Fire killed the virus immediately, so it was part of everyone’s gear to have some means of open flame to sanitize weapons used on the dead. The good news was there was very little splatter when combating the undead since their blood wasn’t flowing like a living person’s did. Bullets to the head caused some mess, but not as much as a live human.
Tommy reached the car and unlocked the doors. Zombies typically couldn’t figure out how to open a door, but lately more and more of them were figuring it out, and sometimes they got lucky when it came to car doors. It was better to lock up than have a ghoul leave all sorts of dead bits inside the car you want to drive away in.
The two men stashed their gear and drove away, heading back to the outskirts of Dalhart. They had left their caravan to do some scouting, and had only a few hours left before the group would figure them lost and move on without them. That was the standing rule in the Zombie War. Always stay on the move, draw them out, kill them.
The road was fairly clear this far south as it was discovered that apart from the main cities, the infestation wasn’t as bad as other, more populated areas. Tommy and Duncan headed back to their group which was waiting for them near Rita Blanca Lake just off the road.
Six thousand men and women made up the personnel of the caravan, and they had been on the road for nearly four months. The War had started in earnest when the first cold winds blew down from the north. John Talon, the duly elected chief executive of the represented states, had declared unconditional war on the zombies to the unanimous support of the population. One week of planning, and the teams were off. The goal was simple: kill zombies, find survivors, kill more zombies.
Tommy and Duncan were tasked with the Texas Campaign while John and Charlie headed north to deal with a hostage situation. They were to take their team, head south, find as many survivors as possible, and spread the word of the new government. Communication was spotty at best, but things were getting better, and more and more communities were turning the power back on. Major cities were still a problem, but they were handled best in the winter months. John had made it clear that the teams were to try and find survivors, but serious exploration was forbidden. Too many zombies still roamed the halls of the cities, and without serious firepower and manpower, they were going to stay that way for a while. It was generally agreed upon that the cities would be uninhabitable in the near future, so unless there was a significant survivor population, cities were to be left to rot. Duncan, in his enthusiasm, tried to burn down the cities that were useless and managed to succeed with a couple, but it was chancy at best.
Tommy hit the gas and sped down the road, figuring to be at the rendezvous point in about twenty minutes. Nebraska was a hard fight, and the crew had decided to take a day and rest. Tommy and Duncan had figured to scout ahead, when they got surprised by about thirty zombies checking out their car after inspecting a ranch house. The zombies chased them down the road, and the two men spent a good half day waiting for the curious dead to move away from their car. The rest had trapped them on the bridge and forced them to cool their heels outdoors for a bit.
“Where do you think the survivors went?” Duncan asked as they moved along Texas’s County Highway 87. He put a hand up to brace himself as Tommy swerved around a decent-sized crack in the road.
“Not really sure,” Tommy said. “We had a mess of Z’s around the border and the surrounding area, but I expected a whole lot more.”
“Between Perico and Stratford there was supposed to be over ten thousand,” Duncan said. It was standard procedure to check the population of any town before going in just to see how outnumbered they were going to be.
“And we didn’t see nearly that many.” Thank God, Tommy thought.
“No, I figured at worst it was maybe two thousand,” Duncan said reflectively.
Tommy thought a minute, moving the car around an overturned bucket in the road. “So that means there are a lot of wandering zombies out there, or a bunch of people just up and ran away. Which way do you think our luck will hold?” Tommy shot Duncan a sideways glance and got a snort in reply.
“Based on experience, I’d say we’re screwed,” Duncan said. He narrowed his eyes. “Those are our cars; we’re here.”
