by Dan Yaeger
As we stalked, at the ready, weapons drawn to face the night, I scanned back toward the Rock. I surmised the small three-man team on the roof of the Rock put up quite a fight. Elsom held that fort for his dark master until the very last. I could tell when that was apparent; the gunfire stopped altogether. I imagined he was a meal or under the spell of another dark master; the Divine virus.
Another explosion rocked the building and more fire erupted across the Doc’s former stronghold.
We marched on, half a click from our origin. The night sky provided enough light to see the silhouettes of zombies. One was completely stationary and I walked up on it, peeling off the group a little and stabbed it through the skull without hesitation. I wrestled its shoulders and pushed it to the ground in almost complete silence. I returned to my pack; we moved as one and almost without a sound. We were headed toward the edge of town, a stretch of plains that was surreal in the eerie star and moonlight. Grasses were swaying in the wind like grey, silken wheat. “A grey, grim harvest,” I remembered thinking. It was like a minefield as we walked.
Zombies that had just been sitting and watching the flames or lurching toward the Rock popped up from the grass. We tried to keep quiet, not shooting wildly and making noise that would attract unwanted attention. But that stealthy stalk became harder as we attracted the zombies that had not yet made it to the smells, sounds and light show of the Rock.
One shambling mess came up on us, without much warning. Angela instinctively loosed a few shots with Manila; the little .22 cracking and raising the attention than just the one zombie she had dropped. Three undead groaned and were on top of us. Between Jude, Daniela, Angela and I, they were pummelled, smashed and stabbed into submission. We got lucky that only a few had noticed us. “Ssssshhhhhhh…” I put my finger to my lips and the group was reminded of the need for quiet and stealth.
From then on we refrained from shooting and were disciplined in our approach to stay undetected. In place of shooting, we fought hand to hand, like ancient warriors. We drifted from the group to kill and then returned. We were a substantial group and the smell alone attracted the once residents of Cooleman to us. All in the group were cured and put out a different body odour. A blessing to be cured, a curse to be in a wide, open see where zombies lurked like sharks.
But zombies were drawn to us to infect the uninfected and feed. But they faced knives, bats and machetes and would never be fed by our flesh. I was more than impressed with our progress; we made ground, driven by fear, sweat and hope. The grass was tall, unkempt and the night sky was authentic and illuminating. While there were no lights from any civilisation but we felt more lit than many of us had in some time.
The group was holding together. I could hear the whispers of reassurance and mutual support. After being in captivity for so long, these people were an inspiration to me; a prime example of people rising to the occasion. I was reminded, on that difficult, tough, liberating journey that people could adapt and survive, against all odds. It was our way, our history and our destiny to endure. We walked on, covering the ground quite quickly and with some stealth. “We can do this,” I whispered to Ange, who was intense and focused. She looked at me, said nothing and kept stalking forward. The survivor in her was obvious.
Just as we thought we had clear the masses, there were three of them in one small group that came toward us; arms outreached and teeth gnashing. Daniela and Jude joined me in hacking them up. Jude let out a cry from a nasty bite she received. The cry was enough to disturb one of the babies who was hungry. Everything had been going well until then. Our survival was precarious and it was about to be tested.
The cries of an infant, in that plain and on that night lured a score of zombies, as though it was a bell calling children from a grassy playground.
They came toward us and people could see their lurching shapes against the moonlit sky. Everyone was keeping to the plan until the writhing, lurching messes were close. There were murmurs and voices cloaked in fear; I needed to lead them again.
“Stop people! On one knee!” I yelled, not caring as we were already compromised. “Here we fight!” I hissed. No sooner had I spoken, Angela began to open fire with Manila. “Damn she was good under pressure”, I thought. She was on the mark more times than not with that little .22 rifle. I holstered the General and sheathed Orion. A big gun was needed in this big fight. I needed reliability, I drew Old Man.
