A Shrouded World - Whistlers

by Mark Tufo

  I continue climbing until my feet connect with the bottom run. I’m out of reach from the ground. Looking down, I assure myself that the zombie runners can’t climb. Scaling a few more rungs to give myself more of a margin, I hook my legs in, leaning back against the metal shielding around the ladder. Adjusting my M-4 tightly against my body, I start my climb in earnest , resting halfway up. I’m just plain beat and it’s hard to catch my breath. Adrenaline is still coursing through, but that only provides marginal help. The fact that I’m still alive, when I had prepared my mind that it was all but over, makes the climb feel surreal.

  I’m eager to meet my saviors. I just hope they are as eager to see me. I didn’t arrive in the best of circumstances, but they didn’t appear to have been in the best one either. If they aren’t friendly…well…I’m just too tired to do anything about it. The fact that they saved my bacon, and I have a lot of bacon, at least tells me they can’t be that bad.

  Looking down, I see that I, and whoever is on the catwalk above, are surrounded once again. The screams and stench of the already dead rises and follows me on the climb. Looking up, the ladder seems to stretch for an eternity, but I’m also greeted by a couple of faces peering down. Taking a deep breath to calm my racing heart, I climb.

  Michael Talbot – Journal Entry 6

  The zombies were able to interfere with most of the usurpers, actually catching a few as the howlers seemed more intent on eating us than saving their own skin. When a smallish horde closed off that avenue, the rest retreated, but we had been breached. I could hear the fuckers grunting as they climbed. Occasionally I could hear the twang of a cable or something striking a metal column as they came up. I got down on my hands and knees and stuck my head through the railing and angled down, I could just make out three or four forms as they ascended. They were a ways away, but it didn’t appear that gravity or acrophobia was going to deter them.

  “We got howlers on the tower!” I shouted over to John who, for all practical appearances, looked like he was dancing to Fire on the Mountain by the Grateful Dead in an aisle at Red Rocks. You know the hippie dance, hands up in the air, head bowed down, lost in his mind as his legs flailed about wildly. Gotta admit he looked like he was having fun, his original mission all but forgotten.

  “Tell them to grab some beer!” he answered without ever looking up.

  “Howlers, buddy, not concert staff.”

  He finally stopped, one leg still in the air, he lowered it slowly as he finally began to realize where he was. “On the ladder?” he asked, heading over to the opening and fishing in his pocket for the slingshot.

  “On the cables.”

  “Tricky ones, aren’t they?”

  “Yup.” And then I smiled, Trip had given me an idea.

  There was no way I could get a shot off by hanging over the railing, BUT, if I went down the ladder chute a little ways, that might give me some targeting vectors. I began to take in some deep breathes to calm a system that was already beginning to go into overdrive. John mercifully held on to the back of my shirt as I went over the edge, I really wasn’t in any danger of going over the edge because of the skirt that shrouded the entire ladder structure, but it was still a comforting gesture.

  “Thanks, man,” I told him, I then quickly descended about ten feet. “Son of a bitch,” I said softly. There had to be ten of the little monkey mongrels swinging around down there.

  They were almost at the halfway point. I rested my back against the shroud and made sure the crevice in my heel was planted firmly on the rung I was standing on. I lowered my rifle, took aim, and sent one of the fuckers plummeting to his untimely demise, or timely, just a matter of perspective.

  The nine, in a freaky, synchronized unity, turned to look where the shot had come from, not to where their buddy had fallen. Another savage opponent less concerned with being killed than killing. They redoubled an already demented pace. The ones that could find a semblance of cover did so, making sure to stay out of my line of fire, the three that couldn’t quickly found themselves to be zombie chow. The last one I had shot in the knee. He had bent backwards awkwardly as his leg shattered when he flipped back over, he never took his eyes from mine as he plummeted to the ground.

  “These guys suck.” I stayed a few moments longer, but when I realized that the ones still coming were not going to show themselves, I hastily climbed back up the ladder. “We’ve got about ten minutes, John. You ready?” I asked him when I got back up.

