Where is The Tanks? Where's Vermont?

She jerked when the female trooper clutched her shoulder while she stared at the tableau reminiscent of World War I. Jenna turned carefully, afraid her trick would be discovered.

"Come to the trucks," the guardswoman instructed them. "You medics have to go uptown quickly. The 10th Infantry Division, 1st Brigade, won't be arriving for three days, and the number of casualties is rapidly increasing.

Breathless with relief, Jenna said, "Of course, I'm sorry." She thanked the medical workers and, accompanied by a fireteam of soldier escorts, hopped into a Humvee.

As the drivers started the engines, a soldier asked his friend amicably, "Are they bringing in any marines?"

His buddy said, "No, only the 10th Light Infantry." However, I've heard that the 82nd or 101st Airborne may arrive from Germany to reclaim the city if we are unable to contain the undead.

The first said uneasily, "We need tanks." "The zombies will cut right through us because we don't have any armor here."

We know what we're doing, so don't worry, man.

"America, die!" Tobey Colins raised a burning flag and yelled. "To everyone who would murder us for being who we are, death to you!"

The two hundred zombies gathered in Central Park let out cheers. Tobey was standing on a bridge over a brook that led to Harlem Meer, waving the blackened, scorched Star-Spangled Banner.

With a fierce flourish, he coupled his sword with the flagstaff and screamed, "We are not America." "We're Manhattan! Accept your actual nature—zombies! America tries to prevent us from eating what is natural to us—we eat flesh!

"No, no!" exclaimed the undead. "We have to consume blood and eat flesh! Tobey, feed us!

With earnestness, he said, "Come, follow me." "Arm yourselves. Locate armor, knives, and swords—and recruit As and Bs to help us. We have numbers, but the Americans have firearms! Uptown, where hundreds of thousands of new people are waiting for our teeth, is where we'll march! Follow me, please!

"Yes, we will! Yes, we will!

With his senses burning from the combination of opium and Variant C coursing through his veins, Tobey sprang from the parapet. He had never had such a high—power enveloping him. He had never been so respected that hundreds of people were willing to follow him to his death at Derring's guns.

He yelled, "Uptown!" and the zombies came together, following him across Central Park.

Lieutenant Gordy and Companies A and B of the Teaneck Battalion were positioned close to the George Washington Bridge in Washington Heights, a short distance from Tobey's bastion.

"Why in the world am I here?" Gordy mumbled as he lay prone on the body-covered floor, pointing his M-16 down Broadway. "I have previously guarded the GWB—for counterterrorism and vehicle inspections—but never against a real threat."

Preston reassured them, "The zombies will be dead by the time we get home."

"Dude!" Captain Farrington yelled as he came out of the low-rise apartment that was temporarily General Picket's headquarters. We recently learned that the 86th Vermont Armored had relocated to Harlem Heights. By day's end, we'll have armored support!

Gordy smiled as he joined the men in applauding. He asked Preston if he could hear it. "Perhaps we're not as bad as we initially believed."

As Farrington walked into the apartment headquarters, Brig. Gen. Picket, a young man in his mid-thirties who commanded the 50th New Jersey Infantry Brigade, the state's only customized army unit, nodded. Regular army divisions now drew from all over the country, but the National Guard stayed local. The days of the Spanish-American War's regionally bound units were long gone.

"Captain," said Picket.

Despite himself, Farrington's smile tugged at his lips as he replied, "The men are thrilled."

"Well," Picket said. "I attempted to seek the 26th Massachusetts, but the President won't budge and they are defending D.C. He was so afraid about Boston's contagion that he hardly spared the 86th Vermont.

"He's right in a way," Farrington remarked warily. "It can't be just New York—"

"I need troops to defend this city, even though I know he's right!" The picket broke. With a division of 8,000 or 9,000, how does he think General Rylan will be able to lock down eight million people? More is required, particularly on Long Island. Rylan crossed the Queens-Nassau border with two thousand Pearl River and Patchogue guardsmen. It is imperative that the reinforcements and regulars arrive soon. I'm not sure how well, but he has the 103rd Rhode Island Field Artillery.

"General, don't worry," Farrington reassured. "Things are getting better. Rylan is experienced, and perhaps the 10th and 28th Divisions will join us shortly.

Picket drummed a 1.75-liter bottle of Dewar's with her fingers and muttering, "I'd drink, but I've an army to lead." "We'll wait for the 86th Vermont here."

While Picket made calls to General Rylan, superiors, the commander of the 86th Vermont, and General Roderick of the 28th Pennsylvania Division, Farrington returned to his company.

"Is the armor somewhere?" After two hours of sprawling on the warm September asphalt, Gordy inquired. "I believed that Harlem Heights was where the tanks were."

"They were." Farrington answered, looking uneasily down the lanes that resembled canyons. "No more than ten minutes should have passed."

General Picket came trembling out of his headquarters, as though the skies were about to fall apart. "Where are the tanks? He cried out to his company commanders, "Where is Vermont?"

"We're not sure, sir," Company A's captain answered.

Picket said, "Send scouts—I want to know if our armor is intact," and withdrew inside.

Farrington and the Company looked at each other. A captain, who indicated that he would take care of things. The captain gave the order, "Platoon Four, follow St. Nick's to 175th, then east to Amsterdam and north to the Harlem River bridges," as they were positioned at 169th Street, Broadway, and St. Nicholas Avenue. Find out what's holding up Vermont by getting in touch with the 3rd New York.

After giving a salute, the lieutenant of the squad headed north along St. Nicholas. Picket's businesses anxiously awaited their return.

"This is it," Farrington remarked. "They have returned."

At full speed, Platoon Four sped along St. Nicholas Avenue.

"They're dead!" yelled the CO. "Everyone is dead! The tanks were ambushed by undead, Audubon and 176th!

"Dude, what?" Picket stepped out and demanded. "What do you mean?"

The lieutenant gasped, "The zombies." Gordy listened intently. When the zombies overran the 86th, they were crossing Harlem. Their bodies have been stolen for food. There is nothing in the tanks. There are thousands of bodies around, along with thousands of civilians. The troops have left. Everything is gone.

Nerves waning, Farrington remarked, "We have to leave." "Going back to New Jersey."

"We're retreating!" A picket was declared. "To the Bridge of George Washington! Get up, please! We're heading out! These undead are too much for us to handle here.

Farrington said to his troops, "Let's go." "Let's simply leave."