Zombie Fallout 12 Read online

  Zombie Fallout 12

  Dog Dayz

  Mark Tufo

  Copyright © 2019 by Mark Tufo

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  ZOMBIE FALLOUT 12 - DOG DAYS OF WAR

  * * *

  Dedications:

  To my wife Tracy,

  I cannot thank you enough,

  for the love you give.

  (Yup that’s a haiku!)

  To my most awesomest beta readers, Kimberly Sansone, Patti Reilly and Vanessa McCutcheon. Every time I think I have a near perfect book you all prove me wrong. I mean it sounds like a bad thing but all your corrections are greatly appreciated by me and I would imagine the readers!

  And speaking of the readers, a huge thank you to all of you, because without your support, I‘m most likely sitting in cube city pissing off all those around me. I can assure you those people are thankful you support me as well!

  To the men and women of the armed forces your daily sacrifices never go unthanked in the Tufo homestead. Thank you for all that you do.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Epilogue

  Post Epilogue

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  About the Author

  Also by Mark Tufo

  Zombie Fallout The Series

  Also From DevilDog Press

  Customers also Purchased

  Prologue

  Home. What a wonderfully strange place to be. Tracy was working, Nicole and Justin were in trade schools and Travis was in a more or less regular school. When I came back from missions, my primary duty became dog sitting–maybe one of the best things ever. I could usually be found on the living room floor wrestling with Henry, Riley, and Ben Ben for some prize they’d found. This, and being with my family; it was why I did everything I did. But it was strange, no doubt about it. We lived in a tightly gated community; armed guards patrolling was the norm. But when I was home, I made sure to stuff my camis far back in the closet; I lived the illusion of normalcy and my family followed me straight down the rabbit hole.

  We never discussed the zombies, certainly never any of my missions, and even stranger still, we did not talk about all those we lost along the way. It was always there though, like an oily film coating an otherwise pristine lake in the mountains. You could only see it from a certain angle, but one match could set the whole thing ablaze making it look like something straight from the underworld. As part of my commission in Bennington’s Corps, I was required to attend a counseling session once a week whenever I was on base. The counselor, Fred Scarborough, was overworked with a patient load that would have made him one of the wealthiest men in the free world–if we were still in a commercial market. I’d long ago learned all the key words to tell him so that he never delved any deeper into the many problems I carried around with me. I was just smart enough as to be dangerous, as the saying goes.

  We were trying to move on with our lives as best we could and I was going to do my best to be that strong glue that kept our house of cards standing. If I could learn just one thing from the dogs, it was how happy they were to live in the moment. To just enjoy a game of tug-of-war, or to revel in the delight of the bacon grease I poured over their dog food. Of course, I suspected that they remembered past events and had learned from them, but they did not let those memories define them. The past did not have a stranglehold over their future like it did us lesser creatures.

  “Henry, you think if I ever became a werewolf I could enjoy life as much as you?” I had the bullie’s massive head in my hands and was looking straight into his eyes. He sneezed in response.

  “Werewolf?” Tracy had just come in from getting a few supplies. “That’s all we need. You already make big enough messes.” The living room was a disaster; at some point Ben Ben had got ahold of a pillow and had savagely ripped it open. Probably my fault, considering I’d been shoving it in his face to keep him from licking me.

  It was strange and it was wonderful here. Gary and Tommy came over all the time, BT much less so; if not for Lyndsey I’m not sure if I’d see him at all during our down times. I don’t think it was anything he did on a conscious level, just that every time he saw me I would imagine he was forced to remember all we’d been through again, and, yeah…he was doing the same thing we were all trying to do. Just flat-out ignore the misery and death that pressed in on the fences we had built both literally and figuratively. This saddened me profoundly. BT was above and beyond my best friend on this planet and the thought that seeing me pained him? I mean, what do you do with that?

  I think Bennington had a good idea establishing the line his raiders walked, as once we were inside the fortification, we were left alone. We didn’t need to show up for revelry or report in to anyone until such time as we were given a mission. I liked it here; we were making a difference. I could not help but wonder how long the illusion would last.

  Chapter 1

  Mike Journal Entry 1

  Let the fuckery begin

  * * *

  “You have got to be shitting me!” I stood up quickly.

  “You realize where you are, right?” BT asked, pulling on my arm.

  “Sorry, sir,” I spoke to the colonel, who looked bemused. He motioned for me to take the seat again but I waited a good long moment before I even felt remotely calm enough to do so.

  “I realize what you’ve been through–what you’ve all been through, and I wouldn’t ask this of you if it wasn’t imperative.”

  “Ask? Or order?” If he offered a loophole, I was damned sure going to dive through it.

  “At the moment, I’m asking because of the necessity of this mission.”

