Deadlocked 6

by A. R. Wise

"I'm serious. There's something fucked up here. You got your earpiece in?"

  "Yeah, no one's saying shit." Brian was equipped with an earpiece that Jerald used to keep everyone abreast of current orders. "Last thing I heard was that everything was going according to plan."

  "How long ago was that?" asked Mike.

  "About ten, fifteen minutes ago. What's got you so spooked?"

  Mike shook his head and dismounted the ATV. "Fuck this, dude. Something's wrong." He drew his pistol and looked around. "This ain't right."

  "For Christ's sake, Mike. You're acting liked a frightened little bitch, you know that?"

  Something whistled through the air and ended with a distinctive, soft thud.

  Mike looked around, confused and desperate to locate the source of the noise. "Did you hear that?"

  He looked at Brian, who was still standing on the back of the ATV. There was a crossbow bolt protruding from his forehead, and a trickle of blood rolled along the bridge of his nose.

  Brian looked down at Mike, still conscious. He blinked rapidly before asking, "Did something hit me?" Then his eyes closed and he fell over backward, tumbling off the back of the ATV and crashing down on the asphalt.

  "Holy fuck!" Mike charged for the side of the street to seek the cover of one of the local shops. The closest building was formerly a flower shop, with daisies painted on the walls and decorative vines coursing through the ceiling tiles. He jumped through what had once been a glass door, but had long since been shattered, and rushed to a counter where he took cover.

  He gasped and his pistol shook in his grip as his nerves quaked him. He cursed over and over and tried to swallow, but his mouth was desert dry. A rat scurried across the floor to his left, terrifying him in the process.

  "Who are you?" he screamed out. "What do you want?"

  He heard footsteps above him, clopping on the creaky old wood. There was an office in the back of the shop, and he pointed his gun at the doorway. He was convinced they were trying to flank him and his mind raced with escape possibilities.

  Then he heard a sound that he'd heard many times before come from the street. It was the unmistakable 'thoomp' of a gas cartridge being fired from a grenade launcher.

  The silver canister soared through the air above Mike's head, over the counter, and bounced off the plaster wall in the back of the shop. White smoke trailed the small can as it fell to the tile floor, bouncing before it caustically popped and the gas was set free.

  Mike covered his face with the crook of his arm as he raced to the office door in the back of the shop, but the gas was too potent to ignore. It burned his eyes and stole his breath as he struggled to pull the door open. The handle was locked and he desperately started bashing his shoulder into the door.

  It was a useless attempt and he fell to his knees as he started to succumb to the gas. He started to claw at the carpeted floor and heard the metal door beneath. He knew that some of the buildings in town had been built over storage units for zombies, and if he was going to die he wanted to take the bastards that killed him along for the ride. He tried to find the handle to the door, but the gas started to overwhelm him. His vision was blurred by tears as he continued to try and blink away the sting. His stomach convulsed and he started to vomit.

  Then he saw the door handle to the office turn. He scrambled for his pistol, but it was lost.

  The door opened, and a man in a gas mask walked through. He was wearing a green poncho that was tightly wrapped around his mask and he had an old fashioned combat helmet on that looked like something used in the early twentieth century.

  Mike's consciousness teetered as the man in the mask approached. The attacker reached out with a gloved hand, and Mike accepted that he was about to die. He closed his eyes and the back of his head bounced off the metal floor.

  * * *

  Arthur Laporte dragged the unconscious soldier out of the flower shop and into the street, towards the car that he'd parked in the thoroughfare. Dustin Blanchard was already outside, somewhere near the church, with his crossbow ready.

  Arthur waved in the direction of the church after letting go of the soldier's body. "All good," he said.

  Dustin stood up from his hiding spot behind the church's white placard in the overgrown front lawn. The message on the front of the sign was missing several of its black letters, but seemed to have once said, 'In the end, He'll be there for you.'

  "Think that's the last of them?" asked Dustin as he walked down the street.

