Tomahawks & Zombies

by Joe Beausoleil

  The moon faded to a white ring, the center black, darker than the sky. The ring grew brighter and brighter until I had to shield my eyes. Closing my eyes the light burrowed through. I tried to blink the light away but it was burnt into my retinas. Now two rings, slowly morphing into big cow like eyes. With a shake of my head there were now four eyes.

  This stopped being fun along time ago. This was no escape. This was a gateway to the dream world and I could not find the exit. Tearing my eyes from the sky, the fire at the 13th hole was roaring lime green, arms reaching out from it, flailing around grabbing a fistful of stars. Those horrible arms reached out for me. The sky was less horrifying. I looked back up, knowing the horrors of the fire and the 13th hole which was now expanding eating the world. The four eyes faded back to reveal that they were the eyes of twin white buffalo calves. They ran off fading into the distance sucking everything, the stars, the clouds, and the moon with them, leaving only a blue black void. It was like everything that mattered was tied to them.

  The next thing I remembered was waking up next to Cindy, the front of my shirt stiff with dried vomit. I later learned was a side effect from the drug. I tossed the ruined shirt into the bushes before she woke up. I felt like a steamroller drove over me but managed to make it to my feet.

  Ron’s pants and shirt were neatly folded at the base of a tree. Looking up I found Ron, his body limply hanging in the branches. I took his clean shirt pulling it on before I gave a quick tug at his leg sending him back to earth. Landing flat on his back he told me of his visions; girls, breasts, him in the middle of a forest of oil glistening breasts. His visions sounded better than a canoe full of voyageurs, a moose, and twin white bison calves. I kept my visions to myself.

  We staggered to the buffet breakfast in the casino, found Ron a shirt and headed to work. It was a rough shitty day and I was glad when it was done.

  January 31

  The university area is just a few minutes up the road. Eventually they hope to join the two groups but right now each is focused on make themselves safe. Tomorrow we are headed up to make a few trades and see what help we can do there. They need guys to load stuff so we volunteered which is a lot better than shoveling a ditch.

  At dinner I overheard someone some news. The Montana Militia has declared their independence, and suceeded from the union. No one knows what is true or not. Others think that when the air forced bugged out they either went to a secured area in Colorado or went to deal with the militia in Montana. Dave’s route would take him right through a civil war. He has a couple days ahead of us, but alone he is sure to go slower. Ron thinks it’s too late, that we can’t catch up. I’m not sure. Dave is heading right into some serious trouble. Nothing I can do tonight.

  February 1

  Today was a disaster. I’m lucky to be alive.

  Early in the morning Ron and I hopped in the back of a pick-up truck. A convoy of vehicles going to the university, to trade and maybe find some news. We volunteered to come along, wanting a break from the slave labour of working on the fortifications. Even though he was off duty Emmitt was wearing his armour joining us in the truck bed. He wanted to check out a comic shop that was abandoned in the safe zone.

  It was a short drive and we soon past the collapsed ruins of the hospital. Emmitt told us he saw the air force used Predator drones to collapse the building sealing all that evil up inside by firing hell fire missiles. Who knows how many uninfected were trapped inside when it collapsed? I can’t even imagine the numbers of innocent people taken out with the scores of undead. All entombed together now under tons of concrete.

  Instead of earthworks, they use city buses parked length wise, the noses kissing to block the streets.

  The survivors don’t seem too concerned with the undead on the other side but the screaming, moaning and banging of their boney fists on the sides of the buses gives me the creeps. The survivors here were different than those at the Hard Rock. Not the mixture of families, teens, and older people here they were mostly men here, military looking, and their clothing was a mixture of military body armour and civilian clothing. They had makeshift guard towers on the top of the buses. Sitting on lawn chairs under patio umbrellas the guards were counting the crowd of the undead but otherwise gave no indication that something was unusual.

  Trading had just gotten underway when the sheer numbers of the undead caused a bus to rock. It happened so fast, we had just gotten there. Ron and I hadn’t even had a chance to look around when we heard the metal screech as a bus rocked. The guards on top toppled off, disappearing into the swarming crowd. Before anyone could react the bus tipped onto its side. The undead funneled in the breech they created, pushing and shoving between the bus on its side and the other bus still in position. The guards on the other bus opened fire but the number of undead was too great. They were stranded on their little island.

  Everyone was standing there stunned; mouths open not believing what they were seeing.

  Just like a switch went on, everyone reacted but it was with panic, people running everywhere. No one took control. I was caught in the flow of people running both to and away from the breach. Those who fell were trampled by their friends and family. There was no stopping to lend a hand. I saw Ron’s cowboy hat get knocked off as he was swept away. I tried to follow but was caught in a human current going the opposite way. It seemed like minutes before I heard the first gunshots. A group of soldiers, the ones left behind when the airbase was abandoned, tried to rally people, handing out guns and blunt weapons. I reached them just as Ron was loading a shotgun.

  A big grin on his face, “Oh yeah I’m a big man now.”

