Convoy 19: A Zombie Novel Read online

  CONVOY 19

  Mark Rivett

  Copyright 2014 by Mark Rivett

  With Special Thanks To: Tommy Ryan

  Prologue

  How did we get here?

  That is a simple question with too many answers. I’ve been staring at it on my computer monitor for hours, wondering where to begin. My house is very quiet without Melissa and Ruben. It’s difficult to stay focused, and I haven’t slept in days.

  It’s a blessing that television and radio have stopped broadcasting. The day-to-day carnage and slaughter that had been dumped into everyone’s houses for months was bad enough, and those horrifying images bear no small level of responsibility for the panic and paranoia that pushed us over the edge. But the talking heads: the pontificating blowhards, raging wall-bangers, and self-righteous assholes that drowned out anyone with a real solution in the pursuit of ratings… that was just too much.

  That’s probably not a good place to start. The failure of media to inform the public is a piece of the puzzle, but it isn’t the biggest piece. Their biased finger pointing and brinkmanship helped to drive the political climate, but our leaders still had the ability to make the right choices. Only they didn’t.

  How did we get here? This is a country with enough guns to arm every man, woman, and child. The United States military budget is larger than every other country combined. How is it that the dead not only rose from the grave to attack the living, but we also failed to manage that horror to the point that it got the better of us? This is a country that survived small pox, cholera, World War Two…how the living hell did we get here?

  The dead rose from the grave to attack the living…that’s the first time I’ve written those words. You’d think that the Secretary of Health and Human Services to the President of the United States of America would have a clear and honest grasp of this crisis, but my staff and I, went to astounding lengths to obfuscate it behind politically correct jargon that had been thoroughly watered down and sanitized for public consumption. “Dissociative Psychotic Fugue”, “Antisocial Analgesia”, “Neurotic Cannibalistic Syndrome”, “Infectious Cotard Disorder.” These are just a few of the ridiculous euphemisms that served no purpose beyond lying to ourselves about what was really happening.

  Of course, even we didn’t understand that we were dealing with the living dead initially. Now, months into this disaster, it’s pretty damn clear to everyone. Yet, this is the first time I’ve directly addressed it. Reminds me of what a bunch of dumb cattle we (not just myself, but everyone else who’s supposed to be in charge) really are.

  Maybe that’s a good place to start: government. The government failed in so many ways that it’s absurd. I could write a book about it, and it would be equal parts tragedy and comedy.

  Let’s start with me. I have a Bachelor of Arts in Business Administration from the University of Texas. What the hell am I doing as Secretary of Health and Human Services? I’ll tell you – I rubbed elbows with a lot of people in the administration’s campaign. I don’t have any real skeletons in my closet and I was rewarded. Jobs were rewarded not for skill or merit, but for political cronyism. Of the ten HHS districts, not one of my directors is a medical doctor, psychologist, or sociologist. They are business people and lawyers. They are men and women who knew the right people and could navigate their way around an office, but when it came to solving real health epidemics or addressing social issues, they may as well have been walking corpses themselves. I never realized there was anything wrong with that…until now. That was simply how the world was run. Brilliant guys like Dr. Henry Damico who had the talent but no connections…they had mid-level desk jobs writing reports to dumb-asses like me…who couldn’t even understand them with a translator.

  So, when shit got real, and it was time for HHS to mobilize…there wasn’t any leadership. I take responsibility for that. If you were building a bonfire to burn down the world, a lot of those logs would have my name on them.

  I’d be in good company, though. I honestly watched the Secretary of State once ask for demographics on the infected, so that he could determine whether Republicans or Democrats were being hit disproportionately in order to prioritize relief. He literally wanted what few semi-competent staff members he had on hand to stop what they were doing so he could--in essence--allow opposing voters to die while giving aid to supporters. I’ll never forget the President’s response: “That’s a really good idea. That’s a really goddamn good idea.”

  About a month ago, I watched a frustrated General try to explain to the Secretary of Defense that the living dead could only be killed by destroying their brain. We were months into this shit-storm and the guy who was managing our rapidly diminishing military resources didn’t even understand how to kill the enemy. The last time I saw him, he was running to his car. When I asked his personal aide what was going on, she said that the marine platoon he had delegated to guard his family’s neighborhood had gone AWOL.

  When refugees started flooding in from every corner of the globe under the false assumption that America would manage the crisis better than their home nations, Homeland Security was still looking for terrorists. Plane-loads of Asian and European infected were just pouring into our airports, but as long as they weren’t on the terror list…they were welcomed in with open arms. Months into the shit, when the President finally asked if it would be a good idea to screen air travelers, the Director of Homeland Security hadn’t even thought about how to do it. By the time screenings started, commercial flights had long since been grounded.

  It wasn’t just the executive branch that was laden with incompetence. The House and The Senate were just as pitiful. Congress never saw a crisis it didn’t try to exploit, and the zombie apocalypse was no exception. If the parties weren’t already entrenched and oppositional, they were ten-fold now.