  “And if I don’t acquiesce willingly?”

  “Acquiesce? One way to look at it. I could send another team, but you know the area.”

  “Sir, the missus and I visited Times Square once and I got so lost I took her to the wrong Christmas tree.”

  “What?” BT looked at me. “How could you not know you weren’t at Rockefeller Center?”

  “Hey man, how the hell was I supposed to know they had more than one enormous tree and skating rink? I figured it had to be it. Seemed strange though; the tree did always look bigger on television. Figured it was the wizardry of the broadcast.”

  “Lieutenant.”

  “Colonel, we fought to get out here. We gave up so much…lost so much.” I had to fight to keep the hitch out of my voice. “I don’t know how I can possibly go back there.”

  “You won’t be there for more than a day or two. Get you there in a C-130, bring you back the same way.”

  “Sounds wonderful. Did you tell my gunney here how we’re off-loading ourselves and the equipment?”

  “Wait…what?” BT asked.

  “Well, when you fly into what was one of the most heavily populated cities in the world, it’s best not to attract too much attention, so we’re going to parachute out.”

  “Fuck you, Mike.” Now it was BT’s turn to stand.

  “Him. His call.” I pointed to the colonel.

  “My kids, when they were toddlers,
had more military decorum than the two of you combined. It’s a good thing you all know what you’re doing.”

  “Yeah, fantastic. First time in my life I wished I’d listened to my mother when she said I could be anything I wanted.”

  “Context, Mike, you left us hanging.”

  “I was seven, really liked bats. Told her I was going to be one when I grew up.”

  “Helpful,” BT said.

  My head sagged. “When do we leave?”

  “Your unit is already waiting.”

  “I cannot believe we’re going back to the East Coast.” I stood and shook the colonel’s hand; he wished us luck. Our ride to the runway was waiting outside. Good thing too or I might have been inclined just to walk out the gate and into the Washington wilderness; me and my Yeti friends could start our own colony. BT glowered at me throughout the entire ride and for the first two hours of the flight.

  “What makes you think the parachuting part of this was my idea? I heard his orders at the same time you did,” I told him.

  “They giving him four chutes like they did our Hummer?” Gary asked.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Because of his size? I figured they’d give him four chutes so he would land safely.”

  “Would suck if we had a casualty on the flight over.” BT was grinding a fist into his open hand, his teeth were gritted. Gary gulped and readjusted his headphones; I think I heard Walk like an Egyptian blaring through.

  “You going to open that?” BT asked. I held a sealed manila envelope that contained our orders.

  “Figuring if I didn’t open it, it wouldn’t be real. I’m heading back to the East Coast, and I didn’t even have time to tell Tracy goodbye. I’m scared, man. I’ve got this feeling in my gut we’re going to lose this cushy ride and we’re going to once again have to fight our way back. BT, I don’t know if I have it in me.”

  His face softened; for once I wasn’t being a smart-ass or giving him shit. “We’ll be alright, man. We do this, we go home. Same as it always is.”

  “If you say so.” I said the words, but the farther east we went, the sourer my mood became. Saw the Rockies, the flats of Kansas, the Mississippi River and other landmarks as I spent a fair amount of time up in the pilot’s area. More than once I thought about hijacking the plane and going to Mexico.

  I couldn’t help but wonder how many people down below were watching our passing. A few years ago, wasn’t a person in the world that would have given a plane in the sky a second thought. Now though, this had to be a relatively rare event. Wouldn’t doubt if more chupacabras had been spotted in the last month over airplanes.

  “Lieutenant, it’s neither vital nor desired that you stay behind my seat the entire time I fly this plane. I assure you, I can do my job at a high level.”

  “No problem, Major Eastman. I was just looking everything over, deciding if I could fly this thing or not.”

  The major laughed, thinking I was kidding. It was Major Jackson who clued him into the opinion he didn’t think I was joking around.

  “Go sit down, Lieutenant,” a now uncomfortable Major Eastman ordered.

  “How you doing, brother?” BT was mowing through a box of chocolate chip granola bars.

  “I wouldn’t think you’d want to be adding any more strain to the parachute you’re about to use.”

  BT stopped mid-chew. “That’s just mean, man.”

  “Sorry, just...the East Fucking Coast. We tried so hard to get there and then we tried so hard to get away. I can’t believe we’re going back.”

  “Get your seatbelts on back there!” Eastman said over the intercom.

  I was in the seat nearest to the cockpit and could see in; a couple of the instruments were blinking red. A moment later I’d wished I’d sat farther away.

  “Who the hell is painting us?” Major Jackson asked.

  I wasn’t overly versed in pilot lingo but I knew enough. Being painted meant there was a weapons system directed our way.

