by Mark Tufo
I stand, perplexed, staring at Trip. I’m nearly overwhelmed by the change in not only his expression, but also by his voice and wording. No longer is Trip the man who never left the sixties standing in front of me, but some stranger who happens to look similar.
“But, you can’t blindly trust,” I say.
“Can you not?” Trip asks, his expression curious.
“Trust is built up over time, just like anything else. Blindly trusting from the get-go can lead to a disaster.”
“It can. And, it can lead to great wonders. However, I’m not saying to blindly trust. I’m talking more about blindly not trusting. Just because something is done differently doesn’t mean that it’s wrong. Have I not shown you that, at the very least?”
“Fair enough. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you arbitrarily poke at switches.”
“But, if we get to the device, one you claim not to understand, won’t it seem like I’m arbitrarily poking at switches?” Trip replies.
I don’t say a word. Trip’s focused and alert expression fades, his eyes again hazing over into his perpetually stoned state. He reaches into this packet, withdraws a freshly rolled joint, and puts it to his lips. He lights it and looks at me.
“Want a hit, Yack?” he says, handing the joint in my direction, its tip glowing with a wisp of smoke rising.
I shake my head. Shrugging, he turns back to the controls, rubbing his chin with the lit joint in his mouth. He raises a hand toward a bank of switches and buttons. I grab his arm and hold it in place.
“Still nope,” I say. “But, I will work on building that trust.”
He shrugs and turns to walk away. Near the exit, he looks over his shoulder and smiles, the previous expression of alertness showing for a brief moment. Still a little disturbed by the conversation and the complete difference exhibited by Trip, I trudge outside to meet up with Mike. With sore arms and back, we lug another battery over to a second vehicle and manage to get that one started, too.
“Well, seems like the perfect time to set up an ambush?” Mike says, leaning backward with his hands at the small of his back to stretch out cramped muscles.
“We should wait until dark to do that. There might be whistlers out and about, and I’d rather not be seen. There’s enough daylight remaining, so I’d like to place another device along our line of travel to be activated when we get the fuck out of here. With any luck, the whistler reaction will be delayed, and the zombies will have gathered enough to hold up any pursuit,” I reply.
“I’m good with that.”
Walking parallel to the tracks within the woods, Mike at my side and Trip a little behind, I feel the skin along the back of my neck crawl. Without giving any indication that I noticed something is amiss, I look through the shadows of the trees. Afternoon rays angle through the openings, casting light on dried pine needles, small bushes struggling to survive, and against the bark of tall evergreens. I don’t see anything resembling a human outline or head poking from around a trunk or above any bushes. The slight breeze filtering through the woods is coming from in front, so I’m not able to smell anything.
“Do you feel that?” Mike whispers.
“We’re being watched,” I return. “I don’t see anything in front or to the sides.”
“Me either. That pretty much only leaves one direction.”
“I think we can dispense with it being whistlers or night runners,” I mention.
“And we’d hear zombies if they were coming up behind us.”
“Curse you for having fucking smart zombies. I mean, really?! Why?” I mutter.
“Hey, I didn’t make them. Fuck, if it were up to me, I’d be sitting my ass in a rocking chair on the porch with a beer in hand,” Mike comments. “And a cold one, not that warm shit the Germans like.”
“I’m still blaming you,” I say. “Okay, seeing as these things like to ambush, we’ll keep going. There’s a small ridgeline ahead with a decline on the other side. Once we’re out of sight, you and Trip quickly cut to the right and head deeper into the woods before circling back. I’ll proceed on ahead and go into cover to see how they react when they lose sight of us. They’re cunning, so be ready for anything.”
“Got to admit, I’m not thrilled with splitting up again. Didn’t they have horror movies where you’re from?” Mike asks.
I look at Mike, wondering what that has to do with anything.
“Yeah,” I respond. “But, we have to. It’s the best tactic available to us.”
“Okay, then, you take Trip,” Mike says.
The very thought strikes fear into my heart.
“Not such a good tactic now, is it? Relax. Apparently because I’ve known him an hour longer than you, I’m stuck with him,” Mike continues.
“It’s not like that,” I respond. “I’m used to working alone.”
“We haven’t known each other for a long time, and I hope you don’t take this the wrong way,” Mike says, then flips me the bird.
I chuckle. “Once we’re in the ravine ahead, head up the hill. Once we’re finished here, we’ll meet back on the ridge ahead. Make sure to announce your presence—I’d hate to shoot you, and might even have a qualm or two about hitting Trip. I’ll remain in plain view. Make sure to tell Trip in easy to understand terms that he’s not to hit me. I’ve seen what he can do with that fucking slingshot. If things go south and we have to evade, rendezvous back at the overlook.”
Taking a few steps and pausing to listen and look, we draw closer to where the land raises a touch and then slopes downward. I feel the pinpricks on the back of my head and neck, and have to force aside my natural reaction to turn around and see what’s causing the feeling of being watched. You don’t stare directly at a foe you’re trying to ambush or evade. Everyone feels when they’re being watched, some to a greater extent than others. However, a known enemy location is better than being surprised. I don’t want to do anything that might alert them and have them move away to come up with a different plan.