  Arthur shrugged. "No way to know for sure. You should stay in position until I get back."

  Dustin, a large man in his late forties, jogged the final few yards to meet up with Arthur.

  "Whoa, whoa, whoa, what are you saying? Where are you planning to go?"

  Arthur tossed his helmet to the side and then positioned the gas mask on the top of his head. He looked back down the street, toward the circle of fire that the soldiers had hoped to use as a catalyst to drive the Rollers into town. "My family's in there."

  "Yeah," said Dustin. "Mine too, but charging in there isn't going to help anyone. I need you here with me to make sure we've taken out all the soldiers. There's no other way for Laura to take the Rollers but right through here. Trust me, Artie, you're better off staying here with me."

  "Sorry, but that's not going to happen."

  Arthur climbed onto the ATV as Dustin grabbed his arm. "This isn't up for debate, kid. This is an order. We're staying here to make sure the soldiers are wiped out. That's all there is to it."

  Arthur studied the ATV's various buttons to make sure he understood how it worked. He'd ridden on these in the past, but it had been several years.

  "Are you listening to me?" asked Dustin. He glowered at the young man and stepped up onto the side of the ATV.

  "You need to get off, Dustin," said Arthur. "I'm about to go into the fire to get my son."

  "Damn it, Artie! You're going to get yourself killed."

  Arthur winked at his old partner. "Come on, you know me better than that." He gently thumbed the accelerator and jostled the vehicle. Dustin jumped off, startled by the sudden movement, and started cursing again.

  "We don't even know if the fucking soldiers are all back yet." Dustin yelled as Arthur drove the ATV in a tight circle around him. "You're putting me at risk here too, you know. God damn it, Artie!"

  Arthur ignored Dustin and raced out into the field of fire and zombies where the Rollers were trapped. The ATV was easy to navigate along the road, even though the pavement had long ago cracked and shifted. He got to the edge of the road where the field began and surveyed the scene. A crescent of fire had been set in a wide arc, but from his viewpoint he could only see the north and south edge of it. In the far distance to the east he could see smoke rising from the horizon.

  On either side of the highway, to the left and right of his position, the soldiers had set out spike strips to force the Rollers into the middle of town. Dustin and he had surprised the ambush party, and killed them, although he thought it was strange how few of them there were. Never-the-less, he was concerned that the Rollers would try to drive through the fire to avoid the obvious trap, unaware that the town had been cleared.

  "Let's get this over with," said Arthur to himself as he drove across the gravel road that split off the main highway to provide passage over the ditch and into the field. It wasn’t the flames that worried him. The arc that the soldiers had drawn with the flamethrower was wide enough to not be a threat. The problem was the zombies. The freshly turned corpses were swifter than the Greys that the Rollers normally dealt with, and the flames hadn't simply forced the creatures to run for the center. The undead were flooding in any direction that wasn't on fire, and that meant there was a wave of corpses pushing in on Arthur's route. The horde would engulf him if he didn't hurry.

  The terrain was easy to traverse, so he revved the engine as much as he could. The creatures were running at him, enticed by the sight and sound of his vehicle, but he was able to av
oid them as he went. However, he was attracting a horde of followers and he didn't know how he'd deal with them once he reached the Roller's camp. All he could hope for was that the Rollers were able to kill them once he got to them.

  The Roller's camp was in view now, and Arthur could see that they were gearing up to move out. The partitions had been raised and some of the trucks had moved out to line up, facing west. The lead truck was the box trailer with the crow's nest built atop it, and Arthur could see Dante waving from the top. A muzzle flash erupted from the top of the truck, under Dante, and Arthur saw that Annie was sniping from the lead of the caravan.

  A zombie near Arthur suddenly dropped, a victim of Annie's impeccable aim. He glanced down at it and saw that half of the man's head had been torn off from the bullet. The pink brain matter and red meat startled him. Most of the zombies he'd killed over the years were Greys, whose bodies had been decaying for several months. This was a fresh body, and he struggled to understand the ramifications of that.