  “Missile away!” Jackson said just as the plane pitched hard to the side. We were so far over, when I turned my head I was above and looking straight down at Corporal Rose. My seat belt attempted to cut me in half as it did its job admirably and held me in place. Didn’t see what good that was going to do, though, if my distinct halves landed wetly on him.

  There was a general cacophony among my charges as they tried to figure out what was going on. BT was to my left and above me; if his seat gave he was going to take out the whole row, finishing us off if the missile didn’t do its job. The plane leveled off, then came the high pitched whine of the engines as we plummeted straight down. I was gripping the armrests, doing my best to keep my body in place. I was looking straight out the front window and I could see the contrail of something fast approaching.

  “That what I think it is?” BT was looking at the same thing I was.

  I tried to answer; it came out more like “Nyuh.” The belt was dug so deep into my lap I could have used it to wipe my ass. Sorry.

  We were somehow forced over even more, I figured if Eastman went any further, we were going to start flipping tail over nose till we hit the ground. The engines were screaming now; not only was that missile coming straight for us but the ground was approaching. I could just make out a large convoy of trucks and cars. I was getting a sick sort of fascination as they began to speed towards us. Seemed to me like Eastman was playing Kamikaze; if they got us, there was going to be some severe collateral damage on their part as this nearly forty-ton war machine rained down on them.

  We were plummeting down and the missile was rocketing up. We’re talking speeds too fast for humans to even gauge, but I swear I clearly saw “USA” proudly printed on the side of that missile as it blew past our nose. I was honestly surprised when I didn’t hear the fin of that thing scrape paint off our fuselage.

  “Pull up! Pull up!” Eastman and Jackson were fighting with the controls. At first, I thought it was them yelling those words–ended up being me. Pretty sure they knew what to do. The plane’s trajectory was changing at incremental degrees; the ground didn’t give a shit. It just kept getting clearer and clearer. It had been like watching an old and often used VCR tape, but now it was high-fucking-definition. Another second or two and I’d be able to count individual leaves on the trees below us. Whoever had launched the rocket was entirely too busy attempting to escape what was going to be a huge man-made crater to launch another. That worked out in our favor, I guess.

  A slim line of sky appeared at the very top edge of the window as the pilots fought to get us horizontal. I decided to shift my focus to that slowly expanding horizon.

  “Talbot!” BT yelled. “If we die, I want you to know I love your sister and and…you’re alright too! Plus…man I feel guilty about this….I used your toothbrush once.”

  I didn’t think things could get much worse. I was wrong. I fought against the g-forces being applied to me to look over at him.

  “I’m sorry, man. It was the night we came over for dinner. You know how Tracy loves to put onions in everything, then we were sitting out in the back enjoying the fire pit getting cozy…how could I kiss your sister with onion breath?”

  “I want you to shut up about every part of that last sentence. Every part!”

  “Even the onions?”

  “Especially the onions!”

  My last words were extremely loud now that the engines were working much closer to their regular load.

  “Radio that in,” Eastman told Jackson over the speakers. “Safe now. As I’m sure all of you already know, we had a surface-to-air missile fired at us. Looks like it was just the one. ETA to drop: forty-five minutes.”

  I figured that would be how long it would take for my heart to calm down, just in time to start ramping up for the jump.

  “My fucking toothbrush?” I had undone my strap so I could stand and be somewhat closer to face-to-face with the man sitting.

  “I’m cleaner than you,” he offered
as a defense.

  “You think that matters? I have to chant a mantra every time I use the thing my fucking self! I brush my teeth then put the thing away only to shove it in my mouth the next day–I can about taste the giant bug-germs crawling across it! The only thing that gets me through is thinking that they drown in the toothpaste!”

  “Toothpaste isn’t a disinfectant,” he replied calmly.

  “It is in my world!”

  “Lieutenant, is there a problem?” A harried Major Eastman was looking back at us.

  “You have no idea,” I told him. “Might have been better off if the missile’d hit us. Can you imagine the size of the germs that live in his mouth?” I was pointing to BT. “Probably a whole new strain, germus-giganticus. No wonder I’ve been feeling like my teeth are shifting! They just shove them around to get inside all the crevices.”

  “You’re losing your shit over nothing,” BT replied.

  “Nothing? Fine. If we’re gonna go there, I’ve got something to confess.”

  “Careful, Talbot.”

  “No, no…this has been eating away at me. I want to get it off my chest. You know that night you made the gumbo?”

  “Yeah…?” he answered cautiously.

  “I don’t like foods in sauces or stews; freaks me out because of my mother.”

  “I know that.”

  I paused. “Really, man? You invited me over for a pot of it! That’s some pretty passive-aggressive shit right there.”

  “You’re lucky it wasn’t ham! I was trying to broaden your horizons, dumbass.”