White Flag of the Dead (Book 9): The Zombie Wars (We All Fall Down)

by Joseph Talluto

  Tommy rushed over, and fired a single shot that killed Aubry as she dug in for another bite. Tommy fired again, putting a bullet in the back of Chris’s head.

  He walked away from the two corpses and faced the horrified group.

  “Well, that wasn’t what I expected to happen this day,” Tommy said. “Let’s get these two buried before dark. We know there’s more of them out there, and they will likely be coming for us.”

  The rest of the scouts got busy, pulling out shovels and a couple of blankets. They pulled the lovers apart and placed the blankets over their bodies. Tommy and Duncan dug shallow graves while three of the other scouts went to gather rocks to place on the mounds. Gwen took the task of removing the weapons from Chris, but she left his gear on him.

  “Might need it in the afterlife,” she explained to Tommy after he raised an eyebrow at her.

  The graves were finished, the bodies placed carefully. After the earth was replaced, the mounds were covered in large stones to keep the coyotes and the wild dogs from digging up the couple.

  Once the work was done with the graves, the group stood around in a circle. No one really had anything to say; they were still in a state of disbelief that Chris has committed suicide when his lover had turned into a zombie. It was a scene that had probably played out hundreds of times before when one member of a couple just could not bring themselves to kill their mate no matter what was going to happen to them.

  Duncan finally spoke. “Chris was a good man, a strong man, and a good fighter. He’d been through a lot, like we all have, and he must have reached his breaking point when Aubry passed. In his shoes, I don’t know if I could kill Janna if I had to. But we move on like we always do, and we are secure in the knowledge that we are all a little better off for knowing people like Aubry and Chris.”

  There was a chorus of ‘Amen,’ and the group headed back to their vehicles to spend the night. Tommy and Duncan walked back to their vehicle.

  “How do you think Charlie and John are doing?” Duncan asked.

  “Can’t be doing any worse than us. We lost twenty percent of our team today,” Tommy said.

  “Jesus.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

  “Deal.”

  Northern Wyoming

  “What number are we on?”

  “I lost count after thirty-six.”

  “Figure around fifty?”

  “Why not? The last one was rather creative, I have to say.”

  “Thanks, it took me a while to figure out how to get that one done.”

  We were two weeks in following the trail that Darnell Tibbles had pointed out for us. The map was pretty simple—just follow the pencil trail until we got to where the circled area was. The only point we had an issue with was the overland part. Since it was somewhere in the middle of January and we were heading to the land of snow, I wasn’t really in the mood for a hike in the mountains. Charlie would do whatever. He’d hike through the snow, swim through a swamp, or scale a cliff if he had to without much thought.

  If I were honest with myself, this war was taking a toll on me. Sometimes I wondered if I should just go home and be a chief executive. But I knew I couldn’t send others out to do my work for me, and I always believed that a leader was supposed to lead, not just tell others what to do.

  “What’s that?” Charlie asked, looking ahead at the road.

  “Looks like a man. Slow down,” I said, unbuckling my seatbelt.

  “Watch yourself,” Charlie said. He reached behind his seat and took a rifle off the rack that was across the rear window of our vehicle. We weren’t driving anything special, just a Honda Pilot. It was large, it was heavy, and it drove easily over snow and ice. Plus, there was a lot of room for our gear.

  I stepped out of the vehicle and started walking towards the man. He was standing on the side of the road, and next to him was a sled with several large bundles on it. I could see his breath, so I knew he was alive, but as I got closer I could see that there was something off by the way he carried himself.

  He was dressed in cold weather gear, wearing heavy boots and a snowmobile suit. Another coat was over that, and I could see that coat held his essentials as he walked. The sled was tied to his waist so all he had to do was walk.

  “Morning,” I said. “You okay?”

  The man slowly looked over at me, and what I could see in his eyes nearly made me reach for my weapon. When I usually met someone, their eyes had some spark in them, some life. Even if they had been driven insane by the events of the Upheaval, some life was in their eyes. The man in front of me, his eyes were as dead as a zombie’s.

  “Good morning,” he said. His voice was raspy from lack of use. “Where are you headed?”

  “North. You?” I asked.

  “South,” came the reply.

  “How long have you been on the road?” I asked. “Vehicle break down?”

  “Since the first snows. Come down from Canada. Nope. Walked the whole way,” the man said. “No need to find gas.”

  I was impressed. First the man had walked from Canada, and secondly, he was the first person I had met from another country.

  “How did Canada survive the Upheaval?” I asked.

  The man gave a big sigh, then looked off to the north. “It didn’t. If anything, it died faster than the United States. People just didn’t want to believe the worst was happening until it was upon them, tearing their throats out.”

  I waited, figuring the man had more to say. I didn’t have long to wait.

  “I was a radio jock, turning out the news every day. I saw the reports that they didn’t want us to tell anyone about, and the stories that were all true, but we were denied telling people the truth,” the man explained. “The lies I told killed a lot of people. Everything wasn’t all right. The government wasn’t on top of things, and yes, the dead had risen, and were coming to kill us all.”

