CHAPTER 6

Chesapeake Bay, Maryland

Out of all the working fishing boats and luxury yachts in the marina that had successfully been rewired, the Recon team chose to use their issued black CRRC, Combat Rubber Raiding Craft, or simply a Zodiac. Raymond was not enjoying the freezing ride across the Chesapeake Bay. In fact, he was certain that McCune, the coxswain, was purposely steering the boat into the choppy wind swells causing water to spray as the boat pitched up and down. Raymond glared at the coxswain who offered a sly grin in return.

Using the Zodiac did make since though. Had they used any other boat on this mission, the team’s insertion would have been restricted to a marina or anchoring offshore and then swimming to shore which was not an option with the cargo on board. The inflatable boat offered them the ability to beach themselves almost anywhere.

Luckily, the ride across the bay and then into an inlet river only took a few minutes but it was long enough to dampen Raymond’s clothes. On the river shore, stood a gorgeous multistory mansion that would have cost millions before the Dark Day. Now the home stood dark, empty, and rotting from mildew. McCune guided the raft towards the mansion’s overgrown lawn and small private beach.

A hundred meters from the shore, McCune killed the engine and tilted the motor up. Staff Sergeant Beckett passed out paddles to each passenger. In unison, the six-man boat crew paddled the remaining 100 meters in silence. When the water was only ankle deep the team leader gave an anticipated nod.

“You take that side.” SSgt. Beckett said in a hushed voice to Raymond.

With rifles in one hand and a gunwale handle in the other, the team carefully floated the boat one hundred eighty degrees so the stern was facing the beach. “One. Two. Three. Up boat.” Someone commanded and they all lifted at once.

A CRRC empty with only the aluminum deck plates weighs 322 pounds plus a 55-horsepower engine that weighs 243 pounds plus all their equipment equaled enough weight to nearly dislocate Raymond’s shoulder. He grunted as they stepped through soft sand in wet boots up the short beach. The command of “down boat” was welcomed.

The five-man recon team dispersed in a compact semi-circle with their guns facing inland. One at a time they each took of their life preservers, that looked like a black rubber bib, and stowed them in the boat.

“Daddy Shark, this is Baby Shark. Feet dry. How copy? Over.” Darkness, the radio operator spoke into his handset reporting their position to the command and control center located on the aircraft carrier. “Roger, we are Oscar Mike to check point alpha. Baby Shark out.”

Raymond had thought about running this mission solo. He had survived for months on his own. Even when he had moved into the sanctuary of Lake City, he had operated by himself, or with just Victor by his side. But this area had a much larger population than the small town in norther Michigan and why risk it with all the military assets available? Not only did he have more security to watch his back in the field, on the aircraft carrier there was a quick reaction force and a helicopter on standby to extract them if this mission went south.

The team unzipped dry bags and gathered their gear and equipment. They lifted a generator out of the boat, two metal five-gallon cans of fuel, and a canvas seabag filled with miscellaneous parts.
The team leader, Staff Sergeant Beckett, directed Raymond in a hushed tone. “You wheel the generator in the center of our formation. If we take contact, human or infected, we abort and abandon all this excess weight. If we become separated, go to the last checkpoint and wait thirty minutes. If nobody shows up, meet us hear in this house. If you get scared or lonely, make your way down the shore to the bridge and hike back to the island. Understood?”

Raymond didn’t appreciate being talked down to in such a condescending tone, but he understood their trepidation of having a civilian outsider on mission interfering with their team integrity. Raymond normally would have deflating Beckett’s ego by pointing out one of the many visible uniform discrepancies. But instead of belittling the team leader, Raymond simply gave him a thumbs up.

The team made their way inland, patrolling at a slow cautious pace. Sticking to suburban neighborhood roads, the team crept towards the more densely populated business section of Annapolis.

