by Dziekan, PJ
“You keep it, you’re a better shot.”
“Take it, Mick. You can’t beat them off, so you shoot them.”
He shook his head. “Sarah, I don’t think –”
“Take it, Mick!” Her voice held a touch of hysteria. “Please.”
“OK.” He took the gun from her trembling hand.
“Jack, Ben, one of you take the tire iron.” She handed it over the seat. “Give me the bat.” Jack slid it over the seat and she grabbed onto it. “We stick close together, Mick in the middle.” She looked at Ben, Jack, then at Mick. “We’re all getting home.”
There was one zombie close, a handful about a block away. She took a breath then opened her door. Just one step and she swung the bat, connecting directly on the ear of the creature. It dropped and she yelled, “Come on!” The group exited the Jeep, not even bothering to close the doors. They gathered together, tension filling the air.
“We should try to fix the barricade,” Ben said. “Otherwise, they’ll keep coming.”
“If we can.” Sarah shook out her arms. “Let’s go, we’re wasting daylight.”
Mick grimaced as he laughed. “I thought you hated John Wayne.”
She smiled. “I do. Just like to keep you guessing.” She put her hand on his uninjured arm and went up on her tiptoes. She kissed him softly. Pulling back, she looked into his eyes. “Let’s go home.”
She swung on the first zombie in their path, a naked creature so torn up that she couldn’t tell if it was once male or female. One solid hit to the head and it was down. She heard a gunshot, hoped it was a good one. She moved onto the next, the next, then the next. Her shoulders were already aching and they had barely made it into town. She was out of shape. They had lived zombie free for so long, she forgot how much work went into killing them.
Another gunshot made her whip her head around. Mick winced as he lowered the gun. She flashed him a smile of thanks when she saw the creature only a foot away from her, sprawled on the ground. She noticed the area was relatively clear of zombies. “Ben, Jack, can you move the trucks back?”
“Just gotta move this one.” Ben swung up into the cab and started the truck. Sarah’s head moved from side to side, watching for zombies, checking on Ben’s progress. But her eyes kept landing on Mick. His left sleeve was covered in blood. His face was pale, his breathing labored. She bit her lip. “Hurry up, Ben,” she urged.
“Almost got it.” He reversed the truck slowly until it was nearly touching the other one. The truck shut off and he opened the door and jumped out. He jogged over to where Mick, Sarah and Jack waited. “That’ll have to do.”
“Good enough.” She looked down the street. They had about eight blocks to go, with at least thirty zombies between where they stood and the apartment. “Stay close and we’ll get home, guys.” She looked over at Mick. The pain in his eyes made her throat seize up. But what was worse was the resignation. She walked over to him and fisted her hand in his shirt. She pulled him down to her. “Stay close behind me,” she whispered harshly. “Don’t you dare give up.” She let him go and started jogging in the direction of home.
They easily made it past the first few zombies, not even bothering to take them out. The next group were bunched together, five of them stumbling in the road, reaching for them. Sarah swung the bat, shattering the skull of what was once a doctor, adding more gore to its dingy white lab coat. She sidestepped the falling body, pushing a burnt creature with the tip of the bat, putting it in the path of Jack’s tire iron. It sank to the ground, brains leaking from a hole in its head. Gunfire sounded and she saw another go down while Ben aimed for a second. She moved up a few steps and took the last one. It was once an elderly female, but in the end, a corpse in the road after Sarah smacked it with the bat.
The road was momentarily clear, so they ran, making it a full block before their path was obstructed again. She didn’t think, she just swung the bat, ignoring the gunshots peppering the air. One, two, three zombies hit the ground. She was swinging for a fourth when she heard a scream. She whipped her head around and let out a cry.
Mick was kneeling on the ground, a zombie gnawing on his arm. She dropped the bat, fumbling for her gun, her eyes blurred with tears. She aimed, her hands shaking, the first shot clipping the zombie in the shoulder. Biting her lip, she fired again, the zombie’s head disintegrating. Mick collapsed forward. She lowered the gun and ran to him, dropping to her knees.