  The man looked at his burden. “I was investigating a remote news story when everything finally fell apart. The last time I spoke with my wife and daughter was that morning of May fifth. She called to tell me that she had seen some strange things on television, and I should be careful coming home.”

  The man broke down for a second, and a single tear slid down his cheek to disappear in the tangled beard he had on his face. “It took me three days to get home, and by the time I had gotten there it was too late. My daughter was dead—a zombie—killed by her mother, who was waiting for me when I got home.”

  “That’s tough, friend. I lost my wife, too. My friend back in the truck lost his wife and daughter as well,” I said.

  The man looked at me for a long time, not really processing what I said. I nodded and backed away a few steps, looking like I was giving him his moment. Truth was, after I heard his story, I couldn’t give any good reason as to why the man was here, and I was starting to get an old familiar feeling in the back of my mind.

  “How did your wife die?” the man asked, looking back at me.

  “She worked in a hospital. No one who worked in any hospital anywhere survived the first days,” I said. I remembered finding Ellie on the balcony of that hospital. It seemed so long ago now.

  “Yes. They died. Did you bury her?” The man seemed a little more enthusiastic now.

  I was actually starting to get a little creeped out. I used the moment to put a little more distance between us, then turned to him.

  “I burned down the entire place,” I said.

  The man thought about that. “Funeral pyre. I like that. Send the smoke to heaven with their souls. Yeah, I like that a lot. Maybe that’s what I’ll do,” he said.

  “You’ll do with what?” I asked.

  The man gestured to the sled. “I’ll build a funeral pyre for my family; send their souls to heaven.”

  That was when I realized the bags on the sled were about the right size if you were to put two humans, one smaller than the other, into garbage bags and roll them up
tightly. As I watched, I swore the bag in the front, the smaller one, moved slightly.

  “Sir, do you have zombies on that sled?” I asked, moving away from him and circling toward the sled.

  The man suddenly wailed, long and loud. He dropped to his knees and continued to wail, pounding his fists into his legs. He closed his eyes and screamed at the heavens, pounding at his head.

  Charlie came running over, his gun out and ready to deal with whatever was going on. The wails echoed off the nearby hills and cliffs, adding an eerie chorus to the man’s suffering.

  “What the hell?” he asked.

  “Man lost his family, and he’s got them on the sled,” I explained. “I think there’s two Z’s wrapped up over there in those bags.”

  “Christ, are you serious?” Charlie walked over to the man who was lying on the ground, drawing little circles with his gloved hands.

  “Hey! Hey!” Charlie yelled.

  “What? What do you want?” the man asked, looking up at my friend.

  “Do you have any water or food in those bags on your sled?” Charlie asked.

  The man blinked. “Are you going to rob me?”

  I could actually see Charlie sigh from where I was.

  “Just answer the question.”

  “N-No. No food or water.” The man looked at Charlie then went back to his circles.

  Charlie walked over to the sled, and looked carefully at the bags. He poked one with the barrel of his pistol and then looked up at me. He nodded and came back to me.

  “Definitely zombies. Those bags are sealed tight. Nothing could be alive in there,” Charlie said. “And still moving,” he added.

  “All right then,” I said. “Cover me.”

  I went over to the sled, and with a glance back to Circle Man, I drew my pistol and fired two rounds, one into the front bag and one in the rear. The movement of both bags stopped immediately, and out of the front one a dark fluid began leaking from the bullet hole.

  I looked over at the man who had jumped up at the shots. He looked at me as I holstered my gun. I expected him to start wailing again, or rush me or something, and Charlie must have as well because he positioned himself to intercept the man if he charged.

  What I did not expect was what happened next.

  “Well. That’s that. Guess I’ll go home now.” The man started walking back the way he had come, leaving his sled behind.

  I looked at Charlie, who shrugged.

  I called out to the man. “You’re just going to go home?” I was incredulous.

  The man looked back at me then at the sled. “I couldn’t do it myself, and you’re the first people I’ve seen that could do it for me. Thanks.”

  I watched him walk off the road, head into the grass, and disappear over the hill. I didn’t see him again.

  Charlie looked at me. “What the hell just happened?”

  It was my turn to shrug. “I have no idea, brother.”

  Charlie and I went over to the sled and dumped the whole thing in the ditch. I sliced open the bags with my knife and exposed the two occupants to the mountain air. Eventually wolves, bears or coyotes will take care of this mess if the crows didn’t. The smaller bag had a little girl in it. Her mouth was duct taped, and her hands were taped as well. Her eyes were open, and they had the telltale dark circles of a zombie child. I was a little worried I had killed a survivor by accident.

  The other bag had a dead zombie as well. Nothing with a neck wound like that would have survived.

  I burned my knife just in case, and then we were on our way, once again heading up to the wilds of Montana to get some of our people out of a jam and administer some rough justice on a problem.

  We passed a small town, Greybull by name, and saw a few zombies wandering around. I looked over at Charlie and he shrugged.

  “Why not?” he asked.

