Under the Bridge

Posted on Sat Jan 11th, 2025 @ 6:27pm by Lieutenant Matt Zemke
Edited on on Sun Jan 12th, 2025 @ 4:06pm

2,880 words; about a 14 minute read

Mission: Towers of the Void (Series Premiere)
Location: Unknown; somewhere southwest of Fort Belvoir, VA
Timeline: Judgement Day + 1

“This looks it might be our only option,” Matt offered, hearing the weariness in his voice.

For her part, Lana simply grunted and nodded her acknowledgment.

The option before them was a highway overpass. The far end was clogged with debris and burned-out vehicle husks. The other end, where Matt and Lana stood, was mostly open. Matt nodded and stepped gingerly over some debris. He didn't want to risk a light to check out their “quarters” for the night, but he also didn't want to snuggle with any critters or, worse…machines.

Before he could take another step, Matt heard a soft crunching sound and turned to see Delgado activating a chemlight. She shook the plastic tube to better mix the chemicals it contained and gave it a quick side-armed fling. It sailed through the air in a sideways florescent arc before landing and skittering across the ground, coming to rest next to the left side overpass support.

The tunnel was now bathed in an eerie but soft green glow, thanks to the chemlight. Matt and Delgado could see to pick their way amongst the rubble that had been caught beneath the over pass. Matt silently hoped the light wasn't bright enough to attract any visitors.

The pair began picking their way through the debris, slowly advancing toward the clogged end, and soon found an area relatively free of junk. Matt signaled Delgado to wait there while he went ahead. Delgado nodded exaggeratedly so that Matt was sure to see her answer in the semi-lit tunnel. Matt dropped his rucksack and then moved forward with his rifle at the ready. He noticed that he could hear his heart pounding in his ears, but he went on, straining to hear any signs of…well…anything over the pounding in his ears. Matt scanned the area, picking his way through the debris of humanity, thankfully noting that the visible light from Delgado’s chemlight didn’t spill out of the tunnel.

After about ten minutes, Matt retraced his trail to where he'd left Delgado. She had taken up position behind a burned-out car. Matt noticed that she could see both avenues of approach from her current position. He stopped shy of the area and softly whistled two notes. Delgado answered him with three of her own. Only then did Matt proceed into the clearing.

“Nothing much doing that way,” Matt reported, thumbing back the way he'd gone.

“Just a bunch of trash and burned-out cars,” he added.

“Can any of those…things…get in that way,” Lana asked.

Matt gently shook his head.

“There's a couple of 18-wheelers that jack-knifed and some other big stuff blocking the way, “ Matt explained.

Delgado nodded and relaxed slightly.

“We should probably still keep watch, though…other survivors might be crawling around, you know,” Matt said.

“Yeah…if this goes on very long, people are bound to get desperate,” Lana agreed.

“Let's check out what's in these rucks and then we'll worry about that,” Matt offered. Delgado motioned for the rifle.

“Go ahead, Lieutenant - I'll keep watch,” she explained.

Matt nodded and took the sling from around his neck and torso. Delgado took it, checked the magazine quietly, and then softly pulled the bolt back just enough to check that a round was chambered. She then cross-slung the rifle and pulled it up to her shoulder. Satisfied that the setup was good, she returned her attention to the area in front of her

Matt moved further into the clearing and opened his rucksack, placing its contents on the ground before him. Inside the main pocket, he found a spare flight uniform bearing Gorsky’s name tapes, several MREs, several pairs of socks and men's boxer briefs, a poncho liner (affectionately nicknamed a Woobie), a pair of aftermarket Nomex flight gloves, a Goretex jacket, and a crew chief’s manual. In the smaller outside pockets, Matt found a Swiss Army-style folding knife, several packs of chewing gum, and two 1-quart canteens.

Matt repacked the bag, leaving the Woobie and one of the MREs out. He moved over to Lana's position and switched out with her.

Lana quietly retrieved the rucksack she'd been carrying from the remains of another car, where she had stashed it, and followed Matt's example.

As luck would have it, the rucksack actually belonged to Lana. She knew it contained two flight uniforms and undergarments, her Goretex jacket, several MREs and small snacks, several spare pistol mags, and a small tool kit. She smiled for the first time, relieved that something of hers had survived the carnage. A stray, intrusive thought ran across her mind: she wondered if her Belgian Malinois named Waffles had survived. As quickly as the thought had surfaced, Lana stifled it. She told herself that she’d worry about things like that later. Right now, she and the Lieutenant had to focus on surviving. She left the rucksack where it was and scooted over next to Matt.

“What’s our plan, Lieutenant,” Lana hoarsely whispered.

Matt rubbed the stubble on his chin for a moment’s contemplation and then spoke.

