SurvivorZ: Grave Harbor

5

DENISE

The dead men perished a second time without ever seeing the threat coming.

Sergeant Denise Lowe yanked her knife from her victim's skull and glanced over her shoulder at Corporal Kim Martinez doing the same. They didn't even need to sneak up on them. They simply walked up to them in plain sight and jammed KA-BAR straight edge blades into their heads before either one could register surprise.

"I'd say that constitutes a successful field test of Mueller's anti-zombie body spray, wouldn't you?" Martinez said with a grin.

Denise wiped the black blood off her blade and holstered it. "Thank God for that. If dosing ourselves with chemicals means we're all going to end up dying of cancer in a few years, the least it can do is work as advertised."

Martinez chuckled softly. "Ever the optimist, Sarge."

Denise pulled out her radio handset and thumbed the talk button. "Pilgrim 3-1 Actual, this is 3-2, over."

She waited for a response from the platoon commander, Lieutenant Clay Kershaw. Colonel Hayes' company, codenamed "Pilgrim" in honor of Harvard University mascot, pilgrim John Harvard, had seen some growth in recent days. Forwarded along by the brass running the refugee camp at Hanscom AFB, an influx of new faces passed through their gates over the past week, mostly from war-ravaged platoons spread all over Massachusetts and New Hampshire.

Kershaw was an unfamiliar face, added to the roster only a few days ago. Denise was a little surprised that the colonel put him in charge of the op instead of one of his trusted officers from Fort Weaver. She suspected he was trying to feel the man out, to get a sense of his leadership skills.

Her personal opinion of the man was still up in the air. All she knew of him so far was that he had an uncanny knack for avoiding danger. While her squad assessed the threat level of the operational area, his waited in the safe zone for the "all clear."

She raised her eyes to the ten-story snake pit towering nearby. Like most hospitals these days, the structure formerly known as Harvard Square Clinic was a zombie factory. As much as she'd enjoy watching artillery and armored divisions pummel it into a parking lot, the military wasn't ready to engage the enemy in that kind of noisy warfare, especially not when it stood this close to HQ.

Soon, though. They were expecting air strikes to take out designated targets around Boston in less than a week. It was up to Pilgrim Squads 3-1 and 3-2 to determine if this place was worth including on the list.

Martinez waved over the rest of the team. Soldiers appeared from behind the fences, dumpsters, and equipment of the construction zone surrounding the building. With two sides of the renovated structure layered in plastic sheets, they were able to sneak undetected into position to provide cover fire. Mueller's chemical camouflage also helped. Blocking their enemy's ability to sniff out prey was going to provide them with a huge advantage in the war to come.

"Actual, copy," a voice said over the radio. "Sitrep, 3-2."

Denise raised the radio to her lips. "3-2 in position at CP Alpha. Two Zees down by the west entrance. 'Z-Off' worked like a charm. Over."

She smiled to herself. Tightly wound Doctor Mueller would probably have a conniption if she ever heard the grunts' unofficial name for the concealing body spray she concocted for them in her lab.

"Roger that," the Lieutenant replied. "Charlie Mike, 3-2. 3-1 moving into position now. Over."

"Wilco. 3-2, out."

She slipped the handset back into its pouch. Corporal Martinez awaited her command. After accompanying her during the dangerous drive into Boston through territory packed with walking dead and road pirates, Kim was one of the few familiar faces on her team. The other members consisted of combat medic specialist, Corporal John Reid, and nine privates. Her squad mates were almost exclusively from other companies. She thought she recognized two from Fort Weaver, but she wouldn't bet the farm on it.