Cracked: A Deadland short story

A Deadland Saga short story starring Captain Tyler Masden

I sat on the floor behind the sales counter, holding my rifle and staring blankly at the blood splatter and flecks of human flesh peppering my fatigues.

Jonesie scrambled back to my position. "Our six is still blocked, Maz, but there aren't as many zeds as before."

I looked up, watched him for a moment, and then squeezed his shoulder, "We'll get our window soon. Then we'll head out." I left off the part about the window I was waiting for would come by the way of some panicking civvie grabbing the zeds' attention with his screams and lead them away from our current location.

Two hours ago, we'd holed up in a coffee house on the edge of a strip mall, with nothing but a floor-to-ceiling pane of glass between us and a street full of the unstoppable undead out front. We should've kept moving before the herd doubled in size. I'd made a rookie mistake by leading my team here. We were sitting ducks. As soon as one zed homed in on us, we'd be butchered. Right now, I was counting on the coffee smells to camouflage us from the predators outside.

Gripping my handheld radio, I looked over the remnants of my platoon. Three...that was all that was left under my command out of the thirty-five troops I'd led into Des Moines twenty-eight hours ago to keep the infection from spreading outside the city.

We never stood a chance. Des Moines had already turned into zed city by the time we arrived to close off the highways. Within the first hour we'd been overrun. Since then, we'd been passing the time getting slaughtered and running for our lives.

The worst part was that not only did we have to watch our brothers-in-arms die once, when they were shredded by the infected, but we had to put a bullet through each of their heads when they awoke. Those we didn't get to in time were now bloodthirsty predators outside the coffee house window. Some were the men and women under my command. I'd led them to their deaths. And, by the look of things, they wouldn't be the last.

I pressed the transmit button on my handheld and tried to keep my voice low. "Third Platoon to Fox. What's the word on pickup?"

"All resources are still unavailable, but there's a guy pulling together a militia. A team has been sent to rendezvous point gamma-alpha-niner-three to pick you up. What's your status?" came the quick response from Camp Fox.

I pulled out my map, located which RP—rendezvous point—to head toward, and drew a circle around it. "We're getting eaten alive here. There are four of us still viable. But we're completely surrounded, and the zeds are going to sniff us out any minute."

A lengthy pause, then Lieutenant Colonel Lendt's voice came through the radio. "Masden, all other units are either down, unable to get to your position, or unaccounted for. Plan B is officially in effect. Phoenix is being sent down from Minneapolis and will be there in eighty-five minutes, and they will not wait for you. You need to get the Third out of town and to the RP and fast."

I set the timer on my watch and saw the rest of the Third do the same. "But, the RP is over six clicks from my current position."

"We are out of options. Do you understand what I'm saying, Captain?" Lendt asked.

"Understood, sir," I replied tightly. "But, we're caught in a FUBAR sit here."

"Believe me, if I had any choppers to send, I would. But I'm counting on you to get your asses out of there before Phoenix strikes. I know you can do it Captain. I need you back at Camp Fox before sunset. Out."

I slid the handheld into my vest and breathed deeply. Jonesie watched me with a tight jaw. Thompson had long since gone silent. He sat with his back against the wall, staring straight ahead. Hart, his head on his knees, had rubbed his temples red. All three faces bore the same expression. This shit's fucked up.