Tomahawks & Zombies

by Joe Beausoleil

  I asked about the loud speaker mounted on the Humvee roof. They didn’t answer. Eve went to the Humvee to investigate.

  The red head spoke up, “Hey don’t play with anything in…” before he could finish heavy metal music blared from the Humvee. Eve must have hit a switch; she managed to turn it off before I could recognise the song

  “They follow sound,” Red said.

  “And you are bringing them our way?”

  It took a few swift kicks to got him to answer.

  “We can lead them where we want.”

  Eve went to kick him again. “Assholes, you lead those things towards people? What’s wrong with you?”

  “Keep it off, man. It brings them. We’re undermanned. Hell we aren’t really even combat effective. There’s no reinforcements on the way. We let the zombies do the dirty work. Sound lures them where we want. We can clear them out of our way or herd them towards trouble spots. Some of these lone wolf last man on earth fucks like to snipe at us. A few small cities think they are independent. The seventh are the only ones doing it all, we have three fronts going on. Trying to contain the undead, deal with those red neck in Montana and trying to find a cure. Don’t look at me that way. The cure is in you and your people but you all aren’t cooperating so we’re doing what we have to do.”

  Rollie and Ambroise pulled her off and lead her way. The questioning continued.

  “Who told you our location?”

  “Don’t say shit,” Jeb cursed at his talkative friend but his friend went on.

  They went on to say they were on their way to check out Minot AFB when they picked up a call from some farmer with a CB, who said a bunch of Indians were stealing and terrorizing him and his family. They were chasing the Natives who escaped from the medical facility. If the army rescued the farmer and his family and took them to a safe place, they would let the army know the location of All Nations. That’s all the army needed to hear to send scouts to investigate.

  We all knew the farm.

  Warriors were getting nervous about the 7th Calvary coming for their patrol but we had to do something with those locked in the tank. Mitch threatened to blind the other prisoners, with my space gun. I hadn’t forgotten that he stole it from my bunk. I’d deal with that later. The threat didn’t get a response. Suddenly the heavy metal music blared. Eve sat in the driver seat and flipped a switch killing the sound. She strode to the tank, hands on her hips. “Get out now or I’ll turn on that music and we’ll all leave. Soon you’ll have hundreds of these undead freaks crawling all over your tank. You’ll slowly starve to death in side while their moaning and clawing will drive you crazy. Eventually you’ll have to get out and try to escape but you won’t.”

  Thirty seconds later we heard a muffled, “Don’t shoot we’re coming out.”

  With no stray prisoners, we could focus on the paying a visit to the farm.

  The Humvee skidded to a stop in the yard, a few seconds later the front door opened. Out came the same fat prick that wouldn’t open his door for us even after we saved his life, a big grin on his face, the same overalls on, the same shotgun in his fat little hands. That grin changed in about half a second when our horses flanked the Humvee. Eve, wearing the fatigues of our prisoner, got into the gunners position. She gave a friendly wave as she locked and loaded the gun. The farmer still had a confused look on his face when Eve opened fire. A dotted line of bullet holes punching into the clapboard house. The farmer collided with his pear shaped wife as he dove back inside. Brass casings were still falling, melting into the snow as that farmer crawled his fat ass back inside. In the back seat of the Humvee, a bound Jeb and Gruff sat emotionlessly, watching as it all went down. Selling out these farmers saved their eyes from the Phasr. They had seen and done much worse serving with the 7th Calvary. Bullets flying, glass breaking, the war cries and hollering, it only lasted a few minutes. We torched the place, taking all the livestock with us. The farmer and his fat family scampered through the ankle deep snow as the flames consuming their home. They huddled together as we drove off, Mitch grinning at the wheel of the Humvee.

  Coming into camp, we were welcomed like Caesar in one of his triumphs. Like the allies liberating Nazi-held territory. Like the Oilers bringing home the Stanley Cup.

  Our people rescued, prisoners captured, and retribution paid, crowds cheered, drinks and food thrust in our hands, and a kiss on the cheek from the girls.

