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  Tuesday, 21 June 2016 (Iraq Time Zone)

  Camp Liberty, Iraq

  6,567 Miles to Pilgrim, Indiana

  The hardest part was the wait. It wasn’t because I was in Iraq, but because my family was back in the United States while I was in Iraq that hurt the most.

  The Horde moved fast. Not in the sense that they were quick moving, but that they spread like a fucking wildfire. It was the multiple theory. One turned into two, two into four… Fuck it, you know the theory.

  Even worse than my family being in the States was that they were separated. My wife, Hannah (she is my second wife) and my son and second daughter (Sammy and Claire, respectively) were in Indiana. My first daughter, Debra, was in West Virginia with her bitch of a mother.

  Okay, that was a poor choice of wording. Sara is a good mother. A great mother, actually. She was just a bitch of a wife and an even bigger bitch of an ex-wife. I’m not going into details on the matter. Let’s just leave it at that, okay? Good.

  I seem to be getting a little bit off subject. Let me tell you why I started this journal in the first place. If you haven’t figured it out yet, I am military, Army to be exact. Born and breed so to speak.

  While on my fourth deployment, a deployment that was bullshit, to begin with, is when the Horde came around. Sure, everybody has seen them in movies and on TV shows. But, out of all the movies and TV shows I’ve seen, I can’t remember anyone calling them what they actually were. And trust me, I’ve seen a lot.

  But…

  They’re FUCKING zombies.

  It was just that the U.S. Government started to calling these things ‘The Horde.’ The name stuck and that’s what they are.

  For me, it all started about two weeks before the first day of this journal. For the rest of the world, it was close to a month before that. That’s how long it took for the epidemic to get to the war zone. And now there is no more centralized warzone. The whole damn world is a war zone.

  Apparently, from what I heard (and this is just the ‘private watercooler talk’), this shit started in Russia somewhere and just spread. Spread quickly, as I have mentioned. Russia couldn’t contain it. All of the Americas tried to but failed. And none of the other countries had the means or know how on what to do. It was truly over before it began.

  This brings me to my current predicament. Oh yeah, there were many battles between the Horde and the human race. It was a losing battle for us. Visual and literary history tells us to shoot the bastards in the head and you’ll kill them for good. I can tell you from firsthand experience, this is not true. I have given these fuckers good headshots, and they still wouldn’t go down. The only real way to take the Horde out, but not kill, is to incapacitate them. I have not found a different way as of yet. If they can’t move, they can’t attack.

  I’m sorry. Yet again, I am getting ahead of myself.

  I am Staff Sargent Byron Yames. If you know anything about the military, then you know that they like to do things alphabetically. By that logic, I am one of the last people to board a bird out of Iraq. Am I pissed about that fact? Oh, yell yes. But I can’t do much about it. The military has a certain way of doing things. This is one of those ways. No matter how much I pleaded and begged, I was still stuck here. For fourteen days after the government finally gave the order for every American troop to be brought home I had to sit on my ass in Iraq until someone finally said it was okay for me to go home.

  In that time, I and the rest of the military personnel had to fight off numerous amounts of the Horde. But, there was no stopping them.

  In the last fourteen days, I may have gotten a day’s worth of sleep. That’s twenty-four hours in three hundred and thirty-six hours for the ones that aren’t military. The only thing that kept me going was the thought of getting back to my wife and kids. Of course, I didn’t know if they were still alive. All I could do was hope they were. Hope is a grand thing. It will give you strength when there is nothing else.

  So, here I am. Sitting in a run-downed building, an hour away from my transport to an airport that is another hour away to board a plane for a twenty-three-hour trip back to North Carolina. A state that is nowhere near where I need to go. Again, am I pissed? You have no idea. Will I roll with the punches? I have no choice.

  * * * *

  Tuesday, 21 June 2016

  Somewhere over the Atlantic

  Unknown Miles to Pilgrim, Indiana

  Most of this writing is being done after the fact. It has to be that way. For example, what I am writing about here happened almost fifteen hours ago on a plane. Right now I am actually sitting in a hanger typing on my laptop surrounded by four hundred soldiers. We have been here for close to four hours.

  The reason myself and the other one hundred and forty-nine soldiers had to wait so long for a plane is because of the turnaround on the flight. At first, there were four C-17s flying people out of Iraq. Over the course of the two weeks, the number of planes fell to one. The planes would fly from Iraq straight to somewhere in the U.S. on the east coast. The turnaround time from leaving Iraq to return to Iraq was twenty-two hours.

  The loss of planes wasn’t all due to The Horde (I wished they didn’t make that their name). One plane was just bust, another was attacked by zombies, and the third had a malfunction in mid-air causing it to crash in the middle of the Atlantic with soldiers on board. Thankfully the plane we were traveling on didn’t have anything happen to it. We were the last of the Americans out of Iraq. That sucked because about a third of the plane was top brass. I have no idea what was happening with Afghanistan.

  Now I can handle the brass in moderation. But being stuck on a plane with the fuckers is worse than the zombies. At least the zombies can’t talk. They like to micromanage everything.

  Close to halfway through the flight was when everyone started to get pissed off.