“Did it bite you? Were you bit?” She could barely see through the tears.
“I don’t know.” His voice was raspy, his throat raw from screaming. She saw the sheen of tears in his eyes.
She swallowed. “We’re almost home.” She pulled him to his feet with an arm around his waist.
“You promised me,” he said, his voice fierce. “You promised you’d take care of me if I was bit.”
Hesitantly, she nodded, tears spilling down her cheeks. She took his hand and they began to run. Jack and Ben were a block and a half ahead, a trail of bodies behind them. Sarah pulled Mick along, moving around the bodies in the road, dodging the outstretched hands of the ambulatory ones. The road ahead was filled nearly side to side with creatures. She veered direction, heading to the sidewalk. They managed half a block and were crossing an intersection when something grabbed her ankle and she went down, her gun skittering down the sidewalk. She instinctively twisted her body, landing hard on her side instead of her front. She looked back and saw the prone zombie with a fresh wound in its abdomen, damaged spine visible. Its skeletal hand was wrapped around her ankle, digging into her flesh. She pulled but the grip tightened. She saw a boot come down on the wrist, watched the bones disintegrate, fingers falling from her skin. She looked up and saw Mick, his right arm held out to her. She rolled and reached for his hand, pushing herself up with her other hand. “Thanks,” she whispered before she scanned the ground for her gun. It was four feet in front of her, resting against a flat tire. She tugged Mick’s hand, urging him forward. She bent and scooped up the gun just in time to blast a zombie directly in front of them, blocking their path to home. They stepped over its broken body and moved back to the center of the street.
Only three more blocks, she thought as they moved down the middle of the road. Her breathing was labored, the sound of her gasping loud in her ears. She stopped panting, trying to breathe through her nose. She turned her head to check on Mick.
His teeth were gritted against the pain. He, too, was breathing heavy, his chest heaving as they ran for their lives. She squeezed his hand tighter.
She stumbled as Mick yanked her arm sideways, pulling her out of the path of a pair of creatures. So worried about what might happen, she nearly missed what did happen. She squeezed his hand in thanks.
Only one more block to go. The zombies were heavily concentrated, probably because Jack and Ben had just passed through. She looked over at Mick and managed a smile. “Piece of cake.”
“Sarah, all we have is what’s in your gun. I lost mine back there somewhere. There’s at least fifteen or twenty to get through.”
“Like I said, piece of cake. Stay right behind me.” She squeezed his hand once more then released him. She started moving through the herd, dodging left and right, her gun with its last three rounds held tightly in her right hand.
Small paths opened then closed almost immediately. They dodged and weaved, even backtracking at points. She felt the hands grasp at her clothes and tug at her hair until tears came to her eyes. She heard Mick panting behind her, his grunts of pain when one managed to hit his injured arm. Still they ran.
Until they hit a wall of zombies. They turned to go back, but they were hemmed in. They stood back to back, searching for a tiny path, a narrow passageway through the crowd.
“There!” Sarah pointed. A six-inch gap between what was once a policeman and what was once a female.
“No way, Sarah.”
“Shutty.” With a scream, she took off for the gap, swinging her gun hand once she reached the pa
ir. The former female was pushed to the ground. Sarah leaped over her legs, Mick on her heels.
They went three feet before they were surrounded again. Sarah could see the SUV in front of their apartment. She could taste home. Less than half a block and they would be there.
But she didn’t see a way out. The crowd around them was two, sometimes three zombies deep. With a laugh, she brought up the gun and shot the closest one. She felt hysteria bubbling up inside her. “Last two for us,” she said, her voice breaking as she turned to Mick. She would lose her whole family in the space of a few seconds.
Mick took her gun hand in his and brought it up between them. His voice was full of sorrow as he said “Sarah, I –”
His words were drowned out by the sound of glass shattering. Sarah’s head whipped around. Bobby was leaning out of a third-floor window, rifle in his hands. Heads started to explode, showering Sarah and Mick with blood, bone and brain matter. Sarah laughed. “Come on!” She yelled, pulling Mick through the path Bobby was making, jumping over corpses, stepping on them when she couldn’t.
