by Brown, TW
I was learning that the sounds of a gunfight had a very distinct sound and energy level to it. It was not the lazy sound of people picking off the undead. This was bursts of shooting mixed with shouts and yelps or cries of pain and surprise.
Once a few heartbeats had passed with me not being the focus of the gunfire, I leaned over the railing and peered down. Sure enough, one of our teams was moving in from either side of the group of Don Evans’ people. In addition, a big group of the herd had broken off and were now shambling into the battle zone.
I wanted to watch for a few minutes but didn’t have time. I scanned the area for the next group and found a handful of people running for the bus with the machine gun mounted on top. That was not a good thing at all.
I loaded another flare and fired it at the bus. It was parked beside a building, so it was very possible that the groups on the ground didn’t see it.
Once the flare landed and began sending out its smoky signal, I felt my mouth go dry. It was one thing to be fired at by people with a variety of pistols and rifles. But now, there was a .50 cal machine gun to worry about. They didn’t really have to aim that thing. Just point in my general direction and fire. They would hit something sooner or later.
That weapon would shred me. There might not be enough left to scoop into a travel mug. It was quite possible I’d just signed my own death warrant.
I had to try and locate any other groups and then hope I could get down quick enough. I began to search frantically, but my eyes kept drifting back to that damn bus and the weapon mounted on top of it.
The flare gun was reloaded, and I was trying desperately to locate any other groups to target, but I could not tear my attention away from the bus long enough to get a good look.
I forced myself to look away and try to find another group to tag. As another gunfight erupted, I turned back to the bus and realized that nobody had climbed up to man the .50 cal. Could it be that they’d run out of ammunition? Did I dare hope?
As I watched—instead of doing the job I’d been tasked to do which was finding targets for the folks on the ground—a trio of my people moved in and started opening fire on the folks gathered near the bus obviously trying to figure out a way to take me out.
The beauty (or horror) of being in a gunfight while hundreds of the undead flooded the battlefield is that you don’t need to land a kill shot. Simply taking out a leg is more than enough.
One particularly grizzly scene unfolded as one of the wounded tried to crawl under the bus. They were only halfway there when several zombies fell—literally—onto the backs of the person’s legs. Even from up here I could hear the scream.
I shook my head to clear it now that I felt relatively safe from being torn to shreds by that big machine gun that, without any ammunition, was nothing more than a chunk of useless metal. I searched the area and then my gaze locked onto something.
I knew without a doubt that I’d just located Don Evans.
He was back from the fighting, and by the looks of things, pulling out. He had about a dozen or so people with him and they were skirting a tall fence that had thick shrubs on his side. He could not see inside the grounds, but nobody could spot him either.
The direction that he and his group were headed would eventually lead to Interstate 205. The flare would be useless. I dropped the flare gun on the platform and unslung my scoped rifle.
Checking to ensure the safety was off, I brought it to my shoulder. There was a brief flash of disappointment as I realized how impersonal this kill would be. There would be no face-to-face moment where I could tell him of his failures. No moment where I could look him in the eyes and tell him that he was a monster before the apocalypse and that his death would not be mourned by a single soul.
I had to slowly scan with my weapon once my eye had lined up to look through the scope. Once I found him, he’d stopped moving and was looking back in our direction. Perhaps the sun had flashed off my scope. Whatever the case, he was staring right at me. At least that was how it seemed.
When he raised a hand in the universal one-finger salute, I was certain that he saw me and knew exactly who it was that had him in his sights. As my finger tightened on the trigger, I felt my mind clear. I was going to rid the world of perhaps one of the worst so-called humans that remained. At least as far as I knew.
I squeezed.
It would replay in my head a thousand times in the next few days. I would tell myself over and over that I could not have anticipated the outcome despite knowing his lack of conscience. I still had to wonder how he’d managed to pull it off.
In the blink of an eye, he’d yanked the person closest to him in front of his body. My round slammed into that person’s chest and probably killed them instantly. The only thing that I could feel good about was how a bullet did not magically stop when it reached the first body.
Don still took damage and staggered back a few steps. Unfortunately, he and his group had reached the corner of that stretch of fence. He staggered back a few steps and then vanished from sight.
Cursing, I slung the rifle back over my shoulder and grabbed the flare gun. Cracking it open, I fumbled for a cartridge and slammed it home. I lined up my shot and fired in the direction I knew he’d gone. The round fell short, but even from up here I could see where they’d trampled the tall grass. In an instant, that dry grass had caught fire and was now a double-edged sword.
I looked around for signs that any of my people might be in pursuit. I spotted two groups, both converging toward the growing wisp of smoke that was growing at a frightening pace. I wasn’t sure that pursuit was a good idea now as the fire started to grow into something more dangerous than I’d taken into account.
I felt a sinking sensation in my chest as I now realized that my target was likely going to escape. I would have no idea if the injury he’d taken would be enough to kill him.
Looking around, the entire area was now in full blown chaos as the undead wandered about in singles and groups. I could see the violent remnants of the firefights we’d managed to engage in. But I had no idea how many of my own people were down.