Raymond observed the team closely as they maneuvered through the streets which became increasingly more congested making it difficult to pull the generator without scraping it into cars. The team’s flow was on point. Good dispersion was maintained, they never needed to speak out loud to communicate and weapons were always pointed into the probable threat areas.

The recon team wore their standard issue digital woodland utility uniform with tan suede boots and wide brim boonie hats. They carried a mix of weaponry from M4’s, paratrooper model M249 light machine gun, and a designated marksman rifle, each equipped with a suppressor. They also each carried a M45Al Colt 1911 pistol holstered on their hips. Although they were not weighted down with body armor and helmets, their rucksacks appeared to be heavy enough. Radio antennas poked out the top of a couple packs which meant several spare batteries were distributed, a claymore bandoleer attached to the top of another pack and an old school 40mm thumper with grenade satchel was attached to the team leader’s pack.

Raymond found himself in an uncomfortable position on this mission. The later part of his career he had provided close protection security to several high-ranking diplomats around the world, mostly in combat zones. He was accustomed to being the shield, offering his body as physical protection for VIPs in the center of his formation. Today, he was the VIP and he felt very unsecure about it.

Raymond certainly did not need baby setting, but the recon team’s mission to keep the ‘advisor’ safe made him feel inferior to the team escorting him to the objective. The way the coxswain grinned at him and SSgt. Beckett’s tone, didn’t help the feeling.

Fascinated by a knee-high weed with an inch thick stalk, that had miraculously grow through the most minuscule crack in the ash fault, Raymond almost missed the ‘freeze” hand signal passed back from the man on point who held up a fist next to his head. The team stood frozen in place as the wind changed directions, Raymond smelled death. The unholy aroma of rotten meat, decay, and disease. Point man patted the air, as if there was an invisible dog next to him signaling them to get low.

Slipping the generator pull rope from around his waist, Raymond also took a knee next to a vehicle for cover, bringing his rifle up into his shoulder. He concentrated on sounds that the wind carried, attempting to breathe in through his mouth to avoid the smell. Scanning around looking for movement, he spotted SSgt. Beckett waving him forward. Raymond left the generator behind.
The smell got stronger as he crept forward causing him to gag and lifted his shirt over his nose matching the other Marines doing the same. The source of the putrid stench was lying in a puddle of gore in the middle of the street.

“I’ve never seen anything like this. What do you make of it?” SSgt. Beckett asked Raymond through his cupped hand pinching his nose.

 Raymond inspected the corpse of a nasty Gray. Maggots wiggled over and into thick crusty scabs that covered the lifeless body. In death, a decomposing Gray turned almost black. Up close, the creatures always creeped him out, especially the talons of raw exposed bones that had once been fingertips. Raymond had to wipe the water from his eyes that stung from the stench.
“See how the stomach has been torn apart?” Raymond pointed to its midsection.
Staff Sergeant Beckett nodded, to avoid inhaling a whiff of death.

“That’s comparable to what a new mother looks like as her offspring claws and eats their way out of the womb. Sometimes the ribs will be broken outward.” Raymond continued. “But this one was a male.”

“So, what happened to it?” Beckett asked in a hushed voice. “What’s with the wounds on the neck and thigh?”

“Second generation. The new breed eats their own if hungry enough. Looking at the mess they made and the blood trails, I would say a small pack took this Gray down. We should be extra cautious if there’s a den close by, these bastards are vicious.”

By midday, they had successfully traveled three miles into the city center without stirring up anything living but had passed more evidence of second gen feeding frenzies. The objective site was a major intersection in downtown area of Annapolis. Upon arrival, the team conducted a fifteen-minute security pause to ensure nothing was moving in the immediate area.

SSgt. Beckett began pushing the team out to widen the perimeter while assigning security sectors. Logically, they concealed themselves inside lower levels or inside vehicles. Team leader waved Raymond forward, “Do your thing, try to make it quick. Doc here will give you a hand. This white office building behind us will be our fall back and over watch building.”

