Another Day in the UCRA: St Marys Church Area - Turner & Broadway

By Captain Jacob E. Billet

I sit on the church steps. The hot church steps. The summer sun has warmed them nicely though its punished everything else with its relentless brilliance and heat. The steeple above casts its pointy shadow over myself and my team giving us, at least, some relief.

Stokes, Phelps, Mulholland and an additional trooper load of twenty congregate around the HURON, taking a break, having a bit of luke warm water from canteen or slurping a delicious and nutritious Meal, Ready-to-Eat. I sit next to an old wrought-iron railing which leads up to the massive oaken doors of St. Mary's Catholic Church; the church sealed up tighter than a whorehouse after a VD outbreak. The railing, painted black at one time, stands slightly akimbo, at an angle, base with concrete bolts rusted and ready to pop off the steps.

<<Latest news from WOOD radio correspondent Matt Furley, there's been another small riot on the streets of Grand Rapids as anti-zombie protesters quarreled with pro-zombie civilians.>> The radio squelches from the HURON PA system. <<High tempers exploded on this hot day and a bloody fist fight broke out in front of City Hall.>>

"Damn, can't we all just get along?" Stokes grumbles, steps up to the stairway where I sit. A stump of one of his retched cigars hangs from the corner of his mouth, a crumpled, empty container of MRE "mashed potatoes" in hand.

I wonder how much of the cigar butt the sergeant has swallowed while eating the meal at the same time. Meh.

"The answer is, NO, Sergeant," Loutonia says. She leans against the HURON, rubbing at the side of the armor hide with a dirty rag. "We, as human beings, cannot get along."

"That's a pretty negative statement," Mulholland replies, seated atop the HURON. His M4 rests in his lap.  He watches a pair of shambling locals walk-stagger in our direction.

"Um, you read much history, my friend? One of the earliest records of people getting up in arms and beating the shit out of each other is back in Mesopotamian times 3100 BC," Loutonia returns. "Nothing negative there, other than the many instances of Humankind wreaking havoc upon themselves."

"That's what we're here for, kids," I add my two cents. I wipe my forearm across my forehead. My arm comes down and looks like I've just ran it under a garden hose. It is a sweaty, hot gawddang day. "Keep the peace. Make sure no one gets out of line, living or..."

The pair of UCRA civilians stop in front of us. Stokes picks up a can of "Bram"--the doped and processed meat slop given to the local undead--pops the top, tosses it aside. The can hits the hot asphalt of Turner Avenue, bounces, rolls and spills the red, moist puree in the street. The zombies sniff the air, then hobble-shamble after the nasty food stuff like toddler's-first-time-walking. It would be funny if it wasn't so damn pathetic, and your thoughts weren't wrapped around, "That could be me."

As the dead civilians approach the upturned can of drugged slop, Stokes unholsters his sidearm, and fires in their direction. Our jaws drop as the Sergeant, well known for his shitty marksmanship, hits the can squarely, sending into a gentle, spinning arc. The civilians, unfazed, tattered limbs reaching out, comically pursued it.

"That is," Loutonia screeches, "exactly what I am talking about!" 

With rag still in hand, she makes a fist and slugs Stokes squarely and solidly in the arm.

"Hey!" Stokes bellows, rubs his arm while keeping an eye on the woman in case she reels back to swing again. He holsters his sidearm. Thankfully.

"Kids," I say, getting to my feet. Even that little action makes the sweat dribble down my forehead. "No fighting among each other. We fight against dirt bags and miscreants trying to do us and the city harm, not one another."

It was time to get rolling. Three square miles, on a boiling hot day, trying to avoid mashing shambling civilians into the pavement when they hobble out in front of your 72-ton vehicle... Patrolling the UCRA wasn't what one could call a good time.

"Everyone mount up. We're oscar mike," I say, moving past my crew members and the other troops, and head towards the Huron.

"Dirt bag," Loutonia hisses at Stokes.

"Miscreant," Stokes returns fire.

I roll my eyes. 

Gonna be a long day.    

#

The TRANSPORT Series can be purchased here:
TRANSPORT (Book One)
Barnes & Noble
Amazon

TRANSPORT (Book Two) HUNT FOR THE FALLEN
Barnes & Noble
Amazon

TRANSPORT (Book Three) UNCIVIL WAR
Barnes & Noble
Amazon

If you are in the Grand Rapids Michigan area, Schuler Books has paperback copies on their shelves (in SciFi/Fantasy section). Store location is:

2660 28th Street SE
Grand Rapids, MI 49512
Phone: 616.942.2561
http://www.schulerbooks.com/

Summer in the Urban Civilian Retention Area (UCRA)

By Captain Jacob E. Billet

 

 

 

I remember my youth, wandering the west side streets of Grand Rapids. We'd ride our bikes down Lake Michigan Drive, the hot asphalt sucking at our rubber bike tires. My mother would bring us kids to the West Side Public Library on Bridge Street, we'd get some books, read for a while under the shade on the front lawn of St. James Catholic Church next door. A few bucks saved, my young friends and I would ride or walk over to the Dairy Queen on Fulton Street, get a Peanut Buster Parfait or a Dilly Bar. We'd go swimming at the Lincoln Park pool: ice cold water and heavy chlorine smell.