Tommy slowed down as he approached the small group of vehicles. There was a Ford F-150 which carried much of their gear, a Honda Pilot, a Range Rover, and a Jeep Liberty. The truck and SUV’s were parked in roughly a square, leaving about four feet between each vehicle. The idea was to use the SUV’s as shelter when no other option was available. The space between the cars was a choke point to keep from getting swarmed, if it came to that, and it also served as an escape route. In case of serious trouble, the vehicles had enough room to get away, and each was chosen because it was heavy enough to push through a crowd of zombies. These squares were something that the scouts had come up with, and since they were the tip of the spear when it came to fighting the Z’s, they could pretty much do whatever they thought would keep them alive.
The rest of the army was flung across the northern section of Texas, sent there by Tommy to clear out as many zombies as possible. The weather was cold and it slowed down the zombies, but it wasn’t as cold as it had been up north. So the ghouls were slower, but not what they had been killing in the northern states.
“Bout time, chief.” The speaker was a man in his mid-forties. The streaks of grey in his otherwise black hair spoke of a troubled past. His name was Chris Johnson, and he was the leader of this particular scout group. Chris was a serious kind of man, but he had a very dry sense of humor that endeared him to his comrades. He was kind of a father figure to the younger fighters and was willing to give advice if you asked for it. His best feature was his ability to remain absolutely calm in nearly any situation. In the middle of a raging battle with zombies, Chris was known to start whistling.
“Couldn’t be helped, CJ,” Tommy said. “What’s the story with Dalhart?”
Chris grunted, a deep sound from his chest. “They’re in there, and they don’t want to come out. I walked through a small section of town, and saw dozens staring at me from behind windows and doors, but none of them came out to play,” Chris said. “Disappointing, really.”
“Well, let’s get back in there and see if we can’t draw them out with a bigger pile of meat. You’re just too skinny, CJ,” Duncan said.
The rest of the crew laughed. CJ was one of the bigger men in the army. He was over six feet tall, weighed somewhere north of two hundred twenty pounds, and packed most of that on his chest and arms. If Chris Johnson didn’t qualify for the top three in the army for strength, then he certainly made the top five. The funny part was he didn’t look as strong as he was. His arms were long, but you could see the muscles play under his shirt. Chris had a very personal hatred of zombies and typically volunteered for the worst missions. His family was killed by the zombies, and anything he could do to thin the ranks was fine with him. He had no fear of dying, because he explained that it would just bring him back to his family, which was fine with him.
“I’ll take the fantastic four over here, and you can take the thirsty three over there,” Chris said, pointing his very nasty melee weapon at them. It was a spear in spirit, but it had been adjusted for the foes he now faced. One end of the spear had a simple three-inch spike on the end topped off with a one-inch flat ring that prevented the spike from penetrating any further. The other end was two feet of flat steel welded into a kind of ‘y’ shape. Typically, CJ would get into a crowd and just start swinging that end around, literally just beating the zombies to death in a very ugly circle. Duncan will tell anyone who will listen that once he saw nothing but zombies and that weapon rising and falling. After a while, the zombies were down and Chris wasn’t.
“Deal. Let’s get moving,” Tommy said.
“All right. Split up. Drivers are walkers today; shotgun get driving. I want forty feet of space, two on a side. Move it!” Chris said to the team.
The idea was simple. On
e group draws out the zombies and engages them while the other follows in the vehicle to provide backup if needed. The vehicles were escape routes or weapons depending on how bad things got.
At the far edge of town, Duncan, Chris, and four other scouts started walking. Three houses in and there was movement. A small zombie, probably no older than ten or twelve, came running around from behind a birdbath. Chris lifted his spear, and with a quick thrust killed it. He stepped on the boy’s chest and pulled the spike out of its forehead.
“Look alive, crew. The little ones are still fast even in the cold,” Chris said.
“Yeah, Charlie got bit by one of these fast ones up in Nebraska,” Duncan said, eyeballing the next house.
“Heard he’s immune. Guess that proves it,” a woman by the name of Gwen spoke up.
“Lucky bastard,” another scout spoke up.
“Why isn’t he here with us if he’s Superman?” Gwen asked out loud to no one in particular.
