by Maira Dawn
Weston was resigned to his fate, and it showed in his next words. "We're dyin anyway. You'd be doing us a favor. This disease --" He spit on the ground. "It's the most ungodly, revolting thing there is. We're wastin away and wastin away in that camp would just be more gruesome." Weston sighed. "We only wanted a little time. A little time to live decent, while we could."
Tom scanned the group and rubbed his chest. He glanced at Dylan. "This could been us, D. It could be Tricia trying to get what little joy life has left for her, counting down the years in minutes." He shook his head, then yelled out to Weston. "We're not just gonna shoot you down. Let’s talk this out."
Weston barked a bitter laugh. "I lost everything that made this life worth livin a long time ago. My wife and my children to this sickness almost the day it started. My farm and house to frightened townspeople thinking they could keep the disease away. Fighting wasn't an option then, wouldn't have helped if I tried. Now you come in here attempting to take this small piece of ground we worked so hard to find. This time, I'm ready. You ain't gonna just shoot us down, I wouldn't let you if you tried. That's the thing about us humans, we fight to the bitter end no matter how bitter it is. No, we're going to make this a party. We might be dyin, but we're taking some of with us."
A roar went up among Weston's people. They moved for small weapons hidden around the camp.
Dylan shook his head. Tom did all he could to talk them in, and they weren't having it. Dylan watched as the Sick and Infected cheered themselves on and felt his stomach tighten. Planting his feet, he raised his rifle to his shoulder. This was going exactly as he'd thought it would.
6
Get This Done
Tom threw up his arms. "Wait!"
"There ain't nothing to wait for!" Weston replied as he raised his hand. Flinging it down, he shouted, "Shoot!"
Tom dove for cover, landing at Dylan's feet, as Dylan ducked the onslaught of bullets.
Tom's orders had been clear. The horde couldn't have much ammo. The deputies would wait them out, let them waste their bullets, then go scoop them up. Chaos erupted as the horde's shots blasted the trees, bushes, and ground around Tom's men. Dirt kicked up from the bare ground. Small twigs and leaves hailed down on them from above.
Dylan flinched and went cold when something hit his arm. He snorted. A small rock was embedded in his arm. He flicked it out and took up his weapon again.
Tom's men backed away from the volley of bullets, taking shelter just outside the horde's range. Once Weston's group realized their strategy wasn't working, the racket subsided.
"Fight us!" Weston bellowed.
Tom gestured for his men to stay steady and low.
"Fight us!"
Tom called out to him. "We don't want to fight you! We want a peaceful resolution to this. Let's work this out."
"I told you what was gonna happen here today. You can come out and face us or hide in those bushes, but it's happenin. Without a doubt, it's happenin."
Tom scrubbed a hand over his face. "He's not leaving me much choice here," he murmured, "and they need to be taken care of, one way or another." Tom squared his shoulders and gestured toward the house. His men sent a volley of their own.
Tom's men avoided hurting anyone. This was a show of strength, not a slaughter. Tom hoped they would see he had the superior firepower and co-operate. Still, their shots broke windows and splintered siding. Bullets sheared garden plants and exploded the ground around the horde.
Most Infected ducked and ran, taking shelter on the far side of the house and leaving the disoriented Sick screaming and vulnerable to attack.
Tom gave the order to stop firing. Once it was quiet, he shouted, "Like I said, I have others with me."
The horde stayed hidden, their angry voices disagreeing over their next move.
Dylan crouched, leaning back against a tree trunk, Wade at his side. "Now we wait," Wade said, his eyes gleaming with excitement. While Dylan could and would do what was necessary, it was Wade who found the most enjoyment in confrontation. Dylan had it in him to enjoy violence but hated that part of his personality. He reminded himself he was here for Skye and Jesse and the others on the mountain -- for a purpose. Dylan hadn't had that before. He did now. Instead of relishing the battle, he would wait and savor a victory.