“This is a unique situation that we’re in, Delgado…” he started. He chuckled silently and then smiled.

“Call me Lana,” Delgado interjected.

Matt turned from his rifle sights and looked her in the eyes. He nodded once at the statement.

“Matt…or Zem…that’s what my first crew called me,” he offered in return.

“So, Matt, the question still stands: what’s our plan,” Lana said quietly, a small smile forming at the corners of her mouth.

“Well, Lana,” Matt grinned and turned back to his rifle, “I don’t know about your thoughts, but mine run this way: I’m still a soldier. I swore an oath to defend this country against enemies, foreign or domestic. I don’t know if this,” he motioned to the destruction around them, “is what the rest of the country looks like or not. But, I think we have a responsibility to try and join up with another unit and fight those damn things that brought us down.”

Lana was quiet for a moment, letting Matt’s words sink in.

“Yeah…” she started and then stopped. She drew her pistol from its holster and moved closer to Matt.

“Movement, 12’o clock,” she whispered in Matt’s ear, using her free hand to point.

Matt was already looking in that direction as he’d heard the skittering noise. Instinctively, Matt slowly thumbed the safety on his rifle to the “Fire” position and made ready to fire at whatever had made the noise. After several tense moments of silence, Matt used hand signals to tell Lana he would investigate. Lana nodded and pointed to the ground, telling Matt she would stay put. Matt gave Lana a nod and a thumbs up to acknowledge the plan and then picked his way through the debris.

As Matt swept the area in front of him, the analytical part of his brain noted that the 6.8mm rounds his M7 rifle held probably wouldn’t do much against the machines. Matt’s mind flashed back to the crash. Despite the chaos of the autorotation and then the crash, he’d seen both of the crew chiefs hammering the machines that brought them down with 7.62mm NATO rounds. Matt wasn’t sure that it had mattered, though. He blinked a few times, not allowing himself to replay any more of the memory; he had to focus on the here and now.

Lana Delgado checked her watch a third time. The analog hands were luminous in the semi-dark of the overpass’s shadow, but they’d only moved a fraction since she last checked their position. Either her watch was dead, or she was nervously checking her watch…willing Matt to return. As if on cue, Matt’s backside poked into view. He was creeping backward, keeping the business end of his rifle pointed at the area he’d just come from. He continued to work his way backward until he was even with Lana’s position. He lowered the rifle and awkwardly shuffled sideways closer to Lana.

“I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary,” Matt reported in a low voice.

“Must have been some trash blowing around or an animal…who knows,” he continued, rubbing a hand over a weary face.

Lana nodded in reply and was about to mention taking the watch when Matt spoke again.

“Let’s set up an LP/OP here; I’ll take the first watch. Go get some chow and some rest,” he instructed, beating her to the punch. Lana was about to protest when Matt held up his hand.

“I’m good. I’ve done this before, and I know what my limits are. I’ll wake you in about…” he trailed off, looking at his watch.

He looked at the luminous hands of his watch and made a face as he did some mental math.

“…six hours. You’ll watch and I’ll sleep for six. By then, it should be about 01 or 02 in the morning. I’m thinking we want to move in darkness as much as possible,” he finished.

“I don’t think the time of day matters to those…things,” Lana offered revulsion dripping from her words.

“No…I don’t think it does, either,” Matt agreed. “But we might be able to avoid other people this way,” he explained.

“That’s the second time you’ve mentioned people as though they’re the problem,” Lana observed.

Matt nodded and looked around. He softly cleared his throat and smiled a lop-sided smile at Lana.

“My first duty station was Korea. The aircraft I was crew chiefing on was caught in some DPRK-induced bullshit. We took small-arms fire and had to set down. Once on the ground, we were living in holes and keeping up a running firefight with the DPRK infantry. Those little bastards were tough and ruthless…they caught the senior crew chief in the open. I still have nightmares about what I heard that night…” Matt trailed off, all traces of the lop-sided grin gone from his face.

Lana simply nodded and swallowed the lump in her throat. She moved out of the nest she’d made in a burned-out Nissan and scooted over to the clearing to bed down. Matt moved into the LP/OP, as he thought of the remains of the Nissan now, and took the rifle’s sling from around his torso. He leaned the weapon against one of the car’s frame members and settled himself.

Lana, meanwhile, had made a makeshift bed out of the Goretex jacket from her rucksack and was sifting through the contents of an MRE. She dug quietly through the components and then removed the side item, a pouch labeled Santa Fe Rice and Beans, and the ubiquitous MRE spoon. In moments, she was devouring the food despite its temperature or lack thereof. She didn’t think they could spare the water for the Flameless Ration Heater (FRH) that was included in with the meal; no telling when or if they’d come across a potable water source. Why waste it on the luxury of a warm meal when this was fine?

