact load. I am sad to leave my Pelican cases behind, but there is no way I could carry them. I need to hasten, and they would weigh me down too much.

God in heaven, I am thirsty. I am trying to ration as much as I can, but the power outage has limited my water supply. I would love to just guzzle about four liters of water right now. A nice hot shower would probably put me to sleep, but it sounds lovely.

After a quick trot to the doors, I locate the rental car sitting in the dark parking garage. Holding my pistol in my hand with my rental car keys shoved in my pants pocket, I opened the door, preparing to leave the airport for the last time. A quick visual scan of the area reveals nothing amiss, and I slip out the door and quickly trot to one of the support pillars.

Another brief visual scan reveals nothing of concern, so another quick trot and I am at the door leading outside. I went to the doors that are wedged open by some poor bastard who got killed in the doorway.

I kick the corpse a few times just to make sure it is truly dead. The corpse is of an older Caucasian male lying flat on his stomach. I do not see any wounds on him and wonder what killed him and why he did not reanimate?

Slipping through the double doors outside is shocking. After being inside for over six days, being thrust outside suddenly in the bright sunshine sends sharp stabs of pain into my eyes. I wish I had not left my sunglasses in my car when I got to BWI.

It is a nice, bright, sunny day and is a good day to steal a car and get the hell out of here. But where do I go? I do not know anyone in the Seattle area. I have no family in the States other than Amy, but she is on the opposite coast, if she is still alive.

For now, I will secure transportation and then search for more food and water. Then, I will consider my options.

Jogging quickly with my backpack on will not be an option. Thankfully, despite holding a desk job, I have remained in good physical shape. I am not at my peak physical shape like when I was in the Sayeret Maglan, and then the Mossad, but I am still in decent enough physical condition that hauling this pack and my weapons is not too great a burden.

My lungs are telling me, though, that I have been smoking way too much. Damn cigarettes, so tasty but so bad for me!

Standing outside in the glaring sun gives me a headache, so I quickly trot underneath the concourse. Above me, one level up, is a glass-encased pedestrian walkway. I considered going upstairs to that walkway, but now I see shambling dead are in it.

With the power out, the automatic doors will not open, trapping the living dead inside. Let us hope they stay there. There are way too many walking dead in there for me to handle easily; I dislike the odds.

Thankfully, the rental cars are on this level. However, now I see that the parking garage is one fucking huge dark tomb. Great!

I am going to have to use one of my flashlights in the parking garage, which is going to be a beacon for the undead. I squat down and dig my little Surefire E2L out of my Scottevest jacket.

Maybe if I put my little flashlight on the low setting with the red lens, it will not be as bad a lure as I fear it might. Thankfully, the car rental companies are all in the same area in the parking garage and close to this side of the terminal.

I just have to find the elevators. According to the map, just behind the elevators are the rental cars. According to the map I saw in the baggage claim, the elevators are just inside the parking garage.

My stomach reminds me I have not eaten since this morning. My mouth is dry, and I am desperately thirsty. Not sure what time it is. I am guessing from the position of the sun that it is probably early afternoon.

Putting my Surefire flashlight in my left hand and my pistol with its silencer mounted in my right hand, I prepare to enter the dark parking garage. I quickly glance to make sure the pistol's safety is still off–it is, good. I do not want to fumble with the safety in the dark with a flesh-craving zombie trying to take a bite out of my ass.

The sunlight outside is bright enough I can see the back of the elevators. There are two pairs of elevators, making four elevators on this side of the parking garage. The shiny stainless steel of the elevator doors reflects a bit of light around the area, so that I can see a little.

Reaching the corner of the elevator shaft, I stop to check my back trail. Nothing seems to have followed me. Now for the fun part–is there anything ahead of me?

Keeping my left side to the elevator shaft, I scoot around the corner to take a peek inside the parking garage. Damn, Enterprise Rental Cars is the second spot over. I can see several Budget cars closest to me. If I had the keys to some of those cars, they might do instead of the Smart Four-Two car I have the keys for from Enterprise.

A large white sedan parked closest to me, across from the parking ticket issuing machines. The powerless parking ticket machines face away from me towards the parking lot. Maintaining my left side against the elevator shaft, I continue my scoot around the elevators until I get as close as I can to the parking ticket machines.

Looking around for movement, and not seeing any, I quickly scooted to the side of the parking ticket machines. Leaning against the machines, I try to slow my breathing and take another look around. It is about three meters to the closest car, the late-model white sedan I spotted earlier. Parked beside it is another nondescript late-model white sedan.

Both Budget sedans are four-door base models with few amenities. Simple, efficient cars, but the only keys I have are for Enterprise. When all flights were grounded, many people must have rented cars. I did not see the rental kiosks for Avis and Budget in the baggage claim. Must be in another part of the airport than what I was stuck in.

Oh well, no help for it now. I suppose I could smash a window and hot-wire a car, but that would take precious time that I do not have. I don't want a car with a smashed window. It has been many years since I tried to hot-wire a car. I learned the basics in the Mossad many years ago. The Mossad taught its agents how to hot-wire a car in case they needed to steal one to escape. I never had to use that skill and was not the best grand theft auto student, anyway.

Not the time to relearn how to steal a car with carnivorous undead trying to eat me, and not in the fun way. I will just have to make it down to the Enterprise rental cars. I hope that my little flashlight will not attract attention with the power set on low and using the red lens.

Taking a moment to check my back trail again and look around, I have a nostalgic momentary craving for a very expensive Starbucks coffee drink. I have had no caffeine for several days, which might explain my dull headache. While the nicotine has been nice, it has failed to cure the slight headache from caffeine withdrawal.

As I look around and wax nostalgic about a huge, overpriced, sticky-sweet Starbucks coffee drink, I see a zombie. I can barely see this zombie in the dim light, but the way it moves screams zombie. The zombie is a Caucasian female in a fashionable skirt and sensible heels standing still beside the elevator shaft. The zombie turns her head, cocking it like a dog listening to something.

By the zombie's clothing, I am guessing she might have once been a flight attendant or another uniformed person. Since zombies were at one time human, I hope that they have our characteristic poor vision in the dark.

I really hope the zombies have not mutated heat-sensing eyes or developed eyes like other nighttime predators in the animal kingdom. The zombie is standing still and swiveling its head; I guess she is visually cued and will react to movement.

