We’re about halfway across now, give or take, with a trail of zombies hot on our tail. Well, maybe not hot on our tail, since zombies are cold and slow, but I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again: it’s zombie hordes that you should fear the most. They are much harder to fight. With zombies behind us, and the ones to the left moving in front of us after finally spotting their takeout lunch making a run for it, I know that we are going to have to stop and fight soon. We just need to get a little further though.
Sweat is pouring down my back in what feels like a hot trail of molten lava, and JD shouts for us to run faster but stay in formation. I push myself harder, my leg muscles pumping faster than they’ve gone in a long time. Emily is getting tired, but I link my hand into hers and run alongside her, pulling her along with me, my breaths getting shallower the faster I run.
The stench of death is closing in on us from all sides, each deader shambling as quick as their rotten asses can go to catch up to us. Britta is whimpering to herself, knowing that she can’t fight them off with her injured wrist if they do catch us. Panic sweeps across her face as she looks around and catches Crunch’s hardened glare.
The end of the field is finally in sight, but so is our impending doom, as more of the deaders come out from the trees to our right. I look around, knowing our plan is falling apart, our small chance of escape looking hopeless. We’re surrounded by them; though the circle of deaders is large, they are closing it with every passing second.
“RUN!” JD bellows at the top of his lungs as if he just read my thoughts, and we finally break formation, each of us striking out on our own to save ourselves.
Emily is tiring, her breaths coming too rapidly, and she breaks out into a fit of coughs as she tries to catch her breath. She tugs on my hand, her eyes pleading with me—for what, I don’t know. We can’t slow down; our only chance is to make it to the fence and get over it.
A zombie loses its head as it gets too close to JD. His scythe strikes its neck and sprays the ground with thick black blood. Crunch kicks out at another with a scream, and slams her knee on its chest and her Kukri knife into its forehead as it lands on its back. She jumps straight back up and continues to run, pushing away another that gets too close to her.
Mikey’s hand touches the bottom of my back as he pushes me onwards. I hadn’t realized that I was slowing down until he touched me. I grip the small machete harder, readying myself to protect Emily to the death as she slows down even more. Zombies are getting nearer still, and the exit, that had seemed to be getting closer, now seems to be moving further away as I tire. Britta must have been a runner in her previous life, because she seems to speed past everything and everyone without looking even a little tired. I guess since she can’t fight, the only thing she can do is run. Her life literally depends on it.
A noise from behind has me turning, and Mikey takes out a very ugly rotten deader that was crawling along the ground, its long intestines dragging along the floor behind it like Medusa’s serpents. I must have run straight over the top of it without even realizing.
JD has practically stopped to fight now, with Josie by his side. She fights like a demon possessed, swinging her baton around with a loud scream and smashing in the softened skulls of the dead, while JD takes their heads as prizes with a quick swoop of his scythe. They find a gap and begin to run again, just as Emily, Mikey, and I pass them by and take the lead.
A deader reaches me, and I swing my machete and slice off both its hands before kicking it to the ground and slamming my foot into its face. I can feel its mouth moving under the sole of my boot, but thankfully not finding purchase and unable to grab me, since I chopped off both its arms like twigs. I lift my boot up and slam it back down on the deader’s face before it can move to get up. I feel bone crunching underneath my boot, but it continues to squirm. With the second rise of my foot, I steal Crunch’s wonderful move and slam my machete through the deader’s forehead with a guttural cry. Blood and gore squirt up around the hole I just made, and I gag as my machete comes free and the smell wafts up to me.
A scream from behind makes me turn to see Josie landing heavily on the ground, her face slamming into the dirt and gore surrounding her. Before she can try to move to get up, zombies attack her from all sides. They launch themselves at her like vicious dogs, snarling and ripping at her flesh. She screams again, louder this time, as bony fingers pull at her skin and split it open like an overripe peach. Their rotten teeth tear holes in her flesh, and the blood that pumps out only feeds their frenzy. I grab Emily’s hand, and without a second thought, we run. I glance back over my shoulder and watch JD fighting to get to Josie, slashing and stabbing at the deaders gorging on her insides. As Crunch passes, she grips him by the shoulders and begins to drag him away. He fights her, attempting to shrug her off, but as more and more deaders surround Josie and her screams are drowned out by their angry snarls, he turns and runs in our direction, his face an image of despair, grief, and anger.
Twenty-Eight.
You fall, you die.
JD’s words ring through my mind, and I feel fear for us and pity for him. They were his rules, his words, and that was his girlfriend; he’s going to feel that guilt for a long time. I know how that feels.
We reach the fence, and I see Britta is already on the other side, panting and looking like she wants to keep on running, but she seems unsure of leaving us behind.
“Run!” I scream, and slice a stray deader apart as we get close to it. Britta hesitates before turning tail and running.
Fortunately, most seem to be attracted to the blood drowning the ground—Josie’s blood. Mikey grips Emily’s exhausted body and practically throws her over the fence as I climb up and jump down the other side. I grip her under the arms, drag her up to standing, and continue running without missing a beat, despite my raging heart. The dead are still following—though not many anymore—but I wonder if those that are would be able to push over the wooden fence, even as sturdy as it seems. They seem enraged to the point of insanity that we’re escaping, and I don’t want to stick around and find out.