  I pulled my Phasr out of Mitch’s hands as people were patting him on the back. Mitch was a little too trigger happy, seeming to take great joy with its blinding powers. We know it works and today I’ll test it out on the undead. Maybe blinding a few of the undead could come in handy. Not if they come in a horde. I’ll bring it on my next patrol today. The celebration went late into the night. I stood by a great bonfire thinking of home and knowing the cold hand of death could be laid upon many of us soon.

  March 18

  With the dead lured to the outlying areas, something was needed to be done. The war council met and a plan was quickly formed. A group of old men and mosquitoes were sent. They drove out in the Humvee and a few other farm trucks parking near the foot of the cliffs. The plan was simple, ancient even. Something our ancestors did years ago. Hunters herded bison and drove them over the cliff, breaking their legs and rendering them immobile. Others waiting below would close in and finish the kills. On this day, they turned on the giant speaker attached on the back of the Humvee, the sound attracting the zombies high above. Like a buffalo jump the zombies walked and trotted towards the sound, not hesitating as they approached the cliff. Those zombies that did not smash their heads on the rocks below were crippled, legs and spins shattered. The old men and mosquitoes carefully made their way through the bodies, on guard for zombies still able to bite. The next morning as the last of the undead plummeting down, the bodies were stacked five deep. Gas and broken pallets were tossed on the heap and set a blaze assuring any of the zombies still alive (for lack of a better word) were returned to the earth.

  March 19

  I’m still sore but well rested from a few days off we were back at it today. Eve and I have been spending more and more time together. She hasn’t shared her story with me. I haven’t either. It doesn’t really matter. We have increased the number of patrols riding out especially to the south where we had reported undead and where we captured that patrol. Patrols are riding further out than ever before. We loaded up with three days rations, extra weapons and ammo and I made sure to take my Phasr. The army most likely knows our general location now.

  Some chiefs argue we don’t have the numbers to risk getting the attention of the army that we should wait for all 500 nations to find us. To lay low, to stay hidden. Some nations will never make it here and some are surely gone from this earth now. We have already sent brave small groups to release the largest herd of bison and to free Leonard Peltier in a Lewisburg Pennsylvania prison. They don’t forget what happened here. The council hopes the released herds of bison will remember the migration that is in their blood and come to us in the spring, until then the cattle we find in area farms, tractor trailers of food and whatever we can scrounge has to hold us over. Mild or not, its winter and the only thing that grows on the prairies are hunger and discontent. We still have to patrol.

  We saw it before we heard it. It was far away and moving slowly. A helicopter with a cable suspended under. Attached to the cable was a big square box hanging a good fifty feel under the helicopter. We rode closer to investigate. It was clearly a U.S. military helicopter of some sort. Eve flipped through an identification guide. She brought up her binoculars studying the craft then returned to the book.

  “A Bell UH-1 Iroquois.” She said.

  “That’s a Chinook. I’d know those twin blades anywhere,” Rollie spat. “What the hell is under it?”

  When the wind changed direction we could faintly hear rock music. The black box hanging under it was a speaker.

  “What the hell are they doing?”


  I was puzzled for a second but then it hit me. I knew what they were up to. Ambroise knew too he pointed a few degrees past the Chinook. In pied piper fashion, the zombies following the music.

  “They’re herding them. Herding them towards us,” I said as I pulled out my Phasr.

  Eve was on the radio. She tried to let the camp know but we were out of range.

  I aimed.

  “Jake, we have to go. We have to let them know what’s coming.”

  “Just a second, maybe I can delay them a bit.”

  I fired the invisible bean at Chinook’s cockpit. Not sure if I was hitting anything so I kept squeezing the trigger, peppering all the windows I could.

  Our patrol watched silently entranced as the helicopter started to spin. Flying erratically, loosing and then violently gaining altitude. It was like a boat on the ocean, riding the waves. I must have hit both the pilot and co-pilot. There was no one to take control, panicking at their sudden blindness, the helicopter was out of control. The music still played as we rode off.