I wonder if the zombie saw me as I moved to my present position. Perhaps when I slid behind the parking ticket machine, the zombie lost me. I wonder if the zombie has the mental capacity to reason where I might have gone.

The National Guardsmen said that bright light and loud noises attract zombies. A brief thought crosses my mind. I have the keys to several cars. I wonder what the zombies would do if I hit the panic button on several of the remote-control fobs in my pocket? Several car alarms going off would attract zombies, but I cannot risk attracting too many zombies.

Looking around the area, the zombie by the elevators is the only one that I can see or am aware of. She will definitely see me when I dash for the cars. I need to move her so that I have a clear shot of her head.

The way she is standing in the shadows of the elevator shaft, I am not absolutely confident in my ability to hit her head. If this were a living person, and things were back as they were when I worked in the field, I would put two in her chest and one in her pelvis and call it done.

However, with a zombie, that would just put three messy holes in it and waste three of my precious bullets. The Guardsmen told me they were having a hard time getting the troops to remember to shoot the zombies in the head.

Many years of training the troops to shoot center-of-mass bites you in the ass (literally) when your opponent is mostly immune to bullets. Only a bullet (or anything else) that destroys the brain kills these zombies.

Before the news stations ceased broadcasting and the power went out, we saw news footage of troops getting overrun by zombies. The troops were panicking and pouring thousands of rounds into the zombies' torsos, which did little to slow the advance of the zombies.

            I still need to move this zombie, so I have an excellent shot at its head. Making sure my pistol is ready; I step out from behind the parking ticket machine. Moving slowly, I step towards those boring white sedans walking backwards.

            I can tell immediately from the change in the zombie's body posture when she sees me. She goes rigid and immediately walks towards me in the classic zombie movie shuffle. She seems to have broken an ankle, because she limps to the left and drags her left foot.

            As the female Caucasian zombie gets closer, I see that at one time she was a pretty bottle blonde with dark roots, dressed in a light blue suit. She was definitely a flight attendant; I can read her nametag now that she is closer to me; it reads "Hana."

Seems Hana worked for United, which explains the crisp, light powder-blue uniform. United had recently gone "retro" bringing back uniforms for its stewards. United took a lot of flak for the requirements that the stewards had to be HWP and at least five feet eight inches tall. I understand they got around the sexism charges by claiming that the stewards (males had the same requirements) were models who also served the customers.

Hana zombie's heels are a little taller than I would want to wear in her profession. In those heels, she must have been at least six feet tall. The way her tits stick out like a pair of watermelons even in death, she definitely had a Hollywood-special boob job.

I've got to admit she had nice legs, nicely displayed in a snug hip-hugging, just above the knees pencil skirt. That is until something snacked on her thighs and calves. The sight of the gaping, shredded flesh and naked bone is nauseating, and all thoughts of coffee and beautiful women immediately flee my mind.

Human teeth are not the best tools to rend raw flesh, and seeing the aftermath on someone's legs is sickening. Strange that Hana's upper body was unmolested. I wonder how Hana died. Maybe someplace where the other zombies could only reach her legs.

As she gets close enough that I am sure that I cannot miss, I raise my pistol in one fluid move and put a single round between her eyes just above her cute little button nose. The Trijicon RMR optic improves accuracy.

The cough of the AAC suppressor on the end of my pistol seems loud in this confined space. But not nearly as loud as the sound of the pistol's action chambering another round. I hear the tinny sound of the empty brass cartridge casing striking the pavement to my right somewhere and rolling away.

I also see the black cloud of thick congealed blood explode out the back of her head and splatter all over the concrete behind her with a wet splat. Interspersed in the black blood are startling white chunks of bone and grayish-blue chunks of brain.

Hana zombie's expression never changes as the 147-grain Federal Hydra-Shok round explodes through her brain. When the small, perfectly 9mm-sized circle appeared between her eyes, she just folded up and collapsed as if someone had cut her strings.

I hope Hana is at peace now. I mumble a quick prayer for her in Yiddish. It makes me feel better although probably does little for poor Hana. Leaving her corpse where it now lies, I duck quickly between the two boring white sedans.

I give a quick look around–shit; it is dark in here. I'll wait a bit to see if shooting Hana might have drawn more zombies.

My next step is to head farther down the rental car lines. It is not like I need a car to race in the Daytona 500. I need something that gets superb gas mileage and has enough cargo room for me to load it with supplies.

The Smart Forfour car I selected is one of the newest and the largest cars from that manufacturer. It is also the manufacturer's first all-wheel-drive four-door model. According to the rental car company, the Forfour's 2.8 liter, piezoelectrically-controlled injectors and a small turbocharger feed a four-cylinder, rear-mounted diesel engine. The little diesel engine hardly ever blows black smoke, at least according to the advertisements. Not like the older, sluggish diesels that constantly blew black smoke.

The little Forfour gets nearly 75 miles per gallon. It also has a top speed of 130 miles per hour, but I doubt I will find a long enough stretch of clear roadway where I could get it going that fast.

Because of space constraints, the Smart Forfour has a small intercooler. The manufacturer offers an optional methanol-water injection system to cool its exhaust and help meet the strict CARB 2016 requirements, but no rental car gets that option. A DEF injection system in its exhaust also helps clean the emissions. Also helps reduce NOx emissions, making it one of the cleanest diesels on the road. I'm not sure where the hell I am going to get DEF now. I hope the little car will not give me grief when it runs out of DEF.

Growing up with an older brother, I have always been a bit of a gearhead. I dislike getting dirty working on cars, but I like to know what is going on inside the car, so that I can tell when the mechanic is giving me a line of shit.

While standing here thinking about diesel engines and logistics problems, I have been scanning the area for zombies. My little flashlight on low gives me enough light that I can see in the general area. I keep the flashlight pointed down at my feet so I do not trip.

It is not as dark inside the garage as I at first feared. Now that my eyes have adjusted, I can see well enough to get down to the Enterprise rental cars. I walk to the rear of the two white sensible sedans I have been standing between and look up and down the row of parked cars.

Hunching over so that I do not silhouette myself, I trot down the line of cars looking for my desired vehicle. Several meters down the line of cars, I come to the rear of the little Smart Forfour car I have been looking for.

It is a sporty little black and red model. I shut off my flashlight and stuff it in my pants pocket. I keep my pistol handy as I scan the area again for any zombies chasing me that might have seen my movement.