Bobby emptied the rifle. She was close enough to hear him call for another. He continued to snipe at the creatures, leading Sarah and Mick to safety.
Jack flung open the door and motioned them inside. Sarah ran through, Mick slamming the door shut behind them. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry,” Jack babbled. “We thought you guys were ahead of us. I’m so sorry!”
“It’s OK, Jack, we’re here now, we’re safe.” She dropped the gun to the floor and turned to Mick. She pulled her grimy tee over her head, feeling a chill on her exposed arms. She pushed the bloodied leather jacket from his shoulders, wincing at his hiss of pain. She wiped his arm with her shirt. Biting her lip, hoping against hope, she looked at his left arm.
“You’re not bit!!” She exclaimed when she saw the gunshot wound and nothing else. She threw her arms around him and buried her face in his chest, tears flowing freely.
Mick brought his right hand up to comfort her as he let out a sigh of relief. He dropped his lips to her hair and closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of her, the scent of home.
April came running down the stairs. “Are you both OK?”
Sarah lifted her head. “Mick’s been shot.”
“Let me take a look.” She crossed the room and pointed at Sarah. “You, go get cleaned up.”
As Sarah pulled her head away, Mick spied his brother’s body lying in the hall, covered with a white sheet. She felt him tense then his body sagged. “Give me a minute.” His voice was thick with emotion.
Sarah moved away from him but he latched onto her wrist. “Please stay.” She smiled sadly and leaned into him.
“Come up when you’re ready,” April said softly. She turned and padded up the stairs.
Holding tight to Sarah’s hand, Mick walked over to Ryan’s body. He looked down at the blood smeared shroud. “I’m sorry, man. I should have stopped you.”
“I wish I could go back and change things, Mick,” Sarah said, her voice breaking. “I would have given in to him. I would have walked away.”
Mick shook his head. “No, Sarah, you did the right thing.” He released her hand and went down to one knee beside Ryan. “Go in peace, brother.” He touched his hand to where Ryan’s forehead had been.
Sarah blinked back tears. She reached for Mick’s hand, damp with his brother’s blood. She held it gently to her slightly rounded abdomen. “We can name him Ryan…”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
One lone sentry on the roof of an old fast food restaurant was all that Tony saw. He watched through the binoculars as the winter wind made the sentry’s black coat flap around him before he backed into a three-sided shelter, still with a full view of the barricade and the road before it. He never took his eyes from the road.
The binoculars moved down, scanning the length of the barrier. It was nothing more than a school bus and a truck nose to nose across the street, the back ends of each butting against a building. It looked like metal had been welded where the vehicles met and along the bottoms of both, effectively stopping entry from humans as well as the zeds that still prowled the area, albeit in lesser numbers a year and a half after the world had turned to shit.
Tony looked back up at the sentry, a short bulky guy who spent more time out of the shelter than in. They must have a good supply of food, he thought as he studied the figure. A dark knit cap covered his head while a dark blue scarf obscured his lower face. A pair of sunglasses completed the look, protecting his eyes from the bright winter sun. He had a firearm on his hip as well as a hunting rifle leaning against the shelter within easy reach. Tony hoped it stayed there.
“Alright, we’re going in,” he said. “Dave, Ian, you stay here at camp. If we’re not back in an hour, come get us.” He murmured to his horse and they began to move, three mounted men following behind him.
They approached the wall slowly, letting the sentry get a good look at them. He wasn’t going to lose a horse to a surprised guard. Their mounts were too precious and he didn’t want the Colonel to take them away from him, like he did to Snyder after he got one killed. So, they took their time. Tony felt the sentry’s eyes on him. He sat straight up in the saddle, making sure the guard could see his uniform.
He reined in his horse directly in front of the barricade and removed his sunglasses. Before he even opened his mouth, the sentry pushed the scarf down and spoke, “Nice horse.”
