365 Days At War

by Nancy Isaak

  As he did, I pushed myself back from the edge of the cliff—an inch at a time.

  And—almost screamed when a hand came down upon my shoulder.

  * * * *

  “What the heck, Cammie!”

  The slight redhead laid down beside me in the depression and looked over the edge of the cliff.

  “I met Florenza on the road,” she told me, quietly. “She said that you were here and that there were Crazies on the beach…guess she wasn’t lying.”

  “Where’s your guard?” I asked, searching the bluff behind us. “Tell me that you didn’t come here by yourself!”

  “He’s helping to take first aid kits down to the evacuation boats. I was just running over to the girls’ house to pick up some guns and ammo for the compound.” She pointed behind her to a small pile of weapons on the ground. From what I could see, there were three of my dad’s revolvers and a couple of cartons of bullets. “Your dad’s kind of a gun nut, Kaylee.”

  “Not the point, Cammie. You weren’t supposed to be out on your own! Everyone’s supposed to have at least one partner.”

  “I’ll write apology lines later.” Cammie muttered. She was staring down the cliff, her head cocked as if she was looking at something odd. “Is that Victor?”

  “Guess he’s come back to make good on his threat,” I said. “So, do you see what they’ve got at their waists?”

  Cammie’s eyes narrowed when she saw the handcuffs. Before she could say a word about it, however…there was a noise behind us!

  We both spun around—pushing back from the edge of the cliff—to see Florenza and Peyton racing toward us. They were both carrying guns and Peyton had her own machete, tucked into a belt at her waist.

  “Where’s everybody else?” I asked, when they reached us. “How come it’s just you guys?”

  “Crazies started taking pot shots down on the highway near Pavilions,” explained Florenza. “Most everyone who could shoot had already gone down there. I sent one of the young ones to let Kieran and Pauly know what’s going on but—even if they hurry—it’s still gonna’ take time for them to get here. But I stopped at the farm on the way back and this one decided to come with.”

  I looked at Peyton—she shrugged. “It got boring, waiting. Thought I’d see what all the fuss was about.”

  * * * *

  It was tight before, with just Cammie and me in the depression. Now, there were four of us squeezed together like sardines, peering down at the Crazies hanging off of the rocks below. There were more guys now and, when I looked to my left, I saw that only two more were coming down the coastline.

  “No matter where the Crazies start climbing,” I said, quietly, “they’ll most likely come over the cliff at the same point—between those two rocks over there. If we get guns on each side, the rocks will act like a funnel. We’ll just shoot straight down it. Then, we’ll put the rest of our guys along this cliff to take out any stragglers.”

  “Like shooting fish in a barrel,” murmured Cammie.

  “The trick is going to be timing it right. We need as many of the Crazies in the funnel or on the cliff when we attack. They’ll be holding on with their hands, so it will be difficult for them to fire their weapons.”

  Down below, the second-to-last Crazy arrived, attaching himself to a rock next to Victor. This newcomer was huge, well over six feet tall. He punched Victor in the arm as a greeting—a heavy blow that almost knocked Victor into the water.

  “One more nutcase to go,” whispered Cammie.

  I turned and looked behind us. “Dammit…still no sign of our guys.”

  “And here comes the last Crazy,” Florenza announced. “Dude’s kinda’ cute for a murdering scumbag.”

  * * * *

  There was a lot of conversation going on below us.

  Victor and the tall guy were apparently giving the other Crazies their final instructions. Weapons were checked, machetes secured; a pat on the back and a pointed finger signaled the beginning of movement.

  With a nod to the guys behind him, the first Crazy nearest to the trail leapt from his rock and latched onto the side of the cliff.

  I scooted quickly back from the edge, the others following.

  “Our guys aren’t going to make it in time!” I groaned. “And if the Crazies get up that cliff, they’ll be behind our lines. They can split up and hit us from any side.”

  “What can we do?” asked Cammie.

  “We make a choice…fight or flight.”

