“We can carry you if we have to,” Donovan said.
Casey had been listening in and said, “Mason, we can. We’ll do what we have to.”
“My time is numbered in days, maybe hours,” Mason said. “Besides, you said you saw some deaders outside. I can go out and lure them away.”
“We can handle them,” Donovan said.
Mason stared into Donovan’s eyes and said, “Please let me do this. Let my death mean something.”
Donovan felt a tightness in his chest and the hot sting of tears behind his eyes as he tried to blink them away. It took him a few seconds to compose himself, but he finally said, “Okay.”
“Let’s not make this mushy or anything,” Mason said. “I’ve always hated goodbyes. Let’s just say I’ll see you on the other side. Okay?”
“Sure,” Donovan said, still struggling to maintain his composure.
Casey didn’t do as well and threw her arms around Mason and said, “We’ll miss you.”
Mason came close to breaking, his chin quivering, but held it back. She disengaged, and Donovan stepped over next to Lassiter, who was looking out one of the windows.
“Mason’s going to go out first and draw those zombies away from us,” Donovan said.
“He doesn’t have to do that,” Lassiter said. “We have enough hand weapons to take them down quickly and quietly.”
“He wants to do it,” Donovan said, not looking Lassiter in the eyes. “He needs to do it. You know, to feel useful one last time.”
Lassiter was quiet for a few seconds, then he said, “I can see that. Can he do it? I mean, physically?”
“Casey wrapped the wound and gave him some decent pain killers,” Donovan said.”
“You can stop talking like I’m not here now,” Mason said, carefully trying to put weight on his wounded leg. Once he was done, he looked directly at Lassiter and said, “I can do this.” He pulled back his shoulders and said, “Let me do this one last thing.”
Lassiter rubbed his chin and said, “Sure. Let’s get this show on the road with you as the leading act.”
Chapter 109
Stepping Out
Henry pushed through the crowd and came to a set of glass doors at the back of the large dining room. He rested his hand on the push bar as he looked out of the parking lot and beyond. The plan had them heading across the parking lot and then crossing the street. After that was another parking lot, and then they would take the narrow path between the baseball and softball fields. The fences around both fields would shield their movements, but that was a double-edged sword. Once they were between the two fences, they had no view ahead or around them.
The decision came down to keeping a low profile. Plus, going around the fields would leave them exposed for an extended period of time.
“Henry, can we talk?” Molly asked in a quiet voice from over his shoulder.
He didn’t look back but asked, “About what?” There was some sharpness in his tone.
“You know,” she said, but her voice sounded more like a small child’s rather than her regular brash tone.
Still, without looking at her, he said, “This isn’t the place or time.”
“But Henry,” she pleaded.
“It’s time to go,” he said as he shoved on the push bar and opened the door wide. He took a step out and turned back around, then spoke in the command voice his father had taught him. “Let’s move, people.”
Molly put her head down and headed out the door. Clayton and Kent were right behind her. A disgruntled Doc Wilson was behind them, still unhappy to leave his patient behind.
This action broke the dam of inertia, and the other people cautiously followed them out. Anyone watching them would have said they looked like frightened birds as they walked, jerking their heads back and forth in an attempt to capture any potential danger. For their parts, Clayton, Henry, and even Kent tried to look calm and poised. Molly looked like a whipped dog with her head down and her arms limp.
Molly made it ten steps before she wheeled on Henry and shouted, “You’re not done with me, Henry.”
Henry looked toward Molly and looked like he was about to say something, but instead, he turned away and showed her his back. In response, she wore the expression that might have said someone had canceled Christmas. Forever.
Suddenly, she perked up and said, “You can get rid of me that easy.”
Henry continued to ignore her, and she returned to her sullenness.
Most people had rifles, but a few only had handguns. They had all been admonished not to use them unless it was absolutely necessary. Any shots could bring the zombies out of the center of the Sanctum where the disco music held them entranced.
“I can’t believe people ever like that music,” Clayton said.
“Ditto,” Kent said.
Clayton slowed and leaned in closer to Kent, then spoke in a quiet voice. “You and I need to get out of the line and drop back and protect the rear. You with me on this?”
Kent’s expression seemed to say no, but his mouth said, “Yes.”
The two men stepped out of line as Clayton waved the people ahead. “Go ahead,” Clayton said. “Just keep moving,” he added as the line the people walked past him.
Only a few of them heard his words as most were on auto-pilot, following the person ahead of them and looking for any danger.
Henry stepped into the street, looking both ways the way he had been trained as a child. There certainly weren’t any cars, but neither were there any undead. So he forged ahead.
Other than the disco music playing in the distance, the only sound was the soft footfalls of the people behind him. Even the younger children with the group kept quiet, which Henry took as a minor miracle. With as much caution as they employed, they sounded like a ninja army, stealthily moving along.
Henry figured getting this large of a group of people across the street safely was the biggest challenge. When he looked back, he saw Molly looking unnaturally subdued. Doc Wilson wore a grim expression, as did most of the people behind them.
