Books of the Dead (Book 3): Dead Man's Land

by Spears, R. J.

  “Joel!” someone shouted from miles away, but I couldn’t make myself pay attention to it. My focus was on those damn legs and all that blood. It couldn’t be a good thing.

  “Joel! Get up!” someone yelled, and it was more distinct this time, but my eyes were still drawn to the legs.

  A small inner voiced called out to me, “Don’t look at the legs. Don’t look.”

  But I continued to look, despite that frightened inner voice. I made it worse by shifting my view up the legs and to the torso and head. There wasn’t a lot left of that part of the body. Something had torn into it and shredded much of it. I saw bits of broken rib bones with muscles exposed in a way that they never were intended to be seen.

  It only took a couple of seconds to realize who the bones belonged to. Brandon had been running with me, back to the main building, and then we weren’t running anymore. I was sitting up, and he wasn’t.

  A burst of bullets tore through the air, but the sound was mushy, as if it were being filtered through water. I jerked my head up to see someone sticking most of his body out of a second floor window. It was Aaron, and he was firing over my head at something. He fired without restraint, and his face was contorted into primal fury. In my current state, he seemed as if he were right there in front of me, but also distant and almost as if he weren’t truly real.

  “Joel, you have to get up,” the voice called, and there was real pain in it.

  I turned to the source of the voice and saw Jo standing outside the front door of the main building, beckoning to me with her arm, a plaintive expression on her face.

  “You have to get up, Joel,” she screamed. “They’re coming.”

  Whatever was making her this frightened I really didn’t want to know, but my perspective took that moment to skew and warp as if reality had been broken and was now repairing itself right before my eyes. There was a loud whooshing sound in my ears, and it was as if someone had hit my reset button as reality slammed fully down on me like Thor’s mighty hammer. I was fully present, in the here and now, as some say. There wasn’t a lot of comfort in that, but like it or not, that is where I was.

  An acrid smoke swirled around my feet and assaulted my nostrils, almost causing me to choke. I swiveled my head and looked over my shoulder at the field behind me. It wasn’t a pretty picture. An army of armored zombies, set against the opaque background of fog, streamed through the massive hole the bulldozer had torn in the fence. They were controlled by some sort of external force, with most of them headed down the driveway, circumventing the web of metal cables. They would be on the building and inside in a matter of minutes.

  The bulldozer operator returned Aaron’s fire, forcing Aaron to pull back inside. People started firing at the zombies from the guard stations on the third floor. I’m not sure how many people we had up there, but they were firing at a punishing rate, trying to take down some of the attackers. Sadly, their bullets bounced off most of the zombies’ armored shells, and very few of the undead fell.

  Relentless as zombies always were, they continued on, their clanking and clattering sounds mixed in with their moans and grunts in an unholy symphony of sound. The only thing different this time, other than their armored shells, was that they were being compelled to come at us by someone: a grand puppet master pulling the strings of death, with his army ready to crush, kill, and destroy.

  I hadn’t even met this guy, but he wanted to kill me and everyone else I cared for. What made it worse was that I could see no way to stop him and his army, but that didn’t mean that I wasn’t going to try.

  I got to my feet and started back toward the main building, as Jo fired past me.

  Chapter 25

  The Discretion of Kings

  The fog finally lifted, leaving only a slight haze over the battlefield. Anthony reveled in the view. It was a thing of beauty, and it was all of his own doing. He was the creator and master of death. It filled him with no small amount of pride.

  His armored soldiers were on the precipice of entering the building. The fence, once impeding the free flow of his army, lay smashed and wide open, leaving a free and open path for the rest of his soldiers. His enemies were in retreat, as their lone warrior on the battlefield was running in total panic back to the building.

  Yes, he acknowledged, there were still people fighting back, as he saw figures firing from inside. And yes, a few of his soldiers had fallen, but the writing was on the wall. These people’s day had come, and now it was time for them to pay: to pay for all the indignities that he had suffered in his life, to pay for the scars on his body that still ached, and to pay because he would make them pay. They would pay in blood.

