Along the banks of the Illinois side of the Mississippi River, soldiers in neatly pressed blue uniforms hustled out of the backs of covered wagons and began unloading piles of bricks near the shoreline.
Their commanding officer, Major Nathaniel Culpepper, barked orders all the while.
“Step lively, men! There’s no time to waste!”
Culpepper was tall and muscular, with a chiseled jaw that could cut glass and long blonde locks flowing out from underneath his officer’s hat. His assistant in this endeavor, Corporal Cecil Bartlett, was quite the opposite. Short and a tad portly, he looked at his superior through a pair of wire-framed spectacles.
“Permission to speak freely sir?” the Corporal asked.
“Granted,” the Major said.
“I don’t think this is possible,” the Corporal lamented.
“Anything’s possible with a little elbow grease and good old fashioned American know how, Corporal. Quit being such a sissy mary.”
“But a structure taller than the Great Wall of China to run the entire length of the Mississippi River?” the Corporal asked. “With all due respect, the President must be out of his mind.”
“Crazy times require even crazier measures, Corporal,” the Major replied. “Our diplomats have reported that the Canucks are already building their wall and you better believe the Mexicans are fortifying the southern border as we speak. We can’t be the only imbeciles standing around with our dicks in our hands without a wall, can we?”
“I suppose not, sir,” the Corporal said.
A goldbricking private leaned up against one of the wagons to sneak a smoke break. The Major spotted this and became so furious that spittle shot out of his mouth as he provided the loafer with a copious verbal tongue lashing.
“You there! Get back to work you lowlife degenerate or so help me I will cut out your eyes and send them to your three cent whore of a mother!”
The private dropped his smoke and got to work. The Major looked at the Corporal.
“Is it me or are the men getting lazier and lazier?”
“Morale’s low sir,” the Corporal said. “It was a long ride. Couldn’t we have waited until morning?”
“The blasted zombies wait for no man and neither will we,” the Major said.
The Corporal scratched his thinning hair. “It’s just that…”
“What, what?” the Major squawked. “Out with it already man.”
“This is a Herculean effort,” the Corporal said. “Every man on the East side of the Mississippi River conscripted into building an incredible fortress. Vast amounts of wealth and materials confiscated to make it happen. It’ll take so long to build it and the sentries that will have to be posted just in case any stragglers manage to get across…”
“Make a point all ready, man!” the Major commanded.
“I just can’t help but think that all of these resources wouldn’t be put to a better use by sending one large force across the river to put down the zombie menace once and for all,” the Corporal said.
“Put down the zombie menace?” the Major asked. “Preposterous. You’ve heard the witness reports. The survivors who were lucky enough to make it East have all described the same bizarre phenomena. Dead men biting live men and turning them into dead men. You can’t defeat an enemy that is able to turn you into the enemy, Corporal. That’s just common sense.”
The Corporal sighed and looked across the river. “Maybe. But cutting off our countrymen instead of trying to rescue them. It just seems so…cowardly.”
“More like heroic if you ask me,” the Major said. “Those poor bastards will all be dead soon and their problems will be over. We, on the other hand, will have to live with what we’ve done forever. But war is hell, Corporal, so either grow a pair or put on a dress.”
Three more wagons arrived. The Major and the Corporal walked over to meet them.
A gruff, black bearded private with a soot covered face by the name of Robards hopped off the wagon and saluted the major.
“Got your goodies here safe and sound, sir,” the private said.
The Major poked his head into the back of the wagon to see boxes upon boxes, all stacked neatly and all marked, “TNT.”
“Excellent,” the Major said. “Corporal!”
“Sir?”
“Gather twenty stout men,” the Major said. “We have a date with the Sturtevant Bridge.”
Bookshelf Battle 