Fallout

by Derek Shupert

  Snyder engages.

  The two men collide. The sounds of struggle come from both as Snyder is pushed backward against the building. We keep our distance as they fight. Duke runs to intervene, but I stop him. I don’t want him to accidentally get hurt in the process of helping.

  “James, I think we should get going while it’s good,” Dawson says while getting to his feet.

  My arms go up in the air. “We don’t know where to go. Without him, we’re just wondering around.”

  Snyder is punched in the face and thrown to the ground. The man wraps his arm around Snyder’s neck, and yanks him off the ground, squeezing with all his might. Snyder looks in our direction as he rams his elbows into the man’s sides again and again.

  The man releases his hold. Snyder takes a step forward and throws his right elbow into the man’s face. Grunting in pain, the man clamps his hands to his face as he stumbles backward.

  With one fluid motion, Snyder zips about and discharges his firearm. He puts two in the man’s chest and one in the head.

  Snyder grips his throat and says, “All right, come on.”

  “Dude, that was badass and kind of scary at the same time,” Dawson whispers to me.

  “It was,” I respond.

  Snyder continues to massage his throat as he walks past us. He doesn’t really say much of anything, looking beyond the building’s edge and out over the open field. I can see a thin stream of blood trailing down from the top of his forehead and dripping from his chin.

  “You ok?” I inquire.

  “Yeah, I’ll live. Things will probably get wild before I’m able to get you two free outside the fence. So, when I tell you to go, you book it! Understood?”

  I nod.

  “You don’t have to tell me twice,” Dawson adds.

  Staying low to the ground, Snyder slips out from behind the building. He signals us with his hand behind his back. He never turns around.

  His head pivots from side to side as we work our way across the back section of buildings. It’s overgrown with tall weeds.

  Every little twig snapping or scurrying sound sends Duke on the defensive. I give him a gentle pat on the side, indicating that it’s ok. His deep throated growling subsides.

  Snyder stops suddenly, making a fist behind him. He scoots to the side and grabs me by the shoulder. Pulling me forward, he points out into the open field.

  “Twenty paces straight ahead. There will be a portion of the fence that will be loose. You’ll be able to get out through there.”

  “Isn’t this an electrified fence?” Dawson asks.

  “It is, but I’ll take care of that,” Snyder ensures.

  We hear some voices in the distance. Snyder’s arm spans across my chest, pulling me back up against the building. He looks out beyond the building’s edge.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “You three wait here. When you see your opening, run.”

  “How will we know what the signal is?” Dawson asks.

  “Oh, you’ll know what it is,” Snyder replies with a coy smirk.

  “What about you?” I ask.

  Since losing Dad, and Mom and Cindy being on what should be the other side of the world, I’m finding myself holding onto that thin piece of humanity. True, we don’t know this guy, but it feels comforting to have someone not wanting to kill us or feed us to the wolves. Well, chasers in this case.

  “I’ll be all right. You just worry about surviving and getting to wherever it is you’re going.” Snyder turns and gives us a nod. He heads back in the opposite direction. He stops and looks back over his shoulder. “Remember, run like hell.” And with that, Snyder vanishes around the corner.

  Dawson and I stare at one another for a few moments, still a tad confused by this plan.

  “Man, that guy seems almost as crazy as the other. I think he figured it wasn’t worth getting himself killed over a bunch of kids and a dog. That’s why he split,” Dawson says.

  “Let’s be ready in any case. If we have a chance to get out of here, we need to take it.”

  The voice of the armed men sends us back up against the building, and our nerves on edge. Duke scrambles to his feet, ears folded back and making for the field, but I hold him tight. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that he’s had enough of all of this himself.

  “Calm down, boy,” I say while stroking his dirty coat.

  “Hey! Look!” Dawson exclaims, pointing out into the field.

  The armed men patrolling head away from the fence and us. The area clears quickly, leaving nothing in our path.

  “Come on, let’s go,” I say as I ready to make a mad dash.

  “Dude, are we sure about this? What if this is all part of their sick twisted plan?” Dawson points out to the field as he makes his case. “We run out and they pick us off.”

