02: Unknown Soldier

The city of Fairfield is a rather large one with bustling traffic and lots of noise. Twenty four hours a day, the city throbs with sound – the sounds of cars, police sirens, construction sites and more. It is not an ideal place to raise a family, because good schools (with the exception of Fairfield University near the center of the city) are difficult to come by. People don't come to Fairfield to raise families, they come here to live and die alone.

So far, that had been working quite well for Master Sergeant Bill Overbeck – United States Army, Green Berets, Vietnam veteran. Fairfield, Pennsylvania had proven to be a good place for him to move. He wanted to find better prospects and to escape from his previous years of menial jobs and alcoholism. However, he quickly found out that the modern economy was not friendly to people looking for jobs, and even less so to old military veterans.

He was a proud soldier, having enlisted the day he turned 18. His first tour was relatively uneventful – most of the time, he worked on repairing radio equipment. But Bill wasn't content with being a radio mechanic. He quickly volunteered to go to Special Forces school, where he excelled. Thereafter he was deployed once again to Vietnam. This time, he was a Green Beret communications sergeant. Bill was just as much a master and professional with radio equipment as he was with weapons and combat. He was fluent in three foreign languages. Along with the rest of his twelve man squad, he conducted countless top secret missions in Vietnam.

Bill had plans to go to officer school after his second tour. During his last week, however, a grenade landed in the midst of his squad. The man in front of him caught the worst of the shrapnel, but a large amount of it entered his knee, nearly severing the lower half of his left leg. Suddenly, Bill was no longer fit to ever serve in a military unit again. No amount of commendations or medals could change the fact that he would have to leave, even if it was an honorable discharge.

He was 63 now, though still just as muscular and formidable as he had been decades ago. Bill stood just shy of six feet, two inches tall. He had a weathered face that seemed to perpetually glare – perhaps it was his eyes, cold and blue. His beard and his hair were both stark white, and certainly didn't fall within Army standards, for they were scraggly and unkempt. Certainly, an unprofessional look.

Maybe that was why he continued to stay unemployed. Three weeks in this damn city and he still had not found a job. He wasn't necessarily short on money – Bill was easily satisfied living in very meager conditions and surviving on veteran's benefits. However, without the Army, his life no longer seemed to have a purpose. Bill was the type of person who needed structure and a chain of command. But no job provided the same amount of satisfaction of the Army, and as such, Bill drifted from city to city.

He was sitting in a moth eaten arm chair in a moth eaten living room, watching the news on a dusty television set. There had been reports of a virus that had been sweeping through the land. Bill didn't particularly care, but even if he changed the channel, the same report continued to come in. Countless numbers infected, a state of emergency declared by the president, the National Guard being mobilized…

He tried watching other things besides the news, but those things were boring and stupid. TV was truly a wasteland nowadays, and for an unemployed veteran with nothing better to do, that spelled for trouble. Bill irritably shut off the television and stood up to his full height. His knee was stiff again, and so was his back. Ignoring the tension, he walked over to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator to see if there was anything to eat. There was a single can of beer and a loaf of bread.

"Goddamn it," he muttered to himself. Bill went to his bedroom and changed clothes. He now wore a stained yellow T-shirt that had once been white, a tattered green Army jacket, combat boots and tan trousers. He rarely wore much else – but in his closet, he still had his old military uniforms, ranging from battle uniforms to his formal Class A's.

One item he always wore was the coveted Green Beret, the distinctive mark of US Army soldiers that had qualified for the Special Forces tab. Bill particularly treasured this item – it was a symbol of excellence among soldiers. But more importantly, it ensured that he remained true to his military background. Unlike the rest of his clothes, Bill kept the beret in peak condition. He would often spend huge swathes of time cleaning and adjusting its shape. Years after it had been issued, it still looked brand new.

Bill found some cash and walked out the door of his apartment, a run down place in a poor neighborhood. Although it was in the middle of the day, no one was walking outside. Everyone was afraid of the virus, and those that did walk outside wore face masks. To Bill, this reaction was silly and unnecessary. The virus had not spread as far north as Pennsylvania thus far.