The sun has begun to get lower in the sky, the coolness of night arriving, and my feet continue to pound the ground until I think I’ll throw up if I don’t stop. I slow to a jog and then a fast walk. Everyone copies me until we are far enough away that the smell of the dead still lingers in the air but doesn’t assault our senses anymore. I retch as I try to catch my breath. My legs are throbbing, my arms are burning, and my head is dizzy from lack of oxygen.
I collapse to the ground. Emily falls beside me and curls her body into mine to cry. I lay an arm across her, but there’s no strength to give her any comfort right now. All around me the group is panting and dry heaving. I close my eyes to stop the world from going dizzy, and only open them when the panting and wheezing quiets.
I open an eye and look to my left. JD is sitting on his own, his knees pulled in to his chest, tears blurring his vision. His teeth are grinding, and his hands are clenching around his weapon repeatedly. I don’t know if it is anger or sadness that has taken hold—maybe both—but when he sees me watching, it’s like a veil falls across his features. He sniffs and stands up.
“We need to get going.”
“Five more minutes,” Crunch gasps and sits up, a hand clutching at her side.
“No, we need to go.” His face is hardened steel, but he’s not immune to the running; his nostrils still flare as he takes in deep breaths.
“Jesus, JD—”
“Come on,” I stand, pulling a crying Emily up with me, and stare at Crunch. She rolls her eyes, but nods and stands up too.
“I’m bleeding.”
I turn to look at Britta. A long gouge tears up her inner forearm and blood is oozing from it steadily. Crunch opens up her backpack and pulls out her little medical kit without commenting further.
“Sit down.”
I eye JD as they both sit and Crunch examines the wound. He doesn’t protest, but he isn’t happy abo
ut it. Personally I’m glad her arm’s been gouged open—well, as long as it isn’t life-threatening; it means we get to rest more.
“I need to suture it.” Crunch rips open a small package and pulls out some latex gloves before slipping them on. She carefully grabs out some more items from her kit before looking up at me. “Help me.”
I nod without question and sit by her side. She hands me some of the items and I try to keep my hands steady as I hold them out for her.
“This is going to sting.”
Crunch focuses on the wound and takes her water bottle out from her bag, pouring the water over it to flush out any dirt. She then grabs some spray from her bag, spritzing it over the entire area, and Britta yelps and squeezes her eyes closed as Crunch wipes around with a clean wipe, clearing the blood away.
“Keep still. I have to clean it properly. Using water from my bottle won’t do much to keep away infection, but this little concoction will.” She spritzes it again and wipes once more, shaking her head and pursing her lips, before opening a small packet with what looks like a fishhook with thread running through the end.
“What was that?” I ask, nodding to the bottle and wipe.
“A little something that I put together when I ran out of my medical-grade gear.” She looks from me to Britta. “This is going to hurt again,” she says grimly.
Emily sits down next to Britta and takes her other hand in her own, her eyes still red raw from crying. They both smile in an attempt to reassure each other, but it doesn’t reach any of their eyes.
Crunch pierces the needle through one side of the wound without another word, before grabbing it with her fingers, pulling it out, and then pushing it through the other side. Then she grips it with a pair of tweezers and pulls it all the way out. She pauses for a second, her hand hanging in midair, holding the thread, before she turns to me with a weird expression on her face. Britta is gasping and sobbing, but Crunch is acting like we have all the time in the world, and she’s an uncaring bitch. Wait, she is an uncaring bitch.
“Watch carefully, I’m going to show you how to do a surgeon’s knot.”
Her eyes meet mine, and I swallow the large lump that has rammed its ugly head into my throat, and nod with a grimace. Okay, maybe she’s not that much of an uncaring bitch.
“You wrap it twice around the tweezers before pulling it through here.” She gestures with her head. “Over, under. You got that?”
I nod again.
“You should use the proper equipment for this, but I lost my suture scissors and the other stuff some time ago. These are coming up to the last of the stitches I have, too.” She looks up to JD, but he’s looking back the way we came, showing no interest for our mini-operation. She shakes her head and continues.
I watch intently as she ties the stitches off, trying to memorize exactly what she does. I have no idea why she wants me to know this, but I figure that it’s information well worth knowing. She continues doing the same thing along the full length of the wound until Britta’s skin is sewed up a like a prize pig at a slaughterhouse. It’s crude and rough-looking, but it may just save her life.
The wound looks ugly, but at least the bleeding has now stopped. I reach into my backpack, pull out my painkillers, and hand two of them to Britta.
Crunch grabs my hand before Britta can take them from me. “No aspirin, okay? It thins the blood.”
I nod. “It’s not.”
Crunch releases my hand and Britta takes the painkillers, safe in the knowledge that I wasn’t trying to make her bleed to death. She swallows them greedily before thanking me profusely. Things like this are in short supply, but she’s earned these bad boys.
“Are we done?” JD hovers above, his shadow casting eerie patterns over us in the failing daylight.
“Yeah.” Crunch gathers all her things and packs them back into her bag before standing.