Once Henry hit the sidewalk on the other side of the street, he felt the slightest sense of relief, but he knew they had miles to go before they slept. He weaved around a couple of abandoned cars in the parking lot. All the while, he focused on the narrow gap between the building that butted up against the leftfield wall and what he took to be a batting cage. He didn’t like the way the two fields funneled them down, but it was the only way they could proceed, so he maintained his forward progress.
They marched along like they were in a quiet parade, but there was no joy at all in this. There were no bands. There were no floats with cheerleaders on board waving cheerily. No, there wasn’t one ounce of glee.
Clayton and Kent watched the people pass, most of their expressions fixed in a grim determination, but many just looked scared. That was okay. Fear is what kept them in line and in order.
At the head of the line, Henry kept up a slow and deliberate pace. He passed by the dugout of the softball field when he thought he heard something ahead. It sounded like shuffling footsteps, and that brought him to a dead stop. He shot out an arm to halt the procession, and the group slowly came to a stop, bunching up on each other.
Doc Wilson nearly rammed into Molly’s back but pulled up short just in time. A couple of people grunted, but most of them were quiet.
Molly asked, “What is it?”
“Shhhhh,” Henry said as he lifted his rifle, waiting for whatever was coming their way.
Henry saw little dust clouds popping up in the air over the softball field fence and found it more than curious. In truth, he found it alarming. The only thing he knew was that something was kicking up that dust, and it was more than likely not friendly.
He slowly moved forward, getting close to the backstop where the fence was open with a good view onto the field. When he stopped, he saw a long shadow stretch out along the infield. It was humanoid, but he knew that didn’t mean it was a living, breath
ing human. The shadow moved closer toward the pitcher’s mound, and that’s when Henry discovered that it wasn’t alone as several other shadows followed close behind.
Molly moved up beside him and asked, “I thought we got them all inside?”
“Shut up,” Henry hissed out. “And get ready.”
Molly didn’t like being told to be quiet, but she did as she was told and readied her weapon.
Doc Wilson asked, “Should I move the people back?”
“There’s no going back,” Henry said.
A moment later, a female zombie shambled into view. There was one big difference with this zombie when compared with any of the others they had seen. It was carrying a rocket launcher. Even though it was nearly fifty feet away, he saw something else in the set of the zombie’s eyes. There was intelligence there. There was the intent. Possibly dark intent.
Behind it was a small mob of zombies. Maybe twenty of them, and they looked hungry. But then he asked himself the question of when didn’t they look hungry?
Henry lifted his rifle and aimed it at the female zombie, and shouted, “Don’t come any closer?”
It took a couple of stutter steps, but then it continued towards him. Henry dropped to one knee to steady his aim.
“I will shoot,” he yelled, clicking off the safety.
The female zombie slowed, took a few more steps, coming to a stop thirty-feet away. The zombies behind it didn’t stop, passing by her and surging toward the fence.
“Should I shoot?” Molly asked.
“No, not yet,” Henry said. “I think the fence will stop them.”
“But for how long?” Doc Wilson asked.
Bonds stepped out of the line of people but still maintained a safe assured distance away from Henry, Molly, and Doc Wilson.
“Should we back everyone up?” Bonds asked.
“No,” Henry said, looking back at Bonds.
“Then should we make a run for it?” Bonds asked.
And that’s where they were -- in a no-man’s land. If they went back, then the plan could fall apart. If they moved forward, then the smart zombie could pick them off with the rocket launcher.
Henry tried to target her, but the zombies blocked any shot he had. He could open up and try to shoot through them, but he wasn’t sure how she would react. She was bringing some serious firepower to the fight. He wasn’t sure if she would fire through the cluster of the undead, but he couldn’t put it past her. It seemed that her undead allies were expendable for the most part.
The zombies hit the chain-link fence and clawed at it, wanting to get at the tasty humans outside. Too bad they weren’t smart enough to know how to lift the latch in the gate at the far end of the dugout, but who knew how long that would last. If the smart one forward and opened that latch, then all bets were off.
Still, Henry thought they had enough firepower in their group to take them down, but that didn’t count the extensive amount of firepower the smart one brought to the fight. So, they sat at an impasse.
He knew it wouldn’t last.
“What are we doing, Henry?” Bonds asked.
“We are waiting for her next move,” Henry replied, shifting his gaze across the faces of the dead at the fence, trying to get a glimpse of the smart one, but he couldn’t spot her. “If we move too fast, she can take us out with that rocket launcher.”
“Then we should move back…?” Bonds asked in a tentative tone.
“No,” Henry said, but he wanted to add that he didn’t want to have to say it again. He kept that to himself and stayed on task.
“How long do we wait here?” Bonds asked with a slight whine in his voice. “People are getting scared.”
“We have to wait until it’s time to act,” Henry said.
As it turned out, that time was coming up fast. The smart zombie with the rocket launcher pushed through the front line of zombies against the fence. She held the rocket launcher aimed right at Henry and those people that had stepped up with him.