  It was time to move up his human soldiers and start the final phase of the attack.

  Anthony keyed his walkie-talkie and said, “Roy, move up on the south side, and get ready to start the mortar attack. It’s time to rain a little fire down on these people, don’t you think?”

  Roy responded affirmatively, and Anthony watched as Roy started the trek forward with the mortar launcher.

  “Maggie, move your soldiers forward and onto the field to the north,” Anthony said. “We don’t want them to try an escape in that direction when the walls start falling down on them.”

  “Yes, sir,” Maggie said and did as she was told. A few control key commands later, her soldiers started in a wide arc around to the north side of The Manor.

  As for Felix, Anthony had him continue his assault from the front. The slow-witted Norman and his troops were held in reserve. (Anthony just didn’t trust Norman’s mental competence, but he could operate the mortar launcher to some degree of competence, so he was still of some limited value.) The last part of the plan was to have young Ryan swing his crew around to the back of the complex to box the people inside, completely in, from all sides.

  There was one final detail, and that was the removal of a final threat, a threat from within and one Anthony just couldn’t live with any longer. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a long rectangular object that looked like a television remote control. He held it poised in his hand for several seconds, as if he were contemplating the decision set before him. This drew out for several seconds before his fingers went to work. He would have no regrets.

  Rex watched, a sly smile across his face, as the armored zombies closed in on the building. The people inside of the building had given up trying to shoot him, as the bulldozer’s front blade deflected all their shots. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw a large contingent of zombies moving toward the north side of the building, and he knew that they were Maggie’s soldiers. That was Anthony’s cue that the final push was on and that the people inside of the complex had only a short time to live.

  It was then that something puzzling happened. Rex’s soldier’s paused and stood still, silent sentinels, swaying under the weight of their armor. He ran his fingers over the buttons on his control panel, pressing them insistently, but nothing happened. He pulled up his walkie-talkie and said, “Anthony, there’s something up with my soldiers.”

  Anthony responded, “I’m well aware of the problem and will handle it.” There was a momentary pause, and Anthony came back on the line, “Felix, you now have control of Rex’s soldiers. You know what to do.”

  “Ahhhhh, boss man, you sure that’s what you want me to do? Felix is such a fuck-up,” Rex said, not caring that Felix was listening.

  “I’m completely sure,” Anthony responded.

  Rex started to speak, but a bullet pinged off the metal canopy above the driver’s area of the bulldozer, and he ducked down. That shot came from behind. He popped his head up and saw a muzzle flash come from the woods off to his right.

  He keyed his walkie-talkie and said, “Boss man, they have some people outside the complex, in the woods to the north. One of them took a shot at me. Can you have Norman send some soldiers in that direction?” He felt like a sitting duck out in the open now.

  He held the walkie-talkie to his ear and w
aited for a response, but nothing but static came back.

  “Anthony, did you hear me?” he shouted.

  “Yes,” Anthony responded, “loud and clear. I’m just not doing anything about it.”

  “Why the hell not?” Rex screamed.

  “Because it’s time for you to get your comeuppance, as they say,” Anthony said coolly.

  “What?” Rex asked.

  “You should have never bargained with me after I was injured and defenseless.”

  “What are you talking about?” Rex roared.

  “You know. I needed you, and you forced me to beg.”

  “How is that different than the life we lived while we’re wearing your fucking collars?”

  “Well, you don’t have yours anymore, do you?” Anthony asked, his voice thick with sarcasm.

  “What the hell are you doing to me?” Rex yelled.

  “Leaving you in the same condition you would have left me. Good luck with that.”

  Rex screamed into the walkie-talkie until he finally got it and his throat felt raw. Anthony was a vengeful god, and the lord giveth, and he taketh away. Rex tossed the walkie-talkie onto the floor of the bulldozer.

