by Gareth Wood
CHAPTER SEVEN
Outside the Wall, September 6, 2013
Robyn clenched on the bicycle brakes with both hands. She had just rounded the corner of Wren Street southbound onto 7th Avenue, only a few blocks from the northwest gate into the Safe Zone, to find the way completely blocked. Not only was there a large crowd of the undead less than half a block away, they were facing right toward Robyn and Nick.
"Back! Head south!" She turned her wheel south and pedaled hard, turning around slowly and then accelerating as adrenaline pumped through her body. The undead lurched forward, a reeking mass of decaying naked flesh.
"Is that the same horde we saw yesterday?" Nick called, looking back briefly at the pursuing creatures. One got too close to him, and he drew his sidearm and shot at it. The bullet missed the brain, but removed the thing’s jaw. Nick cursed when he rode past, his front wheel wobbling as he holstered the handgun.
Robyn kept her eyes forward, looking for lone zombies and straggler groups. One staggered out of an alleyway ahead of them, and stopped in her path. She swerved to avoid the thing as it reached for her, feeling bony fingers catch for just a moment on her sleeve. Then Nick sped past it, and it began to follow them. She pedaled harder, looking up to see a group of ten or more coming into the intersection ahead of them from the west.
"Shit! Nick, pour it on!" She changed gears and hit the pedals even harder, her muscles burning. They had to get around this small group before they were cut off, and it was going to be tight. The east side of the road was clear of obstacles, but the undead were angling toward them. The sickly sweet stench of decay preceded them, made all the worse by the summer heat.
They almost made it through. Robyn swerved around two of them, cursing the weight of the trailer behind her. Another was reaching for her from several feet away, so she ignored it, and ducked under the flailing single arm of another. Then she was clear! She turned to look over her shoulder to see if Nick made it. He had taken a different path, swerving opposite to her first choice. He kicked off the back of one of the things that had grabbed at Robyn and kept going. It was the one-armed corpse that caused the trouble. It turned to grab at Nick, but tripped over its own feet and fell, missing Nick but landing on his rear tire. The crash was spectacular. Nick had a moment to look at Robyn as his bike was knocked sideways and down.
Robyn braked as hard as she could once more, leaving long skid marks on the pavement. She heard Nick hit the road, the bike flipping over and the dry twig snap of something breaking. Then she was stopped. She let go of the handlebars, having to force her hands to open, and grabbed her rifle out of its case. She stepped off the bike and let it fall to the ground with a metallic clatter.
Nick had stopped rolling, and he wasn't moving. He had fallen hard and Robyn could see blood on his face. He lay on his side facing her, eyes closed and road burns on his cheek. Behind him the dead closed in, the closest only meters away.
"Nick!" she called. "Get up!" She fired. The nearest zombie to her partner fell, thick black goop and rancid brains spraying out behind it. She grimaced at the sight, but worked the bolt. Her mantra filled her head, and before very long she fired her tenth bullet. Seven of the undead lay on the street, but more were coming.
She had no time to reload, and dropped her rifle on the cargo trailer. Her handgun was in her hands in an instant, and the nearest of the undead to Nick began to lean toward him. It reached out to grasp his arm as she fired, and it collapsed across him with a hole in the temple.
"Holy shit, Nick, wake up!" she screamed, as two more of the dead closed in. She took three steps forward and slipped into the shooter’s stance. She aimed and fired at the two who were reaching for the injured man. Her two shots hit the closest one, killing it, while the other brought Nick's arm to its mouth and bit down.
Nick woke up screaming. The undead pulled flesh away, blood pouring from its mouth and Nick's arm.
"No! Oh God, Nick!" Robyn ran forward. The injured man shoved the undead away, breaking its grip, and Robyn shot it twice in the face.
"Oh shit it hurts!" he cried out, and Robyn grabbed him by the good hand, aware that the larger group, forty or so strong, was still coming. She could see them, half a block away. She hauled him to his feet and desperately looked around. Many of the buildings this close to the gate had been emptied and closed up, but not all of them. If they could find one that was still open they might have a chance.
Nick was gasping from the pain, and his wound looked awful. Robyn knew it was going to be his death, but she wasn't about to leave him. Behind them the horde advanced, focused on the living prey.
"Can you run?" Robyn demanded while reloading.
"Do I have a choice?" he replied through clenched teeth. His good hand gingerly covered the wound while blood ran down his arm and dripped to the ground. Together they ran south along the hot, quiet street parallel to the Wall. Blood from Nick's wound left a trail on the asphalt, each drop a crimson dot on the grey, dusty road. Fifteen or so more of the undead emerged from overgrown yards, cluttered alleys and ruined buildings ahead of them. Robyn's heart sank. She didn't have enough ammo for this! She turned them off the road, pointing toward a house, this one with an intact front door and the lower level windows still boarded. Nick only grunted his understanding. They crossed the overgrown yard with the dead closing in from all sides.
Robyn jumped up the stairs and hit the door with her shoulder. It moved only a little, swollen by years of rain, heat and cold. She threw herself at it again and it popped open. She dragged Nick through just as the first of the undead reached the steps. She slammed the door closed, shutting off much of the daylight, and felt for a deadbolt. The sudden pounding of dead hands made her jump back, and she heard the creak of the wooden steps as many undead bodies stepped onto them.
