arose. He was a battle-tested US Marine, having served two tours in Iraq and one in Afghanistan. He didn’t have to prove anything to anyone, but he needed to make sure that Joe and his people felt comfortable around him. He couldn’t explain why his feelings on the subject had changed. Four months ago, he would have killed them and taken the entire town for himself. Now that he’d had the last few months to think it over, he couldn’t remember why he’d done what he had. The fear of being killed had haunted him for nearly twenty years now, and it was that fear that kept him alive in the worst combat situations and kept the undead from taking him since the world went to shit. He did what he had to do. He begged, stole, and borrowed his way across the south for the last few years after meeting with Lieutenant Wyatt outside Kessler AFB nearly nine years ago.
The base had been largely untouched since the beginning of the undead, and two weeks after the end, White had ran into Wyatt while making his way into Kessler. Teaming up with Wyatt wasn’t the best idea he’d ever had, but both men had been left out to dry by their respective command structures, and White’s rank was of no influence when it came to the lieutenant. Wyatt had decided to hole up in a motor pool on base and try to regain some of his lost men and assets. White did the grunt work while Wyatt did the think-tank. At first, they started doing small runs to gain supplies and food. After a year, they amassed a dozen Marines/soldiers that had taken to Wyatt’s ideologies. Captain White didn’t necessarily agree with it, but it kept him alive.
Two years and several more dozens of soldiers later, Wyatt ordered out small scouting parties throughout the southeast and mid-Atlantic states. The primary base of operations for him was moved to Fort McClellan, Alabama, to take advantage of the base’s large number of tracked vehicles. Tanks, LAVs, and APCs were ideal for driving through the post-apocalyptic countryside, and they had plenty at their disposal. Units were sent as far north as Ohio, and as far west as Missouri to round up more soldiers for their cause. White stayed with Wyatt for over six years at Fort McClellan, keeping his distance from the increasingly unstable Marine. Every so often, Wyatt would show up with a different rank on his collar, promoting himself whenever the mood struck him right, or when a unit reported in with good news. He pinned himself with 1 st Lieutenant after the first raid that netted them a warehouse full of MREs. That was followed shortly by promotions to Captain, Major, and Lieutenant Colonel, each one about every two years. Once the units were in place, they began surrounding and pushing into Virginia. Wyatt pinned the first star on his collar when he realized that he must be the undisputed commander of all the forces that he had aligned himself with. Patriot groups, militia leaders, and others needed to know who was in charge.
Another sound of flesh-meets-metal drove away White’s daydream. He sat up and looked out the windshield of the Ram. More zombies littered the road and surrounding area, choking off several points of travel and forcing Joe to drive onto the shoulder and median. White propped himself between the two front seats as Joe continued swerving in and out of “traffic.”
“Shit. Shit. Shit!” Joe exclaimed as he tried to dodge the undead. Running over a few wouldn’t do much damage to the truck, but he wasn’t going to risk puncturing the radiator or getting a flat tire in their current spot.
Curtis clenched his rifle and sat up attentively, scanning back and forth and pointing out the zombies positions. “Two more on the left! Three top right!”
“Whatever is in those LMTVs better be fucking worth it. We keep this up too much longer and we won’t make it back with our collective asses in one piece,” White commented.
“Stow it, White.” Another whump as Joe ran over a particularly fat
The base had been largely untouched since the beginning of the undead, and two weeks after the end, White had ran into Wyatt while making his way into Kessler. Teaming up with Wyatt wasn’t the best idea he’d ever had, but both men had been left out to dry by their respective command structures, and White’s rank was of no influence when it came to the lieutenant. Wyatt had decided to hole up in a motor pool on base and try to regain some of his lost men and assets. White did the grunt work while Wyatt did the think-tank. At first, they started doing small runs to gain supplies and food. After a year, they amassed a dozen Marines/soldiers that had taken to Wyatt’s ideologies. Captain White didn’t necessarily agree with it, but it kept him alive.
Two years and several more dozens of soldiers later, Wyatt ordered out small scouting parties throughout the southeast and mid-Atlantic states. The primary base of operations for him was moved to Fort McClellan, Alabama, to take advantage of the base’s large number of tracked vehicles. Tanks, LAVs, and APCs were ideal for driving through the post-apocalyptic countryside, and they had plenty at their disposal. Units were sent as far north as Ohio, and as far west as Missouri to round up more soldiers for their cause. White stayed with Wyatt for over six years at Fort McClellan, keeping his distance from the increasingly unstable Marine. Every so often, Wyatt would show up with a different rank on his collar, promoting himself whenever the mood struck him right, or when a unit reported in with good news. He pinned himself with 1 st Lieutenant after the first raid that netted them a warehouse full of MREs. That was followed shortly by promotions to Captain, Major, and Lieutenant Colonel, each one about every two years. Once the units were in place, they began surrounding and pushing into Virginia. Wyatt pinned the first star on his collar when he realized that he must be the undisputed commander of all the forces that he had aligned himself with. Patriot groups, militia leaders, and others needed to know who was in charge.
Another sound of flesh-meets-metal drove away White’s daydream. He sat up and looked out the windshield of the Ram. More zombies littered the road and surrounding area, choking off several points of travel and forcing Joe to drive onto the shoulder and median. White propped himself between the two front seats as Joe continued swerving in and out of “traffic.”
“Shit. Shit. Shit!” Joe exclaimed as he tried to dodge the undead. Running over a few wouldn’t do much damage to the truck, but he wasn’t going to risk puncturing the radiator or getting a flat tire in their current spot.
Curtis clenched his rifle and sat up attentively, scanning back and forth and pointing out the zombies positions. “Two more on the left! Three top right!”
“Whatever is in those LMTVs better be fucking worth it. We keep this up too much longer and we won’t make it back with our collective asses in one piece,” White commented.
“Stow it, White.” Another whump as Joe ran over a particularly fat
Similar Books