The familiar, smooth action and “click-clack” gave me comfort as I loaded my expendable rounds into the chamber. The zombies were close enough, at 20 meters and I fired 5 shots as quick as I could. My companions covered their ears and shouted with fear, unused to such a weapon and the concussion that burst from its muzzle. My shots were on the mark, with four being kills. Angela had dropped three and we still had just over a dozen converging on us. There wasn’t any time to load my rifle so it was back to my shoulder for Old Man; my good friend never let me down. I pulled out Orion and the General again, back to my close-quarters fit-out.
It seemed confusion and fear crossed my people in the dark, humid night. The group began to murmur and then cries and gasps of fear began to emerge as they kneeled there in terror, in the shroud of long grass. While I was used to night fighting and the disorientation of combat with the dead and damned, they were new to it. “I’m losing them!” I thought and realised I needed to act.
I got up from my knee and used my knife-hand to brace my pistol hand and began head-shooting. The 1911 pistol was a decisive weapon and I respected its best qualities; accuracy, speed and knock-down power. It was horrific and some of the women began to howl and scream along with the infants in our party. We were literally alone and in the dark, surrounded, all at the same time. But they had me this time. They weren’t alone. I looked down at them and saw one talented member of the group rise, yet again. Alicia did what she did best; make people feel comfortable and cared for. She hugged a couple of the women in like a mother-hen. I had been in a pinch many times before and, like so many times in the past, I wasn’t going to give up. They all needed to see that. Between Alicia and I, we would be strong in that moment when the others faltered.
The .45 rounds, being spat by the General, blew heads in, collapsed them or took them clean-off. The General was indeed a mighty weapon in the arsenal against the undead. My seven rounds were up and I hadn’t missed; seven decapitated zombies. This weapon was among the best of the best; ironic that Penfould had demanded such a thing when he was so incompetent in its use. As the bodies fell, I felt my face stressed, a bit contorted and I realised the pressure of combat was getting to me too. It was an unfamiliar pressure; to be a father and protector. I thought about my family, those I had lost in the Great Change and froze.
My mind raced, the adrenaline of trying to find them in the chaos of the turbulence that was the Great Change. I remembered before that, to birthdays, my girls, my sweet daughters. “No, not now,” I told myself. There would be time later. Had the group seen me in the daylight, freezing like that and jeopardising everything, I would have lost their confidence. The dark was our enemy, hiding danger and, in that moment, a friend that kept my mental fragility unknown.
I looked around quickly, at the women who had once been oppressed by this handgun and saw they were safe. Instead of bullying women with its pimp-like exterior, the General was a shining knight against the forces of dark when in my hands. My thoughts had wandered and wondered again; “Focus, focus now Jesse,” I told myself as the horrors in the night hit me. But my moment of reflection and flashbacks had jeopardised the party. No sooner had I realised the gravity of my mistake, the wicked were onto me.
Six of the devils were on me, lumbering, slavering wanting to flay and rip every piece of flesh from my bones. I turned the pistol around, ready to attack in a hand-to-hand brawl. I had the butt of the pistol and my German hunting blade as fearsome weapons. The ladies froze and I would forgive them as such a sight would have terrified the sane, before or after the Great Change. The hum
an condition would never change. The smell of undead was also distinct. After the fresh air from before, we were reminded of their oppressive stench.
I was on my own for a moment. It was as if the world was in slow motion. I deserved that for having put them in harm’s way via my sentimentality. I kicked forward, snapping the spine of one, teeth sunk into my neck from behind and my big blade, Orion, was brought over my shoulder as I spun to face the biter, while taking off its head.
I side-kicked another zombie to the ground and stabbed to my left; through the skull. The pistol smashed a skull and the melee was in full flight. The ghoulish beast that had been felled by the kick now scratched and gnawed at my leg. I let out a pained cry and chopped down hard, cleaving its skull and sending into the eternal slumber. I was tackled to the ground by the two able zombies. There were an additional two, maimed zombies that weren’t giving up, paralysed from the waist down and crawling toward me. I had thrown myself forward as a sacrifice; I felt duty-bound to give my life, or anything, to get these people out. I felt I owed them that.