  His eyes grew large for a moment, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it as we heard a huge cacophony below us. Apparently the new-and-improved zombies, or whatever the hell they were, were not content with the fact that some of their brethren were going to eat while they stayed in the shadows. I’ve got to imagine the entire hunting party came out of the small copse of woods to confront the zombies that were impeding their way.

  It was a full on assault to get to the ladder. The zombies had superior numbers, but the howlers were more aggressive and had a plan as they forged ahead. It wouldn’t take them more than a minute or two to climb that ladder once they got in the well, and there was no doubt in my mind they were going to make it. Would they come out one at a time from the opening? Like a whack-a-mole perhaps. That would make my life a lot easier. Odds were the first couple would, then they’d crawl through the rungs, grabbing onto the structure and coming up from multiple areas. We were in a world of hurt.

  “Didn’t you say you loved heights?” John asked, looking at the same scene I was.

  One howler was able to rip and rend its way through a dozen zombies before succumbing to sheer numbers. The carnage was horrific. If this battle had been between humans, I would have walked away long ago, I’ve got to admit, I was slightly thrilled they were destroying each other. It was kind of like playing the board game Risk, nothing is quite as rousing as watching your opponents square off and destroy each other so that you can come in and mop up the mess. Stakes were obviously higher, but the same concept. I hoped they completely destroyed each other; let the devil sort them out.

  The howlers had created a phalanx. They made a wedge, driving themselves through the zombie ranks and allowing their kind to gain access to the ladder. They didn’t even bother with the turned over aluminum ladder, they just leaped up and grabbed the rung.

  “Shit, they made that look easy. Time’s running out. Where you going?” I asked John.

  “Come on, man, you’re going to love this.”

  I didn’t…not even by a long shot. I’d circled this stupid tower more than a dozen times, and I don’t know if I had turned a blind eye on the thing because I just didn’t want to acknowledge its existence or what. But on the far side from the ladder that came up here was a ladder that was adhered to the tank itself. Unlike its predecessor, it did not contain the encompassing safety shroud.

  “Not a fucking chance,” I told John as I looked up the small ladder built into the tank.

  It went all the way up to the domed top. The beauty of it was that this was truly a one way up deal. The rest of the tank was completely smooth, no handholds whatsoever. Oh, I’m sure Spider-Man could make it up, but I hadn’t seen any sucker hands on the howlers.

  “Climb or die, Ponch,” Trip told me as he started up.

  “Are you sure those are my only two options? I mean there has to be a third, like maybe a flight for life. That would be perfect.”

  John was still climbing. The tower was reverberating with the sheer number of climbers on board. I hated to admit it, but John’s words were prophetic. It was really as simple as climb or die, although I was more inclined to think it was climb AND die. As if in response to my dour prediction, the wind picked up just as I grabbed the bottom most handhold.

  “Really, God?” I asked, looking up. “How about a nice torrential downpour accompanied by lightning strikes…now, that would really liven things up. You know I’m kidding, right?” I wanted to make sure HE or SHE knew that.

  The New Age zombies were clo
se, they weren’t ‘talking’ as to give themselves away, but I could hear the grunts of their exertions and the twanging of metallic parts as they clanged off of them. I looked up, John was nearing the top where the ladder angled over, following the curve of the roof line. Had to be at least another fifty feet up. And then what was up there? I’m sure there wasn’t some nice seating arrangement complete with safety harnesses. Gorge was threatening, and it may have finally found release if it wasn’t for the soft vibrations I felt under my feet. Something had just made it on the landing with me. I started climbing. I didn’t like it, not one fucking bit, but I started climbing.

  I was a good twenty feet off the parapet, going at a pace I’m sure a grandmother would be proud of, but no one else, when John shouted down.

  “You’ve got a follower!” he shouted down over the rising wind.

  A howler had found the ladder and subsequently…me. I hate heights; I also hate being eaten. I know, I know, my wife says I’m high maintenance all the time.

  “Move so I can get a shot!” John shouted.