I stand, actually feeling a little queasy. It’s been an incredibly long day, and watching someone being stitched up like this is not something I get to see every day—nor do I want to. Mikey’s hand is on my lower back again, and I’m guessing that I’m forgiven for not telling him about Ben. How could he not forgive me though? He can’t be jealous of someone who’s dead. I realize that I’m happy he’s forgiven me. Not that I had anything to be forgiven for, but I’m glad all the same. Once again I’m startled by how strong my feelings are for him. I don’t like it. I don’t want to be attached to anyone; today only proved that to me. I shrug away from his touch, feeling dirty somehow.
We begin our hike across the remaining field. This one is how it should be, barren of life—and death—and wild with flowers and nature. In a way, it’s as if we are in another world, one that hasn’t been touched by the evil that now roams the lands, but I can’t take away any happiness from the beauty. We lost Josie today. She was a good woman, kind, strong, and beautiful, and her sudden loss will leave a huge impact on the group, especially with JD. He’s trying not to show it, his stride still strong and full of confidence, his head raised to watch in all directions, but it’s his slumped shoulders that give him away.
The town finally comes into view as nightfall draws close. We are at the very edge of it, and thankfully, we can see the car showroom that JD had been talking about. A lot of the cars are missing, people obviously having the same idea as us, but there are some left. The weirdest thing of all about the town? The lights: traffic lights, street lights, store lights. I haven’t seen a light bulb on for years. The second weirdest, but more scary thing? Fucking deaders—everywhere. My jaw is hanging open in wonderment and confusion, and when I finally peel my eyes away from the town back to the rest of my group, I see that they have the same look on their faces as I do.
“What the fuck?” Mikey whispers next to me.
I don’t answer him, I can’t answer him. I can’t make sense of any of this.
It’s as if the town has been frozen in time. Everything has been paused, put on hold—apart from the deaders, obviously. They’re still wandering around town like they own the fucking place. I guess they kind of do now, actually. Cars are left abandoned where they parked—or crashed. Store signs still swing in the early evening breeze, though they are weathered and worn. Trees and plants are overgrown like the gardener has been on vacation for too long. I squint into the distance and see bones littering the ground, stripped bare of the flesh that lived once upon a time.
I find it strange that after all this time, there is still so much around in the world. Cars are still where they were left, stores have been ransacked and emptied, yet not like you would think. I guess that just goes to show how little there is left of society. I mean, if there aren’t even enough people left in the world to strip a town bare of its cars, then that just proves how many people were actually slaughtered when the dead rose, how little of society actually survived. When I think back to my time since leaving the walls, it occurs to me how damn lucky we have been so far. There has been food available—not much, but some; there’s been gas still in the pumps; now there are cars still on the forecourt. It seems too convenient, yet that’s the horror of it all, really: how suddenly it all started. No one had a chance to save themselves. Two thirds of the world wiped out in a single week. The zombies outnumbered us in every way, a hundred thousand million to one. It makes me even more sickened and furious with the Forgotten, and with Lee and his so-called guards.
At a time when we should all be working together to try to rebuild the world—to rebuild life and somehow survive—we are fighting and killing each other, instead of the dead. We should be fearing the deaders; instead we fear the living just as much. Maybe even more.
When will it stop? How can it stop, unless we either wipe out the whole damn planet or someone sees sense? The latter seems unlikely given what I have seen the past couple of years, so then how and what must we do to survive? I can defend myself from the dead, and I can shut myself down from people who think that they are the law and want to control me. However, I can�
�t do anything about people who are willing to set traps to kill innocent people for no damn reason other than jealousy and hatred. It goes against everything, against all logic.
We clamber down the hillside and into a small stream, before climbing up the other side and jogging as silently as possible across the deserted street. The night is coming down quickly around us, and as it does, the lights begin to burn brighter. There’s a strong smell of the dead, but the main hordes seem to be heading toward the brighter side of town.
A sign stands tall, proudly emblazoned with the words:
Acer Town.
Population 25,672
The world’s first eco-friendly, energy self-sufficient town.
Things make much more sense now, even if my brain hasn’t come to grips with the circumstances. The lights, while they give us a great view of the streets and any oncoming deaders, also make us more easily spotted, so we stick to trailing down the side of the old stores. We pass an old coffee shop and a florist’s as we head for the car showroom and dodge behind a beat up old Chevy, skirting around its lower edges as a deader comes into sight. It doesn’t notice, but pauses, raises its head to the sky, and takes a long hard sniff, its head moving from side to side in a weird, graceful dance. We all crouch lower, holding our breaths, until eventually it carries on its merry little way to wherever the hell it’s going, and we quickly set back off in the opposite direction. We reach the showroom, initially trying the front entrance and finding it as bright as the Fourth of July, with a handful of deaders milling around and more on the way, so we head around back.
Two deaders are in the alleyway, staring up into the sky like it’s a freaking super moon or something. I even pause in my own sneaking to look up and see if there’s anything exciting going on, but nope. It seems these deaders are just the strong-thinking type. Or at least they are until JD lops their heads off and they crumple to the floor.
Odium (The Dead Saga.) Page 21
