Red Runs the River

by Tony Urban

Wim scratched at the dirt with a stick, drawing random shapes then erasing them with his foot and starting over. The anticipation, if you could call it that, was wearing on him. He wanted to get on with it already, good or bad.

  He got his wish when Mitch and his old stallion, galloped into the makeshift camp, kicking up a storm of dust in the process.

  "They're coming! I'd say less than a mile out."

  Any sense of calm disappeared with those nine words.

  Chapter Fifty

  There were two factions to Grady's flock. The first group, comprised of a few dozen men and women who remained human, had the lead while the zombies, which numbered over one thousand, took up the rear. Grady held court in the middle.

  "Friends, for some of you this journey has taken years. For others, months. But I know, for all of you, it has been a challenge. Thank you, for believing and trusting. For never losing faith."

  He looked to Juli. Of all his flock, she was the one who seemed to suffer the most from doubt and worry, but today even she appeared content.

  "Ahead lies the river and the waters in which we will be reborn. Reborn without sin, without worry, without pain. So now, come with me." He said those words to the humans. To the zombies, he held his hand in a 'halt' motion. "Wait, children. Your time will come soon."

  Over the previous months, there hadn't been the slightest deviation from what Grady was shown in his visions and he had no doubt that the events to come would be no different. Fear was a foreign emotion to him now because he knew God's plan was coming to fruition. Soon he would be reunited with Josiah. Soon he would be with God. Soon he would be home.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  It was only four of them who laid at the top of the hill and watched Grady's people flow into the river. Wim took it in through the scope of his rifle, while Saw, Mead, and Mitch viewed through binoculars or, in Mitch's case, nothing but his young eyes.

  Soon, all the men and women were in the water, submerged to their waists. Grady stood at the opposite shoreline and they all faced him. Which meant they faced away from Wim and the others.

  "I say we start," Saw said. "Pick 'em off like the sitting ducks they are."

  Mitch was quick to agree but Wim's general curiosity preferred a slower approach. "Not just yet. Let's see what's up first."

  "Aw, you're wasting time," Saw climbed to his feet and stomped away. Mitch followed, to the surprise of no one.

  Wim watched them return to the Shard End group which was about twenty yards further back and completely out of view from the river. "Don't you go starting anything just yet."

  "Yeah, yeah," Saw said. "We ain't waiting around all day though."

  "I had no plans to." Wim turned back to the river where Grady had entered the water.

  The day was calm, with not even the slightest breeze, and Wim could hear his words.

  "As Peter said in the second book of Acts, 'Repent and be baptized, every one of you, in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of your sins. And you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit."

  Grady dipped his hands into the water and scooped up handfuls, tossing it over them as he moved down the line. "I baptize you in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. God's promise is for you and your children and for all who are far off--for all whom the Lord our God will call."

  This went on for several minutes as the little man gave all his followers a good drenching. Too long.

  The sound of dozens of footsteps on the dry ground gave Wim plenty of warning that his pleas for patience had run their course. He didn't expect to be listened to, not when he was a stranger and Saw was the blowhard who'd been leading them for years.

  He pointed past the river where the undead army formed a black oasis against the sand and stone. "Let them get closer, so they're by the explosives."

  Saw shook his head. "No, Wim. Those folks down in the water ain't got no weapons as far as I can see. We wait, they might go back the other way and load up with guns and then we'll be fooked. We need to get em now and get em fast."

  "I believe that's a mistake."

  "Believe what you want." Saw turned to his people. "Are you all ready for this?"

  Wim was surprised this lot had the sense not to respond with a thunderous roar of approval, giving away their location. Instead they nodded and muttered affirmatives.

  "Good. Now there's no sense wasting bullets on a bunch of unarmed, church-going ninnies. Save your ammunition for the zombies and let’s do this the old-fashioned way!"

  Saw raised a machete. Mitch carried Aben's war club. Others in the group had axes and knives, hammers and spears. Wim didn't know exactly how this was all going down, but he knew it would be bloody.