  I wanted to get within range of the Chinook to make out the song, to see the helicopter crash but we had to get back because the dead were coming. Maybe days off but they were coming. Thousands of them being lead our way.

  March 17

  The camp assembled. Every man woman and child listened as the chiefs talked. The undead were coming in large numbers, lead to us by American troops. With the canyons in the North cleared and relatively safe people would be evacuated there to hide in the caves. We expect the attack to follow the highway.

  The Old People said there are spirits in the caves. In order to go there the very old and very young had to prepare themselves. They lined up for a smudge. Sweetgrass was burnt and those going washed themselves with the smoke. They couldn’t t just go to the caves for fear their spirits would get them lost.

  My sunglasses blocked some of the glare from the sun. Eve and I were walking, she wouldn’t tell me where. Maybe there was no real destination just a walk out of camp. We were by ourselves for days at a time and adjusting to living around more than our platoon of Twice Shys take some time. We like to be alone. When we came to a field near the buffalo pen I stopped in my tracks. A circle in the snow. Thousands of foot prints had compacted the snow in a huge ring, at least ten feet thick. The sun reflecting off the icy ring was blinding. It was like the ring in my dream.

  “Tomorrow we dance again,” she said.

  March 18

  Many years ago the Lakota danced the Ghost Dance here. Dancing in hopes to sweep all the evil in the world away, leaving a renewed Earth filled with food, love, and faith.

  Here at Wounded Knee, troops came in to end the dance. Twenty U.S. soldiers received Medals of Honor for their actions. Those actions included killing hundreds of Lakota.

  A weathered old chief stood up, “There is endless supply of these walking ghosts. There have always been a limited number of us. Today they come. Our warriors are ready. Our fate is wrapped in how they fight. The only way to stop this evil is for us to unite in this common battle.”

  Here today, we dance again to a New Ghost Dance. Groups of drummers sitting around their drums of all sizes. The dead ancestors already wander the earth. The sound of the drums and singing will call them to us, where and when we want them to come. People file in on the already hardened circle, joining hands. Thousands of people forming rings inside of rings, dancing around the singers and drummers. We dance for hours, Eve’s hand in mine, Rollie holding my other hand. We did not tire, the bass of the drum vibrating in our chests. In ones and twos, the warriors are slowly called away from the dance to eat and get some rest as we wait for the undead to listen to the call all the while we could hear the drums.

  Warriors were getting ready for battle - many were smearing on war paint. The undead aren’t going to be frightened or intimidated by a warrior painted for battle. The paint is to identify us as members of the All Nations. It’s in case they get injured, we’ll know they aren’t just another one of the undead. If they turn, we’ll know to say a prayer to the creator as we put them down.

  Eve told me, “You see an undead with war paint you know he was once one of us. Those are the first ones we focus on. End their suffering just like you’d want someone to do for you if you turned.”

  Staggering around like a rotting ghost is no way for a warrior to go out like.

  She dipped two fingers in a jar. Slowly, deliberately she spread the paint on her honey brown skin. Down the centre of her face two yellow lines etched from her hair line to her chin.

  For me she used a vermillion and a brown ochre line, cutting my face in half from ear over my cheek bones, meeting on my nose repeating the process for the other side. She gave a satisfied nod when she was done. I looked in the trucks side mirror.

  “Great I look like the drummer from K.I.S.S.”

  “Then let’s rock and roll.”

  We saddled up, rushing to line up with our squads.

  As predicted, most of the undead approached from the east and the south. The barbed wire fences were cut in such away to both delay and funnel the undead to where we wanted. The battlefield was prepared. Flatbed trailers were parked in the fields, their height providing a good fire base, snipers as well as the machineguns were placed there. With added sandbags, we hope that if the undead do get close they won’t be able to climb up. Under the trailers, rifle pits were dug into the cold hard earth. The flat beds would also provide a place to get water, a short rest, and a rally point if things took a turn for the worst.

