by P. S. Power
Brilliant plan, except that she'd probably end up a zombie, which would mean he'd have to cut her freaking head off himself. Jake really hated having to behead people he knew like that. It was much harder than just shooting them in the first place.
Taking a head always felt so personal, so final. Even from zombies. Plus that feeling, the pull of the knife on his hand while he cut, or the gristly feeling of a machete on soft wet bone stayed with you. Like it lived in your hands and arms, all the time.
Well, at least they weren't sleeping together. Jake had asked if she wanted to, figuring that someone that slept around as much as the chubby brunette did might give him a shot.
She did.
Shot right down.
Claimed that he wasn't her type of all things. That had been interesting, because until that moment Jake hadn't known she had a type, or even standards. It was the reason he'd asked.
Well, that was no big. He'd started out a bit thin and rangy looking and six months in the land of the dead hadn't helped much at all there. At the end of the world you kind of expected to get laid though. Wasn't that in all the stories? It seemed to be working for almost everyone else. Even the ugly people were getting action, based mainly on the fact that they were still alive. The bar didn't seem as high anymore. Not for most people. Just him, Jake guessed, a little sourly.
A form rushed him fast and hard. Out of the black interior of the single story ranch style house moving straight for him without stopping. Jake pulled the spear out of the way, since it was Molly, not something more dead yet. His job being sticker for this hunt, a position he'd invented, but that all the groups used now, wasn't that hard. Not really, so he'd move from there to shooting too, if they needed the backup. They being the forty-something Tipper, who swore she was a lesbian and the thirteen year old slightly chubby boy next to her, Dave.
Tipper looked the part she tried to sell him, but went off with a lot of guys too. Not Jake's business, except that she was clearly lying about it to him. That... hurt a bit. He might not be the best looking guy in the world, but he wasn't deformed either. Plus, he'd never given her reason to be untruthful to him about something like that, had he? Yeah, they were friends and yes he'd asked her if she wanted to have sex, mainly because he didn't want to die a twenty-four year old virgin, which didn't seem that unreasonable to him. It had been a while ago, when Jake had asked her. She still maintained she only liked women. Even after they'd saved each other's lives, like fifteen times.
She'd started out looking like a businesswoman, butching her hair off in the second week and dressing like a fighter after the third. More like a lumberjack than most of them did, red flannel long sleeves, two or three shirts under that and heavy jeans. Way too hot for August. All of them were dressed about the same.
Dave was in blue, jeans and oversized shirts tucked in and tied down so that nothing would catch if he had to run or fight. In the three months the boy had been on the team he'd gone from a real fatty to merely a bit hefty. Honestly, if he'd looked like this before he probably would have been recruited for school sports teams. The guy handled himself well and built muscle pretty easily, even as they all half-starved most of the time. Inside three more months the kid would probably be stripped down to lean.
Back Before they'd both been first person shooter fans, gaming all the time. A lot of the best hunters now had been. Dave was certainly that. One of the best. Kid or not.
He was also probably a psychopath.
A real one.
He loved killing. Zombies, animals for dinner, people that didn't do what he wanted. Pretty much anything that he didn't think would kill him first. Brave though. Dave said he didn't feel fear at all and after everything, Jake kind of believed it. Watching him work was like looking at ice in a freezer. Cold and with no sign of melting any time soon.
That must be nice. Jake was always afraid now. For instance, at that very moment he felt a deep and abiding fear that Molly was going to run straight up the spear. Moron.
“Behind me!” The large girl bleated loudly, a panicked squeal that easily would have been enough to get any black blooded zombie going after her in search of lunch.
It took a second to get the spear down and he nearly missed the window, since the girl threw herself to the right again, instead of the left like they'd practiced. He'd have called her a retard, but that would be insulting the good mentally challenged people of the world. If there were any of them left. So instead of an instant reaction, up and to his left, then down into the runner behind her, Jake had to jump back and stab desperately into the thing's middle like a spaz.
This zombie had worn a suit to work. That or the guy, knowing he was about to die from a bite, had dressed up in his finest clothes, so that he'd make a good impression later. Rather than take his own head off like he should have. Either way it was a pain in the ass now, because the heavy jacket, once a nice gray coat, now covered with layers of dried blood and filth, caught the spear point, which would have hit in the center if things had gone like they should. He wanted the relatively soft middle, got ribs and fabric instead. Falling back as the man, who'd been older when he died, looking to be in his mid-fifties or so, ran at him full speed. Jake floundered a bit before managing a kick to the middle, a stomp really, with his left foot, which gave him enough distance to re-center and stab again. It was risky, trying to kick a zombie like that, but this time it worked, without any scratching or grabbing.
The spear rode up, the man impaling himself on it almost without notice, there was groaning, but that happened all the time, it wasn't a sign of pain. Or at least not pain that Jake was causing. Once it was about a foot through, just outside of the thing's arms reach, Jake pushed up, hard. Using the wooden handle as a lever. The ichor dripping out slowly, and the stench of death suddenly magnified enough to make him gag a little. The blood of the zombie was black and thick as the guy finally overbalanced and fell back, thankfully into the front room of the house as planned. New ones still had red blood, so this one had been around for a while, even though it looked to be in good shape. Probably trapped inside here then.