Henry recognized the weapon from one of the lessons from his father. Or at least thought he did. It looked like an anti-tank weapon of some type. From the way the warhead projected from the front, he guessed it was a rocket-propelled grenade launcher.
Whatever it was didn’t matter. What mattered was that it was aimed at them, and it looked awfully fearsome. Henry knew a direct hit could kill or wound a third of the people standing in the line behind them.
He wasn’t sure what to do at that moment. His dad would have known. That was something he knew for sure, but his father was long dead. Whatever he was going to do, he knew he had to do it fast. He just didn’t have a clue as to what that would be.
Chapter 110
Pawn Sacrifice
The original, small pack of zombies, they had seen earlier, attracted a few more undead followers, clustering up in the parking lot. Their count was up to nearly twenty, which was a little more formidable than the small group they had initially spotted.
It didn’t deter Mason as he pushed the door open. It let out a low creaking noise, and that caused Mason to wince. When he realized that it didn’t matter, he pushed it wide open and let it clang against the side of the building. Before heading out the door, he turned back and took one last look at the people he was going to see for the last time.
Donovan and Casey wore pained expressions, and Casey’s eyes were rimmed with tears.
“No more goodbyes,” Mason said. “I couldn’t take it.”
He turned and went out the door, letting it slam behind him. His leg wouldn’t let him run, but he did a decent job of limping.
“Hey, you ugly sons of bitches,” Mason yelled. “Here I am!”
It was a time-tested trick, make the loudest noise you could, and the zombies couldn’t resist. And they didn’t disappoint as they started after him, shuffling at a pace just slower than Mason’s fast limp.
It didn’t take long for the zombies to take notice of the lone man screaming like a banshee and waving his arm, limping along the side of the wall.
“Hey, hey, hey!” He yelled. “Come and get it. It’s slow and loud. Easy meal on wheels.”
Donovan pressed his head against the window, trying to get a final look at his friend, but the angle was too oblique. The best he could do was listen to Mason’s shouts and watch the pack chase after him. It took everything he had to hold back, because every impulse told him to get out there. To rush out there to protect his friend, but Mason was already lost. When the zombie munched down on his leg, it was all over but the crying.
The last shout he heard was, “Come on, you ugly assholes. Come and get it because I’m serving it hot and fast.”
Maybe Mason got tired of yelling because the next thing Donovan heard was a burst of gunfire. He counted six shots, followed by a yell, but he couldn’t make it out. The impulse to run out the door nearly overwhelmed him, but he closed his eyes and tried not to listen.
Casey put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. The strength in it flowed through his body, giving him the determination needed to restrain himself. The needs of the many over the needs of the one. It was a cold equation, but it was a resolve he had to have.
Two more shots sounded, and that was it. The last remnants of Mason, those two shots, echoed and decayed, dissipating to nothing. His final sacrifice for his people and the people of the Sanctum.
Lassiter spoke from a few feet away, “I think the coast is clear.” There was a short pause. “We should move.”
Donovan knew Lassiter was right, but while his resolve held, the rest of him felt shaky.
He turned to Lassiter and said, “Get them ready and go over the rules again. No noise. No shooting. We take down any deaders with hand weapons.”
“I’ve gone over it with them,” Lassiter said.
“Do it again,” Donovan said. “We can’t have any screw-ups.”
“Okay, one more time around, then we go,” Lassiter said. He headed off, wading into the crowd again, talking in a s
oft voice, but emphatically re-stating the plan. He hoped they listened, because their lives might depend on it.
“Is this going to work?” Casey asked.
Donovan spoke in a quiet voice, “Hey, a fifteen-year-old kid came up with it. That makes it golden.” He tried to smile but couldn’t pull it off. “Yeah, I do think it will work. The challenge is at the back gate. If everything goes right, we’ll all be fine.”
Lassiter cut through the crowd and made his way back to Donovan and Casey. Once he arrived, he said, “They’re as ready as they ever will be.”
Donovan knew he could count on his people, so at least he had that.
“Let’s go,” he said, and he started toward the door Mason had exited. Just like Mason, he put his hands on the push bar, knowing that as soon as he opened that door, it was on.
He thought he felt the metal humming under his fingers, but he knew that was only in his mind. It was just metal. Pushing it puts all of them at risk. Maybe staying inside and waiting was the better plan?
He knew better. It was go-time. He pressed the bar and gave the door a gentle push. Sunlight streamed in, forcing him to blink away its brilliance. He looked back and said, “Let’s go.”
Then he was out the door with Casey right behind him. Lassiter was next out, and, strangely enough, the rest of the people followed.
Chapter 111
Left Behind
“You should have gone with them,” Jones said, his head bowed from pain and exhaustion.
“And leave you here all by yourself?” Jo said, trying to sound cheery and light, but knowing she wasn’t pulling it off.
Jo had moved them away from the back windows and into an adjoining room. It took all of her strength to make it happen because Jones had little ability to help himself and he was a big man. The only way she was able to do it was to drag him in a chair which made long black marks on the floor, making her think of tire tracks.
The Deadland Chronicles | Book 4 | Siege of the Dead: Page 46
