say. The Marines' pace pushed Brendon to his extreme. They most likely wouldn’t have stopped that first night if Brendon hadn't nearly skidded off the road.
The sergeant got out of the lead truck and walked over to Brendon who was leaning over his steering wheel, a fresh bead of sweat on his forehead. 'You ready for a break son?'
'About three hours ago.' Brendon answered honestly.
'Well why didn't you say something?' The sergeant asked walking away.
'Dickens, get the radar array up. Ramirez you have first watch.'
'It's because I'm Mexican isn't it?' Ramirez yelled.
The sergeant stopped. 'No, we go to your room on Wednesdays for Mexican food because you're Mexican and you cook like a Latin God, now shut the hell up and do your watch.'
The men smiled, this seemed to be part of a ritual the tight knit unit had.
Brendon pointed to the dish Dickens was setting up. 'What's that thing?'
'This?' Dickens said, smacking a large plastic case. 'Is our HAZARD.'
'Your HAZARD?'
'Yeah Have Any Zombies Arrived Radar Detector, HAZARD.'
'Don’t mind him.' Murphy said. 'Marines are really into their acronyms, otherwise they can’t remember anything. That thing is pretty sweet though. Originally, it was used to track tanks but they dialed up the sensitivity and it can detect kid sized objects up to a mile away.'
'It's saved our asses more than once.' Dickens said, as he attached the second pole for added length. 'Man this one time we were in a valley and it was so foggy you couldn't see your dick when you took a piss.'
'Real eloquent.' Murphy said to Dickens. 'But you should tell our new guest that you can barely see your dick when the sun is shining.'
'Real funny Murphy.' Dickens replied.
Murphy hand motioned to Brendon as if to say 'See what I deal with.'
Brendon laughed, but he was wondering how he could come across his own HAZARD.
Dickens started up anew. 'So we were taking a break figuring that driving was more dangerous than just sitting tight until the fog blew over. I had no sooner flipped on the power and we had multiple bogies converging on us.'
'You sure they were zombies?' Brendon asked.
'They weren't deer. Plus most of them were up ahead almost like they were lying in wait for us to get there. I know that sounds crazy though. No such thing as smart zombies right?' Dickens looked to Brendon for confirmation on this crazy idea. Brendon merely shrugged. Zombies might not be smart but their leader sure as hell is. 'I took down the HAZARD real quick like and we buttoned down into the trucks not twenty seconds 'fore they started running into us. It really wasn't much of a fight but without the radar they would have been on us 'fore we knew what do to. The fog really has a way of deadening sound, never even heard them coming. Fog scares the hell out of me now.'
Zombies were bad enough. Zombies silently appearing out of the mist were the stuff of acid infused nightmares.
'We decided to stay somewhere else that night.' Dickens added needlessly. Dickens finished setting up the array. The other Marines were still on alert, tense even. They didn't visibly relax until the green control panel lit up and the small eight by eight screen began to light up bogeys.
Brendon was alarmed when at least 4 different 'bleeps' showed themselves on the screen. 'What are those?' He asked.
'Deer.' Dickens said matter-of-factly.
'How do you know?' Brendon asked not entirely ready to trust Dickens expertise.
'Well size for one thing and secondly cuz they aren’t headed this way.'
Brendon couldn't argue with that. Zombies had an uncanny ability to detect fresh meat from long distances and some of the blips weren't more than 500 yards out according to the screen. 'Why post a guard then?'
The sergeant joined the conversation. 'I can answer that question. You see this here, is Marine Corps equipment. Which means it is probably in excess of twenty years old and the army most likely had it first. They only give their stuff up when it doesn't work so well anymore.'
'Comforting isn't it?' Murphy said. Brendon could only nod. 'Sleep with your windows up, I'll get you some blankets.'
That first night went virtually trouble free. The second night more than made up for it.
The drive was mind-numbingly boring, a white world of desolation, and still Brendon’s heart continuously slammed in his chest. He knew they were too late. “I should have never left her.” He berated himself to the empty cab for the umpteenth time. Each time they stopped for fuel or food he became increasingly agitated to the point where Murphy had somehow scrounged a Valium and damn near threatened Brendon with his life if he didn’t take it.
Brendon had swallowed it, but it had done painfully little to ease his feelings of dread. When the small convoy had stopped for the fifth time for the day Brendon nearly ripped his door off the hinge trying to ascertain ‘why in the hell they were once again stopping, maybe Dickens should just piss in his pants for once! That is if he could find his dick.’
Dickens true to the nature of his miniature bladder was first out of the hummer but it was not for relief, he looked scared and with good reason. “Whaddaya make of that?” He asked Brendon.
Brendon was too hot to think of anything other than ‘let’s get going already!’ But that changed in an instant when he looked out across the expanse and saw what could only be described as a horde. The zombies were traveling at varying speeds and having different degrees of success navigating over the frozen ground. Speeders were well out in front, sometimes trampling over their slower companions. Many slipped and fell, got up and just started running full tilt again. The eerie quiet of so many zombies so close, traveling with what appeared to be a purpose only increased the tension Brendon was feeling. He knew where they were going.
“Well, will you look at that.” The sergeant said, lighting up one of his signature cigars that smelled suspiciously like chamomile. “They sure look like they’re in a real hurry to get somewhere. You ever seen anything like this?” The sergeant asked Brendon.
Brendon shook his head no, but somehow he got the distinct feeling the sergeant didn’t believe him. “Nope, never.” He said with a waver in his voice. ‘Great, that oughta really convince him now,’ he thought to himself.
“Sarge they aren’t even looking at us. They can’t be more than a couple of hundred yards away and they’re not even looking at us.” Dickens noted.
Murphy’s hand shook as he lit a cigarette. “Never did smoke before them.” He said motioning out into the field and he left it at that.
“I don’t like this at all.” The sergeant said.
“I do.” Dickens replied. “They ain’t coming after us.”
“Yeah there’s something to be said for that.” The sergeant said pausing to ponder the situation. “But they do seem to be traveling in the direction we’re going.” He made sure to lean forward and look directly at Brendon. Dickens and Murphy also looked but were not connecting the dots at all.
The heat of so many gazes, flustered Brendon. “We sightseeing or are we going?”
“Oh we’re going, if for nothing more than to see how this pans out.” The sergeant said.
“How what pans out?” Dickens asked. But no one was listening; they were all getting back in their prospective rides. Dickens watched as a lone zombie peeled off from the rest and began its pursuit of him. “Fucking Gomer.” He said, placing a round in the zombie's shoulder, spinning it around and to the ground. Dickens was back in his truck before the zombie had regained its feet and started back after them.
The line of zombies was at least a couple of miles long and stayed parallel with the Marines until the highway made a sharp easterly turn and the zombies faded from view. Even the sergeant felt better when they were no longer in sight. For another fifteen miles they traveled, finally gaining entry into North Dakota. Night had descended quickly and the sergeant was hesitant to keep moving with that many zombies around.
“Dickens, I want you to set a land speed record for getting the HAZARD up and running. Ramirez, Henderson, dual watches tonight.”
The most ominous thing Brendon noticed was that there was not the usual banter or complaining. The Marines went about their business professionally, their training kicking in to help usher out the welling panic that