“Jesus fuck Molly,” Dave said quietly, menace pouring off his body strongly enough that Jake could feel it ten feet away. “If you want to kill Jake that badly, just grow a pair and shoot him. For now, just get the hell out of the way and stay down, we'll deal with this later.”
Tipper growled, a low sound that wouldn't attract any zombies that might be out and about. That was rare, but it could happen, they'd all lived it at least once. Back when everything first started every second person you saw was already gone. Now, in Westwood at least, it was still true, but there were a lot fewer people, so it was harder to notice.
“Darn straight girl. It's one thing to get yourself killed...” The butch looking woman moved in alongside Dave, who made the first kill with the shotgun in his hand, a single shot to the thing's head.
Then Dave shot again, another one in the room then. Dave rarely missed on something already down. Jumping to his left, he moved back, reloading as he did, smoothly and with an eerie dead eyed calm. Tipper took her turn and two blasts later moved back too, doing the same thing, just like they practiced. Everyone moving their body was supposed to go to the left each time, their own left. It wasn't hard or confusing. They kept going like that, shoot and move back, letting their partner catch the next one as it came. Trusting each other. Like actual friends or something.
Something set his nerves on edge suddenly. Jake didn't know why, he didn't see anything yet and only felt as scared as usual, but... the situation wasn't right. He just knew something was very wrong. Without hesitation he pulled the nine millimeter from the holster on his belt and took aim at the door, waiting. Everyone was outside, which should be safe, roughly speaking. It just didn't work for him here. The situation had gotten creepy. Dangerous. More deadly somehow, which shouldn't have really been possible.
Tipper and Dave handled the four that came at them from the house easily enough, s
o he turned around just in time to see the other two, both runners, headed straight for them.
Ah, that would be it then. Jake nodded to himself a bit. Now it made sense.
Molly, genius that she was, screamed. The runners headed straight for her. Well, it was her job, but a handgun wouldn't have been his first choice for trying to take these things out on the move and they hardly used rifles at all anymore, so he hadn't thought to bring one. These guys, both were men and had been young before they passed on, probably some of the first hunters from their heavy, torn and blood stained clothing, had been fit and strong when they went, which meant fast now.
Lovely.
Jake took aim and got the first one about fifteen feet away from Molly's throat.
The two at the porch were still dealing with the threat from inside, and Molly still had one closing on her position fast. Like a freaking linebacker. It would have helped if she shut up, maybe, but that wouldn't happen. The girl wanted to die and apparently didn't mind taking her team along for the ride. Sweet of her really, always willing to share the treat. Except that she wasn't, not with Jake, was she? He nearly shot her first, to stop the noise, but managed to load three slugs into the charger's brain pan instead, stopping it no more than a foot outside its arms reach from its target. Molly kept screaming.
Stupid cunt.
Jake didn't like to use foul language as a rule, but the girl was going to get them all killed. Possibly today if she didn't shut it fast. Before he could shoot her Tipper cast him a worried look and spoke low, nearly the growl that Jake used most of the time himself.
“Can it Molly. Stop now or we'll have to kill you.” She kept looking at Jake while she spoke.
For some reason, ever since the beginning, whenever people had to be killed for the good of the group, everyone always looked at him. Probably because in the original group of eight, he'd been the only one willing to take out Gary when he'd freaked. It had been the eighth night when it happened. Zombies came toward organic noises, especially human voices, but they ignored gunfire. What Molly didn't ignore was the clatter of Dave's shotgun chambering a round. The kid wouldn't kill the girl, or at least Jake didn't think so, not yet. He really wanted to though. So did Jake at the moment.
That feeling stopped when the girl did, voice going dead instantly.
“Good. Let's pull back and see what comes out now.” This again got muttered low and deep, Jake may not have had more than a mid-tone tenor for singing, but it went low for zombies. Nearly a croak. They liked high pitched voices better and higher tones carried better to zombie ears.
They moved quietly then, weapons out, except for Molly, who glared at him when she thought he wasn't looking. Why him? Who knew. Jake would have killed her if she hadn't shut-up, sure, so would the others. They even all liked her well enough when she didn't freak out like that. He wondered what her problem with him could be? It had been her screwing up as far as he could tell. Even with that, when she moved wrong, he'd covered her and got the dump in time. It was annoying, but not something to carry around with them really.
That, dumping a single zombie over, made a huge difference. The first hunters didn't know about it and ended up in vast open fights with undead climbing all over them. About half of them died each time they fought, because zombies don't stop unless you destroy a big chunk of the brain, which movies aside, was harder to do than it sounded. Or... if you provided food. Yeah, they could throw a living person to them too, that worked pretty well, overall. A bit hard on morale though. Dumping a zombie got the others to stop for about half a minute while they tried taking a bite of the downed form, just in case it was lunch. They didn't like the taste, but it could take them three or four bites to make sure.
