by TW Brown
I studied him as he regarded me. The realization of what I was seeing sent tendrils of dread through my body. I recognized him as one of the children from back at that house. His ripped-up baseball jersey was the clincher.
I watched him as he just stood there. And then I realized something. I glanced over at the rifle leaning against the railing. It was standard issue for anybody working outside the protective trench that surrounded our encampment. You could take any of the hand-to-hand weapons you wanted, but everybody who went out carried a pistol at their hip and a rifle.
The rifle was mostly so that you could bag any game that might come along. So far, we’d only managed a few ducks, but those had been the first fresh meat any of us had eaten in a long time. I think for me it had to date back to the day Marshawn and his people had left steaks and beer behind after we’d initially parted ways.
I grabbed the rifle and brought it to my shoulder. My scope found the zombie boy’s face, and I felt a shiver of excitement ripple through me with enough force to make the crosshairs bounce and cause me to readjust for my shot.
Just as with anytime I’d encountered a zombie child and displayed a weapon, this one reverted to just another zom. The mysterious focus that had been driving him to this point evaporated. He was headed my way now. Whatever his grand plan might’ve been was gone; replaced by that core drive the undead have for simply going towards the most recent stimulus.
I wasn’t about to waste this opportunity. I squeezed the trigger. The hole in his face was impressive, but I could tell by the amount of dark gore that exploded from the back that his skull had basically disintegrated.
Maybe I thought that since he seemed to be the leader the rest of the zombies would just rout and wander back to wherever they came from—although I had a good idea where the children had been staying. It took about five seconds for me to see the stupidity in that idea.
The only positive thing, and this was really stretching the definition, was in the fact that now all the zombies, child and adult, were coming for me. The good news was that I was up on the tower platform. So far, I hadn’t seen any zombies that could climb a ladder…much less the unstable and free hanging rope ladder we were currently using to get up here.
“Evan?” Marshawn, Drew, and a few others came jogging up the road. Marshawn called for me, and that caused several of both brands of undead to turn back once more at this most recent stimulus.
“What the hell did you do, Evan?” Drew yelped as he backed up at the sight of so many zombies this close to our stronghold.
I was too busy to answer as I sighted in on the next child zombie I could find. After what I’d just seen, I was now officially on the bandwagon to eliminate them on sight. While I was now very certain that they were different than a regular zombie, I’d also just witnessed one of them leading a concentrated attack effort.
I had no idea what limited strategy or plan a zombie child might concoct, but I was officially off the list of being curious. It was sorta like that scene from the movie, Gremlins. There was this part where Corey Feldman first sees Gizmo, some water is spilled, and the poor little thing screeches as little puffballs launch from his back. Billy asks Pete what he thinks of things and the kid has his eyes pressed to a View Master as he says something like, “Neat…seriously.” His tone makes it clear he does not actually hold that sentiment.
I was certain that the child versions were different, but in perhaps a very lethal way that just reduced humanity’s chances of surviving the apocalypse by a huge amount. There was nothing “cool” or “neat” about them. And while I still felt a desperate need to figure them out, now was not the time. Right now, the most important thing to do was to execute every last one of them.
“You okay up there, Evan?” Drew shouted as he, Marshawn, and the others started to back away towards our compound-in-the-making.
“I’ll be okay as long as these bastards can’t climb,” I shouted back.
Bringing my rifle back up to my shoulder, I swept until I found my next target. This one was a little boy with no obvious or visible sign as to how he’d turned. I’d seen a few people like that, and it always creeped me out. For whatever reason, it is much easier to shoot a zombie with its guts hanging out than just a person with a creepy skin tone and gross eye problems.
After a deep breath to clear my head, I squeezed the trigger again. From my vantage point, it almost looked like the entire top of the kid’s head came off.
By the time I brought my weapon down, my comrades were no longer in sight. However, I did hear the deep bark of my Chewie. That meant the zombies were probably reaching the barriers we’d worked so hard to establish.
Technically, this would be their first real chance to show that we’d done things right. Everybody would probably be too swept up in the moment to really see what worked best, but we would absolutely know what didn’t work. I had my fingers crossed that our weaknesses were few…and none of them fatal.
I dropped a few more zombies of both types, and stepped back to reload. That is when I heard the low rumble from almost directly behind me.
I spun to see a large black cat with white paws regarding me from his perch on the rail that enclosed the platform on the tower. It was very deliberately licking its paws and regarding me with the apathetic disinterest that only cats can master so expertly.
“Hey, there…cat.” I very cautiously set my rifle down and unclipped the holster that held my pistol.
I was one of those people who believed that my pistol was very much the last resort weapon. It was for that reason that I’d taken to carrying a very simple .22 caliber handgun.
As I considered the animal that had made no move to indicate he was in the least bit concerned as he continued to lick his paws in deliberate, languid stokes of his tongue, I knew this was going to end with another dark stain on my conscience.
For some reason, I suddenly felt bad for how I’d scolded Todd about his then apparently senseless attacks on poor defenseless cats. Had he seen and felt what I was experiencing right this moment? Had the hair on the back of his neck stood up? Had his bladder constricted to the point that he worried he might wet his pants?