  Well, he thought, I am fucking far from defenseless. I sure as hell am.

  He picked up the rocket launcher and reached for one of the extra warheads. As soon as he picked it up, he knew he had been screwed with his pants on. This warhead weighed less than half the weight of a normal one and was obviously disarmed. He grabbed the last one and found it to be in a similar condition.

  Another shot winged off the side of the bulldozer, and Rex ducked down. He popped his head up and saw a shadowy figure in the woods, moving among the trees.

  I still have my AK, he thought. He knew he probably had half a clip left on the gun itself and three back-ups. A chill went down his spine, and he picked up the bag of extra clips. He pulled them out one-by-one, only to discover that each one of them was empty, and his rage started to build.

  That left him with a half a clip in the AK and his sidearm with a full clip and one extra. But that isn’t what stilled his racing heart. He had a way out of this mess. He had a ride. A big fucking ride. This bulldozer would plow its way through all of Anthony’s soldiers, and Rex would ride it right up Anthony’s ass. He would show that back-stabbing son of bitch.

  That was when the bulldozer’s engine shut off, like someone had stabbed the beast in the heart. It sputtered one last gasp and went silent. Rex frantically turned the ignition key and jammed his foot down on the gas pedal, violently pounding it down again and again until he almost jammed his ankle.

  The remote kill switch on the ignition Anthony had installed worked like a charm.

  Anthony’s voice came across the speaker of the walkie-talkie, “Now, you know how I felt, lying beside that bus, waiting to die. Only now, no one is coming for you, and begging won’t help.” He paused and then said, “Felix, it’s time.”

  Rex caught movement out of the corner of his eye, turned, and saw his soldiers slowly rev back up, as if their internal power source had been turned back on and put in motion. Only they didn’t head in the direction of the buildings, but instead, were coming toward the bulldozer. Although he knew it wasn’t possible, because these dead things didn’t give a flying fuck about anything, he thought he saw something akin to eager anticipation in their eyes.

  “Revenge is a dish best served undead, don’t you think, Rex?” Anthony asked over the walkie-talkie.

  Rex pulled back on his massive booted foot and brought it down on the walkie-talkie, sending pieces of metal and plastic in every direction. “Fuck you!” he screamed.

  He surveyed his options, checking both sides of the bulldozer. To the south was a field filled with armored zombies on their way to the buildings. To the north were his soldiers, slowly making their way toward him, and past them were the woods. He measured his choices and decided getting to the woods was his only real option. He looked that way and saw the narrowest of gaps in the group of on-coming zombies. He knew he’d have to widen that gap a little with his AK if he were going to make it through, but he also knew that would deplete all of his rounds.

  Live for the day, he thought. No, live for the minute and steeled himself for the run, turning the safety off on his pistol. This wasn’t going to be any cake walk, but then again, what was in the apocalypse? The problem was that he thought he’d always end up on top. By being at Anthony’s side, he knew he’d be the one with all the toys and he would be looking down on all the rest of the little people.

  I should have shot Anthony when I had the chance, he thought, but, there was no looking back, only forward.

  He sucked in two big gulps of air, aimed into the group of zombies heading toward him, and let loose with a withering round of bullets. Some shots pinged uselessly off of the zombies’ armored hides, but some took out a few zombies entirely, while other shots stunned them enough that they fell back, making Rex’s escape path just a little wider.

  With pistol in hand, he sprang from the bulldozer with a single-minded focus, running through the narrow gap of undead, and sprinting toward the woods. He passed the first few zombies with ease, but the others started to recover, and the gap started to close. Still, if he could just get past the middle of the group of zombies, he should be able to shoot his way through the last few.

  He reached dead center of the mob surrounding him and battered his way through the clutching arms and hands the way a star fullback made his way through defenders on the football field. A zombie raked the side of his face with one of its metal claws, and he felt the hot sting of blood running down his cheek, but he paid it no mind. Keep going. Move forward.