  “Fight,” said Florenza, quickly, patting the gun at her waist.

  Beside me, Cammie nodded to the weapons and ammo behind us on the bluff, the ones she’d brought with her. “Just going to waste, sitting there.”

  Peyton, however, said nothing when I looked at her; she appeared to be thinking.

  “It’s okay,” I told her. “I know that Frank’s a pacifist. But you should leave now, before the Crazies get up that hill, or you’re not going to have a choice.”

  She sniffed, looking down her nose at me. “Those assholes get up the hill, they’ll hit the farm first, before they get anywhere close to the compound.” And, pushing back on her hands and knees, Peyton crawled over to Cammie’s weapon-pile and pulled out one of the revolvers, checking to make sure that it was loaded.

  When Peyton saw us watching her closely, she grinned. “Frank’s god may have told him not to pick up a gun. But my god’s told me to shoot the balls off the mother-effers!”

  * * * *

  As we moved toward the positions I’d assigned each of us, I heard Florenza whisper quietly to Peyton, “You kind of a scary bitch.”

  “No, I’m not,” Peyton responded, as she hid behind one of the large rocks near the head of the trail. “I’m just really, really tired of all this stupid macho-bullshit.”

  I raised my finger to my lips—shushing everybody. Then, quietly, I tiptoed over to a large rock at the cliff’s edge, peeking over. There wasn’t much to see from that position; the angles were all wrong. But I could hear the scrabbling of Crazies climbing up the cliffside below.

  Rocks clacked together, handcuffs jingled; a couple of the guys were even chuckling at something they must have found funny.

  “Remember,” I whispered to the other girls, “we don’t start shooting until they’re in the funnel!”

  * * * *

  We had divided up; I was on the left side, aiming down between the rock funnel, while Cammie had the right side. Florenza and Peyton, meanwhile, were on either side of us—their guns trained on the cliffside and rocks below, on the area just outside of the funnel—in case there were guys who came up that way.

  As the sounds of the Crazies’ climbing neared, I am ashamed to say that my terror also increased. The blood rushed from my hands and feet (they became suddenly freezing) threading its way to my rapidly thudding heart.

  Looking across at Cammie—a distance of less than ten feet—I saw that she looked just as scared as I felt; she was struggling with her gun, trying to stop it from shaking. Even the fearless Florenza seemed afraid. As she peered over the cliff’s edge, her lips moved open and close, gulping mouthfuls of air.

  Only Peyton appeared unaffected.

  There was no expression on her beautiful face as she aimed her gun down the cliff. Her breathing appeared normal and, if anything—Peyton looked relaxed.

  * * * *

  We didn’t start shooting until there were ten of them in the funnel.

  It’s not that we had chosen that number; it was that Cammie’s nerves couldn’t hold out any longer. Suddenly, she began shooting—the bullets ricocheting down the sides of the rock.

  The closest Crazy—a kid around eighteen—went down almost immediately.

  He had a dragon tattooed on his chest, its wings spanning from one shoulder to the other. Within moments of Cammie’s first shot, a blossom of red appeared in the dragon, directly between its gaping jaws.

  Behind him, the tall guy who had been giving the orders pushed forward, jumping over the
kid’s body. He raised his gun to shoot but, before he could pull the trigger, Cammie shot him in the stomach.

  The guy went down, screaming, clutching at his belly.

  Over to the side of me, I heard Florenza also begin to fire. That could mean only one thing—some of the Crazies must have abandoned the trail and were now climbing directly up the cliff.

  Meanwhile, part of my terrified brain registered the distant sounds of trumpets blowing. The bleats appeared to come from far away and I wondered vaguely if Nate and Xavier had just sighted more Crazies coming along the ocean in boats.

  Across from me, Cammie kept on firing—bang, bang, bang, bang!

  Her eyes were rimmed with moisture; it made me wonder how she could possibly aim that way—could see through her tears.

  Bang, bang, bang!