  “Need emergency funding for relief to metropolitan Chicago? Fuck you, we have to stop the spending somewhere!”

  “Cut my irrelevant ear-mark in a bill that gives the military authority to set up refugee centers in American cities? Fuck you! What do I get out of it?”

  “This bill makes sense, but makes the opposing party look good…fuck you. I’ll make up some reason to vote it down.”

  Some congressmen courted their base by toeing the line that the entire issue was a religious one. The rapture crowd was a vocal minority, but man, were they vocal. There was news footage of some representatives actually claiming that flesh-eating undead monsters had human rights, and actually floated federal bills that made it illegal to kill them. There were state and local governments that didn’t just put forth bills like that, but actually passed them.

  There was no end to the insanity. In the beginning, before we really understood the epidemic, there were some extremists within government that wanted to quarantine every town in the nation, and go door to door looking for infected, shooting them on sight. Draconian policies like this smacked of Nazi Germany and Soviet Russia, and the backlash from the American public was so extreme that the CDC saw incident reporting drop like a stone. Conversely, CDC field agent casualties – a term that I had never before even seen in a report – skyrocketed. The last thing you should tell an American citizen, is that the government is going to come to their home and kill someone they love. We knew the epidemic was spreading, but now, thanks to a couple of career politicians who wanted to look like John Wayne to their constituency, the CDC was blinded and their people were being killed.

  When things started getting really bad, representatives went to their home districts so they could put their own face to their voters’ salvation. This is when things got much worse. Every senator and congressmen wanted to be the man or woman who saved The Empire State Building, t
he Lincoln Memorial, the public library, or some little old lady’s house. Hundreds of established and defensible military perimeters were moved and thinned, quickly became indefensible, and then failed. Hard choices had been made by the few capable people left in leadership. Sadly, those choices were immediately and directly undermined by politicians who didn’t just lack an understanding of the situation, but had a rooted self-interest in exploiting it however they could. These so-called leaders had spent so much time in Washington that they didn’t even know how to stop campaigning when their very survival depended on it. People were dying by the thousands and rising from the grave, and the people with the power to make a difference were worried about their next election. Ultimately, it doesn’t matter if you’re a high-powered senator or a public school janitor. Your brains taste the same to the zombies. Way too many Americans and far too few politicians found that fact out the hard way.

  Still, the common people, the average every day schmoes, weren’t completely blameless. When the local grocery store runs out of food and families start missing meals, neighbors start shooting each other over a can of soup. Then neighbors’ families and friends get involved, and suddenly, there are millions of little Hatfield and McCoy style wars raging in every town and city in the world. The reality that the undead were beating down our door was bad enough, but we made it even worse when we did our part to add to their number. News footage of Miami and Seattle were looking like Baghdad after the American invasion drove home the sense that we weren’t in this together. We were on our own.

  America alone produces enough food to feed the entire world. With a little rationing and logistics, every man, woman, and child, would have enough food to last over a year – I saw the reports. Hell, I reviewed plans that the Secretary of Agriculture had written up to make sure not one fat-ass beer-drinking American missed a meal. Even if that meal wasn’t going to be a thick cut of prime rib or a greasy hamburger, it was still a meal. He was a good guy. The cabinet was an embarrassment, but the Secretary of Agriculture really stood apart from the rest of us. The only problem was, by the time we got past the petty arguments about whether it was a legal use of imminent domain to turn an abandoned skyscraper into a hydroponic tomato farm…we no longer had the manpower or infrastructure available to execute.

  That was another issue. When we did actually move on something, the labor required to do what needed to be done simply wasn’t available. It’s hard to blame the contractors and the government workers. What would you do? Your family is boarding up their home and stockpiling ammunition, and your boss calls you and asks you to drive to work through a zombie-infested neighborhood so you can fork-lift generators onto a flat bed. Hell, the flat beds didn’t even have drivers.

  When it finally became clear that the only way we were going to get anything done was to use the military, half the military had already deserted. Again, what would you do? Your orders are to “hurry up and wait” at some military depot in BFE, and the only thing coming through the news is how your hometown is being ravaged by the undead. Unlike a contractor, you’re a soldier with an M16 and access to a military Humvee. Hell, in your mind, it’s your duty as an American to get off your ass, get home, and start popping walking corpses. This duty becomes especially clear when you’re ordered to set up camp around some well-connected rich banker’s mansion, while the poor community down the road burns to ashes. Our soldiers are good people for the most part. My guess is that none of them wanted to abandon their post, but when we misused them—when we showed them our priorities were monuments and rich people, instead of red, white, and blue mom and pop Jane and John Smith—it became their responsibility to desert… and they deserted in droves.

