The Undead fell on them from all sides. The first sign of trouble was a crowd of nearly a thousand Undead gathered at one end of the main street, blocking the path of the group without the bulldozers. The tanks charged the crowd, but the lead vehicle had to stop when a mutilated torso got stuck between the front axle and the chassis. The street was too narrow to go around the vehicle, so the whole convoy was stuck.
The terrified soldiers, locked in their tanks, heard the huge crowd moaning and beating their fists on the sides of the tanks. Even more frightening were the cries of the poor guys in the first tank who’d disobeyed orders and abandoned their BTR-60. At first they fired wildly and pounded on the other tanks for help. Hong kept a tight leash on his men so they wouldn’t help their comrades. If they opened the hatch, the Undead would swarm the vehicles in seconds. The men’s cries grew weaker, then stopped altogether.
Hong ordered the tanks to push each other, like a huge, armored caterpillar. With the combined strength of their engines, they pushed the first tank to one side and made their way slowly through the crowd, crushing the creatures under their wheels. Once they were out of town, they waited half an hour for the other group, who made it out unscathed but hadn’t found a drop of fuel.
Late that afternoon, they finally found a gas station on a deserted stretch of highway. There they encountered just four Undead, the station owner and his family, who didn’t pose a problem for Hong’s men. The owner must have been a member of the National Rifle Association and a gun fanatic; they found an impressive arsenal in his house. He’d also been very cautious and had installed a complicated locking system on his gas tanks. For the average traveler, that system would’ve been insurmountable, but Hong’s men got it open with a combination of ingenuity and brute force. Within half an hour, they were able to refuel and load several barrels of extra gas on top of their BTR-60s.
As the trip continued, the Koreans began to notice changes in the Undead. They saw fungus slowly eating away those creatures, although not always in the same way. Crossing dry and dusty Texas, the Undead had looked fairly normal, or as normal as a resurrected person can look. In wetland areas, the fungal growth was much more pronounced on the Undeads’ open wounds.
As they got closer to Mississippi with its extreme humidity, the creatures’ appearance changed drastically. Every Undead they saw was infested with fungus. Nearer the Mississippi River, the infestations got worse. Their condition was horrifying: human bodies so covered by green, blue, or orange fuzz—or all three—that they looked like they were wrapped in colorful chiffon scarves. Some had a layer so thick their bodies were barely recognizable as human. A growing number of fungus-covered Undead lay rotting in piles and would never rise again.
Looking at those decaying mounds, Hong understood, with a chill, that their trip would have been impossible just a year earlier.
One small town was entirely deserted. No humans or Undead. Not even any animals. As the convoy crept through it, the fearful soldiers looked all around and whispered among themselves. They felt like the last men alive on earth.
When they came across a group of living people five days later, they were shocked.
The convoy had stopped to refuel under the shade of some massive trees. They parked in a circle, the way settlers in the Old West had circled their wagons. Inside the circle, the men built a bonfire and boiled rice. Half the soldiers tried to sleep; the other half stood watch. Hong was sitting at his table under a tree filling out the daily report when he heard the shots.
At first he thought they were under attack. Hong dropped his pen, grabbed the Makarov pistol holstered at his waist, and jumped to his feet. More shots rang out.
“Kim! Kim!” he bellowed as he buttoned his tunic and raced across the camp. His assistant appeared beside him as if he’d popped out of a magician’s hat, silent as ever.
“The shots seem to be coming from southwest of our position, about four miles away, Colonel,” he said quietly as he checked his rifle’s magazine. “But it’s hard to pinpoint. Sound travels really far in this silence.”
“Send two tanks to check it out.” Hong was not going risk his entire column by rushing blindly into the unknown. But then he snatched the rifle out of Kim’s hands. “No, I’ll go. You stay here in radio contact.”
“Colonel, I don’t think that’s wise,” Lieutenant Kim dared to interject, but Hong’s poisonous look stopped him. “Yes, sir.”
When Hong climbed up on one of the tanks, its engine was already running and his men were at their posts, weapons drawn. The colonel’s men were battle hardened and didn’t need to be told what to do in combat.
Adrenaline roared in Hong’s veins. “Men, feel Our Beloved Leader breathing courage into you. Now charge!”
The two tanks pulled out of the circle and rushed down an idyllic, tree-lined road that ran along a brook toward the source of the shots. The trees’ red leaves formed a pleasant canopy, but to Hong it was like they were driving into battle through a blanket of blood. There must be humans nearby, and humans were a more interesting foe than rotting corpses. Plus humans had information—exactly what Hong needed.
As they approached, the gunfire grew louder. There were a few explosions, which Hong’s trained ear identified as hand grenades. He was reassured by that. If they’d come up against a heavily armed platoon, they would’ve had problems since his tanks had no heavy weapons.
The small convoy stopped at the top of a hill. Hong eased the hatch open, peered through his binoculars, and spotted the place where the shots were coming from—a town with about forty houses a couple of miles away at the bottom of a valley.
The colonel carefully scanned the streets. He could make out about two dozen figures, dressed in camouflage, swarming among the houses. At one end of the main street, half a dozen vehicles, including trucks and tanks, formed an impassable barrier. Some of the figures entered homes and came out carrying supplies, which they loaded into the trucks. Another group walked slowly through the town, killing the clumsy, fungus-ridden Undead.
Hong lowered his binoculars and thought for a moment. It was a raiding party. And what few Undead there were posed no challenge. The colonel wondered whether it was an isolated group or a detachment from a larger base. Gulfport, for example.
That made sense. They were only about a hundred and twenty-five miles from their objective. If Gulfport’s population was as large as they suspected, raiding parties would have to go farther and farther to get supplies. There was just one way to find out.
“Sergeant, roll your tank to about a mile from the east side of town and wait for my signal. We’ll enter on foot at the same time. Those imperialists are in for a big surprise.” He smiled, savoring the thrill of the hunt.
“Should we call for backup, sir?” the tall, gaunt sergeant asked cautiously.
“No time for that.” Hong dismissed him with a wave of his hand. “They’re loading their trucks and could leave any minute. If we bring more men, they’ll spot us. We have to seize the opportunity now.”
The sergeant saluted and drove off with his five men. Hong ordered his tank with the other five soldiers to roll slowly down the hill. About half a mile from the town, they parked in a weed-choked cornfield, climbed out, and approached on foot.
The raiding party’s idling engines and the shots they fired covered up any noise the Koreans made. The colonel stealthily led his men to the first house. He split his team into two squads, then entered the empty house through the back door. The looters outnumbered them, but Hong had the element of surprise on his side. On top of that, his soldiers were very disciplined—and very brave. Their unit’s motto was: No risk, no victory.