  “Do you want to wait here and watch me and Duke?” I ask.

  Dawson shakes his head emphatically. “Not really.”

  “Then come on. We’re wasting time.” I peer around the corner, double-checking that there’s no one lingering about. More gunshots fire off into the air, but this time in rapid succession.

  “Come on, boy.” I release my hold from around Duke’s collar. We bolt from behind the building. I keep as low as possible, counting in my head the twenty or so paces that Snyder said the fence opening was.

  15, 16, 17, 18, 19, and 20.

  I come to an abrupt stop, which nearly causes Dawson to bulldoze me over.

  “Sorry, James. I thought I had a chaser running after me. Guess it was nothing,” Dawson apologizes.

  I look over the fence, trying to find the opening that Snyder was referring to. “Where is it? I don’t see anything.”

  I get closer. My eyes roll over every inch of the chain link fence. At first glance, it appears to be intact. Taking a second look, I find the opening within the tall weeds toward the ground.

  “Found it!” I exclaim. I reach for the steel.

  Dawson grabs my arms. “Hold up, man. We don’t even know if the fence is still live or not.”

  I forgot about that.

  I look down around my feet for something to throw at it. The weeds are thick, making it difficult to see through its base. I run my feet over the ground and hit what I think is a stick. I retrieve it and toss it, hoping for the best. The wood bounces off with no sparks or signs of life.

  “Guess he didn’t bail on us after all,” Dawson says.

  It’s nice to see Dawson eat his words again.

  I grab the corner of the fence that’s dislodged in the bottom right hand corner and pull up. I whistle for Duke, who gets low and squeezes through.

  “Come on, man, your turn.”

  Dawson slides the rifle through first. He drops to his belly and army crawls through the small gap. He inches the rest of the way out and pulls his feet in.

  I bend down to get in position.

  “Hurry up, there’s a chaser coming this way!” Dawson takes aim with the rifle.

  “Don’t fire. It’ll give away our position.”

  Dawson shuffles his hands in a manic fashion. “Then hurry the hell up, slowpoke, unless you want to be on its menu.”

  I peer back over my shoulder and find it rushing toward me with a slight limp. From here, it looks injured, but I still don’t want to take the chance. A single bite is all it takes for you to become a chaser.

  I shove my pistol through the opening along with the Remington. I pull up as hard as I can on the fence, trying to give me some more room since I don’t have a spotter.

  “Dude, come on!” Dawson exclaims.

  I drop back to my knees, then to my stomach. I try to maneuver around the jagged ends of the fence that are trying to rip me apart. Catching on my clothes, the ends rip and tear them to shreds.

  The chaser stumbles and falls into the high weeds, disappearing from sight.

  “How far is it?” I ask in a panic.

  “Dude, it fell. I can’t see it. Move your butt!
” Dawson urges.

  Its bone chilling moans and gurgling sounds creep up my back, sending a wave of goose bumps flooding my skin. My legs kick wildly, trying to move me through the tight space faster.

  “My pants are caught on the ends!” I hiss.

  The weeds shift in all directions. The crunching of the creature’s bulk is right on top of where I am. Duke barks, going ballistic as he jumps on the fence and sends the pointed ends of the fence further into me.

  “Dude, screw your clothes, man. Rip it and get out of there.”

  Dawson drops to his knees and grabs the fence. After a few seconds of pulling it back and forth, he manages to free it from my pants.

  “I got it James, now move,” he orders with a winded tone.

  Struggling to hold it up from the position he’s in, I move as fast as I can. My pant legs get caught on the sharp edges, but I keep going.

  “Oh, crap, dude, pull your legs in!”

  I pull the remainder of my legs in from the other side without pause. They get shredded some, but not too bad. Dawson lets go of the fence as the crawling corpse reaches for my feet.

  Dawson swipes his hand across his forehead. “Man, that was close.”

  “You’re telling me,” I reply. I’m sweating badly, my heart pounding in my ears.

  The enraged chaser presses his face firmly against the metal as his one good eye locks on us. He tries to reach under, but I give him a solid kick to the face. His nose crunches under the impact, his head snaps back. It’s dazed, but only briefly. It shakes off the blow and presses on.

