by Ben Reeder
“Get that fucking door closed!” Damon yelled. I came up on another guy taking cover in an office, and barely managed to get the first shot off. He squeezed the trigger on his M16 and sent a three round burst zipping past me before he stopped twitching. Then I was past the second Humvee and had a clear shot on the guy who had just made it to the door. I shot him in the ass. Then I heard the first shot from the hallway.
“Who the fuck was that?” someone cried out.
“That would be the rest of my team,” I lied. “You’re running out of people, Damon. How many more are you going to let die before you give up?”
“Fuck you!” Damon yelled back.
“I already took your one advantage from you,” I said as I tossed another flare into the room. “You’ve got what, five or six guys left?” A shot rang out from the other side of the room and someone else started screaming. “Sorry, four or five guys left?” I pulled a shell from my vest and went to load it. As I was about to slide it into the loading port, something knocked the Mossberg out of my hand. I jumped back as a sword blade sliced through the air where I had just been.
“Don’t shoot him!” the sword wielding badass yelled as I backed away from him. “He’s mine!” He thrust the tip toward me and gestured toward the middle of the open area opposite the Humvees.
“Seriously. Have you ever read the Evil Overlord’s list?” I asked as I backed into the open.
“Draw your blade!” he said.
“Guess not,” I said as I drew the Deuce. As close as he was, I probably couldn’t get the SOCOM out before he skewered me. For the moment, I had to play along. He smiled as the blade cleared the sheath, and I knew he’d never fought against anyone with any serious training. Whenever I faced new opponents in the SCA, none of them were happy when they saw that they were fighting a lefty. Sir Ginsu of Cuisinart, on the other hand, didn’t look upset or even mildly irritated at my unholy southpaw ways. He dipped his blade to me and stepped back, then dropped the point to the concrete and dragged it in a semicircle in front of him. I couldn’t help myself. I hung my head and shook it.
“Kid, you’re not Blade. Hell, you’re not even Wesley Snipes.”
“My name is Razor,” he said as he spun his blade in a broad arc. That part he seemed to know how to do. “It’s the last name you’ll ever hear.”
“Razor,” I said, suppressing a laugh. “My name is Dave Stewart. You killed my truck. Prepare to die.” I settled into a ready stance and waited for him, my eyes on the middle of his chest.
“You’re quoting The Princess Bride?” he asked as he started to circle to my left.
“I thought it fitting, considering the comedic terrain,” I said as I stepped to my left, inside his circle. The move caught him off guard and he stepped back, crossing his feet as he did. He tried circling the other way, and I side stepped into his movement again. He feinted at me, but his center of gravity never changed, so I stayed still. He tried it again, but never committed to a full thrust, so I didn’t move. Finally he made a serious thrust, and I moved my blade to the left a few inches, keeping the point in place on my center line. The move knocked his attack away from my body, and he withdrew. A split second later, he came at me again with a bevy of rapid fire blows.
One of the things Willie had been teaching me while we had been in KC was a defensive technique called the cone of power. The sword itself barely moved, the point staying nailed in place along the centerline of the body. By moving the lower part of the sword like a pendulum, all it took was a few inches of movement to cover one side of the body from head to hips. Razor’s katana bounced off the Deuce with a series of discordant clangs, none of his strikes coming close to me.
“What are you waiting for?” he yelled after he broke off the attack. “Fight damn it!”
“I just want you to feel you’re doing well,” I quoted. “I hate for people to die embarrassed.” He brought his blade up over his head and dropped into a sloppy fighting stance. It was a mediocre imitation of a kendo stance, and I’d been on his side of it before. In my case, I’d been facing an SCA knight using a rattan sword. All I’d been betting on it was my pride.
“I’m going to take your sword after I kill you and cut your head off with it,” he snarled. “There is no defense against this stance.”
“Unless your opponent has studied his Agrippa,” I said as I came forward. “Which I have.” As I finished the line, I lunged forward and snapped my blade at him, aiming for his right wrist. He had three options. He could defend and survive, he could attack and die, or he could flinch. Although attacking would end up killing him, though there was an outside chance he could take me down with him. Defending would save both his life and some of his pride.
He flinched. It saved his life, but it probably killed his standing with his few surviving friends. Whether it was pride or some remaining belief that speed and flash were a good substitute for skill that drove him, I couldn’t be sure. He slashed at me a couple of times, then wove his sword in front of him in glittering figure eight, the red light of the flare glinting off his blade as he spun it around and came at me with a yell on his lips. I’d played his game long enough; I was done with this fight.
“Enough!” I bellowed as I swung the Deuce straight down. It caught his cheap katana on the upswing and sheared through the blade near the suba. The blade spun though the air and embedded itself in a door. “Yield,” I said to Razor as I put the point of my sword a few inches from his throat. “Don’t make me kill you.” His face twisted into a snarl, but he tossed the broken sword away. I came up out of my stance and inclined my head to him, then brought the Deuce up in a salute. He looked like he’d swallowed a lemon whole, but he nodded. Without taking my eyes off of him, I reached up and slid the sword back into its sheath, then turned halfway away from him and released the strap on the SOCOM.
