Zombies of Iwo Jima Read online

  Hart lifted his M-1 high in the air with the zombie’s head still on the blade. “Take a picture of this! Put it right next to that picture of the American flag being raised at Mount Suribachi! Send it to Japan and tell them we’re coming there next!”

  Buzzard was wonderstruck at the transformation of his friend. He had gone from a happy-go-lucky mama’s boy to a fearless warrior in just a few minutes. He began to worry for his friend’s sanity.

  To Buzzard’s left, a flame spewed out and lit a zombie on fire. The body lumbered forward until one of its legs gave out and collapsed to the ground.

  Flamethrowers! The perfect weapon. It could reach over twenty yards. Much easier to use than trying to sight in a head shot. Once the jellied gasoline hit its target, it was going to burn, and there was nothing that could stop it.

  Another whoosh of flame and another walking dead torched, left to wander in the darkness until its demon within no longer had a vehicle to animate.

  The Marines were winning and now on the offensive. Burning napalm flooded the exposed tunnels, incinerating any of the walking dead still climbing to the surface.

  Buzzard grinned and gave a rebel yell of victory, and then a scream of terror as a zombie from a tunnel emerged from behind and bit him in the neck.

  Hart had been watching the fire show when he turned at Buzzard’s cry. It was already too late. The zombie was on Buzzard’s back, gnawing greedily at his delicate flesh.

  Hart yelled for the creature to get off as he ran as fast as he could to his friend’s aid. He threw his M-1 to the ground and pulled out his .45, placed it right to the zombie’s head, and fired until it clicked empty.

  The zombie hit the ground motionless. Hart turned his buddy over, and removed the helmet from his head. “Buzz, talk to me.” He looked for signs of life in his eyes. Hart then scanned the area frantically. “Medic! Medic!”

  Buzzard coughed.

  “Buzz! Thank the Lord you’re alive! Hang in there. Stay with me. I’m going to get you some help.”

  The attack slowly wound down. The gunfire finally stopped. An occasional flamethrower still lit up a target. A medic close by came rushing toward Hart as he cried for help.

  The medic dropped to his knees, sliding next to Buzzard. He turned on a small flashlight, examined the warrior’s eyes, and felt for a pulse. It was weak, but it was there.

  “Was he shot?” the Medic asked. He looked even younger than Buzzard, Hart thought.

  “No, that damn dead Japanese bastard tried to eat him.” Hart couldn’t have said it with any more disgust.

  “Not good. That’s not good,” the Medic’s voice trailed off. “I can’t help him.”

  “He’s alive, ain’t he? Do something!” Hart grabbed the medic by the shoulder. “You help him or I’ll . . .”

  Sgt. Packer stepped in and cut Hart’s threat short. “Hold on soldier. I give the orders around here.”

  Hart rose to his feet and looked the Sgt. in the eye. “But he’s alive, sir!”

  “Son, there’s something you don’t understand. I don’t understand it either. But your friend is gone. He’s been bit by those dead Japanese, and he’s going to turn out to be just like them if we don’t take care of him,” Packer grimly said.

  “Well, then let’s take care of him. Get him the help he needs,” Hart pleaded.

  Packer unholstered his .45 and shot Buzzard in the heart.

  Hart was stunned and fell immediately down to the side of his friend. “You monster! How could you do that? You just killed him!” Hart broke down and cried uncontrollably.

  “No, son. He was already dead. And he’s going to wake up and become one of the walking dead if we don’t take care of him. Buzz is gone. What wakes up later, won’t be Buzz. It would eat you just as soon as look at you. Now, pull yourself together. We got to gather all those bitten and burn them before they wake up. Here, I’ll help you carry Buzz to the pile.”

  Hart looked around. Marines carried their dead companions and placed them side by side on the ground. It was an unfit end for the heroes who sacrificed themselves for those at home, and for the free world.

  Once all the bodies were collected, the company gathered around them in reverence. Silent prayers went out as the flame throwers torched the bodies.

  The purifying fire released the caged souls from their infected bodies.

  * * *

  The sun rose on the cloudless morning of March 10th, in Los Alamos, New Mexico. The hands on the large white faced clock, hung precariously on the wall, pointed to 9 AM. The room was barren of creature comforts save for the most basic. This consisted of a serviceable table with enough chairs to accommodate each member of the atomic bomb Target Committee.

  General Groves had appointed J. Robert Oppenheimer as head of the Target Committee. He and eight other scientists, along with four representatives from the military, were given the grievous tasks of choosing which two cities of the Imperial Nation of Japan would be the first to feel the destruction of America’s new atomic weapon.

  General Farrell had the floor and had been going over every gruesome detail of the series of photographs the other members studied.

  Oppie flipped one by one through each photograph. Horrific photos of stiff-walking, decaying Japanese soldiers in various encounters seemed to stare back at him. Many photos showed the zombies eating their American adversaries. His gaze darted to his civilian colleagues, and met with head shakes of disbelief. Dr. Wilson excused himself. It didn’t stop the committee from hearing him vomit in the hall.

  Oppie waited for the General to finish his briefing. “So, the Japanese have figured out a way to reanimate their dead with a virus?”

  “Yes, sir. The Emperor had his top biologist working on a solution to fill the need for experienced Zero pilots. The virus was successful at reanimating the dead, but did not deliver the results the Emperor demanded. The creatures that emerge are nothing more than lobotomized eating machines. The living flesh of humans is their only craving,” the General said. “If they can perfect the virus and reanimate thinking, reasoning warriors, well, it would greatly complicate things for us.”

  Oppie rose from his chair. “General, where is the manufacturing facility for this virus?”

  The General opened a cardboard tube lying on the table, removed a map, and rolled it out for all to see. “There are two facilities manufacturing the virus. Here,” he tapped his index finger on the map, “Hiroshima. And here,” he tapped the map again, showing the next location, “Nagasaki.”

  Oppie raised both of his palms to the air. He turned to those on his left, and then to those on his right. “As I see it, the only targets for us to consider are these two cities. Is there any need for further discussion?”

  No one said a word. Then, one after another, each said no. The targets had been chosen, for reasons none could have ever imagined before the meeting.

  J. Robert Oppenheimer felt peace unlike he had felt since the day he convinced Robert Wilson and the other scientists at that meeting months before to continue the Manhattan Project until completion.

  The world was unknowingly at risk from a virus that could potentially destroy all of mankind. It would be the power of the atom that would wipe that threat clean.

  Robert Wilson referred to the atomic bomb as, ‘This horrible thing to come.’ But it would be that same destructive force he feared so greatly that would save America and the free world.

  The End

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