I dig out the Smart Forfour key from my shirt pocket. I realize I made a mistake shutting off my flashlight as it is too dark in here to read the key fob. Crouching behind the little Forfour, I dig out my flashlight. I don't want to use the keyless entry as I don't want the car to make noise or flash its headlights. Setting my flashlight on low again, I take a moment to find the correct key on the Forfour key fob.

Shutting off my flashlight and stuffed it back in my pocket. I tucked my pistol into its holster on my leg.

I press the bonnet release button, and it pops up so that I can bend down and release the safety lever and lift the front bonnet, which remains open on gas struts. I drop my backpack in the front bonnet and take my Scottevest jacket off the outside of my pack.

As it thunks shut, I wince, trying to close the bonnet quietly. Kinda reminds me of the old-model, original Volkswagen Beetles that are still very common in Israel despite most of them being over 60 years old.

My mind is going nuts imagining hordes of zombies in the dark. Carrying my Scottevest, I walk to the driver's side door and get in the car. Ah, new-car smell fights with my rank body odor.

I quickly shut and locked all the doors. A quick visual check inside to make sure there are no unwanted passengers, and I check my mirrors. I tossed the Scottevest jacket in the passenger seat.

Putting the key in the ignition, I start the little car and wince as it roars to life with a distinct diesel rattle and turbo whine. Not seeing anything in my now-adjusted mirrors, I back the little car out of the parking space.

Thankfully, I am on the ground floor and head for the exit. I drive slowly because I do not want to hit anything too hard in the dark. I do not want to attract more attention by turning on the headlights either.

I keep my head swiveling to look for trouble. Several wrecked or crashed cars are visible in the parking garage. Several times, cars block my path, and I must back up and drive around these cars. Thankfully, this car is small enough that I can slip between the parking spaces and the cars to get to the exit.

I am sure a few of these cars might have trapped zombies inside, but I do not want to stop and find out. Just as I got to the exit, I saw behind me in the rear-view mirror a small horde of zombies following me. Well, maybe not exactly a horde, but more like twenty zombies are following my little car.

At the exit, I saw someone had already smashed the exit gate. Fiberglass pieces of the gate are scattered all over the pavement. I am grateful to whoever did that as I do not have to damage my little car doing it. As I exit the parking garage and come out in the bright sunlight, I am momentarily blinded.

Driving up the hill on the road leaving the airport, I listen to the little car's six-speed automatic transmission shift. Reaching the crest of the hill almost parallel with the airport control tower, I see parked in the grass median on the side of the road, a desert-brown military High Mobility Multipurpose Wheeled Vehicle (HMMWV) or better known as a Humvee.

As I come closer to the military vehicle, I see that it appears to be intact. All four doors are open, and there are no obvious signs of damage. The Humvee has an M242 Bushmaster 25mm chain gun mounted in a turret on top. Looking behind me, I do not see any close pursuit, so I decide to stop and see if there is anything that I could use in the Humvee.

I am half tempted to take the whole Humvee, but they eat diesel like crazy; low single-digit fuel economy at best. The M242 is a hell of a cannon mounted in its remote-controlled turret. I pull onto the grass of the median and stop the car. I leave my little Forfour idling and my passenger and driver's doors open.

I needed to stop and rearrange anyway. My damn pistol with its silencer is digging into my leg. In my excitement and haste to leave the airport, I forgot to shift the pistol.

I look behind me and see that the roadway leading towards the highway is shockingly clear of cars. However, the roadway leading to the airport is a disaster. Abandoned cars and strewn luggage everywhere. The M242 is pointing in that direction; pity whoever they shot with the cannon.

A few cars show signs of having once been on fire. There are several flame-gutted hulks, some with charred corpses sitting in them. Standing between the Humvee and my little Forfour car in the median, I surveyed the surreal scene. All is quiet except for the soft diesel rattle of my little car as it idles patiently behind me.

I must be a real sight standing here with a suppressed pistol in my right hand, left hand held across my brow to shield my eyes from the sun. One thing I am not surprised to see is large flocks of ravens and crows. There are quite a few corpses scattered among the abandoned vehicles. The ravens and crows are having a feast.

I walk towards the Humvee and notice a lot of spent military 5.56 NATO brass in the grass. Looks like the guys were shooting at something a lot. As I get closer to the Humvee, the brass gets more frequent as well as splotches of blood.

I see that blood has soaked the grass as I approach the Humvee's open rear passenger door. Lying in the bloody grass with the many empty rounds of 5.56 NATO are several empty 25mm cases. Not sure what they were shooting with that gigantic cannon. Maybe the cannon fire set fire to those cars. I cannot tell from here what caused the damage to the cars, and I am not going down there to find out.

Looking into the Humvee's cab, I see a dead Caucasian male soldier dressed in old digital Universal Camouflage Pattern (UCP) fatigues lying in the driver's seat. A gaping hole through his Kevlar Personnel Armor System Ground Troops Helmet (PASGT) helmet tells me probably one of his squad mates, perhaps a friend, shot him. A bloody rag around his left hand has a bloody outline of teeth. Poor bastard got bit and one of his buddies had to shoot him.

It surprises me that the corpse isn't wearing a new Advanced Combat Helmet (ACH). I believed that Israel and other countries had purchased or replaced all the PASGT helmets. During the entire time I served in the IDF Infantry, I wore an old American-made PASGT helmet. I hated that 1.59 kilogram neck-killer.

Looking inside, I see another Caucasian male corpse sprawled across the back seat in the weapon control position. A blood-soaked, maggot-crawling typical O.D. green military combat dressing on the corpse's right thigh shows where something bit him.

As I lean into the Humvee, the corpse in the back proves to be a zombie as it suddenly sits up and lunges for me. Screaming and falling back on my ass in the grass, I realize that I have pumped four useless rounds into soldier zombie's chest.

Fuck! That was a waste of ammo! Startled, I see I shot on reflex. Had this been a living target, he would have been quite dead. Or at least a lot deader than he is now. I see that the soldier zombie is still strapped into his seat and has not figured out how to release himself, while I am looking closer, but remaining out of reach still sitting on the ground.

I take careful aim and shoot the soldier zombie in the head with an upward shot through the point of his chin up through the roof of his mouth. Because he was still wearing his Kevlar helmet, the splatter was not as bad as when I shot Hana zombie. The 9mm bullet striking the back of his helmet whips his head to the rear, and I hear the distinct sound of his neck vertebrae shattering.

