by Matt Hart
“Was that a gunshot?” he asked.
“Yeah,” said Richard. “Either really far away or a small caliber like a .22” Another gunshot sounded. “That one sounded closer.”
“Maybe we should take cover, just in case?” asked Jeffrey, already walking toward a building.
“Sure,” agreed Richard. “Just get off the road and between those buildings,” he said, gesturing to the left with his rifle. “Take point and I'll bring up the rear.” Jeffrey nodded and headed for the gap between the two warehouses on the left, with Richard right behind him.
Chapter 4
Mark : Salisburg, Massachusetts
I was startled awake by the sound of a gunshot. A second one cracked out as Jen awoke beside me. “What was…” she began, but stopped when she saw me with my finger on my lips. I folded the blanket and stuffed it in my pack.
“Get those mowers moved and cut the lines so we can get out of here,” I told her in a low voice. She nodded once and moved to the mowers. I made sure the Chiappa .22/20 survival rifle was loaded and picked up my pack, then scrambled under the fence. I put on the backpack as Jen followed me out.
“I don't see any zombies,” she whispered.
“No, but…” I began, but stopped as we heard another gunshot. “Not far away, big caliber rifle,” I said. I went to the corner of the building and sliced the scene. “All clear,” I told Jen as I moved around to the side of the building.
“No zombies at the store?” asked Jen. “At least it doesn't look like it from here.”
“Maybe, I'm not close enough to tell.” We moved between the trucks and closer to the storefront. When we were across the street, we could both see that the convenience store had been emptied of zombies.
“They must be going toward the sound of those shots,” said Jen as another shot cracked out. “Do you think they're friendly?”
I thought about it. “I don't know. Let's see if we can spot them.” We moved behind a big dump truck – the same one I'd hidden under the evening before – and then crawled until we could see down the street next to the store. Whoever was shooting had switched to a smaller caliber rifle, probably a .22. I heard Jen gasp behind me as the battle came into view.
“It's him, it's Richard!” she said in a panicked whisper. I looked down the street. There was a line of zombies, dead from headshots, starting at almost two hundred yards from the pair of camouflaged gunners.
He’s a good shot.
There were at least two people, but I couldn’t make them out, other than the Mongo-sized one must be Richard. It looked like he was doing most of the shooting. The other was obscured behind his bulk. He dropped another creature with a single shot as we watched, and with what was probably a .22 no less!
“Come on, we've got to get out of here!” said Jen, pulling at my arm.
“Hold on,” I said, thinking. “Let's disable his ride first.” We crawled back under the dump truck. It was maybe fifty yards or so to the old man’s truck across the street. It wouldn't take long for Richard to get some gas into it—at least I knew it wouldn't take me too long. There were plenty of vehicles around this rental place and a few more at that store—he could drain the gas from their tanks with nothing but a screwdriver and a water bottle.
I took aim at the truck’s front tire and fired the .22. I couldn't tell if it penetrated, though – it might have just bounced off at this distance.
The sound of the distant .22 was replaced by the loud boom of a shotgun.
Gotta make this quick.
I crawled from beneath the truck and jogged across the street until I was twenty yards away. I reloaded the .22 and fired again. This time the tire popped and started to deflate. I reloaded again and shot another tire, then reloaded and took out a third tire.
Takes a long time to reload this stupid thing.
I ran across the street and took Jen’s hand.
“That's it, let's get out of here!” I said in a low voice. I handed Jen the rifle and took her hand, then ran up the street toward the bridge—back the way I'd come from the highway.
We were going to have to take the long way home.
Chapter 5
Erin : San Diego, California
I woke up to the sound of rattling and banging, disoriented and confused. I heard the sounds of pots and pans crashing in the dark and I struggled to make my brain work. I was lying on the floor on some blankets.
“Erin!”
Well, that's my name, so I must be in the right place. “Joe?” The fog lifted, but it was still dark.
“My alarm system. Someone is around.”
What alarm system? All I remembered was crashing after we took the house from the wackos who shot at us. Well, someone was around, and that must mean we didn't know who they were. Could be zombies, could be more jerks trying to do whatever it is jerks do.
“Got a light, Camo Joe?”
“Yep.” He turned on his headlamp, so I looked around for my gear. My backpack and guns were on one side of my “bed”, and my baton and machete were on the other with my tool belt. I strapped on the belt and picked up my bandolier. I held it out in front of me.
“Thanks for reloading it.”
“You bet.” Joe picked up his rifle. “We can take the truck outside, but I started it last night and it's loud. I was afraid someone might try to take it so I rigged some noisemakers.”
“Well they sure made noise, so I guess we have company?” I lifted my shotgun and tried to look cool.
“Yeah,” said Joe, “but hopefully we won't need that,” he added, nodding at my shotgun. I slung it and pulled out the baton, holding it by the short handle and resting the long end against my forearm. It was most comfortable this way. Lift it to block, swing it out to strike at a bit of a distance, or strike forward or up for a devastating blow. I'd hit many a spar dummy with this thing, and it felt like a natural part of my body.