Very slowly, I brought the pistol up. I didn’t worry about where I hit the cat, from this range, a shot to the body should be good enough.
I’m not an advocate of harming domestic animals. I have no problem with hunting and fishing. However, killing or torturing an animal is a practice that I always believed should face the same penalties as an offense against a person. I’d even gotten into a bar fight over it once way back when. Now? Well, my feelings hadn’t changed as much as shifted.
My finger tightened around the trigger, and I had to take a deep breath to calm my nerves. Through it all, the cat simply continued to stare at me with no concern. It was oblivious to the razor’s edge its life existed upon.
When I pulled the trigger, there was a dull ‘pop’ from the weapon and the bullet slammed into the cat’s shoulder. The impact had been just enough to knock it from the rail it had been perched upon and it fell to the ground below. I made no attempt to look. I felt a sick feeling in my stomach.
If somebody walked up to me at that moment and asked why I’d done such a thing…I wouldn’t have any answer that made sense. It was based solely on a feeling in my gut. I shoved the pistol into the holster and snatched up my rifle again.
I spotted a small pack of adult zombies and brought my scope to bear on them. I dropped three in short order, but the awful feeling was still there.
I dropped two more…and then I heard the scream. My heart thudded as the realization that somebody in our camp had just fallen slammed into me. I was already on overload, and that new revelation caused my knees to wobble just a bit.
I steadied myself and resumed finding targets. Twice more, I reloaded. And while I hadn’t hit with one hundred percent accuracy, I’d dropped quite a few zombies of both types.
As my magazine emptied again, I reached for my pouc
h and realized that this was the last reload for my rifle. As I removed the empty mag and replaced it with the final one, I looked out over the area at all the downed bodies.
A small surge of bile raced to the back of my throat with a bitter burn that was starting to seem permanent. As I forced it back and took in the scene, I suddenly felt less bad about having shot a cat. Everywhere I looked, I saw swishing tails as what had to be perhaps a hundred felines in all shapes, sizes, and colors as they prowled through the area. Many were sitting beside a corpse. Some were in the act of tugging at a strip of flesh, others chewing and swallowing their most recent bite.
I noticed that they would scatter if an adult zombie stumbled their direction. But they were like the tide as they would all rush back in the moment it was clear and begin feasting anew.
There was a symbiotic relationship that seemed to exist between the child version of the undead and these cats. I wasn’t sure if it was universal, or simply something unique to this group. Perhaps it was akin to a remora and a shark. I’d seen them snack on some of the children, but not to the extent they were feeding on the corpses strewn about.
A sudden flurry of gunfire came from the direction of the camp, snapping me out of my ruminations. I desperately wanted to climb down and rush to the battle taking place.
Looking down, there were several zombies gathered at the base of my tower. It would be very unlikely that I might be able to get down, take out enough to clear a path, and run to the battle raging at our camp.
It was then that a new thought crept up from the dark corners of my mind and planted its flag in the middle of my conscious thought. If all my comrades were killed in this attack…I would most likely die up here on this platform.
I instantly dismissed that notion as I told myself that, if worse came to worse, I would at least make an attempt to escape this spot. And I would keep my .22 handy just in case. If I went down and knew that death was certain, I would simply eat a bullet.
A realization struck me. What the hell was I thinking? Okay, while it is most likely that a .22 round to the temple would put me down, there certainly was the chance it could fail.
There was an explosion of leaves as a figure burst through some of the thick ferns and shrubs in the direction of the camp. A figure was backpedaling and stumbled, falling on his or her behind. Right on this person’s heels came several zombies—a mix of children and adults.
I brought my rifle up and sighted on the safest target. The zombie toppled as I put a round in its head. The person was too busy fighting off a pair of the undead to notice. The sounds from below pulled my attention to the base of my tower as the undead gathered there were starting to turn and move towards this newest possible meal.
I knew it was never going to be clear, so I waited just long enough for it to thin. As soon as space permitted, I slid down the ladder just as I’d done on so many construction jobs.
I had a boss that used to get highly pissed off when I would do that. If he caught me, he always pitched a fit.
“Ladders have rungs for a reason, Mister Berry.” He always tried to intimidate me with his size, but it hadn’t ever worked out the way he wanted.
I hit the ground and pulled my machete as I slung the rifle over my shoulder. Shoving the nearest zombie forward, I hacked at the next closest and felt that familiar sting in my hands as blade met skull.
“They breached our little berm and then a bunch fell into the trench,” Alex gasped as she moved my direction. “Enough fell in that a few dozen were able to make it across the trench on the backs of the ones that fell.”
I could not imagine the number of zombies that it would take to fill a trench that was perhaps ten feet deep and at least that far across. There had to be more than just what I’d seen. Obviously, they hadn’t filled the entire trench that circled our camp, but enough had fallen in a concentrated area to cause a problem. We would have to address that…if we survived.
A trio of the children emerged to my left from behind a massive boulder. One of them couldn’t be older than two or three years old and was even more unsteady on its feet as it toddled my direction. He was stark naked, and his body was covered with scratches in addition to a few spots that looked like perhaps he’d been nibbled on by the cats.