Chris turned on her. “Because he’s rescuing a third of our army. Remember Tom Haggerty?”
“Yeah, so?” Gwen asked.
“The group Charlie is going after killed him. And he’s going alone except for Talon. I’d say he’s needed elsewhere, wouldn’t you?” The look in Chris’s eyes did not allow any further discussion.
“Yes, sir,” Gwen said. She was a thirty old former process consultant with an IT company that didn’t have a plan for zombie invasions. She had barely escaped the apocalypse because the day her building fell to the zombies just happened to be the day she was working remotely from home.
The next house was a little noisier, and four zombies came out to meet the newcomers. The scouts and Duncan just fanned out and took the zombies down by sheer force. If any zombie escaped with only one head injury, he was the exception.
The procession proceeded down the street, and the group kept up the noise by talking loudly about nearly anything. The liveliest discussion centered around what kind of pizza should be served if a pizzeria could ever be reopened.
“Thin crust all the way.”
“You’re a wimp. Deep dish or nothing.”
“Pan pizza, best of all.”
“Please shut up.”
“Just make sure there’s enough toppings.”
“What kind?”
“BACON!”
That last was shouted by four of the scouts, which proved the conversation wasn’t a new one. The shout also produced a sizable horde which came spilling out of a small apartment complex.
Duncan smiled at the group. “Nicely done,” he said. “I was wondering where the groups had gotten themselves to.” He moved off to the side, leaving enough space for one of the following vehicles to pull up next to him. This procedure was repeated four times with scouts getting around and taking their place.
Chris shifted his grip on his weapon, bringing the other end to bear.
“Stay in front of the cars; don’t let them past. Use the car for shelter if you need it,” he said.
The first ghoul to hit the line was a middle-aged man wearing brown striped pajamas. His left foot had been torn nearly off, and as he limped, the bone in his leg made a clicking sound as it hit the pavement. But he was first, so Gwen killed him with a single blow of her hatchet.
The next was a pair of old women whose hands and faces were simply shredded strips of meat surrounding protruding eyes. Duncan tried out his latest knife, a heavy kukri, and managed to decapitate both with a single swing.
“Damn,” said Chris. He swung hard with his spear, crushing the skull of a young woman zombie.
Duncan shrugged. “Didn’t know it would do that, but I’m glad it did.”
Everyone got busy in the next few minutes as the rest of the horde descended on the group. The air was full of groans, the sound of humans grunting with the effort of swinging their weapons hard enough to crack a skull, and the meaty thunk of metal striking flesh and bone.
Things were going pretty well until a high-pitched scream got everyone’s attention.
“Duncan! Chris! Help!”
One of the other scouts, a young woman named Aubry, was trapped by three zombies who were grabbing at her and pulling on her coat and arms. She was holding them back with the handle of her weapon, but it was just a matter of seconds before they got to her.
“Shit!” Duncan swore. He climbed over the hood of the car Tommy was in and jumped to the hood of the next car. He jumped over to the trio of zombies, smashing the one on the left with his long-handled axe. He chopped the middle one with his kukri in the back of the head, grabbed the third by the collar, and ripped him off Aubry. The zombie cartwheeled away, and Duncan used the opportunity to hit it in the back of the head with his axe while it struggled to get up.
Aubry sunk against the car and held a hand to her shoulder. Duncan didn’t spend any more time with her, gesturing that the scout in the car get out and help with the horde. Duncan went back to his position, killing two more zombies on the way over.
Tommy went back to the car, and kept the engine running in case of need. He had accounted for a zombie of his own, and the horde which seemed endless at first, suddenly disappeared as the last zombie fell to Chris’s spear.
Chris leaned against the car and called out. “Sound off!”
“All good!”
“All good!”
“All good!”
“All good!”
“No good.”
The last was spoken by Aubry. She was still leaning against the car with her partner standing next to her. She was holding her shoulder, and tears were coming out of her eyes. The rest of the crew crowded around, but they didn’t get too close. They were very respectful of what the virus could do and how contagious it was in its incubation period.