  "Let's do it!"

  The few dozen men and women poured past Wim and Mead and down the embankment, toward the river. And what followed was a massacre.

  When Grady's people realized the type of hell coming their way, they tried to run but Saw's army only gained momentum as they sprinted down the hillside and splashed into the water. His people were brutal, bloodthirsty, and merciless. They chopped off limbs. They cut throats.

  "Holy fucknuggets," Mead said. "These fuckers are animals."

  Wim saw a man with one eye use a spear to stab an elderly woman through the face. She fell into the river and the man ripped his weapon free, bringing half her head along with it.

  Saw chased Owen, the man who had helped betray Brimley and who now ran for the shore, taking big, galloping steps through the water. Just as he got a foot on dry land, Saw swung the blade and chopped off his leg below the knee. Owen tumbled backward into the water where Saw caught him and stabbed the machete through the underside of his jaw, ramming the blade into his skull. Then, Saw dropped the lifeless body into the current.

  Mitch smashed in the skull of an elderly man off whose bald pate the sunlight had been reflecting a second earlier. And as soon as that was done, Mitch found a young woman trying to flee and he slammed the club into her face, shattering all the bones.

  Wim had to look away. All the zombie created carnage he'd seen the last few years paled compared to the bloodbath that was happening in the river. Even when he wasn't watching, their screams coupled with the sounds of death and dying, and hopelessness filled the air and it all sickened him.

  He wanted to leave, to head back to Gypsy and ride off and let these human monsters finish the fight on their own, but he couldn't bring himself to go. He was the one who knew where all the pails of explosives were hidden and it was his job to shoot them and set off the bombs. Because, even if Saw and his people could slaughter a few dozen defenseless zealots, they stood no chance against the real fight that was inevitable. The battle against the undead.

  "Wim," Mead said. "I know you don't want to see this. Neither do I really, but check out the pastor."

  When Wim looked down, he saw the river running red. The blood of the death staining the rocks and shore, the water so full of dead bodies that it looked on the verge of overflowing.

  "Over there," Mead said, pointing. Wim followed his gaze and saw Grady not only alive but hurrying from his people as they died horribly in the waters of the Rio Grande. "That chickenshit's running away. I'll be motherfucked."

  Juli was with him. If there hadn't been any context, Wim thought they might have looked like two lovers, out for a midday jog. But he knew better.

  "He's not running away," Wim said. "He's going to the zombies."

  They watched as Grady and Juli crossed the divide between the river and where the zombies waited. Wim lifted his rifle and peered through the scope to get a better look. He couldn't hear Grady's words from such a distance, but he saw the man's mouth moving, his arms gesticulating.

  Then, Grady turned back to the river and walked. Juli kept pace at his side. And the zombies followed.

  "Oh, shit," Mead said.

  Wim thought that about summed it up.

  Most of Grady's followers were dead in the water, with only a few straggle
rs still fighting for their lives. Saw had hold of one of them, a man in his early twenties, who was taller and fitter, but Saw had him overmatched in meanness. He punched the man in the jaw and heard a loud crunch as it broke. He held his arms in front of his face protectively.

  "Please, don't!" His words came out garbled through his injured maw, but Saw wasn't in the mood for mercy.

  Saw grabbed hold of the young man's hair, then used a machete to scalp him, tearing away his curly brown locks along with the flesh underneath them. As the man's body sunk into the water, Saw waved his trophy in the air like a triumphant warrior.

  "Saw!"

  He heard his name but didn't know where the sound came from. He looked around, mostly finding the dead or dying. Who's calling me name, he thought.

  "Saw! Get your people up here!"

  The up here tipped him off to look to the hill where he found Wim waving frantically. "Why?"

  Wim didn't respond verbally. He only pointed. Saw followed the gesture and discovered the zombies pouring into the earthen funnel. That made him smile. This was the fight he'd been waiting for since the very beginning.