I was about to start down when I saw something that froze my blood in my veins. A figure was racing from the direction that Don Evans and his people escaped. I didn’t need my scope to recognize the figure as it vanished behind a clump of trees and scrub brush. The person was heading for an area that I had no doubt intersected with Don Evans and his retreating survivors.
“Selina, no!” I shouted, doubting that she could hear me above the sounds of the growing fire and the moans of the undead.
I swung my body over the lip of the platform and began to slide down, using an open grip on the sides of the ladder while bracing my feet outside as well. When I hit the ground, I took off at a sprint in the general direction I had seen Selina.
I hadn’t gotten twenty yards when I had to stop to take down a few of the undead that were in my way. The fire on one side and the tall fence on the other was now acting as an alley that I had to be an idiot for charging down.
Yep, you guessed it. I’m an idiot.
I sprinted down the narrow passage of fence and fire, feeling the left side of my body heat up quickly to the point I was afraid that my hair might catch. I could hear something just barely louder than the roar of the growing flames and it did not take long for me to realize that it was the moan and cry of the undead.
I wished in that moment that I was faster, but even pushing as hard as I could, it felt like I was in one of those nightmares where you run as hard as you can but go almost nowhere. I finally reached the corner of the fence where Selina had disappeared and skidded to a halt.
Fire is a scary thing. It does not really follow the wishes of people. It just does what it wants. In this case, the fire had hopped across some tinder-dry brush and now made a wall that turned my alley into a dead end.
The problem with that was I could now see Selina. She had stumbled into a dead end of her own in a matter of speaking.
The fence had come to a halt with a tan building on one side and the razor wire-topped fence on the other and at the terminus. The fire had cut her off from coming back to me. What added to her terrible situation were the two dozen or so smoldering—or in a few cases, actually flaming—undead.
“Selina!” I shouted.
I was looking around, doing my best to figure out a way to save her while taking the least amount of pain. When I looked up at her, I could see her eyes wide with fear. I could not actually recall having seen her express fear since I’d met the girl. There was no denying it now, though. The girl was terrified.
The undead were closing in on her and shooting them was out of the question. It was too likely that I would hit her in the process. And even if I scored a hit, bullets don’t just stop when they hit a target.
I slipped my Rag-and Bone Man club from my shoulder and decided that I would have to dive through the flames. Hopefully, my protective clothing would keep me relatively burn free.
Throwing an arm across my mouth and nose after sucking in a deep breath, I charged.
17
Why?
I landed on the other side and collapsed into a forward roll in the hopes that I would put out any flames that might’ve caught. I ended up on my knees facing the backs of the pack of zombies closing on Selina.
I caught a glimpse of her through the forest of shambling corpses. She had her back to the fence and her mouth was open in a silent scream as if her fear had stolen her voice.
I could see hands swiping at her and she was swatting them away. I grabbed the closest of the undead and just jerked it back hard and slung it away, not even bothering to watch how or where it landed. I had to get to Selina first. That was all that mattered.
I dropped my shoulder and charged between a few of the zombies. Something horrible and cold slid along my face, my lips, and, since I was apparently shouting, inside my mouth.
I jerked my head to the side and gagged on the foulness that slid down my throat like rancid syrup. Zombies pinballed off each other and began to fall over each other. This was exactly what I’d hoped for.
I lost sight of Selina for just a second. When I spotted her again, she had fallen to her butt. Two of the undead had a grip on her and both were trying to get that first potentially fatal bite.
I shoved and struggled and ended up on hands and knees, crawling as fast as I could. As soon as I was close enough, I popped up and cranked back the club, ready to obliterate the one that seemed to be closest to getting in a bite.
I swung forward. At least that was what my muscles tried to accomplish. I almost lost my grip on the handle since I was unprepared for something to prevent my attack. Glancing back, one of the zombies had stepped in and the barrel of my club was caught under its armpit. The thing was actually looking down at it as if studying the strange object.
I pushed back and then jerked, freeing my weapon and sending the middle-aged man with a crowbar jammed through his chest stumbling back into his lethal companions. Spinning back, I was already swinging when Selina shrieked.
It was as if my eyes became telephoto lenses, because it was as my vision zoomed in on where jagged teeth tore into cloth and then the flesh of the girl’s forearm. Blood welled up and appeared to squirt between those vile teeth and wash the gray gums with a sheen of crimson.
The scream.
It is a terrible sound. It twists my stomach every single time. This time, it was worse. I was staring at the source. The second zombie was just sinking its teeth into her upper arm. A thirsty zombie was looming over her and almost seemed to collapse as it fell on her, blocking my view completely.
The last thing I’d seen were Selina’s eyes wide with pain and horror…and pleading for me to help. I threw myself forward. She wasn’t necessarily dead yet. She was injured, but there remained the chance of immunity if I could wrest her from these monsters.
I spied her feet as they began to pound the ground while her scream changed registers. Grabbing one with my free hand, I jerked.