I took a headlamp out of a cargo pocket and strapped it on my head, but left it switched off. “I'm going upstairs to take a look,” I told Joe.
“Alright, I'm going to hold here for a minute. Take a look and tell me what you see.”
I went upstairs and headed to the room facing the street. Easing up to a window and peaking out, I saw flashlights shining around both inside and outside of the truck. Someone was on the ground, but I don't think they were zombies since I heard a bunch of cursing in Spanish.
Do Hispanic zombies moan in Spanish?
I drew a quick breath as I recognized one of the two men I'd seen when sneaking around the block to get to the house. Backing away from the window, I hurried down the stairs.
“It's at least three people, not zombies. I recognize one guy I saw yesterday. There might be more—too dark to tell.”
“Okay, well,” began Joe, “I sure don't want to shoot real people, no matter what has happened to the real world.” He lifted his rifle and checked the safety. “But I will shoot back.” I nodded in agreement. “Let's take our stuff and just go out the back door, see what happens.”
I put on my pack and unlocked the back door. Joe put his on and walked over to me, stopped, then walked over to the kitchen counter.
“Wouldn't want to make it easy for them,” he said, pocketing a key ring. “Hopefully we'll get to use the truck after all,” he added as he walked over to me.
“Why not just go upstairs and yell at them to take a hike?” I wondered aloud.
“Because they might shoot at us?” asked Joe.
“They'll shoot at Camo Joe for sure, but they won't shoot at a ‘defenseless little girl’,” I said it my best, “defenseless little girl” voice.
“You're anything but defenseless,” laughed Joe, “but I guess we could try.”
I re-locked the back door and went upstairs, keeping my pack. Joe followed behind, still lighting the way. “Put that headlamp near the window on the right,” I told him, “just in case.” He looked at me curiously then shrugged and put the headlamp on the bed near the window. I ea
sed up and opened the window, as quiet as possible, then opened the other one a little bit. Putting my pack between the left window and me, I called down, “HEY! What are you doing to my dad’s truck?”
A flashlight shone in the window to my right and gunfire suddenly poured through it, breaking the glass and even puncturing the wall. I grabbed my pack and crawled quickly away from the wall.
“Son of a bitch!” exclaimed Joe. “That I did NOT expect!”
“You and me both,” I said, my voice shaking as I spoke. We went to a bedroom facing the backyard. My hands shook, so I counted backwards from ten. I didn't think we had time for a full twenty count.
Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven.
“Erin, are you hit?”
Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One.
“Erin! Are you okay?” Joe asked desperately.
I turned around and faced him, a little calmer now. “They'll be coming inside now.”
Chapter 6
Joe : San Diego, California
I thought I was going to have a heart attack or something. Erin just stood there while I worried if she'd been injured! But then she just turned around all “Ninja Girl” and told me they'd be coming inside.
“I don't think…” I managed to get out before a crash sounded downstairs.
Smart girl.
“What should we do now?” I asked her. I had my own ideas, but hers were probably better.
“We do whatever you think we should do,” she told me.
Alright then.
I looked around, there was a chest of drawers with a mirror on it. I dropped my pack and handed Erin my rifle. The furniture was heavy, but I managed to lift it up and carry it to the hallway, setting it outside the door and angled toward the stairway. Erin handed me back my gun, but I put it aside and took my shotgun out of my pack.
“Time for close in work,” I told her. “What's your ammo?”
“What?” she asked with some confusion.
“What kind of ammo is loaded in your gun, buckshot or slugs?”
“Buckshot,” she said. “I think.”
“I'm half and half, so you take the door. Kneel just inside the door, out of the doorway, ready to fire dead center blind down the hallway on my mark.” Erin nodded and knelt next to the door after removing her pack. I took up a position well inside the room where I could see down the hallway using the dresser mirror.
“Actually,” I whispered, switching out the shotgun for the AK, “this will go right through these walls.” I'd planned on double tapping the shotgun to fire both the buckshot and slug round that were loaded alternately in the magazine, with the slug capable of going right through the wall, but I could send 30 rounds of 7.62mm into the hallway with the AK-47.
Thirty-one including the round in the chamber.
Lights flickered in the mirror, and I glanced at Erin. She was watching me intently for a signal. I looked in the mirror and held up an open hand. I could see a man coming up the stairs with a rifle, probably a shotgun. The flashlight I was seeing looked like it was taped to the bottom of the barrel. I showed Erin four fingers.
Three. Two.
One.
The sound of a shotgun boomed out twice as Erin leaned out and fired blindly down the hallway. A yell sounded. The mirror showed the man stagger, then twist and actually fall back down the stairs.
Good. They might not know the direction the shot came from.
Erin was looking at me again, focused and almost unblinking. I couldn't tell if she was frightened or in shock or just in the zone.
Probably in the zone.
I nodded once to her, then crawled to the door. I got down on my belly and crawled just past her into the hall, then backed away out of her line of fire.
“Give us the keys,” came a yell from downstairs, “or we’ll burn the place down!”
“Aww, hell,” I whispered. I looked at Erin and she nodded twice.
I guess that means they get the truck.