I didn’t even think as I kicked out with one booted foot and punted him backwards and into the rock. My next move was to cleave the skull of one child and kick the feet out from the other. Before the little one could regain its feet, I moved just enough so that I was able to stomp my heel into the middle of its face. I heard and felt the crunch as its skull gave. I chopped at the third as I stomped a second time to the crunch and squish as the toddler’s head gave way completely.
An adult zombie swiped at me just as I turned to help Alex. I hadn’t seen this one, and its hand connected with my face hard enough that it made a meaty slapping sound. My eyes actually blurred for a moment, and I felt a hot stinging on my cheek and jaw.
I gripped my machete, but it had gotten too close and I couldn’t bring the weapon up effectively. I stabbed out and actually heard the skin rip. A wave of stink rolled out as the paper-thin layer of skin on this woman’s belly gave way, her insides vomiting forth from the gash I’d just created.
It was bad enough that I gagged and then sprayed a stream of watery vomit in the zombie woman’s face. That caused my stomach to do a barrel roll. Apparently nothing was nailed down internally and all the remaining contents from my earlier meal made a hasty exit. I vomited again, this time with eye-watering force.
All that did was add another level of stench and putrescence to an already foul scene. I stumbled back, my arm swinging wildly as I tripped over one of the downed children I’d just ended.
Of course, despite the force with which I’d expelled the contents of my stomach, there was a good amount of it down my front now. That wasn’t helping me regain control of my bodily functions. The woman flopped onto me, and that was when my bladder totally let go.
I shoved at her as she tried to grab me while her teeth clicked together just inches from my throat. A dollop of some of my liquid laughter splatted down on my face as I jerked from side to side while I struggled to avoid a bite that would end me. Being immune was not going to matter if this zombie managed to clamp her teeth on my neck and rip open my jugular.
It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. I’d managed to get through so much to make it to this point. And sure, that might seem overly egocentric, but I wasn’t ready to die yet. I certainly didn’t want to die like this.
I was sickeningly aware of a million sensations that were hitting me all at once. Pain, regret, fear, and so many others. Physically, I can’t ever recall feeling so foul. I had vomit all over me, I’d wet my pants, and I could feel the insides of this zombie soaking my stomach through my layers of clothing and jacket.
There was an awful sound, and then my face was splattered with a slurry of vile, thick, syrupy goo that might’ve been blood once upon a time. The only thing I could dredge up to be thankful for at the moment were the goggles I wore. They’d become such a part of being outside the perimeter that, half the time, I would forget to remove them when I was in camp.
Something grabbed my shoulder, and I knew this was it. I would die here. I braced for the feel of teeth to rip into me, and then felt my body hauled across the ground.
“Come on, Evan, on your feet,” Alex hissed.
I scrambled onto my stomach and made it to my knees. Looking around, I had to pull my goggles down in order to see. There was a nasty gash in the top of the head of the zombie that had been on top of me. Putrefied brain matter spilled from the wound.
“What the—” I started, but Alex cut me off.
“Look, for whatever reason, I came out here to see if you were still alive. You are. Now we need to get back and help the others.” Without another word, she turned and started back towards our compound. As she did, she veered whenever necessary to drop any zombie that she would pass.
&n
bsp; As we made our way through the woods, I lost count of how many corpses littered the ground. Since she’d been the only one to come this way, I had to attribute them all to Alex. It was an impressive tally.
I also began to notice that, at least by appearances, the dead zombie children had been hacked up versus just a single stab to the head through the eye or temple. There was no denying Alex had a reason to be angry, but this was behavior bordering on psychotic. At least in my opinion. I would have to keep an eye on her…provided we survived the next several minutes.
The closer we got to the main camp, the more I could hear—sounds that filled me with a sense of dread that nearly overwhelmed to feeling of urgency that compelled me to continue.
There were shouts, screams, and cries for help. Mixed in that were the moans of the undead, the creepy baby cries, and Chewie’s growling bark. If there is a soundtrack for Hell…this was it.
I reached the berm and could see a handful of zombie children trying to scramble up the steep embankment. There was also a single adult version with them. This was a visible study of the truth to their differences. The children had all gone to their hands and knees. The adult was trying to walk upright and, just as we arrived, toppled over backwards and fell hard, tumbling down and colliding with one of the many large rocks we’d unearthed during the digging of the trench. I was certain I’d heard bones break.
Alex didn’t even slow as she reached the base of the steeply inclined dirt hill. She caught the first zombie child and yanked it back by the hair. A small axe seemed to appear in her hand, and she chopped down hard, burying it in the top of the little girl’s skull. There was a splash of chunky darkness as the body was cast aside. Alex was already grabbing the second child by the time I started up the berm.
Her second killing was almost more horrific to witness as she caught the zombie child by the heel. While the child versions are no faster than their adult counterparts, I swear this one tried to hurry and escape. I am certain that it looked over its shoulder, but because it looked over the left and Alex had the axe in her right, perhaps it didn’t see the weapon. It never switched into what I was now considering “standard zombie mode” as it continued its attempted escape.