Propelled by the energy of my bullet, the weight of his nearly two-kilogram helmet, even minus the night vision goggles, is enough to snap his neck. The dry twig snapping sound of vertebrae shattering is something I will never forget once I heard it in the field.

While I was serving in the Sayeret Maglan during the Second Lebanese War of 2006, I watched Aharon snap a Lebanese sentry's neck with his bare hands. Once you hear that sound, you will never forget it.

Getting up off the ground, I see that, thankfully, the blood in the grass is fairly dry, so not too much got on my pants. Shoving my pistol with its slightly warm suppressor back in the holster, I walk to the rear passenger door. I check the crew's weapons storage racks and see all four M16s are gone. No spare 5.56 ammo either. Damn, that would have been nice.

I look and see that the M242 has about half a drum of ammo left. I would love to take the gun, but there is no way I could move it. Going to the rear of the Humvee, I see that there are still two current-issue MOLLE assault rucksacks tied to the rear of the Humvee.

I take the MOLLE rucksacks off the rear of the Humvee and set them on the ground. I will search the packs in a minute. Having moved the rucksacks, I looked for the latch to pop open the boot of the Humvee. As I am looking for the release, I notice four desert-brown military five-gallon cans of the type I think the Americans call jerrycans.

Two of the jerrycans have a yellow D on the side, which, if I remember correctly, means they hold diesel fuel. The other two jerrycans have a dark blue W and, I believe, hold potable water because they are made of plastic. Checking the two jerrycans with the canary yellow Ds reveals they are both full of diesel. Checking the two plastic jerrycans reveals one to be empty, and the other to be about half full of water.

I go to my little idling car and push the button on the key fob to pop open the bonnet. Nothing happens, so I press it again, and still nothing happens. It must be a safety feature, so I shut the engine off and press the bonnet release button on the fob for the third time. Ah ha success!

Stupid safety feature! You cannot pop the bonnet if the engine is running, even if it is in park. I hurry, placing the four jerrycans into the bonnet of my car, sliding them to the rear and leaving my pack to the front. On second thought, I decided to put the two MOLLE rucksacks in the bonnet of my car as well. Looking at the closing zombies, I decided I would search them later.

Returning to the Humvee again, I take a few moments to figure out how to open the back of the truck. I realize the gun mount is in the way and will not let the boot open all the way. Going around the Humvee to the driver's side, I see that this side of the truck is worse than the other.

Scattered in the grass are literally hundreds of empty brass casings. Scattered all along this side of the median and in the grass are hundreds of dead corpses, probably shot by the soldiers. A few of these corpses still move feebly. Bullets have shattered the zombies' bodies, but the brain is still active and driving the zombies to feed.

Standing there a minute surveying the carnage, I see the group of zombies that followed me out of the parking garage. I see a few zombies walking among the abandoned cars on the road to the airport too, which have spotted me and are heading this way.

I did not want to crawl over the soldier zombie corpse in the Humvee, but I did not really have a choice. Moving around the Humvee back to the passenger side, I climb into the truck and over soldier zombie.

Digging out my little flashlight, I shine it around and see that his Small Arms Protective Insert (SAPI) front plate in his MOLLE vest stopped my first four rounds. I see that soldier zombie still has his six standard issue fully loaded M16 30-round magazines in the two magazine pouches on his vest. I take all six magazines and put them in my pockets. Patting the soldier zombie's pockets, I find no other magazines on his body. I found two M67 fragmentation grenades with their spoons wrapped with black electrician's tape. You never know when a frag grenade might come in handy.

Climbing out of the Humvee, I ran to my little car and put the six 30-round M16 magazines on the passenger seat. I carefully place the two M67 frag grenades on the passenger seat as well. Taking a moment to look around to see where the zombies are, I see that I have enough time to search the Humvee again if I hurry.

Climbing back into the Humvee and over the soldier zombie's body, I reach behind him into the back of the truck. I found a sealed cardboard box of Meals Ready to Eat. This case contains 90 pouches of MREs and is only five years out of date.

While wrestling the large box out of the truck, the thought of eating MREs does not exactly thrill me, there is something that has become precious in each of those little brown pouches. Each pouch contains a small roll of toilet paper. Since I will eventually need to go play what Amy called 'bear in the woods,' having more TP is a great relief, literally.

I take my case of MREs to my little car and put it in the backseat. Checking the location of the zombies again, I notice they are closer but not so close that I cannot search the Humvee some more. Running back up the grassy hill to the Humvee and crawling back inside the truck, I rummage around in the back of the truck with my flashlight.

I found two ammo boxes full of 25mm high-explosive ammo. I slide them to the side as I have no use for them. Next to the two boxes of 25mm ammo are two 420-round ammo boxes of 5.56 NATO M855 62-grain green-tipped FMJ ammo steel core penetrator on ten-round stripper clips. Ah-ha, this is what I was looking for! I quickly hauled the two ammo boxes of 5.56 ammo to my car while checking on how close the zombies were. I put one ammo can in the car's bonnet and one on the floor in front of the passenger seat.

Another quick look at the zombies, and I have time perhaps for one more trip to the Humvee. In the truck again, I dig around in the back, finding the usual litter in a soldier's vehicle. Cigarette butts, empty water bottles, empty Red Bull cans, empty Pop Tart wrappers, and a couple of empty cans of Copenhagen.

Digging around, I found a large green ammo can crammed in the back. I struggle to pull it forward, and I see it has sat there for a while, and someone forgot it. Even with light rust, the metal anti-pilfering wire still sealed it. I am hoping for something great in this can as I lift it over the rear seat and trot to my car with it.

Scene 2        

    I awake again on my own in the morning. I still miss, still a little bit, Shack waking me each morning. Shack is still snoring beside me in his bedroll. Damn, this morning is chilly! I loathe the idea of getting out of my warm bedroll. My discussion with Doc Jamal the other night about the approaching nuclear winter was enlightening.

            Previous generations of nuclear weapons focused more on ground-level explosions. The more modern nuclear weapons, such as those used against the zombies, including several neutron bombs, are of the more modern variety that focus on an air burst.