“Alright!” I yelled back. “I’ll throw them down the stairs!” I crawled to the corner of the stairs and took out the keys, then tossed them down the stairs and quickly crawled backwards past Erin. I heard some stomping and saw lights flashing around, then some banging noises.
My gut clenched as I suddenly smelled gasoline. “Bastardos!” came another yell, and I saw the telltale flicker of flame.
Not good.
I stood and ran into the room with Erin. She looked at me with wide eyes, backlit by the growing flames from downstairs. “Out the windows, it's the only way!” I said.
“Roger, Joe,” said Erin. We went to the window and tossed our packs to the ground.
“Bend your knees and roll with the landing,” I told her. She rolled her eyes at me as she removed her belt and tossed it out the window, then handed me her guns. She leapt onto the windowsill and looked back me and winked, then pushed off with her legs like she was diving off a cliff. It startled me so badly that I ran to the window just in time to see her spring from a picnic table with her hands then flip lightly onto her feet in a crouch. She wobbled forward a bit as she stepped and stood up. Turning, she calmly walked back to the window as I stared stupidly out at her. Erin held out her hands, then put them on her hips.
“Toss down the guns, Dopey Joe, and get your big ass down here!”
My muddled thoughts grew more coherent, so I did as I was told and dropped the guns to her one at a time. She set them on the table as she buckled on her belt, put on her pack and slung the bandolier of shells and the rifle. Then she held the shotgun at low ready and waited for me. I climbed out the window backwards, gracelessly, then hung from the sill with my feet only four feet from the ground. I dropped and grunted, then turned to face Ninja Girl with my face an even darker shade than usual, but she wasn't even looking at me, instead, scanning the fence line for trouble.
I looked up at the sky and spread my hands and said silently, ”What? Is this my payback for my smart mouth when I was a kid? What?”
I didn't get any answers, so I just geared up and took point and headed to the back fence, carrying a big chair from the yard. Erin climbed up then looked around, then jumped down to the other side. I followed her over, far more awkwardly. We snuck to the gate and opened it. I looked carefully for movement, then exited and headed left. A whistle pulled me up short and I looked back at Erin. She shook her head then pointed right with her rifle.
“Those guys came from a house to the left, so let's go right,” she said. I nodded and turned right, content to let Ninja Girl guide the way.
Chapter 7
Interlude : Australian Outback
Daku cried as he cleaned his machete. His spear lay broken beside him, half of it piercing the body of his best friend from childhood. They were on a traditional walkabout, speaking the songlines of their ancestors. Miro had grown sick, so they turned back and headed for the nearest road and village, about two days’ walk. Half an hour ago, Miro had attacked him, grabbing onto his shirt and trying to bite him. He'd had to kill him by cutting his head nearly in two, as he'd continued attacking, Daku had thrust his spear into his friend's stomach when he really meant to just ward him off.
The young man stood and began walking to the village, now less than a day away. There was little water to be had in the immediate area, so he drained his canteen and slung it over his shoulder, then took his friend’s canteen, but vowed to avoid drinking from it if possible. He feared contracting whatever illness had struck Miro, saddling him with a cough and a weakness that had suddenly turned violent.
He sheathed the machete and picked up Miro’s spear, then began jogging quickly through the brush. He ran barefoot as his father had requested, but his toughened soles barely noticed the rugged terrain as he automatically placed his feet on the best path. The canteens banged together, but he picked up a rhythm that caused them to sway quietly with his canvas bag. He had several days’ food, but he thought he could make it to town before dark.
As he ran, he tried to make sens
e of it all.
—————
He and Miro had made camp about halfway to the next spring on their songline. The next morning, they got up with the sun and practiced spear throwing and hunted for another iguana. They set out toward the spring when Miro began coughing, a little at first, and then more violently. They stopped to rest and Daku suggested that he go on ahead and try to find help. Miro was almost unresponsive, so he left his friend, putting his hand around his spear so that he could find it easily, in case he was awakened by a dingo or some other predator. After covering Miro with a blanket, he made an arrow with rocks that pointed back the way they had come – the direction he was going – then headed out.
He kept up a fast pace at first, walking right through the warmth of the day and into the cool of the autumn evening. He guessed that he was maybe two days’ walk to reach help, which could then get to Miro in just a few hours. He sat down to eat and rest for a bit, determined to continue walking, but he fell asleep.
A few hours later, Daku was awakened by a loud noise—a person crashing carelessly through the brush. He sat up in the lightening sky and called out.
“Hello? Who's there?” He was answered by a strange moaning sound. “Hello?” Daku quickly gathered up his gear, leaving the blanket, and clutched his spear as he walked away from the approaching figure. He could see now that it was a person, backlit by the rising sun, probably carrying a spear or stick just like he was.
“Hello? Miro? Is that you?”
The figure lurched toward him, arms out, one hand holding the spear and pointing it at the sky. He continued walking backwards, trying to discern if the person was Miro. The person tripped over a low bush and struck the ground hard. Daku ran over and turned the person over.
It was Miro, his face almost white, cuts and scrapes all over him. Miro opened his eyes and reached out at Daku with one hand, his other still holding his spear which was pinned beneath him.
