by M. D. Massey
I didn’t doubt that Bernie would’ve taken a few out with that rifle, but I was having a hard time believing these vamps took those people by water. Everything I’d ever known about vamps and water said that they wouldn’t cross it willingly. But right here in front of me I had Bernie and his wife telling me otherwise. Occam’s razor indicated that either they were making this story up or this other creature they mentioned had something to do with it. I decided I wouldn’t challenge them on their story, as it wouldn’t make much difference either way.
Bernie looked over at his wife and let out a long breath. “All I could think about was getting back here and making sure Margaret was safe.” She sat down next to him and patted his thigh. “Since then, we’ve been taking one of the smaller boats out a ways at night, and anchoring in the middle of the lake for safety. One of us sleeps while the other keeps watch. Guess it’s good that the older you get, the less sleep you need. It’s played hell with my back though. “
“I know this goes without saying, but why haven’t you escaped to the safe zones?”
He gave me a look that could wilt paint. “Do we really look like we could make that trip, alone? Margaret and I have lived on this lake for going on twenty years now. Came here and bought a house, right up on that point over there, after I retired from the Corps. Saved every extra dime for years just to afford it. Even got to spend some happy years up there, playing with our grandkids and enjoying retirement.”
He paused and gestured around him, then continued. “But that was before all this shit happened. Now, the kids and grandkids are probably gone, but I still can’t bring myself to leave. Every week I go back up to the house just to see if any of them have showed up. That was our plan in case of a disaster, that the kids would drive their families down here and hole up.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, but I knew how he felt; we’d all lost people we loved. I wasn’t about to judge him for trying to hang on to the slim hope that he still had some family alive and searching for him. So I just nodded my understanding in reply; empty platitudes had lost their appeal since the world went batshit crazy.
Just as I was about to ask him for more information on the leeches that took the other settlers, Gabby tapped me on the shoulder and whispered, “Down—we got company!” Margaret ducked back inside the cabin, while Bernie, Gabby, and I dropped down behind the gunwales. As I was taking cover, I saw exactly what had gotten Gabby spooked.
Punters, a whole mess of them. And if I wasn’t mistaken, my friend Jimmy from back at the settlement, aka Pancho Vanilla, was with them. I could hear him yelling out commands as his men spread out around the main building and outbuildings along the shore. And he sounded pissed.
NINE
BURIAL
JIMMY WAS SCREAMING OBSCENITIES into the air, and stalking back and forth with a pistol in each hand. “Scratch! Scratch Sullivan! Come out and get what’s coming to you, you worthless, cowardly son of a bitch!” At least they hadn’t seen us yet, which meant we might still get the drop on them.
Tactically we were in the worst possible position we could be. Only one exit, and that was in a long bottleneck that would leave us exposed almost the entire way out. Leaving by water was not an option, as a sniper could just pick us off from the building’s deck as we paddled to the opposite shoreline. Nope, we were well and truly screwed, unless I could pull some major ninja shit and take these guys out before they knew what hit them.
I turned and looked at the old man. “Bernie, can I trust an old Marine to cover me on overwatch?”
He nodded. “I can split the hairs on a gnat’s ass at 500 yards with this thing. Count on it.”
“Good to know. I’m going to need you to lay down suppressive fire for me, but not until I hit the shoreline. You understand?”
He looked at me skeptically, but nodded just the same. “Sure, I’ll wait until your feet hit the sand—but how in the hell are you going to clear ninety feet of dock without getting your ass shot off?”
“Let me worry about that. You just make sure that when I hit the shore, no one puts a bullet in my skull from that upper deck.”
He shook his head at me ruefully. “Your funeral.” Then he started setting up a firing position through a cutout in the side of the boat that he’d obviously made just for that purpose.
At this point Pancho was still carrying on from the shore. “You killed my kin, Scratch! Kinfolk cain’t never be replaced, as I’m sure you know. I’m here for blood, and there ain’t no way you’re getting out of this alive, so you may as well face justice like a man!”