It was hell on Earth and horror to most people but I had been there before. I was only partly aware of the screams and cries of the women and the babies that were now howling as well. I had flipped from sentimental and affected by it all to focused and almost emotionless. I was bottling things up and would need to deal with it all later. The trauma of it all; the Rock, Jen, the burden of the people I was committed to saving. It was all pushed down.
I was somewhat numb and on autopilot. I felt some fear of zombies but far too little for a normal person. I was almost at the point of having unnatural lack of fear for what they were. I knew it was over-exposure and I would use this conditioning to full effect in the fight. Biting on my legs and body and arms began and it felt terrible. The feeling of something sinking its teeth into you is like a mosquito landing and feeding on you; you feel an immediate revulsion and plain dirty from being a meal by so many filthy creatures. “Suck it up princess; one leach at a time!” I yelled and stabbed and hacked them off me as best I could.
The group were largely paralysed but Daniela and Rob came to my aid. Just as Alicia had found her moment to shine, these two stepped forward and showed me their best. I was humbled yet again. Pig Iron Bob was good in Daniela’s hands and she hacked one skull in two. Rob had used his rifle-butt and smashed in the skull of the two maimed zombies. The aftermath was me covered in blood and gore; my own and that of many undead. The pile of the beasts caused me to trip and stumble as I tried to get to my feet and restore balance and normalcy. I reloaded the General and wiped some of the gore and blood off my face. “Ready?” I asked. The group looked at me in disbelief but nodded all the same. I must have looked a sight.
The noise had attracted some attention but it was only the odd zombie here or there. We must have had an impact on the local zombie population in and around Cooleman. As we moved onward, as quietly as we could, through that see of grass, my mind wandered to the sheer number of people lost to the Divine virus. So many dead, so many lost, still so many tortured souls. But I refocused and led the group.
As the distant fire at the Rock grew even more distant, we encountered less resistance. One last zombie appeared in the grass and I asked with a whisper, looking at the faces in the group “Who wants him?” It raised morale in some of the team and a few people cracked smiles, made out by the night sky and their clean white teeth. No sooner had I asked, Daniela got up and hacked it to the ground and kept hacking until there were severed pieces that resembled an assembly of various types of roast meat. “Nice,” I said. “I like this girl.” My own narration and commentary kept me focused and normalising the completely abnormal; another coping mechanism I employed. Daniela was a great find and friend on that navigation out of the Rock. She would be a great ally and stalwart in dark times. She slapped me on the back firmly, without much noise. It was acknowledgement and support.
It was as though we were in the clear. People crouched, looked and listened for danger and determined that the night was ours.
The still very unwell, Wayan and Shiva, in particular were still with us and being helped along by the farm-boy, mothers, young ladies; my team of great people. We were ready to take our path again, the one we had earned, to freedom. I scanned the area with keen eyes and ears. “Just a moment, people!” I said emphatically. “Let me sweep the area and confirm we are safe.” The group stopped and I stalked through the long grass. I walked around scanning, stopping, pausing and surveying the area. I was ready to fight again, whatever it took, but it wouldn’t be necessary. The night was silent and the distant fires of hell that burned the Rock held the attention and desires of the region’s remaining zombie population.
“Are we all here? Have we lost anyone?” I whispered to the group. There was looking, whispers and hands confirming people’s presence. We determined we were all there, alive and having survived one hell of an escape. It wasn’t a sure thing and we had overcome incredible odds to get to where we were; freedom and at our own liberty. I recalled Sirocco’s dramatic motorcycle exit and salute, “Liberdade!” I said. The group of survivors heard my little whisper, like the acknowledgement of a prayer, they all said that one word that said so much. There were weary smiles of relief and hugs all around. We had made it away from the Rock, and while we had quite a journey ahead, it was a moment to enjoy and savour success.
“Liberdade! - we are free!” I screamed it to the sky, to my new-found people. There was a careless but well-warranted cheer amongst the group. We were on the road home.
THE END
