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

by Spears, R. J.

  I stood over the body lying in the path, my gun trained on him when a voice exploded from the body, “Ryan, why aren’t your soldiers attacking?” The voice was tinny, as if coming from a small speaker. It also sounded supremely pissed.

  I jumped back when the voice sounded, but kept my gun poised on the body.

  The voice shouted again. “Ryan, respond immediately, or I will bring the lightning down on you.”

  By now, I had figured the voice was from a walkie-talkie, and I leaned over the body and spotted an antenna sticking out of the vest pocket this guy was wearing. He also had a side arm, which I quickly grabbed and threw back toward my ATV.

  “Maggie, hold your position on the north.” There was a brief pause; then the voice came back, “Ryan this is your last warning.”

  I snatched the walkie-talkie up and pressed the talk key, “I have your man, asshole.”

  “Who is this?” the voice asked.

  I wasn’t sure who the voice belonged to, but I suspected it was our Lord of the Dead.

  “Who is this?” the voiced boomed from the speaker, vibrating the walkie-talkie in my hand.

  “Someone who is going to kick your ass,” I said.

  “You don’t want to make him mad,” a voice came from below me. It was the guy I had nearly run over. When I finally took a good look at him, I saw he was no more than a kid, maybe fourteen or fifteen.

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “Because he’s a bad ass son of bitch, and when he’s mad, he’s liable to do something dangerous to you,” the kid said as he rose to his elbows.

  “You’re not kicking anyone’s ass,” the voice said. “You’re going to die screaming when my soldiers get done with you. You and all your people.”

  My walkie-talkie squawked to life, and Travis spoke, “Joel, I just took out one of their men and shot another one.”

  I switched walkie-talkies and pressed the talk button. “I have one of their people. Where are you?”

  “In the north woods, but I had to pull back because the one I wounded is shooting at me,” Travis said.

  “Are you still there, rat?” the voice asked.

  “Hold a second, Travis,” I said and switched walkie-talkies again.

  “Yes, I’m here asshole,” I said, “and I still have your man.”

  “He is of little consequence to me,” the voice said, “watch and learn.”

  The kid on the ground started screaming a second later, and it was a sound I never wanted to hear again. The kid clutched a yellow collar wrapped around his neck as his body bucked and writhed about on the ground. His face went beet red and strained; the blood vessels in his forehead looked as if they might pop at any moment. His movements were so violent that I had to step away, or he was going to take me down.

  A part of me felt an utter helplessness, the kid’s agony was excruciating, but another a part of me felt he got what he deserved.

  Suddenly, the convulsions stopped, and the kid gasped for breath, as if he had been drowning. I thought I smelled something burning.

  “Do you see?” the voice asked.

  “I see that you’re a cruel and ruthless son of a bitch,” I responded. “That’s not going to stop me from killing you.”

  “Such big words,” the voice said.

  “You should run,” the kid croaked out, “or he will kill you.”

  “What about you?” I asked.

  “I wish I were dead. He killed my family. He made me do this, or he’d kill me.”

  It was then I saw this kid’s plight. What would I have done at his age?

  “What’s that collar?” I asked.

  “It’s how he controls us.”

  “Can’t you take it off?”

  “It has fail-safe mechanisms. If we do, it will shock us. If we try to run, it will go off in twenty-four hours.”

  “Are you listening to me?” the voice asked, this time, with no small sense of irritation.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I said into the walkie-talkie. “You talk big, but one of your people is dead, and another is wounded, and I have another one. I don’t think you’re such hot shit as you think you are.”

  I pressed off the button and asked the kid, “What is this guy’s name?”

  “Anthony,” the kid responded while he rubbed at his red and raw neck.

  “How does he control all the zombies?” He started to answer, but I cut him off. “I know about the individual controllers on the zombies. How does he get the commands to them?”

  “All of the buses and one of the trucks have transmitters.”

  Just what I thought.

  “How many people does this Anthony have?” I paused and added, “living people.”

  “There were six of us with Rex.”

  “Rex?”

  “Yeah, Rex was his right hand man before Anthony killed him.”

  “I will take great joy in killing all of you,” the voice broke in and said.

  “Do you get this dialogue from old science fiction movies, or what?” I asked into the walkie-talkie.

  The voice boomed again, “You think you can joke with me? You think you can fuck with me?”

  “This is getting old,” I broke in. “We’ll talk face-to-face soon enough. Until then, go fuck yourself.”

  The voice started to rage at me, but I ignored it and turned down the volume as he continued to shout.

  “Right now, he’s pissed at me,” I said to the kid, “so this is your chance to run.”

  “You’re letting me go?” the kid asked.

  “I need your control vest first. Can you get that off without a problem?”

  “Sure,” the kid said and started to work, unsnapping the hard plastic vest with a wide field of buttons across it.

  “Think I could figure this out?”

  “Not in a short amount of time.”

  “Okay,” I said, still holding the vest, “I’m not sure if letting you go is a blessing, if what you’re saying about that collar is true, but it gives you a chance.”

  He stumbled to his feet and took a couple staggering steps away from me. I think he expected me to shoot him in the back, but when I holstered my gun, he turned and sprinted off into the woods to the south. He disappeared into the trees in less than fifteen seconds.