“And don’t think about trying to stab him in the back,” Amy said as she stepped into view from behind a Humvee with her gun trained on Razor. “That shit never works.” To my left I could see Damon and the kid in the hoodie standing by an office door. Two more of his crew were crouched over the prone form of a third, their expressions grim. Johnny came out behind Amy, his pistol out but pointed down.
“Is this your fuckin’ team?” Damon said as he looked us over.
“Nope, there’s more,” I said.
“Bullshit,” he said and drew his pistol. Mine came up at the same time and we stared at each other over the barrels. “Put the gun down bitch, or I shoot his ass,” he said as he turned his head toward Amy without taking his eyes off of me.
“Dave?” she asked.
“Rule fourteen,” I reminded her.
“Gotcha,” she said, and I could hear the feral grin reflected in her voice.
“I said put it down bitch!” Damon said again, his voice louder. “Don’t fuckin’ push me, or I swear I’ll blow his-“The rest of his final words were drowned out in the report of the SOCOM. When my barrel came back down, Damon was sprawled on the floor, and the wall behind him was black with blood splatter. Slowly, I turned the gun on the hoodie kid. His eyes were wide and he was shaking hard enough that I could even see it in the fading red light.
“Drop your gun, kid,” I said. His M4 clattered to the floor. The other two set their weapons down as well.
“Is that everyone?” Amy asked.
“I think so,” Razor said. “I think you killed everyone else.” With Razor’s assessment, I pulled out the whistle George had given me and blew the all clear code we’d agreed on, three short and one long tweet. While we waited for George and the other two men, I ordered Razor to take off all the cutlery and we secured the rest of the survivors.
“What’s rule fourteen?” Razor asked as I pulled the zip strips closed around his wrists.
“Basically, don’t point a gun at someone unless you’re ready to pull the trigger.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, then he looked dead ahead and went very still. I could hear George and the other
s come in the front door. Johnny went to meet them. Now that I had a second to look around I could see that the outside edge of the drill floor was actually pretty crowded. Cardboard cases of MREs and HDRs were stacked near the garage door, with tables and piles of gear set up along the far wall.
“Dave,” I heard George call out as he and Johnny headed my way. “We’ve got incoming.”
“Dead or alive?” I asked.
“The dead kind. Probably heard the commotion and decided to come check it out.”
“Are the other doors still pretty solid?” I asked.
“Hell yeah,” he said. “We just scorched the paint is all. The only one that’s damaged is the front door.”
“You think we’ve got enough time to get a good barricade up?”
He shook his head. “Not enough people, not enough material and nowhere near enough time. Hell, we’d probably make enough noise trying to reinforce the door that they’d zero right in on us. They might pass us right by.”
“I can help,” Razor said. I was going to have to ask him to tell me his real name before long.
“Nope, sorry. That whole ‘trying to kill me’ thing you did makes me not trust you a little,” I said.
“They’re drawn to noise,” he said, pressing on. “But not just anything. It has to be sounds that remind them of people.”
“He’s got my attention,” Johnny said.
“Music seems to work pretty good, but the best stuff is where there’s people singing or talking. They really go agro on that. We used a CD player in a cage as a Z magnet when we wanted to raid a place. Just set it down, push play and watch ‘em all come out. Used to make noobs do the dead run for their initiation.” We all exchanged looks, and Amy shrugged.
“You still have the CD player?” she asked.
“In there,” he said, nodding toward one of the offices.
“Why are you suddenly so helpful?” Johnny asked after she left.
“Because the Zs don’t care who they munch on,” he said. “They get through that door, I’m just as dead as you fuckers. At least this way, I have a chance.” I looked at Johnny and George, and they both nodded, so I went to the back of one of the Humvees and grabbed a folding e-tool.
“What’s your name?” I asked as I sorted through the pile of knives on the hood of the Humvee closest to him. “You’re real name.”
“Chris,” he said. I picked out a full tang Bowie knife and a bayonet. The Army’s M9 bayonet was a decent knife for both survival and combat, and the Bowie had the length and weight to handle a fight. But for zombie killing, my money was on the e-tool. He got to his feet once I cut the zip strips free, and dutifully followed me over to the tables. I grabbed several MREs and started cutting them open, dumping the contents onto the table and field stripping them. With the cardboard removed, the heating elements and some of the condiment packages tossed, I got nine MREs into five packages. I tossed those and a few water bottles into a rucksack.
“There’s three days’ worth of food in there,” I said when I handed it to him. “If you’re smart, you’ll grab one of those shelter halves over there, too. Use the e-tool to smash heads. And next time you think about getting a sword, pick up a machete instead.” Amy came up and set a wire mesh cage on the table with a CD player secured inside.
“I replaced the batteries,” she said. “And I changed out the CD for a Nickelback album. That way you don’t lose anything worth listening to.” I held my tongue, not sure if liking some of their songs made me too uncool or not. He grabbed one of the shelter halves and tied it to the bottom of the ruck, then slid it onto his back and headed for the front.
“Okay, Chris,” I said when we were just inside the door. “I figure this doesn’t exactly even things up between us, but it’s a good start. But if I ever see you again and you draw a weapon on me, I will kill you.”