The sentry was a woman. Tony had served with many women. He knew most were fully capable of doing the same things that he was. But they had been trained. This short, plump woman was not. Or was she? If she had survived this long, she had her training under fire.
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said, nodding his head.
He noticed her hand drift to her hip, fingers resting lightly on the gun in her holster. “What can I do for you?” She asked.
“I’m Staff Sergeant Anthony McGuire of the United States Marine Corps. We’d like to enter your settlement and speak to whoever is in charge.”
“There are still Marines?” She asked with a smirk. “Wouldn’t there have to be a United States left for that?”
The wind gusted and her coat flapped open. Tony’s jaw dropped. She wasn’t bulky or fat. She was pregnant. What the hell kind of piss poor leader put a pregnant woman on sentry duty in the middle of winter? “Uh – yes, ma’am, there still are Marines and a United States.”
“Huh.” Her hand left the gun on her hip and she folded her arms in front of her. “Doesn’t seem like it.”
“There is, ma’am. And we’d like to come in and talk to the man in charge.”
She didn’t say anything for a moment. Finally, she nodded, a wry smile gracing her lips. “OK. Let me get someone out here.” She stepped backwards towards the shelter, never taking her eyes from the visitors. He watched as she unclipped a walkie talkie from her belt and raised it to her mouth. She spoke too low for him to hear, finishing in less than a minute. She held the walkie in her hand as she stepped out of the shelter. “I can only let two of you in. No weapons.”
Tony shook his head amidst the grumbles of his comrades. “I’m sorry, ma’am. We can’t leave our weapons behind.”
“Then you can’t come into town. Nice to meet you, take care of those horses.”
Tony looked at his men. Brent and Dennis were shaking their heads. Sully gave him a slight shrug. Tony turned back to the sentry. “We can’t bring anything in?” He asked, exasperated. “No guns, no knives? Nothing?”
“Nothing,” she echoed. “You have no need for weapons in our town unless you mean us harm. You have nothing to fear from our town. We’ve cleaned it out. But we don’t know you. We can’t allow you into our town with weapons.”
“You’ve had some trouble?”
“Hasn’t everyone?”
Tony knew they could take her if they needed to. Probably the whole damn town, if this was the best they had to offer. But that wasn’t his mission. “OK, ma’am.” He began
to divest himself of his weapons.
“Who are the rest of you?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am.” Tony handed his weapons to a young man with bright orange hair. “This is Corporal Brent Kidd. Over there is Corporal Dennis Osbourne.” He motioned to another young man wearing glasses. “Sergeant John Sullivan and I will be entering your town.”
“The horses will have to stay out, too.”
“The horses? Why?”
“The entry port isn’t big enough.” She glanced over her shoulder and smiled briefly before she turned back to Tony and his men. “Jack will let you in. I’ll take you into town.”
Tony watched as she picked up a bag on the floor of the shelter. It was a backpack and she shrugged it on in one easy motion before she crossed the roof and dropped out of sight.
He turned his horse to face the rest of his men. “Sully, you good to go?” The tall man nodded. “Brent, Dennis, take the horses back to camp. We’ll make our way back to you after we’ve talked to the guy in charge.”
“Not without weapons,” Sully said. His voice was so deep, it rumbled.
Tony nodded once. “Hide our weapons in that hair salon about a block up. We’ll retrieve them along the way.”
“How long should we wait?” Brent asked.
“Give us 45 minutes.”
“And then?”
“Then you know what to do.” He slid down from his horse and handed the reins to Brent.
Sully dismounted and shoved his weapons into his saddlebags. “Are you sure this is wise?”
Tony shrugged. “I’m not worried.”
A noise behind them had them both turning. They watched as a man-sized panel on the school bus popped open. None of them had noticed the seams. “Come on,” a male voice said. With a last look at his remaining men, Tony stepped through, Sully behind him.
They followed a man through the inside of the bus. Metal bars had been welded the entire width, spaced a foot apart. Thick beams braced the bars in spots, making a very effective barricade to ward off an assault. They seem to have it together, Tony thought as he emerged from the bus on the other side of the barricade.