In that second, my hopes were riding the slim chance that she might not succumb to the zombie infection. If her eyes remained free of tracers, then there was still that chance. If the injuries were not so bad that they could be patched up.
I pulled as hard as I could.
Nothing.
Her legs shot out straight for just a moment. Both of them went stiff…and then she screamed again. This time I was certain that anybody who heard it would know. Still, I had to try. I had to pull.
A hand clamped on my shoulder and I could feel it digging in, trying desperately to get through the leather of the jacket. I shrugged to no avail, but I refused to let go of that leg.
I pulled again.
This time, she inched toward me. Or maybe it was my imagination. By now, we were at the center of a clump of zombies that were all trying to feed. A body came down on my back and the weight knocked me forward. I was sprawled on my belly.
Helpless.
This would be how my story ends. But I would not let go of that booted ankle. And maybe, knowing that I was right here with her…it would help Selina. She would not die alone. And as her scream turned to liquid gasps, I knew she would die here in the next moment.
How far behind her would I be?
Another corpse fell on my back and hands clawed at me. A jagged fingertip that was mostly just bone jabbed into my cheek and I screamed. Taking over the chore that Selina had passed on to me.
Something scraped the edge of my jacket collar and gouged a furrow into the back of my head. A creepy and drawn out “Braaiiiiinssss!” echoed in my head and I felt delirium trying to whisk me away from the pain I knew was about to come.
Another body landed on the pile, and I was now certain there would be no way I could escape from under this heap of writhing dead flesh. Now, all I could do is hope that there was not enough of me to come back. Maybe Selina and I would be consumed to the point that there would be no remains left to reanimate.
Something clawed at my and despite being unable to move, my desire to survive kept me trying. And then I realized that I was no longer able to draw much of a breath. I was going to suffocate under this weight if they didn’t rip me open first. Neither seemed like a good way to die.
Something clutched my ankles and I felt my muscles clench in anticipation of teeth ripping into my calves. I was going to find out just how bad that bite hurt when Roger got it in the original Dawn of the Dead.
Another tug.
This felt like it was being done with way more power than a zombie should possess. Then I was yanked again, and this time, I could tell that the lower half of my body was free. I started kicking my legs in the hopes that maybe now I could get free.
“Evan!” a familiar voice snapped. “Stop kicking so we can get you out of there.”
A moment later, I was jerked free. I rolled over to see Marshawn and Andrew staring down at me. I scuttled away from the undead that I’d been under and turned to see that most if not all of them had either been shot in the head or jabbed with Andrew’s spiked walking stick.
I spun to where I’d last seen Selina and felt my stomach clench. She’d been ripped up. Her insides spilling out or being feasted upon by the handful of zombies that had not abandoned their meal to come after me.
My eyes burned as tears welled up and threatened to spill over. I spied my club a few feet away and scooped it up as I walked over to her still form. She was covered in blood and that only made the expression of pain etched on her face appear that much worse.
I reached for one of my handguns and discovered that I’d lost it somewhere along the line. I felt something pressed into my hand and glanced up at Marshawn. No words needed to be said. We simply gave each other a look and a nod. Then I walked over and ended any chances of the young girl ever sitting back up.
There was so much going on in my head that I couldn’t sort it out. Anger. Sadness. Failure.
“This is Greene, we found Evan and are returni
ng to the staging area,” Andrew said solemnly. “Any word on the target?”
“We’ve got him pinned down in a small section of offices,” a voice crackled over Andrew’s radio.
The voice was young sounding and unfamiliar. I had to assume it was one of the soldiers from the depot. There was a hiss and then the crackle of static.
A percussive ‘WHUMP’ sounded from well off to my left. Seconds later, there were a series of explosions. I spun in the direction of the sound to see a cloud rising back toward where I was almost certain the highway was located.
Another series of deep sounds came, and then another set of explosions. With one final glance back at Selina, I took off at a jog with Marshawn and Andrew towards the rising cloud of smoke.
The chatter on the radio was a mix of jargon and excited shouts of how the target had been destroyed. I would need to see for myself.
When we finally reached the road, I saw a pile of rubble that was dotted with several fires burning in its midst. A huge plume of smoke swirled up from the debris. A few forms were sprawled on the outskirts.
I stalked across the four lanes, pausing at the median to utilize my club like I was teeing off with my driver in my best grip-it-and-rip-it swing when I almost tripped over a legless zombie that was trying to drag itself from the bushes.
I tried to approach the rubble, but the heat from the flames burning in various hot spots kept me back. I spun around as more people approached. Many I did not recognize, but a few of the people dressed in military camos I did recall.
“Who actually saw Don Evans go inside this building?” I asked.
After a brief pause, a young man stepped forward. “I did, sir,” he sputtered. “He and a few others came out from those trees.” He pointed back towards the direction I’d come from.
It added up to being very possible, but not seeing a body was a problem. Not having absolute proof would be something that I felt would probably haunt me forever.