Wade nudged him. "Come on, bro!" He wanted to see a matching light in his brother's eyes.
"I wanna get this done, for them -- all of them."
Wade agreed. He set his jaw. "Oh, we will."
While Tom's men waited, the horde got impatient. Every so often they would send a small volley toward the men, but Tom's group let it pass without returning fire.
Until the bullets came from in front and behind them.
Dylan and Wade dropped to one knee, twisting around to find the new source of firepower. A long line of the enemy crept among the trees behind Tom's people attempting to corral them. The middle of the line contained the most normal of the Infected holding their best weapons. Each end included the sickest of the group. Frantic from the noise of the guns, the lumbering Sick had been tied together to keep them in place.
Dylan hissed. It was a brilliant plan, they used the Sick as weapons.
Dylan's noise caught Tom and Wade's attention. Dylan pointed out the enemy. The situation had just become more complicated, and Tom needed to make a decision.
Tom eyed the army in front and behind his own. "I'm reluctant to split our people --"
Dylan watched Tom's thoughts play along his face with the familiarity known only to childhood friends. He knew the decision Tom made even before it cemented in his friend's mind. He slipped a weapon into Tom's hand and waved to Wade and a few others to follow him, leaving Tom and the rest to the group in the woods.
Dylan and the men who followed him weaved across the small, grassy glen, using what little cover was available. The horde behind the house fired on them. Someone grunted in pain, but Dylan wasn't sure who as no one stopped.
Once Dylan's people made it to the house, they slapped their backs against the rough siding, holding their guns ready. Tom wanted this done with as little bloodshed as possible. Deputized or no, Dylan felt the same way.
These people were in an impossible situation, one he could possibly be in one day. The thought made him merciful, but the bullets firing around him tempered that compassion. One almost caught Dylan as he peered around the edge of the wall. He huffed. You ain't stoppin us from getting home tonight.
Dylan's gaze flicked to the battle raging in the woods, hoping that Tom was winning, then stilled when stealthy steps came around the side of the house. The Infected were making a move. Quickly, he did a mental inventory of his weapons, deciding on a course of action.
Out of his pocket, he pulled a flash-bang and showed it to Wade. If they caught a break, these would work well to stun Weston's army as the diseased were sensitive to light and sound.
Before Dylan got into position, two bold Infected ran down the side of the house firing their weapons. Wade and another of the men moved to the corner of the building, waiting at the edge for the Infected to reach it. Dylan moved behind them while gesturing for the others to take the opposite corner.
Cool and calm, Wade crouched, his finger ready on the trigger. The enemy was messy and disorganized in their approach. Dylan's men waited, letting them come. The Infected rounded the corner, their guns raised.
Wade fired, and the Infected fell, their own shots going wild. Knowing their wounds were unlikely to be fatal, Wade took their guns from them and zip-tied their wrists as they moaned and thrashed on the ground.
Dylan wasted no time in stepping out around them. He threw a flash-bang to the other side of the house where the remaining Sick and Infected were. Then he stepped back using the house for cover as he waited for the explosion.
When it came, the horde roared their confusion and ran out from behind the wall. Dylan and his men took advantage of the chaos and rushed the disoriented people.
Dylan gr
inned at his brother as they got this horde under control. Wade and a couple others shoved the lurching, dirty Sick into the house. They could deal with them later. Dylan stationed men around the near-normal Infected, guns pointing directly at them. For all their fierce talk of fighting to the end, most became resigned to their fate and allowed their hands to be tied.
But the fight still burned within a few. And when Dylan turned to survey the situation, he saw Weston almost upon him.
7
Flash Bang
Tom had been surprised Dylan read him so well. He hadn't known his friend could do that. And thrilled by what he'd left behind.
Gotta love that guy. He looked down at the two flash-bangs in his hand.
Where Dylan picked up the stun grenade was of no consequence to Tom. Now that he had them, he was going to use them.
