Day 5: Groton Horde Part I
The naval base had been fairly quiet for two days, too quiet. The installation had felt like a ghost town. But tonight, the silence shattered like glass.
It started as a distant murmur, a low hum of moans and shuffling feet. Then, like a tidal wave, they came, thousands of them pouring in from the city, their eyes locked onto the base.
I heard them from my yacht docked at the rear of the base, then the crackle of a frantic call over the radio: "All personnel to the walls! Immediate engagement!" I ran from my room across the yatch and hopped off the boat. Following a soldier across the tarmac, then through the maze of barricades, I reached the wall where he’d been summoned. What I saw made my blood run cold. The undead pressed forward in a writhing mass. They clawed and bit at anything in their path: metal, concrete, even the rusting cars that had been stacked end to end to reinforce the barriers.
The soldiers around me sprang into action, taking up positions on the scaffolding. Rifles cracked in rapid succession, each shot finding its mark, but for every corpse that dropped, another took its place. The horde never slowed, never hesitated. It was like they didn’t even register the others falling among them.
Beside me, a soldier suddenly turned, his eyes locking onto mine. "Make yourself useful and get that truck!" he barked, pointing to a black F-350 parked about thirty yards away. "Tell anyone in ASP, the big brown warehouse, that we need a LogPac for M27s and 17s, and we need it NOW!"
I didn’t even remember climbing onto the wall, but now my legs felt like lead. I froze.
"Go, motherfucker!" he roared, shoving me toward the edge. "M27 and 17 LogPac!"
I hit the ground running, my loafers hammering the pavement as I sprinted toward the truck. My heart pounded harder than the rifles firing behind me. I reached the door and yanked it open. No key.
Shit. No key. "Fuckin big ass diesel piece of shit. How do i start these things again?"
Before i could remember how to start it, another soldier appeared, vaulting up beside me. He grabbed the doorframe, his presence jolting me. He almost got clocked out. "Flip these," he instructed, rattling off a sequence of switches on the console. The engine roared to life, and he jumped down.
I didn’t wait for further instruction. Slamming the truck into gear, I gunned it toward the warehouse, the undead horde swelling in the rearview mirror.
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