  He turned to look up at Wim. "You start taking out the buckets. We'll finish off the ones that get through!"

  "No! Come up here and fight!"

  Saw wasn't in the mood to argue. He was too full of adrenaline and bloodlust. He waved the dumb farmer away. He could fight like a coward if he chose. Saw was going to war like a man and so were all his people.

  He cupped his hands around his mouth. "Listen up you bastards!" His voice boomed above the din of death and dying. "We're getting some company and if any of you run, I'll kill you me self."

  They all stared at him and not a one dared disobey his orders. He was their leader, their King, and he knew they would be loyal to him till the end.

  "Those religious puffs were just the warm up act. This is the main event. Now, take a deep breath and get ready to kill yourselves some zombies!"

  Saw spotted Mitch nearby and went to him. "You ready for this Mitchy?"

  Mitch nodded. "I am."

  "Right now, you think about every bit of hate you got inside yourself. Think about every person who ever let you down or disrespected you. Think about every rotten moment in your life. Do it for me now."

  Mitch stayed silent, eyes narrowed, his breath quickening.

  Saw grabbed a handful of Mitch's hair and pulled him in close, pressing their foreheads together. When Saw spoke, his spittle splashed against Mitch's face, but the boy didn't pull away. "That's my boy, Mitchy. Now harness that hate, every bit of it, and use it to fight. Because we can do this. I don't care if we're outnumbered thirty to one. Hells bells, it could be a hundred to one and we can still win this. You believe that, don't you?"

  "I do."

  "Good on ya, son. Are you ready?"

  "I am."

  "So am I."

  Saw released him and looked again to the others. "Let's end these fookers once and for all!"

  The men and women roared.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  They're so fucking insane," Mead said.

  All Wim could do was nod. As he looked onto the zombies he was again reminded of the rats. It had taken only two blasts from his Pa's old shotgun to finish them off. This lot would be much harder. Maybe impossible. He felt like it all depended on him and that wasn't a role he was comfortable playing.

  He had his rifle shouldered and had slowed his breaths so they came in shallow and steady. The sights on the scope were lined up with the bucket Aben had been hiding when the snakes got him. He could see specks of white through the cover of the sage brush and it was now just waiting for the zombies to get close enough to maximize the damage.

  They were five yards away. Then three. Then just a couple feet. Wim licked his lips, squinted, and squeezed the trigger.

  The bucket full of fertilizer and aluminum powder disappeared in a cloud of smoke. Rocks, dirt, and debris sliced through the air. Mixed among the natural elements were bits and pieces of zombies. Most were too small to identify, just random hunks of flesh, but there were a few larger chunks that caught his eye. Part of a head. A lower leg. A lone hand. All of it blew up into the air and then rained down.

  "Holy fucking shit!" Mead screamed and out of the corner of his eye, Wim could see the man bouncing up and down. "That's better than anything! That's better than the Gatling gun! You just wasted a couple dozen of those motherfuckers!"

  "It's a start." Wim said and sought out the next bucket.

  He fired again with similar results. A third shot and a third bucket was even more dramatic and he saw a zombie's head fly fifty feet into the air before rocketing back down to the ground.

  The area was filling with dusty smoke, making it harder to find the other hiding places. It took him half a minute to lock in on the fourth, but he got a bull's eye and it blew with spectacular results.

  So far, Wim was pleased, and there were another ten buckets to go, but when he looked at the overall picture, he saw that blowing up the zombies had created an unintended consequence. The ties that bound the monsters together were now mostly obliterated. The zombies were now free to move on their own and, as individuals, their pace quickened.

  It's not gonna work, Wim thought. There were simply too many of them. It seemed like the first four bombs had killed so many, but hundreds still remained and they were coming.

  They were hungry.

  He shot the fifth bucket.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Mitch had tucked the handle of Aben's war club into his jeans, instead using his hands to hold a semiautomatic rifle. The zombies were pouring in, a dozen every few seconds. Most of the men and women from Shard End were shooting, but their aim was poor. Many shots missed entirely and the ones that hit landed in chests, arms, torsos. The zombies kept coming.