  The military we had left would have been more valuable if it had been decommissioned, drained of its fuel and resources, and redistributed to cities and neighborhoods near military bases. What are you gonna do with a fully fueled and armed to the tooth B-52 Stratofortress? Carpet bomb New Jersey? It sounds absurd, but honestly, it was discussed. When Russia bombed Saint Petersburg, its own city, people in government started asking if maybe that’s something we should do. By then, New York City was a walking graveyard, so why not? Then when India—not their greatest enemy, Pakistan, but India –nuked their own city of Bangalore, a city of just under nine million people…those conversations stopped. The walking dead were the enemy and there were people fighting for survival in every corner of the country. Wiping a city off the map wouldn’t accomplish anything except to reduce the chances of survival from slim to none for anyone still living in that city.

  That’s right around the time the president was assassinated. The Secret Service is really good about being present without being seen. For months, those guys watched the situation across the country deteriorate, while simultaneously having a front-row seat to the buffoons in charge fucking up one thing after another. Those guys are loyal, but they’re also human. I don’t know if it was one guy, or if a bunch of them had the same idea, but the day Air Force One was loaded up to whisk the president off to some secret bunker, someone had enough of the injustice and hypocrisy. I once heard the president’s chief of security talking about some dark things he saw in Afghanistan. He said, “Sometimes there aren’t any solutions. Sometimes things get so fucked up, there aren’t any answers and all you have are bullets.” Some Secret Service Agent must have felt the same way.

  I guess that’s where we are now. The world’s been at war with walking dead for about a year, and we’ve lost.

  We lost for a lot of reasons, but maybe more than anything, we lost because we’re human. The undead, they don’t think, feel, or worry about their next meal, or how they are going to stay warm. Humans do, however, and cold hard objective facts say that that’s a weakness. If you saw your husband, wife, child, or parent get sick, die, and then reanimate to what (to you) looks like life, what would you do? Is your first instinct to bash their brains in? Because if it is, congratulations. You’re a soulless monster, but you may just be alive. If not, if your first instinct is relief and joy at what you perceive to be a recovery, then I have some bad news for you. You’re dead too, and now there are two more zombies in this world instead of one.

  When my son Ruben was bitten, I knew exactly what it was. I knew there was no hope and I knew what would happen when he died. Knowing that and accepting that are two different things, however. Even after he bit my wife, Melissa, it took a week of them locked in the bedroom clawing, scratching, and moaning before I got the nerve to put them down.

  So am I human or am I a monster? I don’t know. I’ve watched my neighborhood devolve from a nice upper class gated community into a boarded-up ghost town. I try to stay connected to whatever government is still functioning, but my generator is almost out of gas and my supposedly secure government wireless signal is growing more and more unreliable. I killed my own family. I’m afraid to leave my house. The dead are wandering about outside, and I think some of them know I’m in here. I’ve done very little to help with this apocalypse, and a lot more to contribute to it. I think that makes me a bad human being.

  Consider this letter as my resignation. The best person to replace me is Dr. Henry Damico – Assistant Manager to the Director of Health and Human Services in District Nine. He’s done a lot of good through all of this and he’s a smart man. If he had had my job, things wouldn’t be so hopeless.

  I’m going to go downstairs and drink a cup of coffee. Then I’m going to take my .38 special and join my wife and son. Sometimes, things get so fucked up there aren’t any solutions, and all you have are bullets.

  Secretary of Health and Human Services,

  Willard Clark

  Chapter 1

  “Almost home,” Sergeant First Class Carl Harvey whispered under his breath, as he accelerated his military Humvee through the dark, rubble-strewn city streets. The windshield wipers, moving at full speed, barely cut through the torrential downpour that was so uncharacteristic of San Diego weather. Carl leaned forward in t
he driver seat struggling to lead his convoy of military vehicles home. The interior of the hummer was a noisy cacophony of confusion. Terrified sobs and screams from the civilians who sat in the back of his vehicle, mingled with the constant squawking of communications across the combat network. The .50 caliber machine gun mounted above him drowned the havoc in sporadic thunder and death.

  A swarm of living dead was close behind. Carl had often wondered at the horrifying phenomenon that drove undead to gather in groups. Individually, they were dangerous, but easily dealt with. In groups, however, they could work themselves into frenzy. Hundreds, even thousands of rotting cadavers sprinted after the convoy like a ravenous marathon.

  Agitated for long enough, a boiling swarm of zombies might pursue prey for miles until they were distracted. Carl knew that if he were to stop driving, the howls of the hungry dead would raise to a crescendo as they engulfed the convoy. He blinked away the mental image and pressed on the accelerator.

  Harvey’s responsibilities as point driver – the lead vehicle of the convoy – were measured in split seconds – instantaneous judgment calls that led the convoy through the mayhem of a city consumed by the undead. A wrong turn, break down, even a flat tire, would cost lives. Having grown up in northern Michigan, he had learned to drive in an unforgiving crucible of weather that was encouraged and supported by a culture and family that loved everything about cars. Now, as the country struggled to survive a living nightmare of death risen to devour the living, he couldn’t help but remember the blizzards he had experienced in his youth. A relentless, high-intensity storm, where no one respected the law, cars being abandoned and debris littered every inch of the road. On top of all that, an armed hostile civilian or flesh-eating monster could, and often did, jump out at you at any second.