Lana spooned the last bite of food into her mouth, cleaned the residue off the spoon, and placed it back in the main pouch. Then, she tossed the now-empty rice and beans pouch into another burned-out car and closed up her rucksack. She then repositioned it to do double duty as a pillow and then laid down on the Goretex jacket. She shut her eyes, but instantly, flashes of the crash came back to her. Her mind’s eye replayed her efforts to get Gorsky’s mangled body free from the wreck. She opened her eyes, stared at the underside of the overpass for a moment, and realized she was breathing rapidly. Lana forced herself to take several deep breaths. She closed her eyes again, and the same results came seconds after her eyelids shut. But this time, she was determined to keep her eyes shut. This time, she saw the ground spinning crazily beneath her as she looked through her crew chief’s window. She had one hand on the bulkhead to her right, trying to steady herself; the other hand was locked around the spade grip of her M240 GPMG. But strangely enough, she could hear Matt’s voice over her helmet’s earpiece, calmly calling her name.

“Lana…Lana…” his voice calmly urged.

Matt gently squeezed Lana’s shoulder and whispered her name again, an edge of urgency creeping into his hoarse whisper. He needed his crew chief awake and alert. The machines were moving around, and he suspected it was only a matter of time until they discovered Matt and Lana’s hideout. The squeal and crunch of treads moving along the overpass above their heads proved Matt’s suspicions.

“Lana…” Matt tried again, louder than before, squeezing her shoulder even harder.

The crew chief’s eyelids fluttered twice and then snapped open. Lana’s mouth opened like she would scream, but Matt was ready. He put his hand over Lana’s open mouth to stifle the impending scream. Lana’s eyes widened when Matt’s gloved hand clamped over her mouth. There was a confused look in those eyes for a moment, but then she saw Matt’s face and snapped back to reality. She nodded vigorously and grabbed Matt’s shoulder to confirm she was awake.

Matt removed his hand and helped Lana up. She untangled herself from the jacket and threw it into her rucksack. Matt took three steps to his rucksack and threw the bag on with practiced ease. He adjusted the sling before turning back to Lana, who had unholstered her pistol and held it ready.

Matt made a “waiting” gesture with his free hand while watching how they’d come into the overpass. He mentally cursed himself for not having more than one exit, but at the time…this had been the only safe option for shelter for miles around. He looked around as the clatter and screech of treads began to subside.

Using hand and arm signals, Matt told Lana that they would creep out to the overpass entrance and take a look. Lana nodded and gestured that she would watch their backs. Matt nodded and began stalking through the rubble.

Outside, the air was thick but not humid. Matt had always heard about DC’s oppressive summers, but this was far from what he’d heard about. Matt worked his way over to the ash-covered grass sides of the overpass and squatted down. He waited until Lana had made her way over and took off his ruck. He handed her the rifle and took out his pistol before wordlessly explaining that he was going to the road to look. She nodded and began scanning with the rifle along the road above.

Matt laid down on his belly and crawled up the grassy embankment, stopping well back from the crest of the slope. He gently propped himself up on his elbows and raised his head, trying to keep as much of his body hidden as possible. He looked to the left and saw several burned vehicles. He could see several downed highway signs but couldn’t make out their markings in the gloom. Matt slowly pivoted his head to the right and froze. About 600 yards away sat one of the machines that had fired at his Chinook…or at least, the same type that had fired at his Chinook. As Matt watched, frozen for fear of alerting the machine, one of its two Gatling gun “arms” swiveled toward something Matt couldn’t see, off to the machine’s left. The Gatling gun exploded with a violent burst of fire at whatever had been spotted. While the muzzle flash was blinding, the sound was deafening at this range.

The burst of death lasted no more than two seconds, but to Matt, it lasted an eternity. Matt instinctively dropped flat on his face and began scooting back down the embankment. When he reached the bottom, he rested on his haunches and took several steadying breaths. He greedily gulped in the night air while keeping his eyes locked on the area he’d just come from. Lana was shocked to see Matt almost in a panic. She hadn’t known him long, three or four missions at most, but he’d always seemed to be calm and collected. At that moment, she had difficulty reconciling “calm and collected” Matt with the Matt that had just slithered back down, scared out of his wits.

Matt sucked another breath in and then pushed off his haunches. He motioned to Lana to follow, and he began a crouched run through the debris in front of them. Matt was determined to put as much distance between them and those…things…as possible. All weariness left Matt’s extremities as the pair wove their way through the burned remains of humanity. But one question locked itself into the front of Matt’s consciousness: how could anyone or anything fight back against cold, ruthless efficiency like he’d witnessed?

 

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