            Other than the neutron bombs, which were supposedly banned by international treaty, most of the nuclear weapons were air burst detonation around 5,000 feet altitude. The Turks, Indians and Pakistanis used some old 203mm nuclear shells fired from ancient M110 self-propelled howitzers. Those older shells were probably ground-effect nukes.

Most countries used the nukes in remote areas or far out at sea. Only the Chinese, Pakistanis, and Indians used nukes in heavily populated areas. I suppose a zombie apocalypse is a good time to settle long-standing grudges with your neighbors.

The brief three-way nuke exchange between India, Pakistan and Turkey immolated some 12 million people. I never heard the estimated death numbers from the brief nuke exchange between Taiwan and China.

Reminds me of what Chairman Mao said about his country being able to sustain horrendous losses of people because there were so many Chinese. You could kill 700 million Chinese, and Mao would still have 400 million. China could suffer personnel losses that no other country could sustain.

The huge Chinese population worked against them in the KCAP outbreak. Densely populated large urban areas are the perfect breeding ground for KCAP. Through the large, densely populated Chinese urban areas, KCAP spread like no other contagion before it.

The incredible spread of the contagion later identified as KCAP terrified Chinese officials. Drastic measures taken by the Chinese government, including whole scale carpet bombing, actually slowed the spread of KCAP.

Once the KCAP pandemic reached a tipping point, not even whole scale carpet bombing and thermobaric weapons was enough to slow the zombie invasion. Zombie-laden ships at sea, sunk with conventional ordnance, and caused the zombies, not crushed by the depth of water, to walk calmly out of the ocean.

Thousands of water-logged zombies walking ashore in southern France caused a worldwide major panic. The Mediterranean quickly became a zombie-infested puddle in a matter of days.

Thousands of zombies walking out of the surf in California sent panic through the US government. Countries with long range ship-borne nuclear anti-ship missiles such as the US, Russia, China, North and South Korea, Taiwan, France, the UK, Iran, and Israel navies all used nuclear anti-ship missiles to sink zombie infested ships.

Taiwan revealed it possessed Russian-made, nuclear-armed Sunburn sub-launched missiles. By sinking several zombie-laden ships in its territorial waters, Taiwan displayed the nuke Sunburns and a homemade, nuclear-armed clone variant of the US Harpoon anti-ship missile.

China rattled by Taiwan's display of submarine-launched nukes, launched a brief nuke attack against Taiwan. A brief nuclear exchange between Taiwan and China resulted in minor damage to China, but the complete obliteration of Taiwan. Those who could leave the island abandoned Taiwan, which was now a zombie-infested radioactive wasteland.

Another shocker to China and the Western world at large was Taiwan's possessing supercavitating, nuclear-tipped torpedoes. Taiwan, before China nuked it off the face of the earth, sank a few Chinese warships using both ship-launched and sub-launched nuclear anti-ship missiles.

Losing the ROCS Fortuitous Strike, the less than one-year-old, first Chinese nuclear super aircraft carrier, must have been a very bitter pill for China to swallow. There were unconfirmed rumors that Taiwanese attack submarines, not content with sinking China's only supercarrier, also sank several Chinese ballistic missile submarines.

Iran displaying the fact that it was nuclear armed was a real shocker in the Middle East. While I was proud that there was no infighting within the Middle East like there was in Asia, it was probably only because of the zombie plague.

Reports showed the first major shambling hordes of undead appeared in southern China. Some of the Chinese hordes of shambling undead were so large you could supposedly see them from space. The Chinese, towards the end, attempted to curtail the zombies by using the vast majority of their nukes in remote areas.

Once reports of the huge Chinese zombie hordes leaked out to the Western world, China took quick, decisive action and dropped nukes on the hordes. China criticized the West as lacking the moral fortitude to do what was necessary to curtail the infection.

It was towards the very bitter end, after the massive zombie hordes appeared, that the Chinese started nuking major cities. Chinese nukes incinerated Shanghai and Singapore (not Chinese, but my guess is they felt it was close enough).

Mobile land-based launching platforms fired most of the Chinese nukes. According to early reports, only a few ballistic missile submarines fired Chinese nukes. The rapid ability of the Chinese to gain and hit new nuclear targets sent ripples through the Western world, which realized, belatedly, that they had seriously underestimated the effectiveness of China's nuclear arsenal.

There were some unconfirmed reports of the use of several bunker-busting Chinese clones of the US B61-11D RNEP (Robust Nuclear Earth Penetrator). Why the Chinese would use several RNEPs fired from ballistic missile subs against some of their military bunkers is a mystery.

Some felt there was an attempt at a coup within the Chinese government; others felt that perhaps the bunkers were infected with KCAP. Whatever the reasons, the Chinese, Turks, Indians, and Pakistanis not only used the most nuclear weapons, but are also the only ones to use them on major cities.

The US, France, Russia and China were the only ones to use neutron bombs. After World War 2, America vowed never again to use a nuclear weapon in a preemptive strike. The US kept that promise, only using nukes towards the very end, and only at sea.

In dropping nuclear bombs on zombie-laden ships and grounded aircraft, the US probably saved themselves a lot of misery. By neutron bombing most of the eastern seaboard, the US decimated the number of infected people entering their territory. When the few vehicles reached US territory, the radiation killed the vast majority of the passengers, zombie or otherwise.

Even with an air burst nuke, modern cities contain so much heavy material resistant to nuclear decimation. When they bombed Nagasaki and Hiroshima, lightweight materials mainly comprised the buildings. Most of the material instantly incinerated in the bomb's blast.

A modern nuke bomb detonated in a modern city throws so much more debris into the air. With many heavy buildings and so much more combustible material, a modern city, hit even with a high-level nuke air explosion, releases an incredible amount of radiated material.

Doc Jamal does not think the fallout in the clouds is enough to cause mutations and such like you used to see in the old movies. There is certainly enough crap up there, he thinks though, to cause some health concerns, especially when the radioactive shit comes down.

Doc worries that the fallout is enough to be lethal and worries when all that crap will come down. As Doc reminds me, "what goes up, must come down." Even though the only major cities to get nuked were in Asia, the fallout is going to spread around the world, if it has not already.

Doc Jamal stocked lots of Prussian blue and other anti-radiation therapeutic medicines just in case. Unfortunately, in this FEMA camp, people traded most of the medicine and other valuable medical material for weapons and munitions. Doc has a lot of the supplies that he gathered when they abandoned their FEMA camp along I5.