  Less than half the warriors waited in reserve, made up mostly of the old and the young. They would be called if things got desperate or in eight hours’ time to relive the first group, whichever came first. Either way if they were called we were in trouble. All the Twice Shys, Young Dogs, Kit Foxes and Rattlers were mounted and waiting well behind the trailers and the firing line. The trailers and firing pits were manned by the Home Guard and many of the war chiefs and their followers. King David Boyd took command of the centre trailer, the Māori rugby players and other Europeans rally around him. While the Dreadful with their motorcycles and Cold Society, who all rode quads or snowmobiles waiting on the opposite flank from us. They would fire from a distance.

  It started to snow, big heavy flakes that reduced visibility. We’ve been waiting in silence in the cold as the wind picked up; a scout rode in spurring his steed on hard and fast. The undead were on their way.

  Round the Sky was antsy, tired of waiting. To calm her I stroked her neck. She didn’t try to bit me this time. White clouds escaped out of her flared nostrils, she could smell the undead approaching, just as the first gun shots were fired. We waited. More gun shots. Pops in ones and twos then quickly all along the line. The gun fire quickly picked up. Still we waited not knowing what was going on, how many of the undead were coming, how close they were, we knew nothing. Suddenly a radio crackled to life. We got the call.

  Arranged in a two line formation we started at a trot. Two minutes later flipped it off before I could recognise the song, another two lines would ride joining us in battle. The sound of three thousand men and horses was deafening. I bounced along, keeping pace with those in our ranks. Eve was to my left, Ambroise to my right, next to him was Rollie. Quietly, We circled to the side of battle. The undead paying us no attention as we lined up. The undead attacking those at the trailers and rifle pits. The undead well in great swaths but their numbers were in the thousands. We raised our rifles. When the order was given we fired as one emptying clip after clip into the undead. Undead bodies and body parts flew in the air as someone fired a grenade launcher into the crowd. The undead were closing in on the trailers as the snow picked up. Shouldering our rifles, we were ordered to close in and attack.

  We increased to a canter riding faster; a few warriors along the line gave an early war cry. We rode in line riding abreast until our squad leader fired his gun. This was the signal to give the horse free rein riding at a gallop.

&nbs
p; The cavalry flanked the undead, attacking their sides and from behind. With their attention on the meat in the front on the trailers, we cut them down mercilessly. We circled around, meeting up with those who swung round the other side. I leaned from side to side, hacking and swinging my weapon. I hit heads, and necks and arms reaching upwards. Mitch and his Crow friends and Young Dogs rode circles around both us and the undead. Like a whirlwind, they were everywhere, darting in and out, counting coupe and sending them back to the earth with ease and skill. The Twice Shy tried to keep up, sending our fair share of rotting corpses back to the earth. Not with grace and ease, but re-dead is dead.

  My war hammer broke, the metal head flying high in the air disappearing in the crowd of the undead. I pulled out my machete. The undead turned to attack, reaching up at me with skinless and rotting hands I lopped off wrists and arms. We brought destruction down on them. For a while, it was like shooting fish in a barrel. Easy kills soon took its toll.

  With the snow swirling around, we couldn’t see ten feet in front of us. The world was just that small circle of hell around me, Twice Shys, Young Dogs, and the undead all darting in and out of my world. My arm started to tire, each swing less effective, less accurate than the one before. After a blow glanced harmlessly off an undead’s head I switched to my left arm. I swung my machete and Round The Sky pushed through and stomped on those that fell under her hoofs. One grabbed my machete and held on. I yanked hard the blade cutting its hand deeply. On my next swing to put it down, it grabbed on with both hands. I left it have the machete, pulling out my shotgun and giving it a blast in the face. They had the numbers and even though they moved slowly they never stopped, never tired. Other riders fired their guns as well. It was like thunder all around. Firing at close range, I nearly shot the horse out of a Young Dog that came through the swirling snow. He nodded his acknowledgment at me and leveled his pistol at an undead that was coming at me. He disappeared into the swirling snow as quickly as he came. I focused on the undead around me, firing round after round into them. Some young rider I saw before but didn’t know got pulled off his horse. I tried to make my way towards him to help but the battled surged taking me further away. I couldn’t dwell on being helpless, I had to be concerned with myself.