“This contraption is going to be loud and hopefully this area will be swarming with Grays.” Raymond said. “I’d recommend picking an over watch further down the road, maybe up in that financial building.”
Beckett looked around studying the cityscape and nodded his head. “Alright, you’re the advisor. We’ll go with that then.” Beckett went to relay the information to the rest of the team.

Raymond wheeled the generator to the center of the intersection. He pulled a few empty sandbags from his pack. “Doc, can you fill these from the planters on the sidewalk?”

The muscular Korean corpsman did as he was asked while Raymond attached a fuel line to each of the five-gallon fuel cans sitting next to the generator. Out of the seabag was a short pole section with a ninety-degree gear head that aligned with a matching gear on the generator flywheel. Raymond slid the pole into a bracket, so the pole stood straight up. Next, he took another section of pole out of the seabag that had several quarter inch thick steel cables attached. Raymond attached that one to the top of the first pole, so it stood about five foot tall. Completing the whip, he attached a manual lever with a cord to drop the poles gearhead into place from a safe distance.
The doc brought over full sandbags that were used to secure the generator into place so it would not wobble away or fall over. Doc helped Raymond set up large speakers and plugged the system into the generator. Double checking the entire setup, Raymond felt the contraption was ready for action.

A low whistle got the team leaders attention. Raymond tapped his collar where his rank would have been on a uniform and gave the ‘leadership to me’ hand signal.

“It’s ready to fire up. Has the over watch building been cleared yet?” Raymond asked.

“The first floor is clear to the ladder well. We’ll clear up from there. Go ahead and start it when ready.” Beckett instructed.

Raymond reached down, choked the throttle, and gave the pull cord a couple good tugs until the generator rattled to life. After adjusting the choke, the engine purred smoothly. Raymond gave the TL the nod and he turned the speaker system on full volume. The speakers were so loud that it gave him an instant migraine.

Raymond jogged to the end of the pull cord on the sidewalk far away from the contraption. With a gentle tug the poles dropped into position and the gears aligned sending the pole spinning at an extremely fast rate. Metal cables attached to the pole began whipping around so fast that they disappeared into a blur.

Satisfied with his work, and concerned about the noise, Raymond grabbed his rifle and sprinted towards the team which all piled into the designated over watch building. Two men were stacked up to the side of the stairway door, Raymond slid into the stack and was anticipated the bump command to enter the doorway. Instead the team leader grabbed him by his gun belt and pulled him out of the way as the rest of the team cleared the stairway.

“Listen man, you may know your stuff, but you don’t know our stuff. If we get your stuff and our stuff mixed up, we get hurt.” SSgt. Beckett said leaning in close. “This team has been working together a long time, and they flow as a singular element like a school of fish. Learn our SOP’s back at the island, and I’ll feel more comfortable with you on mission. No hard feelings, understood?”

Raymond nodded, then followed behind taking up rear security. They entered the third floor of the financial building which was made up of a hundred cubicles and executive offices on the outer walls. After a quick sweep to ensure there were no occupants hiding in cubicles, they picked the corner office facing the generator contraption.

Playing on a constant loop at full volume, the message could be heard clearly, even through thick pane windows.

“Caution. Caution. Caution. Citizens stay away. This area is extremely dangerous. Please relocate to our Kent Island colony. We can provide you security, shelter, medical aid, and food. Travel east on interstate fifty and cross the Chesapeake Bay bridge. Tune into any AM radio station for more news and updates. We need your help to rebuild America. Caution. Caution. Caution.”

The message repeated on loop.

“How long is that going to play?” A Marine asked.

“Until the gasoline runs out, or Grays destroy the machine. Speaking of which, we have our first customer.” Raymond said, reaching into his pack for a pair of binoculars.