“Aw, hell, Aubry. What happened?” Chris said quietly.
Aubry shrugged. She moved her hand away from her shoulder and it came away bloody.
“Three of them came at me at once. Tried to turn them, but they came in too fast. Duncan got them off of me, but the last one got his head in for a bite,” Aubry said.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t faster,” Duncan said softly.
Aubry shook her head. “Don’t you dare. You did what you could. It’s just my time. Can I ask you to bury me by that lake we saw earlier? That seemed like a nice place.” Aubry winced and more tears came out.
“Sure thing,” Chris said quietly. “Anything else?”
“Would you do it?” Aubry asked Chris. “After I turn, I mean?”
Chris nodded. He didn’t have the words as they caught in his throat. The teams left Dalhart with Aubry riding in the back of one of the cars. The small caravan, which now resembled a funeral procession, moved back towards Rita Blanca Lake. They pulled into a small campsite area and everyone got out of the car. Aubry needed help, and she complained she was already dizzy and nauseous. The two scouts who helped her were cautious, trying not to breathe too deeply around the infected woman.
Aubry sat down heavily at a picnic table, her breathing shallow and labored. Her eyes were glassed over, and she closed them repeatedly. The lake was in front of her, and the sunlight off the waves was actually quite beautiful. Some of the scouts whispered to each other that it was a very nice place if you had to die. Aubry took off her weapons and placed them on the picnic table.
Soon Aubry’s head slumped down on her chest, and she leaned over slowly, lying down on her side. Tommy and Duncan stood apart watching while Chris took up a position behind the woman. His shoulders were slumped, and Duncan nudged Tommy.
“He’s taking this a little harder than I thought he would,” Duncan whispered.
“He should. Those two were an item,” Tommy said, matter-of-factly.
“Huh. Never knew that,” Duncan said.
“They were pretty secretive about it except for the fact that Chris made the scout schedule, and they always seemed to have duty together,” Tommy said.
“Huh. Anything else I should know?” Duncan ask
ed.
“Gwen is a lesbian,” Tommy said.
“You’re kidding.”
“Yep.”
“Wait. Yep you’re kidding or Yep Gwen is a lesbian.” Duncan was getting confused.
“You got it,” Tommy said, smiling.
“I hate you.”
“Aubry is starting to stir,” Tommy said seriously.
And she was. It had been about a half hour, and no one had moved in that time. Her hand was the first thing to move, opening and closing like Aubry was re-learning how to use it. She pushed herself up, sitting for a moment before she stood up completely. She looked left, right, and then saw Chris standing behind her holding his spear.
She locked onto him and moved around the picnic table, moving stiffly but steadily. Her arms were held out in front of her like she wanted to give Chris a hug. Chris waited and waited as Aubry got closer and closer.
“What’s he doing?” Tommy asked.
“Is she immune, too?” Duncan asked.
“No idea,” Tommy said, pulling his gun out.
Aubry walked up to Chris who dropped his spear and held out his arms. Aubry walked into his arms and wrapped her arms around his neck. Chris lifted her up and held her close.
“Well, I thought that was going to be different,” Duncan said.
“Shit!” Tommy yelled.
Aubry had lifted her head away from Chris’s neck, and then went back in, teeth digging deeply into his flesh. She took a huge bite, jerking her head away and tearing a large chunk of flesh out of Chris’s neck. Blood sprayed all over the place, spraying Aubry’s face and making her look like a demon. Her mouth opened again, and she went in for a second bite, ripping away even more flesh.
Chris never said a word, never cried out. He just went to his knees, holding onto the zombie that killed him, and fell over on top of her, pinning her to the ground. He died a few seconds later, bleeding out from the horrific wounds Aubry had inflicted on his neck.
White Flag of the Dead (Book 9): The Zombie Wars (We All Fall Down) Page 2