I rolled my eyes, and then looked over at Gabby and saw both fear and anger in her eyes. Apparently, this kid hated punters, which told me there might be more to that story about her uncle leaving her than she’d told me. I could worry about that later; right now I just needed to keep her and these people safe.
“Stay here and watch Bernie’s back. There’s only one approach, unless they get tricky and swim up on you. Keep an eye everywhere that Bernie isn’t looking, and plant a bullet between the eyes of anyone who comes over the side of the boat.”
Giving her something to do appeared to be the right thing to keep her mind occupied. “Yeah, I can do that. What’re you gonna do?”
“Me? I’m going hunting.” I gave her a wicked grin, and then slid silently over the far side of the boat into the water.
Years before the Great War, I was a soldier. Uncle Sam spent a few million on me, unwittingly training me to be the perfect candidate for surviving the zombie apocalypse. Of course, the government had no intentions as such, as they planned on sending me and a few hundred of my closest friends to hunt for terrorists in the mountains of Afghanistan. And although it cost me part of my vision in one eye, what I got in return were certain skills that have come in handy since the proverbial shit had hit the fan. Hopefully it’d be enough to save our bacon and smoke these punters.
I fully submerged myself and swam about fifteen yards, coming up under the dock at the midway point between the shore and Bernie’s position. My only concern was that the boat would provide insufficient cover and that he’d be taken out by return sniper fire. The most likely place for a sniper to set up would be up on the deck, so I needed to get up there fast and ensure that no one got the jump on him while he was covering my ass.
I counted boots on the shore while I was slowly working my way forward under the dock. Four sets of feet on the ground, and I could hear one more approaching on the planks above me. I pulled myself up under the edge of the dock and waited until he passed my position. Then I knocked on a boat hull and remained still until I heard his footsteps approach me. Through a crack in the planks, I could see him crouch down as if to look under the dock…
Just as soon as he leaned forward, I reached up and pulled him in and under the water. Most people who haven’t practiced fighting while submerged panic, and that was what I was counting on. As he went under I slid behind him and crawled up his back, pushing him further under the water beneath me. While he was fighting to reach the surface, I grabbed his hair with one hand, drew my bowie knife in the other, and inserted the knife in the side of his neck to the hilt. Then I cut away from me in a forward motion, nearly severing his neck completely; it only took a few more seconds for him to stop struggling. Once he quit moving, I pulled him up under the dock and pushed his body over a cross support. Then I listened for any movement that might indicate someone had seen or heard him go down. Nothing. I pushed off and hugged the underside of the dock until I reached the shore.
Now, on to the four remaining punters that were between me and the main building. The one thing that could work in my favor is that most people freeze up when faced with a sudden, overwhelming display of violence. That’s what military and SWAT operators used to call “shock and awe,” also known as rapid dominance. Rapid dominance is a military doctrine that works well, both on the macro level when dealing with a larger theatre of operations, as well as with squad-level u
nit tactics.
On an individual level, the doctrine of rapid dominance dictates that when you’re outnumbered you hit hard, hit fast, and hit them when they aren’t looking. As far as the current situation was concerned, there was no way I’d survive without the element of surprise and aggressive action; I’d be FUBAR if I didn’t run straight over these guys and hit cover within just a few seconds of leaving the water.
Switching to selective fire, I pulled up onto the dock and took a bead on the first person I saw in front of me. I dropped him with a burst to the torso, continually moving forward as I fired on the next closest casualty waiting to happen. I stitched him up the torso and fired another burst to his head, which spattered brain and blood on the third guy standing just a few feet on the other side of him. Bad guy number three froze just long enough for me to hit him with a three-round burst in the upper chest and another to the face as his buddy was hitting the ground.
