The other pontoon, led by Griz, was to distract the zeds’ attention from our movements until we were in position. Then, they’d land on the western shore, so we could burn the bridge bastards from both sides.
Clutch, the eternal pessimist, wasn’t so confident things would go that easily. He’d voiced concern about the fire weakening the bridge, which could mean we’d have to find another bridge to cross the river. He’d talked about how few explosives were needed in Afghanistan to bring down a bridge if they were placed right. He’d said that a hot enough fire at the wrong points of the bridge might do the same. Only problem was that we didn’t have a single bridge expert or engineer among us. So, the general consensus was that a gasoline-fed fire wouldn’t burn long enough to weaken the steel and concrete structure.
Tyler had made it clear that he was the boss, and if we didn’t like it, we could leave. Honestly, we were tempted. Clutch, Jase, and I had even talked about it last night. But Jase was adamant that Camp Fox needed us far more than we needed them. It was our duty to help.
Everyone craved to be free from zeds. Hell, I wanted it, too, but they were letting hope overshadow their logic. If we took out these zeds, there’d be more. There were always more.
When Clutch and Griz each gave their ready signal, our pontoon went east while the other went west. The island sat on the eastern half of the river, so our trip to the shore was brief. The pontoon hit the riverbank, and we all lurched forward. After regaining my balance, I looked over the side to make sure no zeds had washed ashore with us. Jase was the first to jump out, and I followed. Landing at the dock would’ve been far easier, but the bridge bastards would’ve seen us. Instead, Clutch picked out a heavily wooded area on the eastern bank a quarter-mile south of the dock.
“Let’s move out,” Clutch said in a hoarse whisper as he joined my side. “We need to be ready to go the moment the West team engages.”
Four men on my pontoon each carried a five-gallon gas jug. Both Jase and I had our hands free since we were on point to take out zeds in the woods. One on point was probably good enough, but Clutch always believed in being doubly prepared.
I had my rifle slung over my shoulder, and my machete held at the ready. Silence was crucial until we were in position. Jase and I led the four others through the woods, each of us with two men following behind.
The leaves had turned colors, and many had already fallen, allowing sunlight to reveal a zed lying next to a log. The zed couldn’t walk and was in pretty rough shape. Jase finished it off with two swings so that it couldn’t make noise and alert others to our presence.
We moved slowly, being extra careful to not slosh the gasoline. We came across a second zed, but it had been torn apart, likely by wolves or wild dogs. When the trees opened onto the road, we saw the devastation Camp Fox’s vehicles had taken while parked on the eastern bank. All had smears of zed sludge. A couple had been rolled over. A HEMTT sat askew in the road. Trampled zeds dotted the road.
For our pontoon, Kurt was going to drive the fuel truck while Joe, another one of Tyler’s trusted guardsmen, shot gasoline onto the zeds to make sure they’d burn to death. The five-gallon jugs were to set up a wall of fire at the end of each bridge to help hold the zeds in. As the fastest runner, Jase’s job was to light the fire. I had my usual job as sweeper to shoot any zeds that got too close to the scouts managing the fire.
The bridge was big. It spanned the width of the Mississippi, which made penning the zeds easier. Except that herding zeds was a lot like herding cats—a whole lot easier said than done.
Careful to avoid the zeds on the ground with some life still left in them, we looked under the vehicles to make sure no other zeds were waiting to jump out at us. We squeezed between the Humvees and HEMTTs and made our way toward the bridge. We paused at the last fuel truck we came to. Kurt set down his gas can, and opened the door. A second later, he stood back and gave a thumbs-up.
We stood behind the vehicle closest to the bridge, a big HEMTT, which would be our RP (rendezvous point). Clutch signaled to me, and I climbed up the back of the HEMTT. Jase came up right behind me. Until Jase started the fire, Clutch wanted him with me to provide suppression fire, but I knew it was also to keep us both safe.
Once I had my rifle set up, I noticed the pontoon in the middle of the river. The West team was in play. I motioned to Clutch, and he nodded. He signaled to our team and the four men with gas cans—Clutch, Kurt, Bryce, and Joe—jogged toward the bridge, though Clutch’s jog was more of a walk. The bridge bastards were completely entranced by the West team, who was slowly making its way to the western riverfront. The zeds followed, mimicking the direction of the pontoon and moving onto the western half of the bridge.
The East team poured gasoline in a thick line across the eastern opening of the bridge.
So far, so good.
Clutch signaled to Kurt and Joe, and they took off at a sprint for the gas tanker truck. Clutch stood there, in plain sight, at the end of the bridge in the middle of the road. Bryce stood off to the side, more skittish.
Once Kurt and Joe both gave a thumbs-up that they were in position, Clutch waved his arms toward Griz’s team’s pontoon. They waved back, and went under the bridge to where they’d go ashore on the western bank.
“Hey!” Clutch shouted.
Several zeds toward the back of the group turned.
“Yeah, you! Come and get me, you dumb fucks!”
It was irresistible bait, and I wanted to run to Clutch and yank him away from danger. The zeds moaned as they changed direction to head back down the bridge toward Clutch. The West team crept up around the edges of the bridges and started pouring gasoline across the bridge, just like the East team had.
Clutch waved at the zeds and gave them the bird. “Come on, you slow shits!”
I had to remind myself to scan the entire area, not just the bridge, with the noise Clutch was making.
Behind me, the gas truck’s big engine started, and I turned to see Kurt pull the truck out and back it toward the bridge. Joe was on top of the tank holding the hose. When Kurt approached the bridge, Clutch stepped to the side with Bryce and held up his hand. Looking in the side mirror, Kurt stopped the truck.
Clutch and Bryce climbed up on the back of the HEMTT, and I could hear them take position around us.
“You’re up, Speedy,” Clutch said.
Jase held up a lighter. “I’m way ahead of you.” He got to his feet, climbed down from the HEMTT, and sprinted toward the bridge.
Movement in the tree line caused me to adjust my aim. I fired.
“Nice shot,” Bryce said after the lone zed fell.
While I continually scanned the landscape, out of the corner of my eye I saw Joe stand on top of the truck and started spraying gasoline over the incoming herd as the truck pulled slowly away from them. They continued until they reach the end of the bridge.
Joe waved frantically. “I can’t get the hose to turn off!”
The zeds were nearly to the truck.
“Leave it! Get out of there!” Clutch yelled, motioning them to us.
Joe continued to work with the hose and then finally tossed it away. Gas continued to spray out. With the engine still running, Kurt jumped just as Joe was climbing down the back. A zed grabbed Joe’s leg, but Kurt shot it several times until its gripped relaxed enough for Joe to tumble onto the ground. He regained his footing and took off at a sprint along with Kurt toward us.
As soon as Kurt and Joe passed Jase, he lit a small, weighted rag and tossed it onto the gasoline-soaked bridge. Fire erupted down the line, forming a wall of flames across the western end of the bridge. Jase ran back toward us and was back up on the HEMTT in a couple seconds flat.