Dawn of the Apocalypse: A Zombie Apocalypse Novel by TW Gallier Read Free Book Online

pretty in brand new Woodland camo BDUs, then we joined the full company to get our basic issue.
                The supply room must have been run by a logistical genius.  They marched the platoons through in record time.  Everything was laid out like at an all you can eat buffet.  We picked up a duffle bag and sent down the line and picking up one of each.  Supplies personnel watched us like hawks to ensure no one took more than allotted.
                As we exited the supply tent on the other side, there was a SP4 with a black permanent marker writing everyone's name on their duffle bag.  SFC Beatty was waiting for us.  We formed up, dumped our duffle bags, and did an inventory.  Strangely enough, we found three men with things missing.  How?
                After stowing our new gear in the tents, SFC Beatty marched us over to the armory.  We arrived before any of the other platoons.  The armory was an old barn.  Racks upon racks of weapons filled it.  It looked like they emptied the local National Guard and Army Reserve armories for a hundred mile radius.  There were a lot of weapons.
                "Is every company using the same armory?" I asked.
                "For now," the armorer said.  Staff Sergeant Edwards was a rail thin woman with a look in her eyes that said she'd spent well more than one too many tours in combat zones.  "We'll split them up once I can get some others trained properly."
                SFC Beatty, Mike, Charlie, and I discussed and assigned weapons.  Normally, combat troops weren't issued a sidearm, but they had a lot.  We made sure everyone in our platoon received the same Beretta 9mm.  Most of us were issued M-4 Carbines.  The platoon was only allowed two M-203 grenade launchers attached to M-4s, and Mike snagged one for himself.  Each squad was also assigned one M-249 Squad Automatic Weapon.
                "Are grenades even effective against zombies?" I asked.  "Only head and heart shots kill them."
                "It'll mess them up," Mike said.  "Good enough for me."
                Being the hardcore ass that he was, Beatty made us all clean our weapons first thing.  We grumbled, but did as told.  Since they were already immaculate, it didn't take long.  And then we had to turn the weapons back in.
                It was midday and time for lunch before we returned to our tents.  There was no mess hall, but there were kitchen trailers set up in four locations.  Each unit was assigned a chow trailer with cooks.  We were marched over to eat when it was our turn.
                "At least they're feeding us," Mike said.
                "Yeah.  We're lucky it isn't MREs," I added.
                "After today, it'll be MREs for breakfast and lunch, and a hot dinner," Beatty said.  "At least until we run out of food.  That might happen."
                I nodded.  Didn't matter to me.  I was out of there at the first opportunity.  Love of country, duty, service, and all that shit was second to my family.  I did my time.  I didn't want to be Uncle Sam's bitch anymore.
                We heard some booms midafternoon.  With a little digging, I found out the Air Force was bombing towns and farms close to the new border the government set up.  To the east were the contaminated lands.  Everyone, zombie or not, was considered infected, so no longer allowed to cross over the Rockies.  That was just crazy, since just about everyone of us, a ton of government officials, and the President of the United States of America just crossed over from the "contaminated lands."
                Funny how that worked.
                "Why do you keep looking at that phone, Sarge?" Mike asked me while we ate dinner.
                It was late afternoon.  We'd spent the afternoon giving classes to the platoon to get everyone