To Smite New York

They looked into the suburban wilderness through the sights of their rifles. The air was moved by a gloomy rustling, the pale sky smeared with smoke and flames. The two lone figures defending their life against an impending threat were dwarfed by the overpowering smell of blood. God's fist appeared ready to strike New York, but it was unclear why—it was only the next step in a deadly evolutionary race. Humanity, however, would not submit in silence.

Pressley remarked, "There they are." A group of Guardsmen followed Privates Delany and Ignatio as they strode across the grass toward the monument. Although they showed no symptoms of illness, suspicion persisted.

Ignatio saluted Lieutenant Gordy, Pressley. "We are in the rear. Overpeck Creek is coming under attack from undead.

"We've fought all the way," Delany continued. His brilliant blue eyes had become gray, and he was wide and scarred, his nose smashed, his jaw and eyebrow marred. Join the Guard! Participate in hurricanes, floods, and the fight on terror—this is insane.

"Remember that girl, Gordy?" Pressley enquired. "Do you anticipate seeing her again?"

"What am I aware of?" Gordy thumbed the safety of his weapon and snapped. I had only known her for thirty minutes. Jenna—well, whatever happens.

"How do you anticipate it ending?" Pressley applied pressure.

There was uneasy quiet. It was broken by Ignatio. "We're doomed."

"Ig!" Gordy let out a bark.

"All other nations have fallen," Ignatio declared. "Why would we survive in Africa, Asia, the Middle East, and Europe?"

"Because we're America," Gordy said with a flush of pride. "A superpower with a powerful military."

"So were Russia and China," Ignatio shot back angrily. "What gives you hope that we'll do better?"

With caution, Pressley started, "I heard in England that zombies first attacked the cities, killing or infecting everyone." The zombies banded together after survivors fled to the Scottish moors and the towns were deserted, recognizing they needed living people to eat.

"And?" Fearing the rest, but too intrigued to resist, Gordy inquired.

Pressley stated bluntly, "They bred humans for food and kept them alive." "Raised their children to eat, took their blood." That country has a zombie government, just like France, Germany, and Russia. They established camps with millions of people in Siberia so they could reproduce and eat—

"Enough!" Gordy slammed his M-16 against the memorial and roared. There was a short, uncomfortable silence.

Ignatio said, "You know, we used the M-16 at Ia Drang more than forty years ago." It's very old. The French possessed the more sophisticated army and marines, known as the FAMAS.

"What's your point?" Gordy cut him off.

"In six weeks, they fell," Ignatio answered.

"Enough," Gordy whispered.

Pressley checked the time on his digital watch: September 21, 200X, 8:46 PM. "Well, then, we have weeks. The undead at least want us to survive. It's not that horrible, is it? Not dead, not infected—just peacefully existing.

"How are you able to say that?" Gordy erupted. "Do you live in a zoo or a cage? Slaves until you're too old, then food like the others, your children consumed forever, kept alive to procreate...

"We'll fight," Ignatio muttered. "Never undervalue the will to live, especially when it's shared."

The silence was broken by a loud boom, and a column of unsightly black smoke replaced the splintered trees two hundred yards away. The ground trembled, and the noise was broken by zombie screams.

"They're here!" exclaimed one of the guardsmen.

As zombies swept across the field, he said into his transmitter, "Gordy to Teaneck Command," in a cool, collected voice. "We require air support immediately—at least a hundred zombies are attacking Overpeck Park, which is waiting for pontoons."

"Hi there!" From a pontoon cutting through the icy creek toward the shore of Leonia, a coxswain called. "Set up a rearguard—get down here!"

Delany prepped a field mortar with another Guard as zombies swept across the meadow. They loaded the shell and pointed it at the center of the horde. It arced overhead, exploding in the midst of the throng with a gut-wrenching thud.

Dozens of zombies were shredded and their mutilated bodies were flung aloft as the explosion glowed—a tower of smoke and fire erupted. The survivors dispersed and gathered around the monument, where fourteen troops were now occupying the area.

Gordy commanded, "Pressley, Ignatio, you six—boat." "You four—we stay, Delany."

The response crackled, "Teaneck Command to Gordy, negative on air support."

Gordy's rearguard opened fire on the crowd, and eight rushed for the pontoon.

Despite their imperfections, the rudimentary, welded metal armor worn by zombies at a distance of 150 yards was terrifying. A Variant C in patched black armor charged on the right flank, brandishing a sword. Gordy took three accurate rounds that went through the thin plate and knocked him down.

Others chipped the stone of the memorial while wearing helmets or body armor, firing WWII guns, or releasing arrows from improvised longbows. Tenaciously protecting their lives and humanity, the six troops returned fire.

“Come back here!” shouted the coxswain.

"We should leave," Gordy remarked. "We're leaving."

Shimmering in the ghastly moonlight, they left their post and hurried down to the stony banks of Overpeck. Pressley covered their back with a Glock and piled into the boat.

Armoured zombies climbed the hill as they pushed away. Pressley's tiny arms pinged off their heavy plating ineffectively.

Ignatio handed him his weapon and said, "Here." Pressley punched through the armor with six rounds. Zombies crouched and retaliated with arrows and M1s.

A guardsman jumped, his lips gushing blood. "Look out!" Gordy yelled. With arrows and bullets flying by, the coxswain gunned the engine.

Leading the 10th Mountain Division, a light infantry battalion that had been eagerly awaiting reinforcements from Fort Drum, a Humvee thundered along Palisades Parkway.

The captain of the lead company responded, "Just a little bit farther." "We'll turn onto Route 95 if there isn't any opposition."

The regulars were more resilient than the Guard, having been battle-hardened by Iraq and zombies. Equipped with state-of-the-art weapons and copious amounts of ammunition, they were an independent force designed to subdue any threat.

Two zombies brushed away twigs and grass as they came out of a hidden pit as the Humvee rolled by. They unloaded barbed arrows from their longbows and hit the gunner on top of the car before the Americans could respond.

Ignorant of its fallen gunner with arrows protruding from his back, the lead Humvee continued to drive forward. The foxhole was hit by high-caliber SAWs fired by trailing vehicles. The regulars realized a harsh reality when the zombies were defeated: even with their armament, inexperienced fanatics armed with armor and arrows could still kill.

"So, what happened with the zombies today?" Stealing his fingers in front of a fresco depicting the Battle of Saratoga, President Derring posed the question.

Vice President Ross Effing responded, "The situation is stabilizing." The 10th from upstate New York and the 28th NG from Harrisburg were the two new divisions that arrived an hour ago. General Rylan is withdrawing from Long Island, but NORAD and Northeastern Command have stopped the undead on the majority of fronts.

Derring was given a piece of paper by Senate Majority Leader William Cunningham. "You have one of the lowest approval ratings ever, at 21."

"I'm not very worried about that," Derring stated.

Cunningham pressed, "9 percent approve of your zombie crisis handling, while 74% disapprove." Seventeen are indifferent. This is bad for your party; if it becomes worse, you might be impeached. What are you going to do when thousands are dead?

"What am I going to do?" Derring repeated, gazing off into space.

There was a deep hush around the table.

He said, "I'll follow Washington, Lincoln, and Roosevelt." "I refuse to give in to this danger. Instead of collapsing like China, France, or England, we will fight back and use every ounce of our strength to defeat this threat.

"This meeting is over," he said, getting up. Ladies and gentlemen, I apologize, but I have to think. Will you join me, Mr. Effing?”

"Yes, sir," Effing said, getting up nervously.

Derring took off his glasses and walked out, massaging his temples. He went on to say, "I'll fight to the end, but I don't know others' paths." God willing, America will persevere.