All of them stopped, most of the time, to check an already downed potential snack. Hence a guy at the door with a spear. Machetes and baseball bats had been tried too, and they kind of worked, but had drawbacks. Machetes let the creatures get too close and bats didn't get them on the ground fast enough. It could take a half dozen swings to down one and that just took too long most of the time.
Shooting worked, but zombies rarely went down from anything less than a headshot and shooting them holding still and bent over a body trying to munch was much easier than doing the same thing as they were charging full blast. They didn't move all that fast as they aged, but the fresh ones were nearly as quick as live people. Anyone could take out slow shamblers. That was where the old movies had it wrong though, thinking that the old ones were all you'd have to ever face, and that they'd all look like they'd come out of the grave. They got that way after a while, but the fresh ones could sometimes pass as human. In looks at least.
Except most people didn't try to eat you.
They moved back a ways, quietly, waiting to see if anything else came out to play. Nothing did, thank god. Not that Jake believed anymore, if he ever really had. Not now. If there was a god he'd abandoned them all six months back and hadn't even sent a note to explain why. No backup or anything.
Kind of a douche move, if it was really the case.
Molly sat on the ground crying and glaring at him between sobs. At least she was muffling the noise now. Really, Jake felt like just getting a new screamer, or just doing it himself. He really couldn't though, his voice always stayed too soft now.
The chubby girl would end up getting him killed and the way she'd been doing things, he'd come back as a zombie. That would suck.
For one thing he really didn't think human flesh would be all that tasty, since zombies didn't even cook it first. Plus everyone was thin and stringy now. The other thing was the whole look they got going, pasty and torn up. The rotting didn't help either. Yeah, he was white, but finally had a little color to his face from all the hunting the team had done that summer, along with the farm work he'd put in. He'd hate to lose that now. It was the best tan he'd ever had.
Nothing happened at all, not for hours. Finally, just about the time he was getting ready to call a halt to the day, a single form walked out of a house near the one they'd been working in. The form didn't shamble or run, just walked carefully, looking around. It could be one of the rare smart ones, or it could be a regular person. Not their problem if the later, the former was though. The intelligent zombies were the worst. No easy way to tell if it was a dead person for sure from there, or, well there was one, but it was kind of dangerous. After watching it for several minutes, still not able to tell, except that it seemed like a girl, or a woman... or a young man wearing a dress. Jake decided on the easy thing. First he signaled to Dave and Tipper, a single wave from him to the target, cupping his hands in front of his face to explain the plan. They both nodded back, ready to move if need be.
“Hello!” Jake yelled, his voice still hoarse from all the whispering he'd been doing over the last months. Then he waited.
The form didn't run toward them, instead it turned and ran away. Human then. Good. They could go. If the person had wanted to talk they would have either yelled back, or if they were sane, waved and waited to see what happened. Of course their hunting group were cleaners, the people that moved in and cleared neighborhoods of the undead, which meant, if not a safe group, at least one that probably wouldn't rape or rob you. Everyone knew that by now. Most groups were a little spottier than that.
Really that wasn't exactly correct.
Most groups were made of decent people that would as soon leave you alone as not, truth be told. Those groups hid and kept their heads down when they could. But some of the worst went out looking for victims a lot. There had been a biker gang that terrorized the area for the first two months for instance. That group had been a pretty rough and tumble lot.
They didn't make it.
What worked to intimidate good regular people Back Before didn't work very well on zombies at all, and people that hunted the already dead didn't just give up anymore because you looked a little scary or waved a gun. It was an attitude thing.
The biggest problem they still had in West
wood was the police. The remaining piece of the police force that was. The fire department had held together for nearly three weeks scrambling to fight fires and protect people, even if they weren't armed for it at all and the EMTs held nearly as long after the announcement from the Center for Disease Control came over everyone's radios and television sets.
The police had started breaking inside four days. They didn't just run, which could have been forgiven, Jake guessed. After all, they weren't trained for Armageddon any more than the next group of people. What they did though was use the taxpayer provided weapons and their badges to loot the town, then took over Castor's farm, which, thanks to crazy Mr. Castor's paranoia had a fence around the whole place topped with barbed wire. They made occasional raids still and had taken to stealing women for some reason, or so it was rumored. The reasons why varied depending on who you asked. Jake didn't know himself. He just kind of hoped it wasn't for food.
All he knew for certain was that they didn't send out small groups like his. Any group over ten people had to be watched, just in case it turned out to be them. Luckily, the police were trained to be cowardly. They constantly feared everything, meaning they didn't go out too often. That worked for the rest of them at the moment, since it meant they could just walk back home before dark. It was only about five miles, which meant two hours, since they had Molly along. She couldn't keep up with even a slow jog and whined about a fast walk.
If she did that today though, Jake was going to have to shoot her.
It wasn't a rule that you had to go quickly or even that you couldn't whine, he'd just had enough of her for the day. Hopefully the others would back his story about how she'd turned into a zombie without warning and he'd had to “help her along” or they could claim she'd tripped and gotten lost... Or that gypsies had stolen her.