The battle raged at the house, but Tom kept his mind on his own war. He needed to believe Dylan and Wade had theirs in hand, it was the only way Tom would get through this one.
Sweat ran down his body and nausea threatened as he fought the Sick, first with weapons then hand to hand. He tried to keep Weston's army at firing distance, but it hadn't worked. They were upon them
The Infected Tom fought hand-to-hand was tough, but Tom was finally getting the upper hand. The man's iron grip on Tom's neck caused the sheriff to gasp for breath. If Tom didn't do something soon, he would pass out.
Taking the Infected's head in both his hands, Tom banged it against the ground until the man released the vicious hold he had on Tom. Then taking advantage of his upper hand, Tom quickly zip-tied his wrists and ankles.
Tom stood and looked for his next target only to find that he was the target. Tom's stomach tightened. Three Sick held guns on him and his men. Most of the sheriff's army came to a standstill as they eyed him for direction.
"Weapons down, hands up!" said the Infected taking the lead.
Dylan's explosion near the house startled everyone. Tom took advantage of the distraction. Drawing the flash-bang from his pocket, the sheriff released the pin and threw it directly at the gunmen.
"Duck!" he said to his own men as he crouched, covering his ears and squeezing his eyes shut.
Once the brilliant flash receded, Tom's men rushed the Infected and quickly subdued them. After gathering up the few roped Sick still staggering the woods, Tom looked over at the house and glen.
Dylan's men had a large group of the Sick surrounded, but some were still resisting. Tom's heart sank as he watched Weston ambush Dylan.
8
Getting Home
There was almost no time before Weston was upon him. Dylan steadied himself. Still, the smack of Weston's body slamming into his and the blow as Dylan hit the ground was a shock. Air burst from his lungs and refused to return. His heart beat against his eardrums, the one sound Dylan heard as he struggled to breathe. Only sheer force of will enabled him to choke in any air at all.
Weston rained blows on the stunned Dylan. But instead of ending in his defeat, it fueled Dylan’s fight. Gasping and coughing, Dylan threw punches of his own.
Weston's refusal to give in stirred others within his beaten group. More than one of those subdued began to fight again. Dylan's men had a hard time containing the horde. More than one man now had the enemy on him. The tables seemed to have turned again.
A shot rang out, and one of Dylan's men screamed and crumbled.
Dylan's guard lowered for a second, long enough for Weston to grab a knife from his belt and raise it over him. Dylan's straining arms shook as he struggled to stop the knife's downward trek toward his heart.
His world became small. There was only this man, this knife, this moment.
Dylan slammed him in the side with a knee. Weston yelled. It had the desired effect, Dylan rolled the two of them.
Weston pulled his knife back, causing Dylan to lurch forward. He put a hand to Dylan's shoulder and lowered his blade, aiming for his side.
Dylan saw the weapon but had little time to react. He arched his body away from Weston's knife but not enough to avoid its cut.
He hissed as the knife drove through his skin and into the muscles below. Pain ran red through his mind. He shoved the agony away, sticking to the task at hand, the only useful lessons his father's abuse ever taught him.
Smashing his fist into Weston's face, he dazed him. Dylan ground his teeth, as inch by inch, the blade slid out of him like a fire-hot branding iron.
Dylan smashed the man's knife hand against the ground, again and again, watching his own blood fly from the blade onto the grass with each blow. Finally, Weston cried out, dropping the knife.
With shaking hands, Dylan zip-tied Weston's wrists and ankles before pushing himself upright, only to hit the dirt again as someone slammed him from behind.
Dylan's strength waned. The world spun as he struggled to turn in the man's grasp.
The Infected man used only his fists, but they were enough. Seeing Dylan's bloody side, he aimed for this vulnerable spot. He hammered the knife wound with his tightly clenched fists.
Dylan gasped in pain, his body instinctively wrapping itself around his injury. He worked at two things only, slowing the man down where he could and fighting for whatever breath he could drag in over the painful torment. He knew he wouldn't last long.