I was almost to the building when I turned counterclockwise to find bad guy number four. As I was in rotation, I heard the loud crack of the .300, and completed the turn only to watch bad guy number four’s brains sliding down the wall to my eight o’clock. He’d been coming up on me from my blind spot, and Bernie had just saved my ass. I gave a quick wave and entered the building from the first floor, clearing the room as I entered.
Making my way through the lower level, I carefully cleared each room one at a time. The last thing I wanted was to have one of these goons come up behind me while I was sneaking up on their buddies above. It was fortunate that Gabby and I had cleared this place earlier, because I knew the layout and that gave me a distinct advantage over the current opposition. I made it through the lower level without incident.
I dropped my rifle to let it hang from the one-point, and drew one of my Glocks as I stalked silently up the stairs. Just then I heard the muted crack of the .300 again, and figured that Bernie was laying down suppressive fire on the sniper position above me. That must mean that he’d seen movement, which told me there was a shooter or shooters above me. Exiting the stairs into a dining area, I stayed low as I approached the deck.
Back on the boat I’d counted seven in the group, including my friend Pancho Vanilla. Peeking around the corner to get the lay of the land, I saw a man and a woman on the deck. From the looks of it, the man was acting as spotter and the woman was setting up a sniper’s position with an old deer rifle, a .30-06 bolt-action. By my count these were the last two except for Vanilla. I came up on them silently while they were distracted by the steady cadence of Bernie’s suppressive fire. Without emotion or remorse, I put two bullets in each of them, being careful to stay out of sight so Bernie wouldn’t mistake me for the enemy.
Six down, one to go. Now, where in the hell was Jimmy?
Just then I heard the report of a small pistol, three shots in rapid succession, followed by the crack of a small-caliber rifle. Throwing caution to the wind, I set the Glock down next to me and grabbed the deer rifle from the dead woman in front of me, sighting in on the boat with the scope. Gabby was kneeling with her sidearm pointed over the side of the boat, and I could see a corpse floating in the water on the far side. I couldn’t tell if it was Pancho or not, so I dropped the rifle, holstered my Glock, and switched back to the HK again.
As I headed down the outside stairs to return to the docks, I saw someone fleeing back toward the gate. I quickly drew a bead on the fleeing figure and popped off a burst without effect. They were too far off to bother wasting more ammo, so I let it go and headed back to meet Gabby, Bernie, and Margaret on the docks.
As I approached the dock, I could see Bernie stand up and wave the all clear to me. Margaret was nowhere to be seen, but I imagined she was still in the cabin and waiting for Bernie to tell her it was okay to come out. On the other hand, Gabby was walking drunkenly toward me as I headed back to the boat, her Ruger still in her hand and dangling at her side. I’d seen that walk before back in Afghanistan, and immediately knew something was wrong.
Once I got closer to her I could see blood on her sleeve and stomach, a slowly spreading stain blending in with the camo pattern of her shirt. She smiled when she saw me, but her skin was ashen and her eyes glassy, and I was pretty sure she was going into shock. As I took off toward her at a dead run, she swayed back and forth a bit, and then the pistol fell from her hand to clatter on the dock as she fell into the water.
ACT II
Skimming lightly, wheeling still,
The swallows fly low
Over the field in clouded days,
The forest-field of Shiloh —
Over the field where April rain
Solaced the parched ones stretched in pain
Through the pause of night
That followed the Sunday fight
Around the church of Shiloh —
The church so lone, the log-built one,
That echoed to many a parting groan
And natural prayer
Of dying foemen mingled there —
Foemen at morn, but friends at eve —
Fame or country least their care:
(What like a bullet can undeceive!)
But now they lie low,
While over them the swallows skim,
And all is hushed at Shiloh.
~Herman Melville, Shiloh: A Requiem
ONE
SWALLOW
AS GABBY FELL IN THE WATER, I immediately dropped all my gear and dived in after her. She hadn’t gone far, yet her body was limp and lifeless as I lifted her head out of the water. A few hard strokes got me back to where I could reach the dock, and thankfully Bernie was there to help me lift her out. I’d never thought about how small she was, but as he took her from my arms I noted that she was so light I probably could’ve easily pulled her out, even without his help.