  I was handed a 2X2 with nails in the end. Ron gets a gun and I got a piece of wood? No time to argue, I formed up with the others, sticking close to those with firearms. Those lucky enough to have firearms opened up giving people a chance to get away. With his white armour, Emmitt was easy to spot amongst the men clamoring for weapons. He held up two gas powered (cordless) nail guns modified to fire just by pulling the trigger and joined the line.

  We fell back towards the airbase fence. Trapped we all knew it was a last stand but we would stall the undead for others to escape. We (those with guns) opened up. The undead fell in droves but there was always more. The firing slowed as ammo was running low. The undead shambled forward, falling in ones and twos now less than fifty meters away. Someone ordered those with clubs to charge forward. Like an idiot I listened. I charged with one hundred men armed with pitch forks, baseball bats, golf clubs, boards, anything on hand. We clubbed as many as we could before the call to retreat was sounded. I took one more swing, bringing the board over my head with all the energy I had left. With a loud crack my board broke over one of the undead’s head. It stopped, wobbled for a second winking at me before it hit the ground. Emmitt stopped beside me, leveling his nail guns at the line of undead. He fired at the closest zombie. Nails appeared from the navel going up, hitting the chest, neck, cheek, eye and forehead. It fell backwards. I turned to flee with the rest of us poorly armed bastards, hearing the gas nail gun firing away. I was lucky. Fewer than half of those that charged forward just a minute earlier returned. Passing us as we retreated towards the line, we were those with shotguns. They fired their shots at close range devastating the undead that seconds ago were closing in on us.

  Not nearly enough were killed. There were always more to fill their ranks. They knew there was flesh to feast on. Any unfortunate defenders who fell were set upon but their sacrifice hardly slowed the horde. They howled in excitement as they rushed forward with outstretched arms, fleshless fingers grabbing excitedly at the air. Still they came, tearing apart whomever they pulled into their midst.

  We fell back again, this time practically against the chain linked fence of the air base.

  Someone did back into the fence, and was rewarded with a great shower of sparks as 5000 volts came in contract with skin. The man fell face forward, a faint whisper of smoke coming from his shoes. He lay motionle
ss for a few seconds before groaning. His friends sat him up as he shook the cobwebs out of his head. His hand still clutched his pistol; he cocked it and fired into the closing crowd of undead.

  A group of defenders to my left tried to break out in a desperate bid to escape. They slammed into the zombies. Over the wailing of the dead, and the sound of gunfire I could hear the screams of those who tried to get away. They were quickly surrounded and overwhelmed. Our line closed ranks, shifting to fill the gap of those doomed deserters that’s was when I saw Ron again. He had a wild near panicked look in his eyes. Drenched in sweat, he was now armed with a machinegun. He looked at me and handed me a pistol he had tucked in the back of his pants.

  “You look like shit but at least you have a gun now,” he said with a crooked smile.

  We waited for the undead to close in. My pistol was shaking in my hands. I was sure this was it. Even with two hands I probably couldn’t hit anything. The zombies tore their hungry eyes from us and looked up. Suddenly, from above came a flock of small helicopters, the largest a couple meters in length; others lacked blades at all and were round the size of a large tire. Unmanned craft - all armed. They hovered over the advancing zombies, who were less than twenty meters away from us. We watched as the drones opened fire. They fired at a steady pace but it was clear these drones wouldn’t be enough to turn the tide. A few drones hissed small rockets into the midst of the undead, fire balls blossoming here and there, bodies strewn in the air. Once they fired their payload they zoomed back over our heads.

  The tide was turned with an electric buzz as the air force base gates opened. Out drove some type of ground drones, some had tank treads, some four and six tires, all had a lot more firepower than the helicopters and us survivors combined. They cut in front of us forming a line between the undead and ourselves, we stopped firing. There must have been twenty or thirty of these things. Robots? Drones? Remote controlled? With an electronic hum they adjusted their barrels, finally satisfied they came to a stop. With a thunderously volley as these robots guns barked to life. The zombies dropped in lines as the robots cut a deadly swath. Heads exploded, arms and legs were blown off. Wave after wave of the undead fell to the earth. All along our line those who still had ammo forgot about firing and watched in wide mouthed amazement at these new friends. It was as if an invisible swatch cut them down. The helicopters returned adding to the firepower. With a war cry we joined in.

  When it was over the pile of the undead was waist high. With the barrels smoking, the drone’s guns pulsed from side to side searching for targets. The small helicopters darted back towards the base, heading towards a mountain. The unmanned ground vehicles unceremoniously followed suit heading back towards the gate. The soldiers who have been locked out of the base for weeks were the first to follow the robots down the path heading towards the path. The rest of us followed, minutes ago we were about to be eaten alive, we were overjoyed with our new fortune. Someone had to be controlling these robots. It meant there were people alive down there and they wanted to help us.

