You remember what it was like, people just freaking out. . . boarding up their houses, stealing food, guns, shooting everything that moved. They probably killed more people, the Rambos and the runaway fires, and the traffic accidents and just the… the whole shit storm that we now call “the Great Panic”; I think that killed more people at first than Zack.

I guess I can see why the powers that be thought that one big stand-up battle was such a good idea. They wanted to show the people that they were still in charge, get them to calm the hell down so they could deal with the real problem. I get it, and because they needed a propaganda smack-down, I ended up in Yonkers.

It actually wasn’t the worst place to make a stand. Part of the town sat right in this little valley, and right over the west hills you had the Hudson River. The Saw Mill River Parkway ran right through the center of our main line of defense and the refugees streaming down the freeway were leading the dead right to us. It was a natural choke point, and it was a good idea… the only good idea that day.

[Todd reaches for another “Q,” the homegrown, American variety cigarette so named for its one-quarter tobacco content.]

Why didn’t they put us on the roofs? They had a shopping center, a couple of garages, big buildings with nice flat Tops. They could have put a whole company right above the A P. We could have seen the whole valley, and we would have been completely safe from attack. There was this apartment building, about twenty stories, I think… each floor had a commanding view of the freeway. Why wasn’t there a rifle team in each window?

You know where they put us’ Right down on the ground, right behind sandbags or in fighting holes. We wasted so much time, so much energy preparing these elaborate firing positions. Good “cover and concealment,” they told us. Cover and concealment? “Cover” means physical protection, conventional protection, from small arms and artillery or air-dropped ordnance. That sound like the enemy we were about to go up against? Was Zack now calling in air strikes and fire missions? And why the hell were we worried about concealment when the whole point of the battle was to get Zack to come directly at us! So backasswards! All of it!

I’m sure whoever was in charge must have been one of the last of the Fulda Fucktards, you know, those generals who spent their nard-drop years training to defend West Germany from Ivan. Tight-assed, narrow-minded . … probably pissed off from so many years of brushfire war. He must have been an rr because everything we did freakin’ stunk of Cold War baltic Defense. You know they even tried to dig fighting holes for the tanks? The engineers blasted them right out of the A P parking lot.

You had tanks?

Dude, we had everything: tanks, Bradleys, Humvees armed with everything from fifty cals to these new Vasilek heavy mortars. At least those might have been useful. We had Avenger Humvee mounted Stinger surface-to-air missile sets, we had this AVLB portable bridge layer system, perfect for the three-inch-deep creek that ran by the freeway. We had a bunch of XM5 electronic warfare vehicles all crammed with radar and jamming gear and… and … oh yeah, and we even had a whole FOL, Family of Latrines, just plopped right there in the middle of everything. Why, when the water pressure was still on and toilets were still flushing in every building and house in the neighborhood? So much we didn’t need! So much shit that only blocked traffic and looked pretty, and that’s what I think they were really there for, just to look pretty.

For the press.

Hell yeah, there muse have been at least one reporter for every two or three uniforms! On foot and in vans, I don’t know how many news choppers must have been circling… you’d think with so many they’d spare a few to try and rescue people from Manhattan… hell yeah, I think it was all for the press, show them our big green killpower … or tan… some were just back from the desert, they hadn’t even been repainted yet. So much of it was for show, not just the vehicles but us as well. They had us in MOPP 4, dude, Mission Oriented Protective Posture, big bulky suits and masks that are supposed to protect you from a radioactive or biochem environment.

Could your superiors have believed the undead virus was airborne?

If that’s true, why didn’t they protect the reporters? Why didn’t our “superiors” wear them, or anyone else immediately behind the line. They were cool and comfortable in their BDUs while we sweated under layers of rubber, charcoal, and thick, heavy body armor. And what genius thought to put us in body armor anyway? Because the press reamed ’em for not having enough in the last war? Why the hell do you need a helmet when you’re fighting a living corpse? They’re the ones who need the helmets, not us! And then you’ve got the Net Rigs… the Land Warrior combat integration system. It was this whole personal electronics suite that allowed each one of us to link up with each other and the higher-ups to link up with us. Through your eyepiece you could download maps, GPS data, real-time satellite recon. You could find your exact position on a battlefield, your buddies’ positions, the bad guys… you could actually look through the video camera on your weapon, or anyone else’s, to see what’s over a hedge or around a corner. Land Warrior allowed every soldier to have the information of an entire command post, and let the command post control those soldiers as a single unit. “Netrocentric,” that’s what I kept hearing from the officers in front of the cameras. “Netrocentric” and “hyperwar.” Cool terms, but they didn’t mean shit when you’re trying to dig a fighting hole with MOPP gear and body armor, and Land Warrior and standard combat load, and all of it on the hottest day in what was one of the hottest summers on record. I can’t believe I was still standing when Zack began to show up.

It was just a trickle at first, ones and twos staggering between the abandoned cars that jammed the deserted freeway. At least the refugees had been evacuated. Okay, that was another thing they did right. Picking a choke point and clearing the civilians, great job. Everything else…

Zack started entering the first kill zone, the one designated for the MLRS. I didn’t hear the rockets launch, my hood muffled the noise, but I saw them streak toward the target. I saw them arch on their way down, as their casings broke away to reveal all those little bomblets on plastic streamers. They’re about the size of a hand grenade, antipersonnel with a limited antiarmor capacity. They scattered amongst the Gs, detonating once they hit the road or an abandoned car. Their gas tanks went up in like little volcanoes, geysers of fire and debris that added to the “steel rain.” I got to be honest, it was a rush, dudes were cheering in their mikes, me too, watching ghouls start to tumble. I’d say there were maybe thirty, maybe forty or fifty, zombies spread out all across this half mile stretch of freeway. The opening bombardment took out at least three-quarters of them.

Only three-quarters.

[Todd finishes his cigarette in one long, angry drag. Immediately, he reaches for another.]

Yep, and that’s what should have made us worry right then and there. “Steel rain” hit each and every single one of them, shredded their insides; organs and flesh were scattered all over the damn place, dropping from their bodies as they came toward us… but head shots… you’re trying to destroy the brain, not the body, and as long as they got a working thinker and some mobility. . . some were still walking, others too thrashed to stand were crawling. Yeah, we should have worried, but there wasn’t time.

The trickle was now turning into a stream. More Gs, dozens now, thick among the burning cars. Funny thing about Zack… you always think he’s gonna be dressed in his Sunday best. That’s how the media portrayed them, right, especially in the beginning … Gs in business suits and dresses, like, a cross section of everyday America, only dead. That’s not what they looked like at all. Most infected, the early infected, the ones who went in that first wave, they either died under treatment or at home in their own beds. Most were either in hospital gowns, or pajamas and nightshirts. Some were in sweats or their undies … or just naked, a lot of them completely buck bare. You could see their wounds, the dried marks on their bodies, the gouges that made you shiver even inside that sweltering gear.