“What if I don’t?” he asked.
“I guess that’ll depend on what we’re both doing,” I said. He let one side of his mouth quirk up and nodded. “One last thing before you go. A sword is a weapon of honor. Think about that before you pick one up again.” His lips tightened into a thin line, and he gave me a long look before he spoke.
“Okay,” he said. Without another word, he took off across the street. A few moments later, I heard music start.
“Do you think he’ll do it?” Johnny said from behind me as the music faded into the distance.
“You shouldn’t walk up behind people like that,” I said. “Do what? Think about the whole honor thing? I don’t know. I hope so.”
“Me, too,” he said. We turned and headed back inside.
The people Damon’s crew had taken captive were out when we made it back to the drill floor, and someone had shut the garage door. Another guy was face down on the floor, with one of George’s men binding his hands behind his back none too gently.
“We found him hiding in with the hostages,” George said as he came toward me with a woman beside him. Her short, dark hair didn’t hide the bruises on her face, and her right eye was still puffy and swollen from a recent blow.
“Sneaky bastard. Strip him down to his underwear,” I said loudly enough for everyone to hear. “Cut his shirt off if you need to.”
“Hey, let us go and we’ll help you out, too!” the hoodie kid said as we passed him.
“Screw that, your buddy volunteered first,” George said. “You didn’t speak up until you thought there was something in it for you. No deal, kid.”
“We need to at least get a barricade in that hallway,” I said. George nodded and the woman standing beside him stepped up.
“Coach Malcolm can take care of the barricade,” she said, her brown eyes flicking back and forth as she looked me over. “You need to sit down and let me treat that wound before you pass out from blood loss.”
“What wound?” I asked.
“That one,” she said, pointing one slim finger at my stomach. I looked down to see a hole in my vest, with a red stain around it. Pain flared along my side when I took a breath, and I felt a sudden chill creep up the back of my neck.
“That’s gonna leave a mark,” I said. My hands shook as I started to remove the vest.
“Are you always a smartass?” she asked as she reached out to help.
“Only when shit gets bad,” Amy said.
Journal of Maya Weiss
October 29
I met the people Dave sent from Kansas City a couple of days ago. They had to be the train Johnny Apocalypse heard the night before. Even though I knew they wouldn’t be with them, I kept looking for them, hoping I’d see them. A few had spent time with them, especially Willie and the two Marines, Hernandez and Kaplan. Everyone seemed to know something about them, though. I’m going to have to talk to Dave about what he’s turning my daughter into. These people keep track of zombie kill count like baseball fans keep track of batting averages and home runs, and while Dave’s is pretty high, it’s Amy’s that worries me. Especially since Dave and she have the most “special” kills. It wouldn’t be so bad if all of this was for some stupid video game, but this is real life and death.
Enough of that. We loaded our little convoy onto the train and went as far west as we could. The end of the line was a town called Veteran, Wyoming. The tracks actually kept going, but they looped back north and east after Veteran. We camped there and tried to plan our route. These are the days when I miss the map function on my phone. But, Nate already had a plan. The maps in the Land Masters had routes marked on them that would get us to his place. It took us most of the day, but tonight, we’re camping about 25 miles from Nate’s place. Hopefully, tomorrow will see us safe.
Radio Z is back on the air tonight. Johnny started off with Black Magic Woman, then played Halestorm’s cover of Bad Romance and followed them with more of Dave and my favorite songs. After a few songs, he stopped and I could hear music playing in the background. “Hear that, America? That’s the sound of courage and mercy. Last time, I told you I was going to go c
heck out a town I’d heard about that had some troubles. Well, I found it. And I found heroes, too. They took care of their troubles, with the help of a wandering survivor. Make no mistake, some people died tonight; justice is harsh out here in the wasteland. But I also saw a man show mercy when he could have taken a life, and I got to see a man get the chance to turn his life around. I watched a man risk his life to save a stranger, and I watched a doctor who had just worked on one patient brave the streets in the dark to save another one who needed her. Yeah, I found a whole group of heroes. But I found one in particular. He says he’s just another survivor, like anyone else. But I don’t buy it. This dude fights the good fight. But you want to know the best part? This is gonna break your hearts, kids. After the dust settled, the good people here in Hastings asked our survivor to stay around. But our boy is dead set on makin’ his way back to the woman he loves. Now ain’t that sweet? So, for all you out there tonight listening in, this show is dedicated to the lady that he’s trying to find. I hope she’s safe. So, here’s to heroes in love, boys and girls.” He played Magic Man after that, and then, he went off the air.
He didn’t use Dave’s name; he didn’t have to. The whole broadcast was like one long, musical love note just for us.
Chapter 5
Marching Orders
~ I see my path, but I don't know where it leads. Not knowing where I'm going is what inspires me to travel it. ~ Rosalia deCastro
“The psychosomatic shock was more dangerous to you than the gunshot wound,” Dr. Crews said as she finished changing the bandage on the wound. “It just went through some adipose tissue and came out the other side. Nothing too serious, as far as gunshot wounds go.”