Dylan had never been bested in a fight, and he did everything in his power not to lose this one. He continued to twist and punch. Occasionally, he landed a solid strike, but nothing stopped the man.
Blood soaked Dylan's side, his skin torn and battered. After one particularly harsh blow, Dylan let out an anguished, pain-filled yell.
Gasping and heaving, the world turning dark, Dylan had seconds before he lost consciousness. He clawed the ground for a weapon, any weapon. His desperate mind sped through his options, and he remembered one last item. Dylan reached into his pocket and yanked out a flash-bang. Taking a final punch, Dylan pulled the pin before rolling the stun grenade. It stopped dangerously close to himself and his attacker.
Dylan put his hands to his ears, closed his eyes, and turned his head away as best he could from the blast.
The infected man stopped and started to stand, but it was too late. The light and sound caught the man full in the face. He fell to the ground, temporarily blind and deaf.
His own fight over, Wade rushed to Dylan's side. "Bro, I heard ya, but I couldn't get away." His sympathetic face scanned Dylan's bruised, bleeding body. "You got it bad."
He must look rough because Wade wasn't looking so good himself. "Help me up.” Dylan grunted out the words.
Wade frowned. "I don't know, man, I think ya should stay down."
"No, I want up."
Dylan slung his arm over Wade's shoulder, and his brother slowly raised him from the ground. As he straightened, he let out another pained shout.
Wade shot Dylan a sharp glance. In all his life, Dylan had never cried out like that, not in all their rough adventures nor in all their father's abuse. Wade often screamed his rage or cried his pain, but Dylan learned long ago not to verbalize his suffering.
Tears ran down the faces of both the men. Dylan from his agony. Wade for his brother.
"See, it's over, D."
As Dylan swayed against Wade taking in Tom and his group as they rounded up the Infected and Sick. Dylan's vision darkened, but he relaxed. Everything was in hand now.
Relief slackened his broken body even more, and Wade struggled to hold him upright. Dylan held a hand to his raw, tortured side as darkness overcame him. He fell again, but this time his brother softened the blow.
His face drawn in pain, a tiny smile curved the left side of his mouth as one last thought passed through his mind before he blacked out.
We're gettin home tonight.
9
Quarantine
Skye sat on the living room couch and watched the sun break through the clouds for the first time in a long while and smiled. She listened in on Dylan and Jesse's conversation as their low v
oices discussed their current model car construction over their morning coffee. Wade banged skillets onto the stovetop as he prepared to make breakfast. She glanced at him and held back a soft laugh. Wade was so noisy in the kitchen, Skye was sure he felt it a requirement.
Days had passed since the battle. Time she and Jesse had struggled on their own as the men remained in quarantine after the fight. The protective gear Tom handed out before the fight hadn’t been used. Though most of them had either been through the AgFlu or thought they were immune, no one wanted to risk their families after the close interaction they'd had with the Sick.
When Skye had gotten word about Dylan's injuries, she raced to the old, deserted cottage used as a quarantine center, but Wade refused to let her in. One mention of Jesse and she backed down. Skye wouldn't endanger him anymore than the men would.
So instead, she'd paced outside the cabin until Wade yelled out they had Dylan patched up as best they could, and he was resting. After that, she took the lead in gathering food, blankets, and other necessities for the men staying at the old place.
After setting cleaning supplies by the front door, Skye stepped back and waited for Wade to open it. "Please Wade, make sure you give the cabin a thorough washing. Especially wherever Dylan and the other injured men will be."
"It ain't that bad in here, I was kinda surprised," Wade said, looking around behind him.
Concern covered Skye's face. "It's been deserted for who knows how long. Animals may have been in there, mold, lots of things that could cause problems."
"Yeah, I'm just sayin --"
"Just say you'll clean it!"
Wade couldn't ignore the panic on Skye's face. "I don't know about these other guys, but ya know we keep a good house. It'll be nice and germ-free."