 

The only smell near that old pool nowadays: the city's local undead.

 

Other than the feeding runs and surveillance patrols, the moment the weather gets warmer, where the heat and sun can start to "bake meat," the city has us load up with 50 gallon drums of cool, refreshing water, an extra air compressor, generator and several heavy duty garden hose. It's not for our sake, to cool down us, or to play "wet habit time" with the nuns at the WSA. (Cripes, Stokes is really getting to me. That's something he'd only say, though not in the company of those battle-hardened, holy sisters.)

 

Shower time is for the UCRA civilians. The folks on the other side of the river, the living populace, with their "care and concern" for their undead neighbors, want these poor, rotting folk on THIS side of the river to enjoy a cool misting of water.

 

Sure, I understand why. Sun baked zombies equals hellacious smell, dried out, peeling flesh (nothing worse than a rotter shedding their skin, or in this case, a entire populace of undead littering the streets with orange-peel flesh...it's like Autumn with leaves blowing about the streets), skin frying and sticking to pavement.

 

So we hose them down.

 

We drive up and down the streets, main ones first--Bridge, Stocking, Fulton, Lane, Lake Michigan Drive, Valley, then sweeps up Butterworth back to downtown.

 

It can be a day long excursion with us doing nothing else but giving the locals a soap-less shower.

 

Still, I'm almost glad the city cordoned off this neighborhood. It has kept most of the places of my childhood from being destroyed.

 

Yeah, I can't simply walk about like the old days, but sometimes it's just nice to see the old places. Though maybe NOT some of the old faces.

 

No one informed me that Mrs. Van Duin was undead and upright, still living in the corner house, two houses down from where I grew up. Used to wear heavy make-up back in the day. Ugh. She could use it now for sure.

 

###

 

For Captain Billet's further adventures in the UCRA and about Grand Rapids, Michigan in 2025, check out TRANSPORT. Available in ebook and paperback through most booksellers.

 

TRANSPORT (Book One)

Amazon http://amzn.to/1DOQNPl

B&N http://bit.ly/1xDXMck

 

TRANSPORT (Book Two) HUNT FOR THE FALLEN

B&N http://bit.ly/1titw5T

Amazon http://amzn.to/1vq0ORF

 

TRANSPORT (Book Three) UNCIVIL WAR

To be released July/August 2015

 

Publisher: Seventh Star Press LLC

 

Info:

grandrapidsaltered.blogspot.com

peterwelmerink.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Another TRANSPORT Is Coming

Another TRANSPORT short novel is coming soon.

 

Though Lettner is gone, in this post-post zombie apocalyptic world, many people do share his view: as the Living try to get back on track, all the Undead should be purged from the land. However, these persons will not make the same mistake the late NSC Commissioner made to finally have him swing from the gallows for his crimes against the living and unliving.

 

There's a storm brewing within the torrential rainfall of a West Michigan spring time. The Grand River is rising far above comfortable height, threatening to overwhelm the city's west side where her protected undead civilians stand agitated. They amass along the river side enclosure as the living watch fearful from the opposite bank.

 

Captain Jake Billet, crew and the massive M213 Heavy Transport Vehicle, the HURON, stand awash amidst the mayhem, waist deep in chaos as barriers fall, soldiers fall, and the local undead fall. Those who remain headstrong take matters into their own hands: the GRCC's Main Battle Tank, commanded by Jake's military rival, heads out of town, southwest, into the boondocks between Grand Rapids and Reganshire.

 

Figuratively and literally feeling under the weather, Billet strikes out to pursue the AWOL Abrams tank and commander, intending to stop him, and also find why the man has abducted a large male zombie.

 

It's 68 tons of armor and a 120mm cannon versus 72 tons of vehicle and a new 25mm turret cannon, MBT versus HTV.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TRANSPORT (Book Two) - HUNT FOR THE FALLEN

is coming soon.

 

Artwork: Jason Conley, Tim Holtrop

Copyright 2014 Peter Welmerink and Seventh Star Press

 

 

 

TRANSPORT (Book One) can be found here:

AMAZON

Paperback

Kindle

BARNES & NOBLE

SCHULER BOOKS

Paperback