  He was leaning far over, way more than I figured was safe. The slingshot, which I thought was no better than a novelty weapon, was now looming large in my eyes. That shiny steel ball looked like it had murderous intent when you’re staring up at it.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea!” I told him.

  “Move in closer to the ladder, man, I’ve got this!” he said, I guess trying to comfort me.

  “I get any closer, John, and me and this thing are going to mate!” I told him, but when I felt a hand clamp on my shin, I just about melted in with the metal.

  I wondered what I’d name my offspring. Maybe “Chutes” (think about it). Would he be a Step-son? I think weird things when I’m petrified. I felt a metal ball graze my cheek. It caught my attacker high in the forehead. I heard the sickening thwack as his skull fractured. Blood plumed from the wound. I don’t think it killed him as he fell away, pretty sure the bouncing off the railing twenty-five feet below and then spinning wildly the other two hundred and something feet and merging with the concrete did him in.

  “Holy fuck,” I said; gripping the ladder tighter if that was even possible.

  “Misfire!” John shouted.

  “What?”

  “It went off before I meant to let it go, they really should put a safety on these.”

  I don’t know if he was kidding or not, but I wanted off this ladder. I felt a slight vibration as another howler hopped on for the chase.

  “Move, John!” I told him as I was coming up fast.

  It was going to take a little bit of luck to get up to where the ladder sloped, then get the rifle off my back and aimed at my pursuer, but I’d be damned if I was going to chance my existence to another errant ball bearing. I was hauling ass, well compared to my earlier pace, I suppose, but the thing behind me was rocketing up. This was going to be close. I just crested the top, with my right hand, I grabbed the first rung that led onto the gentler slope of the roof. With my left, I began to shift my rifle from back to front. When the rifle came to my side, I was already spinning so that my ass would land on my previous handheld. The ladder was just about wide enough for this. A few more years of office work, and that might not have been the case; pancakes and value meals would have had me slid right down the runners.

  I thumped down hard, my teeth clicking as I did so. I quickly thumbed the safety off and looked out. The howler was in flight. IN FUCKING FLIGHT! He must have launched himself from the ladder! He was on a collision course for me. All I saw was his angry, ashen face, gnashing teeth and outstretched, hooked hands approaching. I had enough time to bring my rifle up. It caught him flush on the throat, his forward progress was slowed as his weight pushed me back and down. I pulled the trigger, thankful it was on auto. Three rounds tore his neck wide open, blood sluiced from him. His head fell over to the devastated side, his spinal column nearly severed. He fell away. I shuddered when I heard him make contact below.

  I didn’t have much time to recover. I scooted back a couple of feet so that I was completely on the roof. I planted my feet on the rungs below me and waited. Well, waited seems the wrong word, that implies that there was a delay. The next howler was poking his head up before the repercussions of his brethren had died down. I thought this one was going to give me the finger when he realized I had blown the side of his face off, a spray of teeth blowing in the wind as he fell away. Three more came up this way and met the same fate before they must have had a regrouping strategy below.

  “John, are there any other ways up here?” I asked, shouting; not daring to turn around and see what he was up to.

  “Why you shouting?” he asked in my ear. If I’d eaten anything more substantial than a Phrito in the last seventy-two hours, it would have magically produced itself in an instant.

  “You about scared the shit out of me.”

  “Nothing else up here except a hatch that leads into the tank.”

  “This is about my least favorite place in the world, John,” I told him in all seriousness, perched on a structure three hundred-plus feet in the air, sitting on a cold metal ladder not much more than twelve inches wide.

  “Worse than a Thai prison?”

  “Well…that’s not a fair comparison. I’ve never been to one.”

  “I have…this is better.”

  “I’m going to ask you about that when we get off this thing.”

  “Ask about what?” John asked.

  “Never mind. You hear them?”

  John’s head shook back and forth. I know this, because his long beard dragged across the top of my head as he tried to peer over me.

  “It’d be nice if they gave up,” I said. “But I don’t think it’s in their nature.”

  “Look out!” John screamed in my ear.