Once Bernie had her, I scrambled out of the lake and immediately started a battlefield trauma assessment, checking her from head to toe. Thankfully it didn’t look like she’d gotten too much water in her lungs, and she was still breathing, so I pulled back her shirt to see where all the blood was coming from. She’d been shot in the left side of her abdomen, with the entrance wound in the left upper quadrant just below the rib cage, possibly with a small-caliber rifle round. I couldn’t find an exit wound, so I assumed something had slowed down the round before it hit her, that maybe it was a ricochet instead of a direct hit. I hoped that was the case, because the less kinetic energy a round hit you with, the less internal damage it would cause.
Bernie brought me a first-aid kit from the boat and opened the case for me. There was a bottle of rubbing alcohol in the case, as well as some disinfectant liquid. I was completely unprepared and unqualified to perform emergency surgery to remove a bullet, so all I could do was clean the wound, stop the external bleeding, and get Gabby on antibiotics until I could get her to someone who knew more about field surgery than I did. I doused my hands with alcohol, poured a bunch on and around the wound, and then began cleaning the area with antiseptic and a sterile gauze pad. Once I had the area good and sterile, I covered it with more gauze and taped it shut. Then, I applied a pressure bandage to the area. That was as much as I could do for the moment.
After I had her wound dressed, Bernie helped me move her into the main building and onto one of the dining tables, suggesting to me that it would be the best place to care for her. He looked at me with regret, and I could tell he’d seen a person get gut shot before. “Don’t look good, Scratch—not without a doctor.”
“I know. The problem is, I don’t know of a single qualified surgeon anywhere around here. The last one we had in the settlements got eaten by one of his patients, dumb son of a bitch that he was.” Gabby chose that moment to start to stir, so I looked over at Bernie and pointed by the door where I’d dropped my gear on the way in. “Bernie, can you hand me my bag?” Bernie brought me my backpack, and I rummaged around until I found what I was looking for, a waterproof hard case where I kept my most
important, life-saving chems and drugs. I pulled out a packet of antibiotics, mixed the packet in some water, and had Bernie help me prop her up. She choked most of it down, grimacing in pain as she did so.
“Ugh. That tastes like ass,” she muttered to us weakly.
I had to smile at that. “You’ve been shot—that ‘ass water’ will help prevent your wound from getting infected until we can get the bullet out.” I paused and squeezed her hand. “This was my fault. I should’ve been looking after you better.”
She shook her head, gently. “Naw, it was my fault. I shouldn’t have stood up. One of those assholes got a lucky shot, right after I pegged that guy who was climbing into the boat. I turned around to wave at you, and that’s when I got hit. I should know better—my tío would have my ass for this.” She grimaced. “Oh man, I might have to throw that back up.”
“Try to avoid it if you can help it. Antibiotics are going to be critical for keeping you healthy until I can get you to a healer.”
She shook her head, more vigorously than the last time. “No. No healers. Take me to La Araña. She’ll know what to do.”
I was skeptical at best about the idea. “I thought you said La Araña was a curandera—I doubt very seriously she’s trained in trauma medicine.”
Gabby chuckled softly, then grimaced again. “Just trust me, Scratch—she can help. I don’t want no one else cutting on me. Nothing but butchers in the settlements. I’ve seen it.”
I nodded in agreement, because the kid had a point. “Okay, we’ll follow your lead.” I’d already decided that getting her back to the safe zone would take too long, anyway. Despite the antibiotics, she’d likely be septic by the time I got her there. Plus we’d play hell dodging the undead along the way. Nos-types could smell fresh blood from a ways off; they were like sharks when it came to blood. Taking her sixty miles in this condition would be a mistake.