I realize that I have been lying in my warm bedroll thinking of nuclear weapons for almost an hour. I stretch and sit up, and remember that today is my bath day. The convoy has established a routine of bathing half the crew each day.

I grab my weapons, toiletry kit, and a change of clothes and hit the latrine. Walking back from the latrine, I realize that I have committed a cardinal sin—I left my battle buddy sleeping alone in his bedroll. I left Shack unprotected and walked alone around the camp.

I trot back quickly to my large canvas tent and shake Shack awake. "Wah'z happening?" A groggy Shack asks me as he puts his boots on.

"Time to shower, change clothes and eat Shack," I tell him. Shack rubs the stubble on his chin. "Kay, let's roll," he says to me. Shack grabs his own weapons, toiletry kit, and change of clothes.

Shack wants to hit the latrine, so we walk over there first. After the latrine, Shack and I get in the line for the shower. Some things never change in the Army, no matter if there is a zombie apocalypse or not. There is always a line for some things. Shack gets cleaned up and even manages a decent shave.

After a tepid shower with Carol and Mal, who also had showers scheduled for the same day, I wrestled my hair into a tight ponytail. As I replace my hairpins, I notice some light rust. I will have to take some oiled steel wool and polish the pins soon.

I see that someone has loaded the whole laundry concern onto an old flatbed trailer, hooked a former Seattle city snow plow as I drop off Shack's and my dirty clothes at the Princess's laundry. Apparently not a complete success, as I watch the Princess struggle to move laundry and keep the fires going.

Boiling the clothes takes a lot of fuel, and I watch the Princess talk with one of the mechanics about adjusting the layout of the laundry trailer. While I watch the Princess work on her laundry trailer, Shack comes back carrying our breakfast.

From my position near the laundry trailer, I can still see the taco truck, which is being loaded, and the gates to the Pop Keeney Stadium. The zombie horde is significantly larger. I heard through the soldier rumor mill that the zombies now cover the entire parking lot and the approaching streets.

Shack hands me a slightly dented US Army tin canteen cup full of warm gelatinous MRE oatmeal. He knows my dislike of UHT milk, so he did not bother getting any for me. I watch him slam one of the chocolate UHT milks down then grimace at the horrid aftertaste.

Shack quickly slams a second carton of chocolate UHT milk down—masochist. He follows the UHT milk with an entire plastic bottle of Mountain Dew. Gah! That must really taste like shit.

Shack gives me two dark brown plastic tubes of MRE peanut butter and a single tube of plain cheese spread. Combined with MRE shortbread cookies, four packages of vegetable crackers, and a large fig protein bar, each wrapped securely in thick dark brown MRE plastic, I should have enough snacks to last me till lunch.

While giving me my snacks, Shack mentions that Doc Jamal wants people to snack between meals to keep their calories and energy up. The camp staff liberally passed out MRE snacks such as cheese spread, peanut butter, mixed nuts, dried fruit, snack bread and crackers around the camp.

We sit near the Princess's laundry trailer and watch the mechanics working on the Swiss 20mm cannon. I wonder if the 20mm cannon is having problems as I watch the mechanics practically tear the damn thing apart.

My curiosity getting the better of me, I leave Shack sitting in the sun, sipping his second Mountain Dew, and go over to see what the mechanics are up to.

"Hey Ruth," Mal says to me as I get close enough, with a toss of her head. "Don't know anything about these gun mounts and their safety interconnects do 'ya?" Mal asks me without a pause.

"No, not really, why?" I ask Mal. Safety interconnects? What the hell is going on?

"Well, we need to figure how the damn Swiss wired this thing so that we can roll and shoot with the wheels down and the steadying arms in the stow position. Damn thing is all solid state and vacuum tubes-you would not think it would be that damn hard to disable the safeties so we can roll and shoot."

Mal reaches into a small white Styrofoam cooler and pulls out a large can of Budweiser beer. She offers one to me, and I accept it with a nod of thanks. I am shocked to discover that the beer is cold. Mal notices the shock on my face when I feel the cold beer.

"Used an old expired CO2 extinguisher we found in the guard tower to cool the beer down nice and cold." Mal says.

Leaning against the rear left tire of the 20mm mount, we drink our Budweiser quiet with our thoughts. After the beer, I leave Mal tracing the safety lines for the 20mm cannon.

From what I gather, the convoy's World War Two era Quad 50 can shoot on the move already, but they need to get the 20mm cannon set so it too will shoot on the move. The mechanics are tight-lipped about why we need the 20mm cannon to shoot on the move, but I have my suspicions.

I spend most of the day loading trucks, trailers, and vehicles. Lunch today for me is MRE spaghetti in meat sauce heated with an MRE heater. Shack gets vegetarian tortellini for lunch. I toss three of the conveniently provided mini bottles of Tabasco sauce into my spaghetti—a marked improvement.

As I am gnawing on the chocolate dessert "Rambo cookie" from my MRE, my teeth hardly making a dent, Carol and Sarah, the convoy's two pregnant women, come waltzing up to the table, all chummy looking. Sarah is monstrously pregnant compared to Carol, who is just showing. The two ladies seem to have gotten close in the last day.

I am glad that they found Sarah some decent clothes to wear. Not sure if the colonels have or thought to grab any maternity wear. Maybe the colonels will add maternity wear to the next scavenging list.

The two pregnant ladies sit across from me at the aluminum folding table, beside Shack, causing Shack some embarrassment. Shack mumbles something about going to get some snacks. Carol grabs Shack's left hand and practically yanks him back onto his ass.

Shack plops into the beach seat with some surprise. Carol leans over to Shack. "Now why don't ya' stay here and talk to this pretty girl, or are you really sweet on Ruth. Hmm, Shack you fancy an older woman?"

Shack turns several dark shades of red, and bolts from the table so quickly that Carol cannot intercept him this time. Shack hauls ass for the MRE dispensing trailer as fast as he can move across the compound.

"That was mean, Carol." I mention to a giggling Carol and Sarah as I finish my Rambo cookie.

"Oh, I am sorry, but did you see the look on his face?" Carol chortles. "I think he may be truly sweet on you Ruth. Have you thought of taking Shack as a lover?"

Carol looks at me as if expecting an answer. I snort at her, lick clean my brown plastic long-handled MRE spoon and cram it in my LBV.