A huge muscle packed Gray was sprinting down the street weaving around and jumping onto vehicles. Its thick muscles shivered in spasms as it barked in frustration. Perched on top of a box truck, the Gray could hear a human voice, but could not comprehend where it was coming from. Squatting in attack position, the Gray looking for its prey, Raymond could see it flex its boney talons as they scraped paint lines off the vehicle.

The beast leapt from the truck and continued sprinting forward towards the intersection until it made contact with one of the steel cables that took the Gray’s head clean off. The body collapsed to the pavement while the head went rolling down the street like a bowling ball.

Soon a bloated misshapen late stage Gray appeared with massive tumors covering its neck, back and shoulders. The creature waddled forward until it contacted the whipping cables. The creature practically exploded into a cloud of puss and spores that was carried away into the wind leaving a pile of contaminated sludge on the pavement.

“It’s like a giant weed whacker!” The coxswain said enthusiastically, nodding his head impressed.

“You’re on observation first. Start counting how many infected walking into that thing. Make notes on special details. The rest of you clear this floor again and fortify the exits. Call Daddy Shark to give a SitRep.” SSgt. Beckett ordered.
 
----------BREAK----------
 
Late into the night the generator was still running. Loudspeakers still blaring the message, over and over and over again. And Grays continued running towards it from all directions like mosquitos to a bug zapper. The Recon team lost count at around eight hundred, but they estimate about ten times that at the current rate.

SSgt. Beckett had his night vision goggles on watching the continuous stream of infected blindly running into the trap. The intersection was covered in a deep layer of infected ooze and chunks of flesh and meat flooded into the city storm drains like cold maple syrup. As the blood covered cables spun, they sprayed the side of the buildings leaving no surface unpainted with disease. He was impressed at its effectiveness. When Raymond rolled over on the floor, Beckett nudged him with his boot. “You awake?”

“I am now.” Raymond mumbled.

“Your turn, take over for a couple hours.” Beckett said.

“You trust me enough to stand watch, huh?” Raymond quizzed sarcastically.

“Whatever, you know I’m right about mixing up operating procedures, especially in close quarters.” Beckett rebutted.

Raymond sat up, rubbed the sleep from his crusty eyes, and stretched while yawning. He dug into his pack and took out his own night vision device.

“Man, that is some old technology there. Here, try mine. PVS-31, you will love it.” He handed his helmet to Raymond.

Raymond whistled through his teeth at the clarity of the white phosphor night vision device. The grey scale resolution was far better than his older model. He could see clearly into the dark city block shadows as Grays passed below them. “Has any Gen 2’s been spotted?” Raymond asked.

“Negative.” SSgt. Beckett answered.

“Huh, that’s interesting.” Raymond said reaching for his rifle. As he was scanning the cityscape, he asked “Inside my main pack compartment is an urban hide kit, can you get the glass cutter?”

Beckett pulled out what looked like a canvas tool back. Unzipping it, he began to empty the contents out of it. 550 Para-cord, a folded wad of black window screen, a black bed sheet, hook screws, tape, a mini can of black spray paint, a lock pick set, and finally a glass cutter.

Normally, if a window couldn’t be opened, Raymond would cut the smallest hole possible to avoid detection of his urban hide site. He would then set up his shooting position further back in the room, or even in the hallway or adjacent room to dampen sound and visibility. Shooting through a small loophole takes a lot of practice and set up. A miscalculation of your sight over bore relationship will have your bullet shattering your hide site window instead of passing freely through your loophole into your intended target.

Tonight, Raymond was going to do the exact opposite.

“Cut the hole as big as possible.” Raymond commanded.

“Target?” Beckett asked?

“Multiple. Gen 2’s. They’re perched on top of the tall buildings surrounding the intersection like gargoyles.” Raymond confirmed. “The bait drew them here, but they’re not going for it. Hopefully the loudspeaker will be enough of a diversion to start taking shots but stand-to the team just in case.”