  His temporary distraction kept him from seeing the fallen tree in his path. The ATV did an admirable job of clearing the tree, but Arthur wasn't as lucky. He wasn't ready for the sudden jolt, and he flew off the back of the vehicle.

  He landed face first on the stony earth and heard his gas mask clatter on the ground beside him. The ATV kept moving forward, but the sudden lack of weight unbalanced it and the vehicle soon teetered on its left wheels before rolling over, tumbling again and again in the direction of the Roller's caravan.

  The accident had dazed Arthur, and he forgot the danger he was in. His only focus was on a quick mental breakdown of possible injuries as he lay on the ground. Then the first zombie caught up to him.

  He turned so that his back was on the ground as the creature roared above him. It was a woman in a white gown, with her blonde hair tied in a ponytail and her blue eyes staring into his. There was fresh red blood on her pale cheeks, mixed with speckles of dirt, as she grasped his slick green poncho.

  The creature didn't want to settle for biting his leg, and dove over him to bite his exposed face. Her red gums were bared as her gleaming white teeth snapped at him. Her wild eyes were unblinking, like a savage let loose to ravage a meal that had teased her for years. He caught the girl by the throat and tried to push her away, but her tenacity won. She clawed and kicked, and it took all of his strength to keep her even a few inches from his throat. Her bloodied fingers reached for his face as he jerked his head from left to right. Her bare feet scrambled at his sides as she bore down on him.

  He pushed her up with all of his strength, aware that this was just the first of a hundred creatures that would soon overwhelm him if he couldn't break free. He knew that he might die, so he screamed out, hoping the Rollers could hear him. "Go west! It's clear. Go west!"

  Arthur kept the zombie's head held high as he tried to reach for his pistol. The cacophony of guttural screams around him was growing as the horde approached, but he focused his attention on the girl straddling him.

  He was watching when her head exploded.

  One moment he was holding her neck, with her jaws snapping at his face, and the next he was gripping a squirting stump, with only a lower jaw still intact. He was soaked in her blood as he heard the echo of a rifle shot.

  Arthur pushed the corpse off of him and quickly surveyed the plains. The horde was closing in on either side of him, and the Rollers were on the move. The caravan had started moving his way, and he realized that Annie had made the shot that saved him while riding on top of a moving vehicle. That was unnerving, and he didn't want to force her to take another lucky shot like that one.

  Annie wasn't lying down anymore. She was crouched, still holding her hunting rifle and aiming through the scope as the caravan moved towards Arthur. She was swinging the weapon left and right, firing and swiftly ejecting the cartridges, with a panicked determination to kill as many of the creatures as she could. Her aim was impeccable, but even she couldn't save Arthur from the mass of undead closing in on him.

  He got up and drew his pistol. To the north, there were at least twenty zombies barely thirty yards away. To the south, there were more.

  "Well, fuck," said Arthur as he ran out of options. He gave up on fighting back and rushed to the ATV. It was flipped over, and was a larger model than any he'd used in the past. He could only hope it was easy to upright, but he was mistaken. The vehicle was too heavy, and he wouldn't have time to flip it over before the horde closed in.

  His only escape would be to run at the caravan, and hope that he could grab onto one of the trucks.

  He saw his uncle in the driver's seat of the lead truck. Arthur waved with both hands at Zack, while running straight at him. Zack slowed the truck down, but he couldn't stop entirely without allowing the horde a chance to attack. Arthur moved to the passenger side and waited as the caravan got closer. He could hear the zombies behind him, growling and running through the weeds.

  Zack leaned over, opened the passenger side door, and screamed, "Get in!"

  Arthur leapt and grabbed the door while the vehicle continued to move, but he wasn't able to get a grip. He fell and felt his leg bend at an awkward angle as he hit the ground.

  His last chance had passed him by. He knew he was going to die now.