  Mitch's aim wasn't much better. He'd never shot a gun in his life before the plague and didn't spend much time on learning afterward. He was barely adequate and fired four times before he dropped the first zombie with a headshot.

  He felt like his own head was wrapped in cotton. The unending gunfire had his ears ringing, muffling all sound and the smoke from the explosions and shooting put a blue haze over everything and everyone. He saw motion to his right and spun that direction, firing on instinct. The bullet ripped through one-eyed Diesel's throat and a spurt of blood, like water from an underground spring, jutted out.

  Shocked at the misfire, Mitch lowered the rifle and took a step toward the dying man. Before he reached him, two zombies pounced on him from the rear. Mitch plunged into the water as he fell. He sucked in a mouthful of the blood-tinged water, fighting to free himself but he was getting attacked from all sides and couldn't escape.

  Then, he heard a light pop. A zombie fell into the water, blood streaming out of a hole in its face as it floated by him. Another pop and he felt the hands on him release.

  Mitch burst to the surface, coughing and choking, puking up mouthfuls of the foul water and trying to get his breath. He heard two more shots and saw zombies in his peripheral vision fall. He turned and found Saw beside him, a pistol with smoke spilling from the barrel, in his hand.

  "Close one, eh, Mitchy?"

  An explosion rang out and they both looked to see another burst of smoke and bodies on the hillside. That was followed by yet another just seconds later. All around him there was splashing in the water as body parts rained down. An upper arm landed just inches away. A falling ear smacked Saw in the face.

  Mitch spun around, trying to gauge the situation. The zombies on the hill were almost gone, either blown to pieces or having escaped into the river. The creatures in the water were winning. He guessed there were less than twenty men and women left alive and that number was falling fast. Meanwhile there were more than a hundred zombies.

  Saw ran through the waist-deep water, directly at the closest zombie. He shoved the pistol in its face and pulled the trigger. The back of its head blew off and it dropped
into the river. He moved on to the next and did the same.

  Mitch thought that seemed like a splendid idea, especially since he couldn't shoot worth shit. He copied Saw's actions, killing three zombies in less than a minute.

  He was on his way to a fourth when he saw an undead, young boy coming in at Saw's back. He was too far away to reach them and didn't dare trying to shoot.

  "Saw!" He screamed, trying to be heard over the cacophony of fighting and dying. Saw didn't react. He was too busy grappling with an extremely tall zombie who had over a foot on him in height.

  "Saw!" Mitch tried again.

  Saw managed to shove his pistol under the chin of the tall zombie. He shot, blowing its brains out the top of its head. Then he turned back to Mitch. "What you holler--"

  The dead boy pushed its face into Saw's side. His shirt had been pulled askew in the struggle and his love handle was exposed. It made the perfect spot to bite and that's exactly what the boy did. His tiny teeth sunk into Saw's skin and when his face came away, a mouthful of flesh came with it.

  Mitch opened his mouth to scream but couldn't make a sound.

  "Why you little bastard?" Saw said. He looked at the boy's face, a thin surgical scar stretched from his upper lip to his nose. He pointed the gun at the boy's face and pulled the trigger, only to discover his gun was empty. "Bollocks!"

  Saw wouldn't be deterred that easy and used the butt end of the pistol to beat the dead boy's face into a mangled pulp, something unrecognizable as human.

  Mitch got there just as the motionless corpse fell into the water.

  "Little bugger got me, Mitchy."

  Mitch reached for the wound. Blood seeped from it, running down Saw's side and into the river. He covered it with his hand, not even sure why. It wasn't the blood loss that was going to kill the man he so admired. It was the virus or bacteria or whatever it was that transferred the disease.

  Saw grabbed him by the wrist and pulled his hand away. "Chin up, boy. I had a good run of it."