"Holy shit," she gasped, "that was way too close."
Nick was breathing hard nearby, and she could make him out as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. He had sunk down to sit on the floor, still clutching his injured arm. It wasn't totally black; windows in other rooms let in some light, but it was dark compared to the bright daylight outside.
"Come on! This door won't hold for long!" she said, raising her voice over the relentless pounding at the door. She helped Nick up, and together they climbed the nearby stairs to the top floor.
"I'm bit, Robyn!" Nick said as they stood at the top of the stairs. "I'm totally fucked. Oh god, I'm going to die!" His voice rose from normal to near shrieking and the panic and naked fear in him was apparent. The pounding at the front door only grew louder. Robyn grabbed Nick’s shoulders, his shirt already wet with sweat.
"I know. I'm sorry, but I need you to keep it together."
Nick pushed past her into one of the bedrooms. "Keep it together? A fucking zombie bit me!" He lifted his arm toward her, dripping blood between his fingers. Robyn followed him as he paced from room to room, pale and shaking.
That's not right, she thought, it's too fast. It must just be shock.
"Nick, you should sit down," she said. She looked around for something to throw down the stairs to block them, but the house was empty. There was no furniture left at all, only an old mop handle propped against a wall in the bathroom. She pulled her remaining magazines out and quickly counted the rounds. She’d just have to block the stairs with bodies. Robyn laughed then, and it sounded a little too high. She choked down on the hysteria lurking just under the surface, breathing deeply until she felt calm returning.
Nick sat down, clutching his wound and looking sick. He leaned back against the wall and sobbed once.
"Promise me you'll shoot me," he said.
"What?"
"Shoot me when I turn. I don't want to come back." He leaned over, propping himself on his good elbow.
"No problem," she told him, "but first help me fight these things off."
The wooden door frame, weakened by years of exposure, finally cracked loudly. Robyn left the room and positioned herself at the top of the stai
rs with a clear view of the front door, sliding a full magazine into her handgun. She realised that her hands were shaking, and took more deep breaths to calm herself. She risked a look into the room where Nick was now lying on his back, gasping for breath. Robyn was confused. It was all too fast. He shouldn't be this sick this quickly. Yes, he was going to die, but it usually took several hours to a full day for people with wounds like Nick's to pass away. Reanimation took place fairly soon after death, usually several minutes, but sometimes as long as an hour.
The door frame cracked again, and the sound jarred Robyn into action. She realised she had been staring at Nick for a full minute. Stupid, stupid, she thought.
"Nick," she called, "give me your weapon!"
There was no answer, and just then the front door failed and burst open. The dead flooded inside, and Robyn began firing, emptying one clip quickly, then ejecting it and loading another. She saw Nick getting up to come help, and the undead on the stairs were stumbling over their fallen to get at her, but enough bodies had filled the lower steps to make footing treacherous. She turned to Nick to ask for his gun again.
She smelled piss and shit and blood as he came out of the room, and his eyes were already empty. She felt a chill flow through her even as she raised the gun toward him.
It's too fast, she thought, he's reanimated too fast!
The thing that had been Nick came at her quickly, as only the freshly dead could. Robyn didn't hesitate, raising her gun and firing point blank into his lifeless face. The deafening boom left her ears ringing, and Nick's hands clutched at her. She felt a moment of terror as fingers almost gently touched her arms, but then fell away when the body collapsed backward. The bullet had entered his sinuses, bounced upward through his brain, and exited messily from the top of his skull. Blood, shattered bone, hair and brains sprayed the ceiling above her.
The body toppled over the railing and started to fall into the stairwell, and Robyn spotted his handgun still on his belt in its holster, and a spare magazine as well. She grabbed for them, but adrenaline made her twitchy and she missed. The undead, distracted for only a moment when the new body fell among them, continued to clamber past the obstacles and up the stairs.
"Fuck!"
Robyn backed up, felt the wall behind her, and took another breath. She aimed and waited, then fired again and again. The pressure of the horde outside kept pushing new zombies in through the door, where they saw her at the top of the stairs. Sooner or later, she knew, she would run out of bullets.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Mission Safe Zone, September 6, 2013
Amanda
It took a little time to get a response team together, about three minutes after the first gunshots. I spent that time making sure I had enough ammo and that my Browning was clean. The rifle shots outside went on for a while, then it got quiet. I hopped into the back of a truck with several others and waited for the last of the running around to subside. Finally the gate opened and ten of us drove out, men and women all armed to the teeth and anxious to help whoever it was that was shooting at the undead.
The driver took us two or three blocks straight out, and from there it was easy to follow the trail of bodies to a pair of salvager bicycles lying on the street. So it was a couple of our people, and from the look of the fresh red blood near the crashed bike, one of them was hurt. There were several dead zombies on the ground too.
"Looks bad," said Andy, my companion from the tower. I hadn't noticed him getting on the truck, but he was right beside me now.