  I was in the back with the people I was charged with. To begin with, there was only six other E-6s. That took the one hundred and fifty down to ninety-four (that’s also minus the number of the E-7s and above). That meant two of the E-6s were in charge of fifteen soldiers with the other four getting sixteen. It’s not so bad.

  The bad part was the ninety-four soldiers all thought the same way. Everyone wanted to get to their homes. We lost communication with the States one day of our two week stay in Iraq. That sucked beyond all get out because no one had any chance of talking to their families.

  When the shit hit the fan on the plane, we were more than halfway there.

  Like I said, I was in the back with my wards. We were talking about little things. None of it was about the zombies. We were trying to keep our minds off the situation as best we could. Every time the conversation steered toward them I would talk about something else. It wasn’t hard to steer the conversation. The soldiers looked to me for guidance. The problem started when General Stone stood up and began to talk.

  General Stone stood at the front of the cargo area. He had been conversing with several other officers before he addressed the plane as a whole. I don’t know what they said, but I do believe the gist of it is in what he said next.

  “At ease, ladies and gentlemen,” Stone started off. He was a natural speaker and had no trouble making his voice heard over everyone else talking. The plane silenced instantly, except for the engines outside. “I have some things to let you in on. First off, you all are still American Soldiers. By that, I mean you all must still follow the orders given to you. Secondly, we are well aware you all want to get to your families. Unfortunately, that cannot be allowed. We, by ‘we’ I mean the American public, need you to help fight The Horde. No one is allowed to leave our staging area.”

  General Stone wasn’t able to get any further. An enormous rumble echoed throughout the cargo hold. Stone tried to kee
p talking, I could see his lips moving. None of it was heard over the ruckus the soldiers were letting out.

  General Stone’s most senior NCO, a Command Sergeant Major, stood and bellowed out, “At ease the fucking noise. Let the General explain.”

  It took a few seconds, but people calmed down. There were some in my group who were making a little noise. They shut their mouths when I looked at them. Most of the soldiers in my group served under me to begin with. They knew I am not one to trifle with. One of them even said later how pissed I looked. I wasn’t pissed because they were making noise, I was pissed because of what Stone was saying. I didn’t care much about my looks and they knew that too.

  Stone continued his apparently practiced speech.

  “Listen to me closely everyone. This… whatever it is, is spreading fast. No one seems to know how to stop it. No one knows where it came from. There are ideas, but no concrete evidence. It just is. We all are still American Soldiers. We will continue to fight as such.” Stone stopped to take a breath. “We are not flying to Bragg as originally planned. Bragg has been overrun and there is no more airfield. Instead, we are going to South Carolina. There is a small airfield where we can land at and maneuver from. Now, I do not want to hear any more complaints. We will land in roughly six hours. I strongly suggest you all get some sleep. We will hit the ground running.”

  He stopped talking. Since he turned to talk to his counsel, everyone thought he was done. People took spots in the small chairs and on the floor to try to get some sleep. Even the NCOs did. That was until Stone spoke again.

  “I need all Non-Commissioned Officers up here.”

  Fewer grumbles than before echoed throughout the plane. If we had been outside, they may have gone unnoticed. But since we were inside a completely closed-off and cramped area, everybody heard them. The look of disgust on Stone’s face stood out prominently.

  I and the other five E-6s moved to the front of the cargo hold. Another eleven E-5s went as well. Only one from my group. Stone stood with the other forty-nine high rankers waiting for us.

  He didn’t waste any time to get out what he wanted to say. “I know you all are just as pissed as the soldiers. But I know you can handle it. I am relying on you to help us in this matter. You are their first point of contact. They will turn to you before they turn to us.”

  By ‘us’ he met the people who will be standing back while the soldiers fight off the zombies. Everybody knew it, but no one said anything. Most soldiers will talk a lot of shit when it comes to telling an officer off. When the time comes, they’ll keep their mouths shut.

  Then again, I’m not most soldiers.

  “Sir,” I said from inside the make-shift circle. All eyes turned to me. I kept my eyes on Stone. “These guys were scared going into Iraq.”

  “We know this, Staff Sergeant,” one of the Lieutenant Colonials said. “What’s your point?”

  I still didn’t take my eyes off Stone. “This is a new type of fear for the soldiers. They understood why they were fighting in Iraq for the country. They don’t understand why they are fighting these zombies for a country that is no more.”

  “Do you feel the same way?” Stone asked me.

  I didn’t have to think about my answer. “No, Sir. I haven’t been fighting for my country. I have been fighting to protect my family that lives in the said country. And that is what I will be fighting to get back to.”

  The General laughed while I kept a straight face.

  “That is the best answer anyone could give me,” he said through chuckles. “But you do understand there is a chance you will never see them again.”

  I wanted to say there wasn’t. I didn’t. That statement would just get me into trouble. I had to keep my tact in check. All I did was nod my head to satisfy him. Who in turn was still laughing.

  “Is there any more you wish to say?” he asked. I shook my head. “Good. Can you help us in this situation?” I nodded, as well did everybody else. “Good. Now you all can go back to your soldiers.”

