Chapter Rewrite: The Great Panic

[Wesley Treadwell was born and raised in Stockton, California. At the age of 18 he enlisted into the United States Army. By the time the Great Panic hit he was already back from his tour in Iraq and was needed by the United States government along with so many others. He was assigned to Yonkers, and remains a veteran of Yonkers but not in the way many believe.]

The Battle of Yonkers, July 17, 2013, that's what the history books say. That's true, everything else, complete and utter horse dung. It wasn't the fault of the grunts of the ground. How we couldn't shoot straight. It wasn't because we underestimated the forces of the undead. It was because those motherfuckin' higher ups thought with the pride shoved up their ass rather than the logic within their heads. They didn't prepare for the real threat and it it cost so many lives…

What was Yonkers really like?

Well, I can only speak from my… unique perspective, so if you want a actual view of the war go ask someone else.

Your perspective is one I was hoping to get.

Oh, really, sweet, never been told that before, I get lonely here ya know. I'm just a exhibit to them, I'm the only one they decided to keep the body for. "For research purposes…. " Yeah right it's the easiest way to show what happens to a body after certain weapons get through them.

I'm sorry.

Eh, it's alright. Well now to my story; I like the ring of that. My story.

It all began after Mikaela Warren broke the news on Phalanx. She wrote this like three-page story on it. My summary of that essay: PHALANX IS BULLSHIT. We had been already recalled from the Middle East by then. We were put on leave, but be ready to return to active service at a moments notice. I got my notice a day after the story broke. I was tasked to guard some colonel; he wasn't well loved let's say. And he was sent to Yonkers. He thought it wise to put his bodyguard to work while he was talking to the media.

It was hot as a industrial oven that day. We had to wear this MOPP 4 gear. Its like wearing another person on top of you. It was meant to keep you from airborne and nuclear threats, but like my colonel, it was all for show. He never went to war; he was blue balled by the Cold War in West Berlin. By the time we finished digging those fighting holes we were almost zombies ourselves.

I was moved from along the highway to a house near the end of it, where we could choke what few Zack got out of the barrage of our heavy hitters. Ya know the Tanks, Bradleys, and mounted gunners. Well I was put in the Joseph Cerrato Park, right off of Herriot. Keep them from flanking the rest of the group the colonel said. One man against a thousand Gs, yea fucking right, then again, Zak follows noise and smell, anything that points to humans.

I heard Zack before I saw them. The tanks fire, the artillery, the mortars, all of it, the moan growing increasingly louder. I moved from the open field to the houses. I had step into a backyard, it had a playground, one I was planning to stand on top of it and let Zack come to me and have them not reach me right away.

It never happened. I was tackled from the side. I screamed like a bitch, I'm not proud to admit it, but I did. It was a group of them I know that. The family unit of America: a man, a woman, a son, a daughter, all reanimated. They had come from the house, guess the door finally gave way. The M14 I had was thrown away when I got tackled and I was panicking. At first I started to wrestled the woman off of me but the kids jumped on my arms while the dad started to bit at my legs. The mom was yanking at my mask. I knew I couldn't get out, better off myself, I didn't want to turn.

But that's not what happened.

No, no it wasn't. She eventually got my mask off, all the while I was screaming my heart out, hoping that someone anyone would come and save me. Land Warrior gave them the opportunity to move in… Bastards never came. She leaned down with those yellow teeth, and bit off my chin and lower lip. The pain, was excruciating. I tried reaching for my sidearm to pull the trigger on these guys and me. The daughter kept me from reaching it. They feasted on my face. My eye sight left, my mouth only tasted blood. Fuck I never got that gun… if I did, I would be at peace right now.

You died.

Yep, and reanimated. Back from the dead to kill my old friends.

What is it like to be a zombie?

You know, its hard to explain. You don't feel any pain, that's a plus. But then again you don't feel anything. All you've got it your thoughts and senses; the virus takes control of the rest. When I "awoke" the family was gone. The virus dragged me up. What am I saying? It's my body. I dragged myself up. I moved and walked toward the destruction. By the time I reached the Highway where the main part of the army was, it was already a clusterfuck. My fellow Z brethren were upon them. Most of the guys were fine, well not fine really. They were shooting straight was my point. Hitting up in the head and neck., though I couldn't see I heard the bodies dropping. How I knew they weren't alright was the smell of shit and piss coming from there pants.

Well, as we charged the ranks I got hit a few times in the MOPP, stupid guys forgot that I was once one of them, it would do nothing but stall me for a moment. The top of my head was still covered by a helmet so they'd have to blast me in the face. That's probably how I survived Yonkers. I heard a propeller go by my head. Thwip Thwip Thwip, followed by a explosion. A little while later I heard "GET DOWN!"

They released the thermobaric missiles.

You got it. And hell next thing I know, I smell barbeque.

You weren't harmed?

Naw man, none of us were, well unless we got the misfortune of a actual missile landing on our head. We just set on fire for a sec and then my lungs got shot right out of my fucking mouth. The pressure and heat went away rapidly. While we were fine, the grunts that weren't in cover. They died, hopefully quickly. Hey how does it look like, the effects. Be honest with me.

Honestly, horrific.

Yeah, thank god those Z's ate my eyes, now I can't see what I look like. I imagine a half melted candle.

What happened after the missiles?

Well I followed a person…. [He laughs.] That motherfucking colonel that sent me to my death. Before you ask how do I know, just trust me. That awful cologne is enough to know. Especially the amount he put on. I followed him into a building. There were two others with him. They fired and I heard the tapping on my helmet, which were their bullets. They trapped themselves. They ran into a closet. While the other two offed themselves, the oh so wise colonel miscounted his ammo and was left to sit in the closet.

I made it in there eventually. His screams were the only thing I think that still keeps me sane. I got my payback, oh fuck yea and it was perfect. That was the only time I got the enjoyment of killing a person as a Z. Well I'm guessing it's the only time I would enjoy it if I killed more.

Some other grunt barricaded the door with a heavy shelf while I was getting my snack. They then holed up in that building for another week before offing themselves they knew help wasn't coming just like I did. I sat there thinking. That's all you can do. I imagine the different bit of the war all over the world. I was even the original inventor of the Reinforced Square.

[I cough.]

I swear man, you have a lot of thoughts in a decade. Well eventually I was released by AGN. They didn't kill me. The Brass wanted me for study, and that's how you are talking to me here.

[Wesley Treadmill is currently held in the Museum of the Era of Zack. A public museum which is in New New York, New York. He is the prime example of the effects of thermobaric weapons on zombies. His brain is hooked up to a machine which translates his brainwaves and thought into speech. I plan to inform Todd Waino his location. He did always ask for the number of another veteran of Yonkers after all.]