Even so, as he made his way to a busier street, the entire area was being heavily monitored. Government notices had been posted everywhere – on street lamps, bus stops, bathroom stalls and more. People were urged to use protective gear at all times, though Bill didn't bother with that. Although a senior citizen, he was still healthy and hadn't been seriously ill in years. Bill made sure to take care of himself at all times. If he ever did get sick, the Army's health insurance benefits would cover him. He had no family to speak of, and no children – only a couple of unsuccessful marriages. As far as he was concerned, the Army was his family.

Yet as he walked down the street towards the grocery store, he eyed the National Guardsmen standing in the streets with disdain. This was a new generation of soldiers and in his opinion, a pussy generation. In Bill's time, soldiers had only their skills and each other to rely on. Nowadays, soldiers let computers do all the work. Bill shifted his eyes towards one of them – a young private by the name of Burns. Private Burns was armed with a modern M4A1 assault rifle. In lieu of a carry handle with a rear sight, Burns was using an EO Tech holographic weapon sight. Instead of aligning the sights and controlling his breathing, Private Burns only needed to place the targeting reticule projected in the EO Tech display panel upon a target and shoot.

Bill snorted as he walked by Private Burns. What happened if the fancy electronic sight failed? Obviously, he would be doomed. And his uniform! Digital camouflage? What was the Army thinking?

He passed more and more National Guardsmen on his way to the store – they all looked the same, wearing gas masks and other protective equipment. This new breed of soldier was not the same as the old breed. Nowhere near as competent or brave. But, he had arrived at the store – a Walmart superstore. Bill loved buying things from Walmart, for things were dirt cheap. He didn't care about the store's alleged bad business practices. As far as he was concerned, the liberal hippies who complained could go buy their organic tofu elsewhere.

Bill walked into the store and was quickly greeted by, to his surprise, a man almost as old as he was.

"Welcome to Walmart," said the greeter, his voice muffled by a face mask. "Would you like a cart?"

"No, just a basket for me," said Bill. The old greeter gave him one.

"Have a pleasant day, and thank you for shopping at Walmart," said the greeter. Bill entered the store and wondered if he should simply work at Walmart. It seemed that they had no qualms hiring senior citizens, and surely, a store of this size would need more workers. He decided he would stop at customer service after finishing his shopping.

Bill made a mental list of what he would need: eggs, canned goods, and beer, among other things. Especially the beer, that was particularly important for passing the time. He looked around at the huge aisles and after a minute of thought, decided to go to the dairy section first.

Despite the ravaging effects of the virus, life continued as normal. In the middle of the day it was mostly mothers that were shopping for groceries. Bill suddenly realized how stupid he must look, an angry looking old man with crappy clothes and a meticulously cleaned green beret, shopping in a Walmart. It was fortunate that his jacket clearly stated "US ARMY." Perhaps that would reduce the strange looks – people would surely think, "Oh, that poor veteran, abandoned by his country!"

This time, though, no one seemed to be paying attention to him. The mothers in the Walmart were shopping in pairs, gossiping about the latest news on the viral outbreak. Bill loaded a carton of eggs into his basket and moved on, uninterested in such boring banter.

Within a few minutes, Bill had the supplies he needed and began walking towards a checkout counter. There was only one in service today, and a long queue had formed – mostly women, either gossiping or reading the magazines on the racks next to the counter. A young child sat in a shopping cart just in front of him, loudly shouting random childish stupidity. Bill quietly grunted his disapproval. This was why he chose not to have kids – children were loud and annoying.

"Be quiet, Jeremy," said a young woman sternly. She looked to be in her early twenties – to early to have a child, in Bill's view. The small amount of groceries in her cart indicated she was probably a single parent. In these days, single parents were becoming more and more common. The long accepted traditional family structure was seemingly gone.

"Long line, huh?" Bill snapped out of his thoughts and noticed that the young woman was speaking to him. She was quite attractive – blue eyes, dark hair and a fair complexion. Although considerably shorter than Bill, she managed to maintain an air of confidence and professionalism. By now her frame had shed all the extra pounds of pregnancy and childbirth. Her figure was lithe and agile looking.