  A third guy went down to Cammie’s bullets, his left eye disappearing, his brains splattering the Crazy scampering up behind him.

  Click, click, click…

  Cammie turned to me, her mouth open in horror.

  She was out of bullets!

  I looked down at my own gun; the realization hit me that I still hadn’t fired it. In front of me, the Crazy was getting closer, practically falling over the screaming tall guy in his furious rush to reach us.

  “Kaylee...shoot!” Cammie screamed.

  Slowly I raised up my gun—silently begging the Crazy to…please stop, please stop, please stop.

  He kept coming, though—a gun in one hand, a machete in his other. I realized as he closed in on me that the kid looked happy. In fact, he was grinning—exposing yellowing teeth filed down into vicious points.

  “We need to fall back!” yelled Florenza, rushing toward me. “There’s too many of them coming up the cliff. They’re coming too fast!”

  She suddenly saw the kid racing up through the funnel; he was less than ten yards away and closing quickly.

  “Hijo de puta!” shouted Florenza.

  Lightning fast, she whipped up her gun and shot him right in the center of his forehead. The kid went down hard—dead—falling backward onto the tall guy who immediately, and thankfully—stopped screaming.

  “Come on!” Florenza screeched, grabbing me by the arm and pulling me back from the funnel. As we moved, I saw that Cammie and Peyton were also retreating. The tears were moving freely down Cammie’s face now; she looked grief-stricken, devastated.

  “I killed a guy,” she whimpered. “I killed a guy!”

  “We gotta’ go!” urged Florenza. “We gotta’ get back to the compound now!”

  But—we were too late.

  * * * *

  They had us surrounded.

  While we had been shooting at the guys coming through the funnel and up the cliff, six of the Crazies must have fallen back along the rocks, to climb up the cliffside where we couldn’t see them. Those six circled us now, grinning as Cammie and Florenza clicked empty guns at them.

  “Dibs on the tall blond,” said a dirty-faced kid. “Maybe the redhead, too.”

  “Bitches go in the market,” an older brown-haired boy growled in response. He pulled out his handcuffs and held them up. “Only one touches them first be Brandon.”

  “Except that one,” said a voice that sent a chill down my spine. “That’s the one I get.”

  I turned to see Victor coming up through the funnel. There were three other Crazies behind him—younger boys, none older than fifteen—their teeth filed into points, their hair shaved into mohawks.

  “How many did the bitches get?” asked the brown-haired boy.

  “Just us left,” Victor told him. “More than enough for these slits.”

  He and the three Crazies joined the others—slowly tightening the circle around us. There were ten of them now—all holding guns and machetes. That they hadn’t killed us already was for one obvious reason.

  They wanted us as slaves.

  “Hello, bitch,” Victor sneered at me. “No hubby to protect you now?”

  He reached toward me and I stepped back quickly, bumping into Peyton as I did. She fell to one side, and one of the younger Crazies used the opportunity to leap in and grab one of her breasts, giving it a vicious squeeze.

  Hooting with glee, another of the younger guys jumped past the first and, like his friend, grabbed at Peyton. He reached for the strap on her overalls, trying to tug it down. The third young Crazy joined in, this time grabbing Peyton from behind, wrapping his arms around her and dry-humping her.

  “Stop it!” I yelled.

  If anything, the young guys became even more animated—leaping in and out of the circle, tormenting Peyton, grabbing and squeezing her breasts and butt. I tried to intervene, but Victor reached out and pulled me toward him—his fingers on my arm digging in deep with malicious intent.

  “Let the kids have their fun,” he hissed into my ear. “Just like me and you are gonna’.”

  “Leave her alone!” I yelled, ignoring him. “Or else, I swear to god!”

  Victor pushed me down on the ground then, laughing. He kicked at me, a solid boot that connected with my belly.

  I doubled over, struggling to catch my breath.