  Everyone dispersed. Before I could get away, I was pulled to the side by my Battalion Command Sergeant Major. He walked me to as much of a secluded area as we could get on the plane. That area was by the bay door to the cargo area.

  “Are you out of your fucking mind, Byron?” he harshly asked me.

  I didn’t mind his tone, or the fact of him using my first name. Both of those were for two reasons. The first being I see him and me as man to man now, not as a superior to a subordinate. As far as I was concerned (and I would never say this out loud), since America was no more I saw the military as no more. The second reason is that when I was a young private he was my platoon sergeant. We both moved on, then we ended up on the same post again. As a young buck Sergeant, he was my First Sergeant. Again, we moved on. Now, he was my CSM. This type of thing isn’t unheard of in the military. It happens more than people think it does.

  CSM Damien Perez and I have not only had a working relationship. We also had a personal one. We knew how to keep both of them separated. At that point, we weren’t in the working relationship. We were talking from a personal level.

  “No, I’m not,” I answered him as harshly as he asked. I didn’t even bother going to parade rest for him. “I’m just trying to get my point across here, Damien.”

  He wasn’t hurt by me using his first name. What did hurt him, and I didn’t find this out until later, was I spoke my mind to a General. He knew I didn’t care about doing it, though.

  “That’s beside the point.”

  “No, I don’t think it is.” By this point, I had crossed my arms. It wasn’t in a defensive manner. It was the way I wanted to stand. If there was a wall I could have leaned against I would have.

  Damien took the same stance I did as he spoke. “Is it because you consider the Army non-existent now?”

  I nodded.

  “Why?”

  “Because, without a governing authority to guide us…” I shrugged my shoulders to indicate what I meant to finish with. Before he could speak again, I added, “Now, I will stay and help you guys establish a foothold in South Carolina. Only for a day or two. But I need to hit the road after that. I strongly suggest you talk to General Stone about everyone else, otherwise, he will have a mutiny on his hands by Saturday.”

  Damien could see how serious I was about the matter. There was no way of talking me out of leaving. Whether I was right or wrong about the mutiny, I believe I hit a valid point with him.

  “Give me two days, okay?” he asked. The harshness left his voice.

  I held up two fingers, saying, “Two days. That’s all I can afford.”

  He nodded and started off. Before he got too far, I asked, “Are there any more soldiers at the place we’re landing?”

  He didn’t turn fully around. “Yeah. About three hundred National Guardsmen.” Then he walked off.

  I watched him get to the front of the plane before I made my short walk to my squad. I told them what happened at the front of the plane. They didn’t need to know about what happened between Damien and me, but I told them that part too. They seemed more excited about the second conversation than the first.

  After I gave them the information, I ordered them to bed down. It was uncomfortable, but it would do. Most of the plane was already asleep. When we had thirty minutes left before we landed, everybody was woken up. It was a clusterfuck trying to get people to take their seats. But it was manageable. After we landed, we were rushed into the closest hanger. Zombies heard the roar of the plane and were heading our way.

  * * * *

  Wednesday, 22 June 2016

  McEntire Joint National Guard Base, South Carolina

  718 Miles to Pilgrim, Indiana (412 Miles to Commerce, WV)

  This is the second and last night I am spending in the hanger. I made plans to get out around three in the morning. I just wanted to get this important information down first.

  Like I said last night, the zombies heard us coming in and attacked. Sl
ow moving bastards were on top of us like nothing. All said I would have to say there was close to a thousand zombies coming toward us.

  Of course, damn near all four hundred soldiers reverted to what they learned from movies. They shot the zombies in the head. All they did was waste ammo. The zombies just kept coming.

  Word got passed, slowly, to try to incapacitate them. Take out their legs if possible. But the word didn’t get passed quick enough. Out of the four hundred or so soldiers, we lost close to seventy-five. None of the officers or senior Non-Commissioned Officers were part of that number. They were still in the hanger, barking inaudible orders at us.

  Our ammunition supply took a serious hit. After it all ended, we barely had a basic load for eighty people. We couldn’t get any of the ammo from the newly turned zombie members because the ammo was still on them. Our food and water supply were worse. I’m not going too far into that because it doesn’t affect me anymore. I’m leaving with one other person in a few hours. I’ll tell you about her in a bit. There are some things you need to know first.

  After the order came to pull back, we secured the hanger so nothing could get in. Stone order us to bed down. Apparently, from what Damien told me, he (the General) wanted us recuperated for another attack.

  That guy is beyond stupid, in my opinion. Sending us back out to attack a never dying enemy. Stone still believes we’re in a “conventional” war zone. He doesn’t get that we can’t beat these things with firearms. All he is going to do is send men and women to their deaths. He would have found out the hard way if someone didn’t do something soon.

  Luckily, there was someone out of the remaining soldiers who was a thinker. Not to toot my own horn here, but that was me.

  I gathered my squad. It wasn’t too hard as we were all in the same area.

  “I need two volunteers,” I said to them. Instantly, ten hands went up. I had to say something before they did something stupid themselves. I put my own hand up and continued, “Before you volunteer, you need to hear what it is first.” The hands went down. That was good. “I need two volunteers to help me catch a zombie.”