At the bottom of the hill, Trip takes off in a rush, scurrying up a narrow, bush-choked ravine with towering trees. Mike remains in place for a moment before following as I duck into the thick brush nearby. Wasting little time, I start up the opposite side at an angle, the bushes giving way to trunks. Near the top, I crawl so as not to silhouette myself and give away my position. Nestling next to the base of a tree with a good vantage point, I look across the ravine.
I watch our back trail as best I can from my vantage point. Being close to the ground, my perspective isn’t as great. But, I see several shadowy figures dart from tree to tree as they draw closer to where we descended. In my mind’s eye, I visualize Mike and Trip climbing up the hill and circling around. I wait to see what will happen when our followers reach the descent and notice that we’ve dropped out of sight.
Now that there is a semblance of a plan and perhaps a chance of returning to my world, every delay is frustrating. I feel the interruption gnawing at my stomach. But, I keep a quiet internal mantra to stay in the present and not jump too far ahead. Not focusing on the danger in front can lead to an early grave, so I force myself to focus on the here and now. At the moment, there isn’t a facility to be penetrated or whistlers to thin, only our pursuers darting between the trees.
A quick flash of movement brings one of the followers into view. A pale face framed by long, dark, greasy locks peeks from around a trunk at the top of the hill. I bring my eye to the scope and look through the 4× magnification; the purple lips and sunken eyes make it easy to determine that the woman isn’t among the living. Small twigs and pine needles randomly stick out from her hair as if she tried to tie them in like ribbons. Her eyes stare along where our path should have been, then dart to both sides as she tries to spot where we’ve gone. Her actions confirm that she’s one of those faster, smarter zombies from Mike’s world.
Why do the smarter ones always seem to be women? Is this proof that women are actually smarter? I think, watching to see
what action they’ll take.
The woman motions with her hand. I watch as several dark shadows move from behind trees and dart up the slope. They’re either heading to another vantage point to see where we’ve gone or they’re trying to outflank us. I wish I could communicate with Mike to tell him company is heading his way, but I’m sure he’ll see them before too long. The woman motions again and turns the other way, descending down the slope to the tracks where she and three others cross to vanish into the opposite tree line.
Well, shit! I didn’t expect that, I think, watching the last of the zombies race into the trees.
I’m left in my well-conceived ambush without anyone to ambush, feeling a touch foolish like I’ve been juked by a child. Now, there’s nothing left but to track them down. However, crossing the open rails will put me at a disadvantage if I’m spotted. Maybe they knew where I was and set up an ambush on the other side in the hopes that I’d follow. Schemes within schemes. My mind races with alternatives. I could turn and go in the direction we were headed and cut them off, but they might not have gone that way. If I circle out of sight in the other direction to cross further up, I may not find them again, and we’ll have to play this game again.
Slowly rising from my position, I realize just how beat I am. As a younger gent, I wouldn’t have given it a second thought and could keep going for a lot longer. The stress and constant adrenaline has taken its toll like never before, and I can’t afford to let fatigue affect my thought processes. After all, that’s the only real advantage I have over these creatures. Well, that and firepower. Enough firepower can overcome some stupid decisions, but not all. I’d like to finish this and lie down for a week, but I still have a long day and night ahead. That very thought makes me even more tired. All I want to do is sit in the shade by the tree and let whatever happens, happen.
Forcing myself to take that first step, I move carefully back down into the ravine. My eyes are constantly roving. There are cunning zombies to both sides, and I haven’t a clue as to the exact location of either group. The smart thing would be to turn and meet up with Mike and Trip, but I’ve never been accused of being overly bright. I’m fairly confident that the woman is the leader of this group and I don’t want to leave her to her own wiles for too long. I may not get that sixth sense the next time. Sure, Trip is there and would probably do something to give warning, but I’d probably wrongly interpret it.
With a glance uphill toward where Mike went, I climb the hill and proceed forward before turning toward the tracks. Halting just inside the tree line, I peer across the lines of rails to see if I can spot movement within the deep shadows. I keep glancing behind to see if those the woman directed up the hill are returning, but nothing is moving among the trunks. For a brief moment, I wonder if there is a telepathic connection between these zombies. After all, they’ll have to rejoin each other at some point, and I don’t know how they’d be able to do that.
Scanning the ground across the tracks again, I draw in a deep breath and exhale to steady myself.
Sometimes you just have to take a risk and hope it pans out, I think, rising.
I’m further up the tracks from where the zombies crossed, so at least I won’t run headlong into any ambush they may have set up on the other side. However, if they sight me, then the advantage goes to them, and that’s not a comforting thought. Lunging forward, I break out of the trees and into the bright light, running across the chunks of rocks serving as the rail bed. It seems like I’m in the open for far too long; the opposite trees aren’t getting any closer. Not for the first time in my life, I think I’ve made a mistake, letting my ego make my decisions.
I should have met up with Mike, I think, wondering if I haven’t tried to rush through this in my haste to get to the facility.