  He made it past the middle, but saw the door was closing at the end of the tunnel of undead. He felt the zombies filling in his path from behind him.

  He raised the pistol and began to fire, aiming for the zombies’ heads, hoping for some luck and getting it. His first shot landed in the eye of a zombie and tunneled into its brain. The zombie toppled over backwards, and Rex hurdled over it before it even hit the ground.

  He fired again, but this bullet slammed into a thick metal plate covering the next zombie’s forehead. While it didn’t put the undead thing down, the concussion of the bullet stunned the creature, knocking it off stride. Rex lowered his shoulder and plowed into the zombie’s midsection, bulling it out of the way just enough to continue on, but the impact sent a wave of electric pain down his arm, numbing it. There was no time to lose, though, and he plowed ahead, shooting into the crowd of zombies closing in on him and making the slimmest of progress toward beating them back.

  He nimbly side-stepped a set of hands desperately reaching for him and saw an end in sight. But a big problem was that a single, and very large, zombie stood in his way.

  He had counted each bullet as he fired them and knew he was down to a final one. There was no time to re-load, so he just lowered his head and thundered on, imagining himself carrying the football with the score tied and the final seconds ticking off the clock. The truth be told, the clock was running out. A hand covered with jagged and rusted metal raked down his back, sending stinging pain along each path it opened. He felt the blood dripping down his back, almost immediately.

  The big zombie was coming up fast, and Rex knew there was no bowling it over. If he got tangled up with that one, it was all over but the crying. The others would take him from behind, and he would be zombie food.

  He quickly closed on the behemoth, waiting for the last possible second to use his final shot. He knew he had to make it count.

  Fifteen feet and he dodged two sets of arms. Ten feet and he slipped around another of the undead. Five feet and he swung his arm up, aimed, and fired. The bullet flew free and true, blasting into the large zombie’s eye and into its brain. Then, it slammed through the back of the thing’s skull, hit the metal plating, and ricocheted back into the zombie’s brain again like a pinball, destroying every bit of brain matter in its path.
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  The zombie’s lights went out, and it fell off the side, colliding with two other zombies and taking them to the ground. Rex jogged to his right a bit and vaulted over the two falling zombies. When he hit the ground, he saw nothing but empty ground between him and the woods.

  He smiled, knowing that he had made it. He smiled knowing that he’d choke the life out of Anthony as soon as he could make it around the back lines of the zombie assault.

  For some reason, the air felt fresher as he put distance between him and the zombies behind him. It had been a close escape, but he had made it just like he thought he would.

  He felt the bullet before he heard the shot. He saw the muzzle flash in the woods a millisecond later. The bullet tore through the thin layer of his flesh and muscle on his calf and smashed into his fibula, shattering it.

  Pain exploded in his leg, and he went down face first, sliding in the moist grass and ripping up a few yards of sod as he went. As he fell, his pistol slid from his hand, tumbling away.

  The shock of the wound ripped him away from the reality around him, and he only experienced the world of pain as it radiated out his leg and tore through his entire body like a bolt of electricity. The shock waves reverberated for several seconds before he came back to reality.

  His head lay sideways, and his eyes peered into the woods. He saw a young man with an assault rifle slowly bring it down from its aiming position and then look past Rex. The man was alone. He looked again past Rex, turned, and disappeared into the shroud of shadows of the trees.

  That’s when Rex heard the clattering of metal and low moans coming from behind him. He knew not to look back, but only to crawl. He was able to make it only up onto three limbs since his left leg was now ruined. He crawled as fast as his shattered leg would allow him, but he knew it wasn’t fast enough. Not even close, really.

  The clattering and moans got closer, and within thirty seconds, he felt the first set of hands grab onto his injured calf and give it a tug. The blast of pain was beyond anything he had ever experienced as the broken bone tore through tender meat of his calf, and the other shattered parts ground together like pieces of red hot steel inside his leg.