  I retrieved my other walkie-talkie and spoke into it, “Travis, there are four or five people up there controlling the zombies with a leader of some kind. Those buses and trucks have transmitters. We have to take out the people or the vehicles.”

  Travis broke in and said, “I’ll do what I can. I only have my rifle, and there’s somebody shooting from the hill.”

  “Take out as many people as you can, but the leader is the key. Take him out if you can.”

  “I’ll give it a try. What are you doing?”

  “Leave the vehicles to me,” I said.

  I jumped on the ATV, fired it up, and headed north on the trail, ducking under low hanging branches and doing my best to avoid encroaching trees. I came to a branch in the path that headed west, and I took it. A showdown was in the making, and I only hoped that our team came out on top.

  Chapter 29

  A Deadly Path

  Let them come, Anthony thought. I’ll be ready for them.

  He picked up his assault rifle and pulled a small pack of grenades close. Anthony let his fingers do the talking and pressed a series of buttons on his control vest. He took a look out of one of the bus windows and saw Norman taking potshots into the woods. He also saw as Ryan’s soldiers snapped into action and start toward the north side of the building in the distance.

  Now, what to do with Ryan? he asked himself. He couldn’t let the rats have him. Ryan was his minion and his alone. His fingers moved to his vest control panel, and found the button for Ryan’s shock collar. Anthony’s index finger held poised above the button for nearly two seconds, but then he pressed it, holding it down. He hoped that Ryan was still within range. He had told his minions that the range was several mile
s, but that was a lie. There were limits. He knew it didn’t matter. In twenty-four hours, the fail-safe would activate, and that would be that.

  He spoke into his headset, “Norman, you need to resume your mortar bombardment.”

  Norman quickly came back, saying, “Are you kidding me? That sniper will take me out in a minute.”

  With his free hand, Anthony started his fingers toward the control button for Norman’s shock collar, but pulled it back. With Felix and Rex down for the count and Ryan captured, he was down to three human soldiers. Killing or incapacitating Norman would not be a prudent strategy at this time. That could wait for later, when he wiped out these damned rats.

  “I need you in the woods, hunting that sniper then,” Anthony said.

  “I’m a lot safer here with the trucks,” Norman responded.

  “Oh, Norman….” Anthony said, and, this time, he did press the button for Norman’s shock collar. Just a little tweak. Norman yelped and then cursed.

  “Okay, okay, okay,” he said, “I’m going.”

  Anthony let up on Ryan’s shock button. That should be enough to put him out of everyone’s misery. He did sigh, though. He hated losing the control vest.

  The trail tightened down to little tunnels in places, but I was able to keep the ATV moving forward and making positive progress toward the ridge where all the Lord of the Dead’s vehicles were positioned. I only hoped that I could get there in time to spring my little surprise.

  At several places on my ride, I was able to get glimpses through the trees back onto the field and back to The Manor. The third floor on the main building was blazing in full now, chilling me to my core. We were losing our home again, a home we had fought, bled, and died for. Something started to simmer down deep inside me, a slow, steady anger building. I could not let that happen. Not this time. Not again.

  The field in front of the main building was full of the armored zombies, and, from this distance, the undead looked like medieval knights about to start a siege on a castle. There were no dragons or fairy princesses inside, only the people I loved and cared about most in this world.

  When I made it to within a quarter mile of the ridge, I stopped and shut off the ATV. No use advertising my approach any more than I had to. I retrieved the RPG and the warheads and started working my way along the path as stealthily as I could, in spite of all the hardware I was toting. After a few minutes of hauling all the gear, I realized that stealth had to go out of the window, so I opted for speed. That, of course, increased the chances that someone up on the ridge would hear me, but damn the torpedoes and full speed ahead, getting there sooner rather than later trumped concealment.

  I quickly learned just how heavy all this gear really was, and it gave me an admiration for Brandon. When I thought of him, though, I felt a dull ache in my soul. Despite knowing that he wasn’t the first, and wouldn’t be the last person we lost, the losses were taking their toll on me and everyone else. Each individual loss was like another cut in the exercise of death by a thousand cuts. Each one was painful and drew its amount of blood. Eventually, it seemed that we would all bleed out if this continued.

  Ultimately, I wondered how we would survive it, the endless fear, the losses of the people we loved, but matters of the moment forced me to push that down into that little black and thorny box in the back of my mind that I did my best to ignore. It was always there, a dim spotlight shining on it. One day, it would demand my attention, but it had to wait.

  I found myself gasping for breath in the humid air under the canopy of trees. A thin sheen of sweat popped out on my body, the exertion carrying all the extra weight, leaving me with that slimy feeling all over. I put one foot after the other and forged ahead. After a few minutes, I saw the tops of the buses and one semi-trailer sticking slightly over the crest of the ridge, and I slowed from my labored sprint. Now, we had the moment of truth. How was I going to use this RPG?