All of sudden, I’m across, and I turn sideways through a small gap in the overgrowth. The bright sunshine turns into shadow as I plunge into the tree line and settle by a large trunk. I scan the terrain ahead as my eyes adjust to the light difference, searching for movement or the telltale outline of a body or head. Nothing. And the only sound is the wind rustling through the overhead boughs. By now, surely the woman knows they’ve been spotted, which puts us on an even keel. Neither one of us knows where the other is.
In deepest shadows, I slowly move from trunk to trunk, picking up the trail where they entered the woods. Staying deeper in the forest, I parallel their tracks, watching to see if they split off. So far, they are keeping together, making a beeline parallel to the rails. My thought is they think we continued on and are trying to get ahead of us. The others that had headed up the hill may have turned as well in an attempt to attack us from two sides. If so, they’ll either run straight into Mike or they may miss each other altogether. I’m fully confident Mike can handle whatever he runs into on his own. Unless we’ve just run into a scouting party for an enormous horde of smart ones. I haven’t seen anything of the like so far, but in this world, that doesn’t mean much.
I continue moving forward, careful not to betray myself through an inadvertent snap of a twig or the brush of my pack against bark. Stalking like this carries divergent emotions. On the one hand, it’s thrilling almost beyond compare. I suppose that’s a deep emotional content from early humankind where you’re pitting yourself against another with the highest possible stakes. On the other, anxiety threatens to creep through the block I’ve placed on it. Am I making the right decision? Heading the right way? Have I missed an important element?
Several times, I come to an abrupt halt mid-step, not daring to move a muscle as some trunk from a fallen tree or struggling bush takes on a decidedly human silhouette. In those moments, I pause for the longest time, trying to decipher the shadows before eventually concluding that what I’m looking at isn’t surrounded by flesh.
A little way further, I catch a faint rotting odor before seeing the distinct outline of a body pressed up against a trunk. She’s looking toward the tracks, so I’m at least assured she didn’t see me cross. The shadows under the boughs partially conceal a grimy and torn dress, the ends shredded to expose the pale flesh of her knees and lower legs. Blackened tissue shows in bloodless gouges along her shins and calves.
Searching for her friends, I finally see them positioned behind her and to one side, all of them gathered behind trees close together. I’m again amazed at their cunning and tactical ability. They may not be a SEAL team, but I wonder just how these zombies are able to think that coherently. The woman’s clothing suggests that she didn’t possess this trait in her previous life, so it must have been learned after she became a predator.
Okay, advantage back to me, I think, slowly pulling back.
Moving deeper into the woods while keeping an eye toward their position, I furtively sneak around behind them. I’ll have to move quickly once the first shot is fired, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to get them all before they figure out what’s happening. My suppressor will make my shots quieter, but without using sub-sonic ammo, there will still be sound.
I should have broken down this carbine instead my M-4 until I ran out of ammo, I think, creeping forward.
Adjusting my position so that I have the woman and the other three zombies in view, I slowly raise the carbine to my shoulder and sight in. I place my small crosshair on the first one to the right.
All right, Jack. These have to be headshots.
I find myself wishing I had a higher caliber weapon, something along the lines of a 6.5mm. That would carry a lot more penetrating power—the lighter calibers can slide around to ricochet off the thick bone of the skull if they hit at the right angle. However, there’s nothing to be done about that at the moment. I have what I have unless I want to risk longer shots with my 9mm.
My finger tightens on the trigger, the reticle unwavering from the back of the zombie’s skull. The recoil kicks back against my shoulder, the popping sound reverberating off the trees. The zombie’s head rocks forward and slams against the tree at the same time as a splash
of dark liquid coats the bark. The creature slides down, its face grinding into the rough bark, leaving a dark smear, before falling backward and hitting the ground with a thump.
Quickly adjusting my aim, I place the reticle on the next one in line, sending a round streaking through the woods until it connects with a solid thud. The bullet slams forcefully into the thick bone, punching a hole in the back of the head. The splintered round carves through the soft tissue, some pieces tumbling and turning parts of the brain into a mushy stew. The fragments crash into the front skull, one piece slicing through the orbital socket before embedding in the bark, followed by blackened pieces of brain tissue and the salty liquid of the eye.
Bark flies from exiting slivers of bullet. The zombie holds completely still, as if nothing happened. The tissue-covered bark and dark liquid trickling out of a hole in the back of its head are the only indications that my bullet struck true. Slowly, the zombie tilts to one side, gaining momentum as gravity takes hold. It also hits the ground with a thump, a small flurry of dust and pine needles puffing out from the impact.
The third zombie is turning its head by the time my third round hits, striking it just behind the ear. The bullet carves a deep furrow around the back of the creature’s head, gouging deeply into the bone. Dark blood splashes outward from the wound and the force of the hit drives its head into the tree. I fire again, not taking any chances. The next bullet hits just above the ear. A chunky mist explodes out the other side, some pieces striking the surrounding trunks with meaty slaps.
The muted popping of my shots echoes through the surrounding area as I aim toward the woman, only to see a streak of shadow move away and out of sight. I follow through my sight, catching glimpses as she runs among the trees. I follow her path as she parallels the tracks. Almost out of view, she turns to head deeper into the woods.