"Yes, quite so," said Bill. His voice was unwavering and displayed absolutely no signs of surprise – these days, nothing could surprise him. Green Berets were trained to think quickly on the spot. "You'd think, on a Wednesday afternoon, they'd have at least another counter open."

"I was just thinking that," replied the woman. "My name's Angela, by the way."

"I'm Bill," said Bill. "So, Angela, do you always make a habit of talking to strangers in grocery lines?" Angela seemed to find this question funny. She laughed slightly.

"Well, I happened to notice your jacket, and it says US Army."

"Oh? What about the Army?"

"My husband is in the Army. He's deployed over in Afghanistan right now."

So she's not a single parent after all. Bill chastised himself for making assumptions. Most likely, she was simply having hard time with her husband's absence. Seeing any military serviceman, active duty or not, would bring back the pains of being alone.

"Really? Which unit?"

"1st Cavalry Division. He's a combat engineer."

"1st Cavalry? That was my unit back in Nam!" Bill exclaimed, genuinely interested now.

"Whoa," said Angela, smiling broadly. "Small world, huh?"

"I guess it is," said Bill. "How old's your kid?"

"Jeremy? He'll turn two next week." Suddenly, Angela looked sad. "My husband was supposed to come back just a few days ago, but his tour was extended by a few months."

"Oh," said Bill. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Sorry if I'm just dumping my problems on you," said Angela.

"Oh, don't worry. I know exactly what you're going through. And it's important for someone like you to stay strong and take care of the kid." Bill found it strange he was suddenly so friendly. He always held a soft spot for military veterans and their loved ones, but rarely did he actually talk with them.

"Thanks," said Angela. She was about to say something else, but was interrupted by a sudden commotion. Both of them looked towards the front of the line where a woman had dropped several glass containers. People were backing away from the mess, although a few stayed and offered to help clean up. The woman in the front of the line was standing stock still, looking somewhat dazed.

"Don't worry about that, ma'am, we'll get someone to clean this up while you go get whatever you dropped," said the cashier, sounding genuinely concerned for customer well being. He picked up a phone next to his cash register and called for a cleanup crew. Throughout this, however, the woman who had dropped the jars was still standing perfectly still. Her mouth hung slightly open; a drop of spittle dribbled down her chin.

"Ma'am? Are you all right?" asked the cashier. The woman still did not respond. Frowning slightly, the cashier waved a hand in front of her face – but the woman's eyes did not follow.

"Oh damn, I think she might be having a seizure," said Bill. "Angela, can you call 911?" Bill stepped forward towards the woman while Angela whipped out her cell phone and dialed the number. A second later, she faced Bill.

"All the circuits are busy," she said fearfully. "What do we do now?"

The woman who had been standing still a second earlier suddenly began shaking her head violently, as if trying to clear it. A few of the customers backed away in fright, except for Bill, who placed a hand on the woman's shoulder. In response to the touch, she whipped her head and faced him.

"Whoa!" Bill was shocked to see that the irises of the woman's eyes had suddenly turned blood red. Almost immediately, Bill backed away. He had paid enough attention to the news to understand that red eyes meant an infection by super rabies.

The woman opened her mouth and let loose a vocalization that seemed inhuman, an animalistic roar that could only be produced by a predator. A second later she stopped roaring and gnashed her teeth together. Something fell out of her mouth – to Bill's horror, it was the tip of the woman's tongue. A spurt of blood poured out of her mouth, dribbling down her chin and neck.

"Oh Jesus!" shouted the cashier frightfully. His exclamation drew the attention of the infected woman, who lashed out with an angry fist, clocking the cashier square on the nose. There was a snapping noise as it broke, sending a torrent of blood flowing from his nostrils. The cashier cried out in pain and surprise and frantically ran away. "She hit be, she hit be on the doze!"

The infected woman refocused her attention on the crowd behind her, and lunged forward, swinging her arms dangerously. Her strength seemed colossal. Bill stepped forward to restrain her, but he was met with a punch to his stomach. He stumbled backwards, surprised by the sheer force at which he was hit. Bill had been winded from the assault – but now, he was angry.

The infected woman focused on Angela, who was cradling her child and staring back at her, white with fear.

"Angela, back away!" Bill gasped as he regained his breath.