  I had never fired one in my life. Greg had taken all the warriors through drills, but none of us had fired one because we had only a precious few warheads. Deep down, I knew there was a big difference between a demonstration and live-fire launch. My biggest hope was that my rockets would hit home. My biggest fear would be that it would go straight up into the air, come back down to earth right on top of me, and go off. This, on top of being ripped apart by armored zombies or shot by our attacker, just made the moment all that more fun. Fear and doubt were not in short supply.

  I was about to start my approach when someone yelled in my direction, “Hey, you there, stop where you are!” The voice had a high-pitched nasal twang to it, and it wasn’t one I ever remembered hearing.

  Now, I considered that request. I’m carrying an RPG, intent on taking out a fleet of enemy attackers. Someone I don’t know yells at me and tells me to stop. Should I stop? Hell, no.

  I ducked down and made a diagonal cut off the path and into the trees, running full out now. That is when my attacker finally showed some smarts and opened up on me.

  I heard the heavy report of his weapon as bullets whizzed past me and winged off the trunks of trees. Leaves were shredded and fell to the ground like confetti. Woodland birds cried in surprise and fear, and a small flock shot out of the treetops, to the safety of the bright blue sky. It wasn’t the first time that I envied birds.

  Bullets continued to fly past me at a frightening rate, and I ran in a slight panic for about thirty seconds (being shot at will do that) before I gained my wits and realized that I was running away from my target. Despite the chance of being shot, the imperative for me was taking out those trucks, and running in the opposite direction wasn’t getting me any closer to that goal. So I made a sharp cut to my left and started back in the direction of the ridge.

  Tree limbs whipped against my face, tearing small gouges in my flesh. I nearly went down after catching my feet on tree roots, but somehow I maintained an upright status and was back on course. That was, until I broke from the trees into a long wide meadow of knee high grass and daisies. The grass was soft and wet from the morning dew and smelled damp and musty. In the center of that meadow was the quaintest little fishing pond I had ever seen. For my life, it was just about to become the last thing I would ever see.

  Bursting out of the trees, less than fifty feet away, was a tall beanpole of a man, carrying an assault rifle and a long, nasty scowl. It only took him a second to spot me and swivel his rifle my way.

  “I told you to stop!” he shouted at me in an incensed tone, as if it were crazy for me to run away from someone who was trying to kill me.

  This man was not too bright. I knew that while I was not the sharpest knife in the drawer, there were times that shooting first and asking questions later was the best policy. So I drew my pistol, dropped the RPG and the bag with the warheads into the grass, fell to one knee, and squeezed off three quick shots.

  My marksmanship had improved over time, but mostly with a rifle. With a handgun, I was bad, and while my shots didn’t drop him, they did get him to duck down and stop firing for the moment.

  I was roughly fifteen feet out of the woods and fifteen feet from the pond. In other words, I was back in dead man’s land again. Only this setting bespoke of romantic picnics with your best girl at your side and not imminent death.

  My attacker regained his courage and let loose with a barrage of bullets that ripped through the grass on my left side cutting my escape path back to the woods. He tore off another round of shots, and I was forced to fall face first into the tall grass, and immediately I began rolling to the right. I felt blades of grass falling down on me as I rolled over and over again. I also knew that sooner, rather than later, I was going to run out of land and end up in the pond. That wouldn’t work, since that would put me out in the open and fully exposed, not that grass was doing all that great of a job, but it was something.

  I sensed the ground becoming wetter and muddier, and I ceased rolling. When I stopped, I peeked through the tall grass and saw the pond only a few feet awa
y. Then came my newest dilemma. My assailant had stopped firing for the moment, but there was no doubt in my mind that his rifle was aimed in my general direction and his finger, was, no doubt, again poised to fire off another round.

  I had two choices, neither of which I liked very much. I could stay low and wait him out, hoping that he approached, and I could possibly fire through the grass and take him out. The fear told me that was the best way to go, but my somewhat intelligent voice told me that he’d probably just start firing in a deliberate manner in my direction, much like someone mowing the grass, and eventually mow me in half. He hadn’t shown a lot of smarts up to now, but it didn’t take an Einstein to know that he had a distinct advantage at a distance.

  My other choice was to pop-up in hopes I got the drop on him and take him out. That fearful little voice in the back of my head didn’t like that option, but I told it to shut the hell up.

  The once frightened birds returned to the trees around the meadow and started singing their happy little songs, but I could have been wrong about that. The songs may have been, “Who the hell is shooting up our peaceful little forest,” for all I knew.

  I inched my body into a position to spring up and fire, feeling my already overtaxed muscles protesting, but I ignored them. I thought I heard the slightest bristling noise, as if someone was moving slowly through the grass and took that as my cue to pop-up and fire.

  That was where things slowed down in my mind. I came up slowly, my left hand pushing me off the ground. I felt the itching from the little blades of grass as they tickled against the side of my face while I made my way up through the tall grass. My view brightened as I came up and the air was dry and sweet. Nothing about the surroundings spoke of death.

  I crested out of the grass and spotted my attacker. He had taken the middle ground in the realm of decisions and cut the distance between us down to twenty-five feet. The barrel of his rifle was aimed at where I had been and not where I was, near the edge of the pond, but it would be a millisecond before he snapped it toward me.