  “Or else you swear to god, what?!” He yelled down at me. “Seriously, Kaylee…what the hell do you think you’re gonna’ do?!” He kicked me again—this time in my thigh. “You’re just a girl, you’re not as strong as us, and you’re out of bullets. So, what are you gonna’ do, bitch?!”

  As Victor raised his foot to slam down on my other leg, I lifted my gun and shot him through the neck. He fell down beside me, blood spraying everywhere. His eyes went wide—full of shock and horror as he realized that he was already dead.

  I leaned forward, close enough to kiss him—hissing words full of hate and fury. “What are you gonna’ do…bitch?!”

  * * * *

  Hands grabbed at me; it was the dirty-haired kid, trying to slap his handcuffs over my wrists. Still on the ground, I pulled away, spinning around on my butt, and shooting him in the face.

  Even as he was collapsing, my finger pulled at my gun’s trigger again and again.

  Two more Crazies went down—one by my bullet, another falling over the cliff in his haste to escape.

  Six Crazies left.

  Realizing that the situation had suddenly changed, the younger guys who had been tormenting Peyton rushed her. As they did, Peyton turned her gun around—flipping it in her hand until she was holding it by the barrel.

  Bam...Peyton swung the gun, right into a Crazy’s head!

  The kid went down immediately, a surprised look on his face—his forehead collapsed above his left eyebrow.

  Meanwhile, Peyton kept swinging—her gun bludgeoning each young guy who came near her. I watched with something approaching awe as she took each one out in turn, never once breaking a sweat—never once showing any emotion.

  As bones broke and blood splattered—Peyton simply killed.

  * * * *

  Two Crazies left.

  It was the slightest of gasps that made me spin around to Cammie. She was struggling to breathe as the brown-haired Crazy squeezed his hands tightly around her throat.

  I immediately pushed myself off of the ground to help her—and went down just as quickly—my bruised and battered leg collapsing beneath me. Meanwhile, Cammie’s lips were turning blue, her hands grasping at empty air behind her, as she tried to reach her killer.

  Oh God…there was no way that I could reach Cammie in time!

  Except that—I still had my gun.

  Sighting along the barrel—praying that I wouldn’t hit Cammie—I pulled the trigger three times…click, click, click.

  My gun was empty!

  * * * *

  When death came, I swear it happened in slow motion.

  I remember everyone moving so slowly—yet it must have happened in mere seconds.

  Cammie was suffocating.

  The Crazy was grinning.

  And Florenza was leaping toward them both—a sliver of metal slidin
g out from between her lips.

  The guy didn’t stand a chance.

  Blood arced high as he fell to the ground—both of his carotids slashed.

  * * * *

  One Crazy left.

  I was tempted to let the kid escape.

  He ran toward the funnel, stumbling over Victor’s body as he did. For a moment, the kid almost lost his balance. Then, he righted himself and started forward again.

  “Oh God, oh God, oh God!” the boy cried, stopping only when he reached the rocks that marked the entrance to the funnel. Then, he stopped and turned toward us, pulling out a fat-barreled gun.

  “NO!” I cried, horrified at the realization of what he was holding.

  I struggled to gain my feet as the kid held the gun up in the air. But—before he could fire—Cammie ran at him.

  Slight as she was, Cammie still knocked the kid right off his feet. The gun skittered across the ground toward me. Meanwhile, Cammie and the young Crazy tumbled down the funnel together, disappearing from our sight.

  Both Peyton and Florenza were quicker than me.

  They raced through the rocks, leaping down into the funnel. As I limped over, I could hear their angry yells—and what sounded like thumps and cries of pain.

  Then—suddenly—it was quiet.

  * * * *

  Peyton was the first one to emerge through the funnel’s mouth. She reached back and grabbed Cammie’s hand, pulling the younger girl up and out.

  Florenza followed a little after, looking absolutely exhausted as she grinned over at me. “Stupid Crazies,” she muttered. “Spit-roasting in hell, all of them.”

  As I reached down and picked up the fat-barreled gun the Crazy had been trying to fire, Peyton came over and looked down at it.