It was too late – the infected woman dashed forward with inhuman speed. Angela screamed and turned to protect her baby, just in time. The woman collided with her at full force. Angela flew backwards and in the process, her grip on her child loosened. Another shopper stepped forward and caught the child, who had begun crying loudly.

Angela struggled to her feet, but the infected woman advanced and kicked her in the side. She yelped in pain and fell flat to the floor.

"Get off of her!" Bill growled, grabbing the infected woman. But even his strength was no match for her – she simply elbowed him off and began viciously assaulting Angela. Bill was once again winded by the attack to his ribcage.

"Help me, help me!" Angela screamed, terrified. Other shoppers were attempting to dial 911 and a few even attempted to pull the relentless infected woman away, but to no avail. Bill could see Angela struggling to fend off her attacker, but even now, Angela's movements were getting weaker.

The infected woman slammed her face into Angela's neck and then, to everyone's horror, bit down hard. Angela was able to scream once more, but her voice quickly died and was replaced by a wet choking noise. A pool of blood formed rapidly under her body.

Bill rushed forward, this time with a small knife in his hand. He always kept a small knife for general use, be it adjusting screws, cutting boxes or, in this case, fending off attackers. He drew upon his training and killer instincts as a Green Beret. The knife went into the throat of the attacking woman, instantly severing her trachea and arteries. Bill roughly forced the attacking woman off of Angela's feebly struggling form.

One look was all he needed to know that Angela had no chance. Her throat had been torn open by the attacker's teeth. Angela's eyes were glazed over and unfocused. The least Bill could do was grip her hand tightly, providing whatever comfort he could as the life slowly bled out of Angela. It took only a minute – her pulse stopped and Angela's grip on Bill's hand went limp. Bill used two fingers to close her eyes. He was certainly no stranger to death, having personally taken many lives himself as well as dealt with the deaths of friends. But no amount of mental conditioning or training could help one deal with the death of an innocent civilian.

By now, the entire store was in pandemonium – several policemen had arrived along with several National Guard soldiers, but they were quickly descended upon by a horde of infected. It was as if the infection had appeared spontaneously. Bill was in disbelief as he left the store, stopping to grab an M4A1 rifle from a soldier's corpse.

The streets were utter chaos as well – cars had been crashed or even flipped over, bodies lay in the streets and the sounds of automatic gunfire punctuated the panicked screams of people.

Christ, this is like a damn zombie movie, Bill thought. He made his way through the chaos, back towards his apartment. No one paid any strict attention to him, a person in civilian clothes carrying a weapon. Everyone else was too busy dealing with the infected, the zombies, to even care. People that weren't fast enough were torn apart by zombies, or simply trampled to death by their fellow panicking citizens.

By avoiding the main streets, Bill managed to avoid the worst of the chaos. He went back into his apartment, taking care to securely lock all entrances. Meanwhile he went to his closet and pulled out a metal case. Although Bill was by no means a survivalist, he always maintained a survival kit. He kept enough canned food, medical supplies and other items to last him at least a month. Surely, any disaster would blow over by then.

Despite his hard demeanor, Bill was still visibly shaken by Angela's death. Although he knew that there was nothing anyone could have done, he still felt a twinge of guilt. Angela didn't deserve to die. She was too young, and furthermore, had a child. Bill didn't want to think about what was going to happen to the child, or if he had even survived the chaos in the store. He sat on the side of his bed, staring at the floor.

It took a few minutes, but Bill finally stood up and started more important work: securing his apartment for survival. He could not afford to let his emotions get to him. The time for mourning could come later. Bill kept an automatic pistol in his bedroom, just in case. He pulled it out and began to clean it – as he did; he noticed a bleeding bite mark on his arm.

Oh shit, he thought as he stared at the wound. Confusion quickly turned to anger.

"That bitch bit me!" he exclaimed. Bill knew it was only a matter of time before he transformed, but even so, he frantically cleaned out the wound and bandaged it. After this, he continued cleaning his pistol. Perhaps the bite hadn't actually penetrated, perhaps the blood wasn't his. He was sure that if any bite had drawn blood, he would have noticed beforehand.

He could hope.