"Don't you ladies have anything better to do than harass poor young boys who are being forced to grow up much too fast? A shtik fleish mit tzvei eigen." I know it is rude to curse in Yiddish, but it is such an expressive language.

Carol sputters something about having a little fun as I turn and walk away. I find Shack talking with a few other soldiers around the potable water tanker HEMTT. I patted Shack on the arm. "Are you Ok?" I ask him.

"Yeah Ruth, I am fine." He seems a little petulant. We walk in silence to the far side of the camp to watch over the mechanics, relieving the other guards for our turn at guard duty. The mechanics are still working on the 20mm cannon, having hooked it to one of the desert tan up-armored Hummers with the Mk20 dual 40mm grenade launcher on the roof.

Leaning against the base of the gate tower, Shack and I watch the mechanics work. After a few minutes of silence, Shack breaks the silence.

"I've uh, never you know, and made the mistake of telling a few of the guys last night while on guard duty."

A little confused, "Shack you have never what?" I ask.

Shack turns even darker red, his ears even now a cherry red. "I've uh, never been with anyone, in bed, you know." He says, his eyes pleading with me not to tease him.

"Oh," I say, now understanding. I patted him on the shoulder. "Shack, do not worry about it. It is not such a big deal. Virginity is not this curse that you have to get rid of in a hurry."

Shack stares at his feet.

"Well some guys were talking about the lack of female company and swapping lies about previous conquests. Some guys are wishing for some more women, you know... maybe even some whores. The word is out that you are a lezbo, and with Carol hitched to Nikola, Sarah pregnant to the gills, female companionship is pretty slim. In case you haven't noticed, we boys outnumber the girls by some stupid margin. I'd like to have sex once before I die."

Shack seems somewhat embarrassed about the whole thing. I wonder how the word is out about me. Was this an official announcement, or is Shack referring to the soldier rumor mill, AKA mess tent intel?

Shack continues, "I said that you were not truly a lezbo, but the guys have written you off as not beddable despite how pretty you are. Most of the guys seem to think, that uh, you prefer a taco rather than a hot dog."

"Well, the boys have forgotten that there are three more women in the camp now." I tell Shack. "And I fall in love with the person, rather they have a taco or a hot dog is unimportant to me."

Damn Americans, and their plethora of sexual euphemisms. For a country founded by a bunch of repressed religious fanatics, America always seemed over preoccupied with sex to me. Or maybe that is the reason America is obsessed with sex.

"Yeah, but those women are old." Shack says in a single breath.

"Old, you think, that the new women are old?"

I patted Shack on the shoulder again. "Just because the women are older, does not mean that they do not want company. I have not even talked to the new women yet, have you?"

Shack shakes his head no.

"Hey, is it true you were in the Mossad Kidon?"

Whoa, where the fuck did that come from? Reminds me of an ancient Chinese proverb: "What is told into the ear of a man is often heard a hundred miles away."

"I cannot talk about that Shack," I tell him, then realize just how asinine that sounds as soon as the words are out of my mouth.

"Oh," he says, and just as I am about to talk with a short inhalation, a sudden explosion of the dual-barreled 20mm cannon firing startles us both. The hot, concussive hammering blast from the enormous gun less than 50' from us knocks us both flat on the ground.

"A broch!" I yell as I am knocked on top of Shack. The brief burst from the 20mm cannon and the near simultaneous explosion of the shells just past the gate really shredded the immediate area. Fragments of zombies and shells pepper the façade of the gate towers.

Hot empty 20mm shells roll underfoot around the cement area beside the gate. A few of the empty steel O.D. green shells roll up against my leg as Shack and I are untangling our legs and arms.

As the smoke clears, we get to see some of the carnage wrought by the big guns. The number of dead zombies killed by the brief salvo from the gun is impressive. Everywhere, blood, gore, and other unidentifiable shit splattered, covering the immediate area with an even coat of dripping dark crimson goo.

Parts of zombies are strewn everywhere, hanging from the trees and shrubbery. Almost as soon as the shooting stops, the damn flying rats descend onto the bloody bits strewn everywhere. Seeing the blackbirds, pigeons and seagulls descend on the dripping bits of zombies, I wonder if the birds have caught KCAP because the virus might have mutated so that birds are now susceptible.

A small smoking crater in front of the stadium gates quickly fills with shambling zombies that were outside the blast radius of the exploding shells. Within minutes, you can hardly tell the 20mm cannon had fired at the zombies at all.

My ears soundly ringing, I see Mal and the mechanics talking to the 20mm gun crew. "That was only 10 rounds from each barrel!" I hear Mal shout.

"Hey, fucking warn someone before you set that God damn thing off!" I yell at the mechanics and gun crew.

"Sorry Ruth, we were making sure that we got the safety interconnects cut and that the gun still works." Mal shouts.

With my ears ringing and the smell of spent cannon powder stinging my nose, I help Shack up from the ground. A thick cloud of smoke hangs over the zombie crowd pressing against the fence. There is a slight odor of putrescence from the zombies, and the cloying smell of burnt flesh hangs in the air.

I note the mechanics and the 20mm gun crews are now fully loading both of the old guns. As I watch the long string of 20mm HE shells being manually cranked into the ammo drums, I wonder how many rounds the colonels intend to spend. I'm also wondering about the 20mm shell count for the convoy.

Both the Quad 50 trailer crew and the 20mm trailer crew are hooked to up-armored desert tan Hummers, which are facing south. The Hummer pulling the Quad 50, I note, has a roof-mounted M240B in an armored mount also facing the gates.

The Quad 50's gun crew checks the large tombstone ammo drums, and they load the Quad 50 with plain mil-spec Lake City M33 660 grain FMJ ball rounds from green metal ammo cans. After the Quad crew fully loaded all four drums, they clamped the covers back on the tombstone ammo drums.

I see the O.D. green ammo boxes stacked in the rear of the Hummer pulling the Quad 50. I assume the yellow print on the box shows the ammunition loaded in the Quad 50. It's interesting that they rarely load the Quad with AP, API, or tracers.

Shack and I walk with the mechanics back to their Hummer, which is parked in front of the two Hummers pulling the two cannons. I note the mechanic's Hummer is facing south as well. Down the convoy, I see all the vehicles facing south and lining up in the new order.