  PART THREE

  A HERO FOR THE AGES

  CHAPTER ELEVEN - HOME SWEET HOME

  Celeste

  They loaded me into one of the helicopters and I tried to get the large soldier to explain what he meant by saying that I was being taken to see my mother. He stayed quiet, and no longer spoke to me except to give orders. I'd been cuffed, and the soldiers were very careful to secure me as I was hauled into the monstrous black vehicle.

  A tornado of dust and smoke whipped into a frenzy around the helicopter and I was forced to close my eyes as we approached. The sound was deafening, and I couldn't help but think of the attack on Vineyard, when Hailey was murdered.

  I was pulled into a large door on the side of the helicopter by a soldier inside. He grabbed my shoulders and guided me to a seat where he forced me down. My butt thudded against the metal bench as the man pulled a harness off the wall. Then he put his gloved hand on the back of my head, shoved me down so that I was staring at my knees, and slid the buckled, rubber contraption over my shoulders. Then he pushed my head back up and pulled the harness down hard as he fiddled with the buckles to make it tighter. Once secured, he clipped a metal loop around part of the harness. A black rope led down from the loop to an anchor on the floor.

  The soldier tried to say something to me, but the screaming wind outside from the whirling blades was too loud for me to hear anything else. He leaned in closer and yelled in my ear. "How's that feel? Tight enough?"

  I didn't answer.

  He waited impatiently for me to respond, and then rolled his eyes before checking for himself. He put his fingers beneath the harness and tugged at it to see how much give it had. Then he tightened it more, until I could feel the straps digging into my ribs, and dismissively pat the top of my head.

  The large soldier that had pulled me out of the truck got into the helicopter with us. He shared words with the other man, and then turned to the pilot and made a spinning motion with his finger. Moments later, we were lifting off the ground.

  We rose above a plume of dust and smoke and I moved to the edge of my seat so that I could look down on the Surface. Orange flames swallowed the hillside where our truck had overturned, and I could see their intensity even through the black smoke. I was keenly aware that as I sat there, staring down at the flames, Hailey's body was being consumed by them. Despite my sorrow, I was happy to know that she was free. These bastards would never have her again. Her corpse would burn, and all they would find would be ash. In this bleakest of moments, that gave me solace.

  The sensation of rising through the air, combined with staring down at the ground, caused my stomach to turn. I had to look away, and focused on the front of the helicopter. That's when I saw t
he older soldier staring at me. He'd taken off his gas mask, and his sweat caused his shaved head to glisten. His skin was weathered, wrinkled with age and baring the distinctive appearance of a Surface dweller: cragged and defined. His square jaw and strong cheekbones framed a forced smile, an emotion that his face seemed unfamiliar with. If allowed to settle, I imagined his face would fall into a frown, as if scowling was the only way he could relax.

  He nodded at me as he continued to smirk, baring his teeth like some predator, toying with its food. I smiled back, fully intending to mock his glee.

  I expected our journey to take several hours and end back at the airport that I'd escaped from less than a day earlier. Instead, we flew a short distance north, to a remote cabin atop a hill, far from any other sign of civilization. The helicopter landed on a paved rectangle that looked as if it were designed for some sort of sport that I was unfamiliar with.

  The old soldier got up and took my arm. He forced me to stand and then unclipped the hook that bound me to the helicopter before leaning close to my ear to say, "Come on, Mommy's waiting."

  Six troops appeared from near the cabin and rushed out to greet us, weapons drawn. One of them made a series of hand gestures, wordlessly commanding the group around him, before saluting the man that held me.

  The troops at the cabin looked different from the ones that captured me. They were wearing blue uniforms instead of black armor, and there were red stripes on their shoulders. They formed a line on either side of us, providing a path between them that led toward the log cabin beside the paved court.

  "General Scott," said the man that seemed to be commanding the soldiers in blue. "We can take it from here."

  General Scott ignored him and proceeded to pull me along, toward the cabin. The other man reluctantly followed.

  "Sir, we can handle it from here on out," said the young man in blue.

  Still, the general ignored him and continued to head to the cabin.