  I looked over our map and decided we could get away with shooting these this time, but we were getting close enough to our destination that we were going to have to be careful of our shots since sound carries pretty well in the mountains. The valleys were practically megaphones. On the upside, anyone who heard the shot would have a hard time locating the source, but they would be alerted all the same.

  We pulled over, and Charlie took his rifle out of the back. I went over to a log and picked up a broken branch. Using my new drumstick, I began smacking the log, yelling out as I did.

  The zombies that we had seen along the streets began making their way over to us. They moved slow, but they were steady. The weather had warmed up over the last couple of days which kind of thawed them out a little. I figured if they had been inside, they were even faster than the ones we had seen on the streets.

  “How many you figure?” Charlie asked.

  This was the game we played on our way up here. If we saw some Z’s, we’d bet on how many there actually were. Nine times out of ten, we’d encounter at least twice as many as we had expected.

  “I’m going to go with fifteen,” I said.

  “Just fifteen?”

  “What’s your call?”

  Charlie looked through his scope. “I’m going with forty.”

  “What’s the bet?” Betting was the best part. I won the last two times, and as a result didn’t have to make dinner for a few days, and Charlie had to clean my rifle.

  “My best knife against yours,” Charlie said, upping the ante.

  “What? What do you need another knife for? For that matter, what do I need your crappy old knife for?” I complained.

  “I said best knife. Deal or no?”

  “Deal,” I said grumpily. I was actually half worried. If I lost my bowie knife, I was pretty sure I could find another one around here somewhere. We were in the land of big knives after all. Back in the day, people who lived around here regularly skinned grizzlies, or so I was told.

  Charlie’s rifle cracked, and I counted the number of rounds he fired. The shots echoed off the nearby mountains and tumbled down the retreating valleys like a wave. At ten he stopped, and I looked at the town. Ten zombies were down, and it looked like there weren’t too many more. My spirits lifted a little when I realized I might be winning this one as well.

  “That didn’t sound like forty,” I said.

  “Give it a minute. Chances are there’s a few in the homes and businesses that haven’t come out yet,” Charlie said, optimistically. He hated losing.

  Two more zombies came wandering into the street, and Charlie shot them both. I looked around at the scenery, taking in the picturesque views. I was also checking to see if the noise had attracted any other attention. Sure enough, down the highway a lone figure lurched determinedly in our direction. He had to be at least four hundred yards off, and by the way he was swaying, it’d be just wasting ammo to try and put him down before he got closer.

  Which was exactly why I reached into the truck and pulled out my rifle. Charlie looked at me, and I pointed down the road. Charlie took one look and snorted.

  “If you make him drop with your first bullet, I’ll just declare myself the loser, and give you my best knife,” Charlie said.

  “And if I miss?” I asked, resting the front grip on the rear of the truck bed. The bottom of the grip split into a small bipod which I now used to get a bead on my prey.

  “You lose.”

  “Fair enough.”

  I watched the zombie through my scope, getting a feel for his rhythm and movements. He was still a very small target, even with the scope maxed out. I kept the rifle still, and practiced in my mind a couple of shots before I finally committed to pulling the trigger.

  The gods of windage and elevation were with me that morning, because as I watched through the scope, the zombie walked right into the path of the oncoming bullet, tacking it square in the face. The air behind the zombie’s head blossomed with a fine black mist, and the Z dropped nose first onto the road.

  I celebrated my marksmanship with a simple exclamation.

  “Wow. It worked,”
I said, mostly to myself.

  Charlie was enough of a gentleman to congratulate me properly.

  “You suck,” he said.

  I nodded and looked over at the town. “Looks like you have some more friends,” I said.

  Charlie cursed. “Naturally. Help me out, will you?”

  “Surely,” I replied, swinging my rifle around and bringing the power of my scope back down to normal magnification. Looking at a zombie when the magnification was too high was an unpleasant surprise we had all given ourselves at one time or another. I wasn’t too keen on repeating the experience.

  I fired several times, knocking back a couple of zombie girls, a cowboy-looking specimen, and a long-haired, biker-type zombie. Charlie worked his magic on a group of tourists and what had to have been a state trooper. That one was still holding his gun, which was a little weird.

  When the firing stopped, I called out my total to Charlie, who added it to his total. When he did the math, Charlie cursed again, long and loud.

  “Do I want to know?” I asked, smiling.

  “Thirty-fucking nine,” Charlie said. “Unbelievable.”

  The terms of the bet were you could get up to your number, but not go over. If you did, and the other guy’s number was higher, then it as a matter of how close you were to the actual number.

  “Actually, forty, with the guy I killed,” I offered.

  “Oh, sure. I feel much better now,” Charlie said.

  “Relax, I don’t need your knife. I’ll just look around the next town for a shop that sells them, and we can both get new knives,” I said.

  “No, no. I made the bet, you get the best one,” Charlie said.

  “All right,” I said. Secretly, I was actually curious. Charlie was nigh fanatical about his knives, especially his tomahawks, so I was curious as to what he considered the best to be.

  “Let’s get on the road. I have a feeling we’re going into some rough country, and we’re going to need to get as far north as we can,” I said. I looked at the sky and didn’t like what I saw gathering in the west.