I observe with some concern that my little Smart car is being pushed into its customary position between the colonel's VW station wagon and Carol's battered blue Chevy pickup. Carol's truck is now towing the collapsed 180' tall mobile radio tower on its twin axle O.D. green trailer.

Shack and I wander past the rear vehicles and past the four guys pushing our little Smart car. Both of us are curious about the construction going on in the center of the camp in what used to be the large fire pit.

We talk briefly with the four soldiers pushing our car, and they mention the colonels are getting everyone ready to roll tonight. They informed me the plan is to go through the southern portion of the fence, with the 20mm and Quad 50 covering our rear.

The plan is that we are going to punch out just before sunset. As I am walking toward the center of the compound, I wonder why we are going to roll out when the zombies will still be active. Why not wait until dark?

I see that a construction project is going on in the center of the camp. A large black drum on a tower is being erected with some difficulty. I watch crews collapse and store two of the large FEMA tents in one of the cargo trailers.

Taking the huge white FEMA hazardous material handling and decontamination tent with all its gear is smart now that we have room and equipment to take it with us. Most of the folding aluminum chairs and tables get stuffed into various vehicles.

As I watch Sam direct the construction efforts, Nikola comes up carrying a piece of notebook paper. He looks at me and then at Sam standing on top of a ladder with a screwdriver in his right hand.

"It's Ok Nikola you can tell her, we are going to give Ruth full access as a Captain in the convoy."

What the fuck, I'm captain of what? No one told me anything, so why am I being given a rank, which is one step junior to what I held in the IDF?

Nikola nods at Sam and then at me. "Colonel Sam, Bravo unit reports Bangor Sub Base mostly evacuated as suspected. There are some survivors in a few of the structures buried in the hills. Several subs are at sea and have reported all on board live and well. Three carrier battle groups, the Reagan, Vinson and Lincoln have reported in. Have also reported Bravo unit has completed sweep of Bangor and Puget Sound Naval Shipyard. Bravo unit now heading for rendezvous point. Charlie unit en route from Whidbey Island to rendezvous. Charlie also report have Ontos taken from your residence. Ontos modified as specified and fully functional. Charlie also report Ontos I quote, 'is fuckin' awesome. Charlie is towing the Ontos on a trailer"

"Nik, Bravo did not gain any SMAWs (Shoulder-launched Multipurpose Assault Weapon) from the Marines at Sub Base Banger?"

Without waiting for a response, Sam continues. "Well, Nik, I suppose if I had SMAWs I would not trade them either. It is extremely fortunate that when you guys crashed that monstrous Antonov 124 at JBLM, we were there. Your Spets boys have been doing a fine job and we are lucky to have all of the ordinance you boys brought with you. Tell your fellow Spets radiomen that they are doing a fine job. We really appreciate how you Spets boys really stepped up for us."

After Nikola gives his report and leaves, I look at Sam.

 "Because we lack crypto, all radio communication uses Russian, courtesy of the Spetsnaz. Gives us some OpSec (Operational Security), since we doubt there are many Russian-speaking people listening around here. Ruth, while you and the other civilians were asleep, the military members of the convoy decided on how we are going to reorganize. Doc Jamal and I are colonels again; Nikola and you are our captains, with Carol and Shen as lieutenants. I am in overall command, with all medical deferred to Doc Jamal. Most of the enlisted boys like Sutton and Randy kept their previous rank, except we promoted Sutton to command sergeant major. Technically, Doc Jamal is my second in command, but in reality, it is you Ruth." Sam climbs down the ladder.

Once Sam is on the ground, he walks towards me, and I notice he reeks of gasoline.

"I'll handle the big picture of getting the three platoons and our company back together and to the NWTs (Northwest Territories). Sutton will handle the day to day activities of the company. We're HHC (Headquarters and Headquarters Company) by the way. The ROE and OOB are still being decided on and right now are fluid. Basically, keep your ass and anyone else's ass from getting noshed on by a zombie."

Sam's use of Yiddish is an interesting choice.

"Our plan," Sam continues, "is to punch out through the southern fence with the Cat D9. Just before sunset, the dozer will punch through the gate. The first units of the convoy will roll through the gap and return to the 522 highway."

Sam leans on one of the few folding tables still left.

"As the first convoy units are leaving, the 20mm and Quad 50 will completely obliterate the gates. Using the surplus Soviet mines from the Spets boys, we have mined the area around the gate buildings. Allowing the zombies to flood into the camp corals them in. We're doin' a shootin' withdrawal."

Sam pauses for a minute to wipe his hands with a dirty rag. I do not think the hand wiping is any improvement, as the rag is dirtier than his hands, which are soaked in fuel.

"You know what a BLU-82b is?" Sam asks me suddenly.

"Yes, you Americans call them 'daisy cutters.' Manufacturing started again during the Second Afghanistan War, but they were supposedly all spent during the Iranian War. At one time, the daisy cutters were the largest non-nuclear bomb in the US arsenal. That is until the MOABs (Massive Ordnance Air Blast but better known as Mother of All Bombs) and Russian ATBIP (Aviation Thermobaric Bomb of Increased Power) came along."

"Good so you know what MOABs, ATBIPs and daisy cutters are. Well, this is the terrestrial, smaller cousin of the GBU-44D ATBIP, the ground TBIP (Thermobaric Bomb of Increased Power). This device is set on a remote detonate. The plan is that by the time we leave here, the zombies will stand around the TBIP when the sun goes down and go dormant."

Sam takes another breath and coughs a little.

"Once the convoy is clear, and hopefully the area is packed with zombies, we are going to remote detonate the TBIP which should incinerate everything in a large several block radius. We've been waitin' for a chance to use this big sucker and this seems like a prime opportunity. We hope that the cacophony caused by the 20mm and Quad 50 plus the convoy noise will be enough to attract quite a few zombies. This sucker packs the punch of a small nuclear bomb, and is going to instantly incinerate whole lotta zombies."

Sam seems very pleased with his plan. "Well, lieutenant, let's get everything loaded up. When we stop tomorrow, we will better lay out what your duties are. For now you, handle your car and corporal Shack. We'll need you translation skills, intelligence and counter-intel experience later, I am sure."

The personnel get ready to roll and load convoy vehicles for the rest of the day. As the sun sets, I wonder about Sam's plan. So now I am a lieutenant in this man's army. What other surprises does the evening hold, I wonder, as I watch the sun drop in the sky.