Raymond tried to count the shadowy shapes on the roof tops, but there were simply too many of them. Besides the one Gray that had found its way over the wall in Lake City, or when they leap onto vehicles, Raymond had never seen a Gray climb. Not a tree, a fence, stairs, and definitely not a building.

Becket was scanning the rooftops, now seeing dozens of the squatting creatures. “Wait. We shouldn’t compromise our position. It’s not worth the risk.” Beckett said sternly.

“Listen Staff Sergeant, when that generator runs out of fuel, it’s going to become really quiet, really fast. Then we will have dozens of those little demons in our AO to deal with. Let’s take advantage of the distraction.” Raymond said as he began dialing the elevation turret on his scope.

SSgt. Becket thought about it, then turned to wake the team.

The large circle cut in the window near the floor, allowed Raymond to protrude the suppressor of his DARPA XM-3 bolt action rifle through the glass giving him plenty of traversing space while laying prone on the smelly mildew laden office carpet.

Raymond had listened to Victor’s after-action report of his incident on the island. He scoffed when Victor reported that he had hesitated to shoot the threats rushing at him due to the toddler size of the infected. A threat is a threat, Raymond had thought to himself at the time of the debrief, but now aiming in at targets that could be children made Raymond uncomfortable. To be honest, he had never pointed a weapon a kid, even the little terrors in Iraq that would throw rocks at their convoys.

Raymond checked the range card that had been taped to the office wall next to him. Two hundred and fifty yards would normally be an easy combat shot, and he wouldn’t adjust for the eight inches of bullet drop. But these Gen 2’s are small targets to begin with, and the way they squatted on their perch, made them even smaller.

On the inside of his ocular lens scope cap, he had elevation adjustments written on a piece of masking tape. Nine tenths of a mil elevation was needed for this range. Before he made a bullet drop adjustment, he extended his arm and balled his fist, hastily measuring a shot angle. From the target building’s third floor to the roof tops, was three fists high, equaling approximately thirty degrees. Calculating the upward thirty-degree angle cosign of 0.87, he only dialed seven tenths elevation of a mil instead.

As he glassed across the rooftops, Raymond watched the creature’s bodies spasm and shudder. From two hundred and fifty yards away, he could see moon light reflecting off the row of bald scalps. When one of the creatures turned its head towards Raymond, it’s terrifying eyes, black as coal, bore into his soul filling him full anxiety. He didn’t bother waiting for a someone to spot for him, the rifle flicked off safe, centered the reticle on his first target, and he squeezed the trigger.
 
----------BREAK----------
 
By the time, the morning sun had rose over the cityscape, well over fifty second generation infected had been killed by Raymond and Rios, the Recon team’s designate marksman.

“Why don’t the little ones go to the generator like the others?” McCune asked.

“Maybe they can sense the danger of our toy. Which is quite unfortunate. Hopefully, the scientist can give us some insight into what the new breed are attracted to, besides human snacks. I should tell you about my racoon bait sometime.”

“What kind of sadistic mad scientist came up with the idea for that machine down there?” SSgt. Becket asked.

“Believe it or not, Victor’s oldest son Curtis designed it.” Raymond said reloading his rifle magazines. “Back in Michigan, we surrounded our little town with shipping containers, but after a while the Grays got so thick that they started to scale the wall. Victor and his kids would go out on culling missions routinely. They would call them in using a high pitch frequency that they Grays could hear, but outside human hearing spectrum. We would have done the same for this mission, but we hoped if any survivors were in the area, they would hear the message and go to Kent Island.

“Back in Michigan, Curtis started engineering clever ways to cull Grays without expending precious ammo and reducing risk to humans. They all worked well, but never this well. This is a home run for sure. I expect that this kill-o-matic will be used up and down the coast in the near future.”

“I have two suggestions. Adding lights to help observe at night.” Beckett said.

“That would help draw in the Grays as well.” Raymond interjected.
​
“And an airlift option because I doubt, you’ll want to drudge through that mess down there to recover the machine.”