  He had startled me to my core, so much so that I started firing before I had even acquired a target, and good thing too. Two of the things had jumped up, one was twisting to the right and the other to the left. I caught the large man in the chest. He skittered on the roof, clawing to seek purchase, leaving a wide swath of blood as gravity won its war. The woman that had twisted to the left was now descending on me. I knew it was a hopeless venture, thinking I could get the muzzle around in time. I swung the butt of my rifle, catching her in her jaw. She rocked from the impact. Her hand tried to dig into my pants so I slammed her again in her mouth before she could bite down on me. Two of her fingernails were embedded in my pants as she fell away screaming.

  “That was too close, John. I’m going to need to lean over the edge. We can’t let them get that close again.”

  I started shuffling back down; that Thai prison was looking better. As I approached the lip, I had no clue how I was going to do this and remain somewhat safe. John solved that problem; he came down with me.

  “I’ll hold onto your back,” he told me. “It’ll be like riding bitch on my wife’s Harley.”

  “Your wife makes you ride bitch?”

  “It’s her bike.”

  “Okay…and thank you. Don’t forget you’re holding on,” I told him.

  “She told you about that? It was only once, and we were leaving a Dead show in St. Louis.”

  “I meant me, John, don’t forget that you’re holding me in place.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “That’ll have to do.” I leaned over. The stuff of horrific nightmares was coming up that ladder. There had to have been about ten of them, and they were determined. “Got something for you!” I shouted as I leaned further and began to shoot.

  The lead howlers screamed in rage as I emptied my magazine into their ranks. Some got hung up on the ladder, but most swirled away to die. Others on the parapet looked up at me and yelled before moving out of sight from my rifle.

  “That’ll give them something to think about!” I whooped, hopped up on the heat of the battle.

  Don’t let anyone ever fool you, fighting for your life makes your body create one
of the most exhilarating cocktail of drugs. There’s a reason there are career military men and mercenaries. The problem with the production of these opiates and the high they produce is the resultant low as your body tries to recuperate from working at such a high level. A half hour had passed, and the howlers hadn’t shown themselves again. I knew there were dozens of them right around the curve of the tank, and I could do nothing about it except sit, wait, and try to stay awake.

  It was another ten minutes, my head was beginning to nod. I was spooked awake from John’s air-splitting snores. My head popped up, my heart was pumping, I was pleased to realize that, even in sleep, John hadn’t forgotten his promise. If possible, he had an even tighter grip on my belt.

  The snoring did not go unnoticed by those below us. I guess I could add, super hearing to their list of qualities. They were quickly and quietly moving back to the ladder. I said a small prayer to the gods of cloudless nights and bright moons. They were quiet, but not unseen. I would wait until a decent force of them was headed up. I wanted to warn John about the shots, but I was afraid that it would give warning to the attackers. As long as John didn’t push me away, we should be fine.

  I couldn’t tell exactly how many of them had gotten on the ladder, but when they reached the halfway point, I figured that to be as close as I wanted them.

  “Hope you’re hungry,” I told the lead one.

  His head swiveled up quickly, a snarl corroded into his features. I blew him away in a spindrift of facial parts. My shoulder rocked as I sent round after round into them. At first they tried to rush my position, and actually made some decent progress as I changed out magazines, but my withering fire had them once again rethink their frontal assault strategy. I took a breath as they moved away, the void of silence was immediately filled in by John’s snores. He hadn’t even awoken.

  “You have got to be kidding me,” I said as laid my rifle in my lap.

  I switched out my half-used mag for a full one and once again waited. Unlike traditional zombies, these ones cared about losses. Maybe not about their fallen comrade, but they were definitely concerned about their own well-being. That showed a whole different level of willingness to survive. I had my doubts that these were zombies at all. Runners were fast, but only as fast as they could run when they were alive. Obviously the stamina aspect of being able to run virtually forever made them a formidable enemy, but they weren’t enhanced in any other way that I knew of. Besides some flashes of thought process, they were generally stupid, mindless eating and shitting machines. Kind of like cats, I suppose.