"When isn't it?" I remarked, noticing the very nice rifle left with the bike trailer we were passing. It looked familiar, but it didn't matter right that second. We drove past the bikes, around corpses, and down the street just as a number of shots sounded. A smaller calibre than the rifle, but still several blocks away.
"Hang on!" the driver called, and we sped south. After a few blocks we saw the mass of the undead, a small swarm focused around the entrance to a house. It was inside there that the gunshots came from, one every few seconds. The undead were trying to push through all at once, and getting clogged at the door. Hopefully that would give whoever was inside enough time to shoot them.
"Everyone out!" I shouted, taking charge. "Form a line and start shooting the ones nearest the door first!" And damn, they listened to me. I leaned over to the driver. "Lay on the horn, it'll help take some pressure off the people inside."
The truck horn blared, and sure enough a bunch of those dead fucks turned toward us. A barrage of rifle and handgun shots rang out, astonishingly loud, and the corpses began to fall. I felt what I have always felt when I watched the undead collapse. Exhilaration. Excitement. An almost sexual pleasure as the bullets hammered into skulls and the rotten bastards were put down for good.
It is possible that there is something very wrong with me.
We were making a dent in the swarm. I climbed down and ran to join the shooting line, anchoring one end. I aimed and fired at a naked thing, and felt joy as it fell face first onto the ground. In less than a minute we killed about half of them. We knew our business these days, and only once did a single undead make it anywhere close to one of us. It was put down quickly, with no panic or running around.
The shooting from inside continued, and our firing line advanced toward the front of the house. We stepped over bodies and debris, and destroyed the last ones outside in a hail of lead. Inside the gunshots stopped, but I could still hear something thumping around. I jogged to the door with Andy and another man I didn't know, and just as I put a foot on the lower step a woman cried out from inside, "I'm out of ammo!"
Inside was carnage. There was blood everywhere, most of it the thick black crap that fills the veins of the flesh eaters, but I also spotted the real red kind, dripping from upstairs. My heart lurched and I knew we were too late for somebody. There was a lot of the red stuff.
There were maybe ten bodies on the steps, and it was from them that the black goo ran and pooled on the stairs, sprayed onto the walls and stained the light fixtures. Climbing up toward the living woman at the top were four more of the dead. The woman was holding them off with a mop handle, shoving the leader back as it tried to climb. The lowest one had seen us and was turning back when I shot it twice in the face. It fell into the pile.
"Get down!" I yelled, and the woman dove out of sight. Myself, Andy and the other guy all opened up, a deafening chorus of gunfire. Bullets did their jobs, and the last three zombies died on the stairs.
In the silence that followed more members of the response team came and looked inside.
"Holy hell," someone said. A few more comments like that followed. The stink was unreal, and I had to pull my shirt up over my nose.
"Are you alright up there?" I called, my voice slightly muffled.
"I'm okay," she said, "No bites, but I can't say the same about Nick." She moved back to where I could see her, and I realised I knew her. Her name was Robbie, or Roberta, something like that. I'd talked to her once a few months ago in the local dive, The Thirteenth Step.
We started pulling bodies aside, down the steps and out the front door. It took a few minutes, but I finally had a pathway up the sodden steps and past the few corpses that remained. I just knew I was going to have to burn my clothes too.
At the top of the steps she was kneeling down beside the body of a young man, smoothing down his hair to cover the exit wound in his skull. There was no hiding the entry in his face, but at least it was small and not bleeding much now. I took a quick look in the other rooms, then came back and crouched by her side. She looked sad and relieved at the same time.
"Do you remember me? I'm Amanda," I said gently. "We met a few months ago."
She glanced up from where she was slowly laying the man's head on the carpet, and really looked at me. Her gaze flickered over the scars, settled on my eyes.
"Right, I remember. I'm Robyn." Ah, of course. Robyn. I was close. "This is Nick, my partner. It was his first trip out."
&nbs
p; First trip. Damn.
"I'm sorry. We'll treat him right."
The bodies of any of our people, salvagers or Guards or whatever, were buried outside the Wall in a small cemetery. We burned the bodies of the undead and anyone bitten, and held a funeral on the bridge over the Fraser River. There were a lot more of those than anything else among the salvage teams. Still, we did it with respect.
"No," she said urgently, "he has to go to the hospital."
My first thought was that she was in shock or denial, but she looked clear eyed and determined.
"Why?"
"He died too fast. Came back too fast. His wound shouldn't have killed him as fast as it did."
"When was he bit?" Andy asked, climbing the stairs. A couple of guys from the response team came up too. It was crowded at the top of the stairs.
"About ten minutes ago," Robyn told us, and I could see her playing the last few minutes over in her head.
Ten minutes? I felt goosebumps crawl up my arms, an unpleasant feeling anytime, but horrible in this heat.
"That's impossible," Andy said, waving his hand at the injury. "It takes hours with a wound like that, maybe a full day."
Robyn looked at us, her eyes bleak. "I don't know what to tell you. Fifteen minutes ago he was fine. We got caught by that horde, Nick got bit, we got away and made it here. He went to sit down, I was killing as many of them as I could, and the next thing I know Nick has reanimated and is trying to eat me." She shuddered and shook her head.