  The Manzano weapons storage area was built into Monsanto mountain a couple miles from the gate, just past the jointly shared civilian and military airports. Exhausted from the emotional rollercoaster of the battle and nearly dying I somehow found new energy; others seemed to feel the same way as we shared smiles, and pats on the backs. Miraculously, Ron found his hat, brushing off the dust and bending it back into shape as we followed the others tracing the robots tread marks back to the mountain. Along the way a young soldier pointed out the different robots humming along; the Gladiator Tactical Unmanned Ground Vehicle with its tank like treads and machine gun high on a turret, some small and quicker four wheeled M.A.R.S. with their four grenade launchers and M-240 machine gun, still smoking and hot from the battle, Foster-Miller Talon Swords (Special Weapons Observation Reconnaissance Detection System), short and squat, equipped with various deadly looking weapons.

  At the entrance the thick metal doors remained closed; the vehicles stopped and repositioned themselves in a semi-circle turning around so faced us.

  The military members, including the young guy who was pointing out the different types of machines, pulled out their military I.D.s and started to show them to the machines cameras.

  There was no response from the drones or the door. Someone took a step towards the door, a squat machine buzzed to life cutting him off. When he moved to the side the machine matched keeping him from getting closer. A loud speaker on one of the bigger machines came to life with a burst of static.

  “Please disperse and return past the gates. For security reasons there will be no admittance. You are trespassing on a secured military facility.”

  The crowd grew incensed. Many of the people were military, who had already been abandoned in the city, this was a further insult. Someone threw a large stone pinging off the side of one of the machines.

  The crowd cheered, others were encouraged to approach the machines that once helped us but were now a barrier to the safety inside. A broad shouldered guy with a crew cut stalked up to one of the machines unzipped his pants and urinated all over the guns and camera. The still hot gun hissed and steamed. When he was done a couple guys flipped over another machine, it’s treads buzzing, trying to right itself but only managed to move in a circle.

  The load speaker backed to life. “You are trespassing on a secure military installation. We did all we could to help you but please leave. You have two minutes to comply.”

  “This is bullshit” a muscular guy yelled, “Trespassing? I am in the fuckin’ military.”

  “No way will they open fire. It’s a bluff,” someone else yelled.

  “We’re American. Let us in,” another called out.

  “One minute to comply. We will open fire. We cannot risk the threat of contamination that you have been exposed to. One minute.”

  I found Ron in the crowd pushing my way to him. Someone in the crowd pulled a pistol out slowly and deliberately walked up to the drone with the loud speaker and fired a round in it. The crowd began to chant “U.S.A, U.S.A.U.S.A” Before I could say a word to Ron about getting out the hell out of there, a single machine buzzed to life jumping forward. Without a further warning it opened fire with a deafening half second barrage. Dozens of people fell, some wounded, some dead. No one stopped to help them, as the drones recalibrated their guns on the crowd threatening to fire. We ran swept up in the stampede of people fleeing. Another machine fired, this time I’m sure over our heads to scare us, no one running with me fell but we increased our pace.

  They weren’t going to let us in, not with nuclear weapons stored there. I think they wanted to use us as a buffer between the undead and their front door. It was in their best interest to keep us alive.

  We went from elation of coming together and defeating these unspeakable things getting unexpected help from what we thought was an abandoned military base to being crushed as they opened fire.

  After quickly salvaging supplies and material from the university strong hold the surviving airmen and national guardsmen returned to the front gates. They spit onto the dusty road as they hung their military I.Ds on the chain link fence. Even though the breech was patched, the survivors from the university area were leaving. As the bulldozers pushed the bodies into a pit, people dejectedly streamed south towards the Hard Rock Café. Their cars and trucks loaded with supplies, food and people. There was no guarantee that the airbase won’t send those drones on the offence against us and no one wants to take the chance. It’s best to put some distance between us and what’s left of the military.

  It didn’t take much convincing to talk Ron into leaving. He only nodded that yes he wanted to get out of here. We are going to attempt to track down Dave before he runs right into the Montana Militia. It’s worth a shot.

  We left as hundreds were still streaming in.

  February 2

  Kirtland, New Mexico.

  Spent most of the day in silence, watching the scenery drift by
and thinking about how the military helped us and then turned on us, thinking about the chances of finding Dave, thinking about home.

  It’s just after dusk, we were looking for a safe spot to stop for the night as we approached a small town The neon sign of a dinner was on; the parking lot protected by a chain link fence, the gate manned by a couple guys with hunting rifles. Other then the gate, it seemed as if the events of these last few weeks haven’t touched this place, no plywood over the windows, nothing baring the door, once inside it looked like nothing has touched this place since the 60’s. A time capsule of red vinyl booths, green faux marble Arborite table tops, a long counter lined with chrome, round stools, and uniformed waitresses, one of which pointed us to a booth.

  Confused we numbly obeyed.

  “Welcome to the All Safe café,” she said snapping her gum and expertly sliding menus our way, “Can I get you boys something to drink?”

  Her name tag says ‘Judy’, about 35 years old, nice eyes, hair a little big, like she was keeping a reminder of how much fun she must have had in the 90’s.

  “Orange juice?”

  “It’s from concentrate,” She said with lament.

  “Good enough.”

  On the front of the menu there was a thick black line through the name “Evert’s” in its place are the words “All Safe.” Dinner is still there in the original font.