  “Forget about him, James. I doubt he’s going to be able to get through there.”

  He advances once more. Thick dark blood oozes from his face as he makes contact with the fence. The chaser’s body sparks and ignites. We all scurry away from the live fence, watching as he burns.

  “Duke, you ok, boy?” I frantically ask, looking all around for him.

  He comes over next to me and nudges his head against my chest. He gives me a few licks to the face and sits down.

  “All right, man, we need to jet. I think they’re coming this way.” Dawson points to a handful of armed men who are heading in our direction. He helps me to my feet. I catch a rustling noise in the woods behind us, and glance back. Great. More chasers emerge through the dense foliage.

  Dawson points to my thighs. “Dude, your legs are looking kind of gnarly man.”

  I don’t bother looking down. “I’ll be fine. Let’s get out of here.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  With the compound fading into the morning sunrise, we stop and take a break.

  Duke pants hard, his long pink tongue dangling from his snout. Dawson looks like he just ran a marathon. I can’t say that I look or feel much better. My legs are killing me. They sting and burn from the cuts that I suffered from the hands of the fence.

  “All right, man, I’m officially wiped,” Dawson grumbles. He drops to the ground and rolls over to his back. “How are your legs doing?”

  I take a seat on a log and rest the Remington next to me. I carefully pull up my right pant leg, taking care not to disturb the injuries. They don’t look that bad, just throb like hell. There’re streaks of dried blood racing down my leg, turning my once white socks to a dingy, dirty red color. My left leg is much the same.

  “They hurt some, but I’ll live.”

  “That’s good. Can’t say I want to keep trudging through these god forsaken woods by myself,” Dawson snickers.

  “I appreciate the concern,” I reply.

  “Don’t ever think that I don’t care, man.”

  My pant pocket vibrates. My body jolts and seizes up. Maybe it’s Mom trying to call me.

  I frantically reach in and pull it out, hoping to find something good happening for a change.

  Low Battery!

  It’s on its last leg. The only connection that I have to Mom and Cindy will soon be severed.

  My eyes shift to the top left of the phone’s screen for any text messages that I might have received from them. Hope against hope, I guess. And of course, there’s nothing new. Feeling defeated, my face falls.

  “You ok?”

  “My battery is nearly dead and I still haven’t heard from Mom and Cindy.”

  Dawson gets up on his knees. “Stop beating yourself up, James. I bet they’re safe and sound at your cabin.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “How far away are we now?” Dawson asks.

  I sigh. “Not sure. These stupid hillbillies took us out of the way a bit. Definitely added a lot more to our trek.”

  Looking up at the dimly lit screen, I start to type a message to Mom, but stop. What’s the point? They’re more than likely dead or a chaser now. My messages are probably just lost in the ether of digital space.

  I tear up, sadness mixing with rage and anger. A dangerous mood to be in right now. I feel myself slipping, caring less and less about what happens to me.

  Hell, I’m to the point of just running into a herd of chasers and taking down as many as I can. Screw it right? If I die, so be it. If I become a mindless sack of flesh, then my mind will be free. Or so I think. Either way, I’ll be released from the torment of knowing that my family is gone.

  “Dude.” Dawson places his hand gently on my shoulder and sits next to me. He reaches for the gun that I somehow have clutched tightly in my hands. “Give me the gun, bro.”

  Tears race down my face, and gather at the bottom of my dirty chin. One by one, they fall to the screen of my phone. Seeing my reflection in the blank screen, I turn and look at Dawson. I try to speak, but feel if I do, I may explode with emotion.

  “It’s okay, James. We are going to make it to your mom and sister, and you’ll see that they’re fine,” he comforts with a soft voice.

  “How do you know that they are?” I counter.

  “I just have to believe it, man. Like I’m hoping that somewhere my mom and dad are ok. I know I talk a lot of crap and all, but deep down, I’m just as worried, man.”

  Dawson pats my shoulder and smirks. I rarely, if ever, see him this raw and open. Like all kids our age, we put on this façade that we’re untouchable, and that we can handle anything, regardless of what it is that comes our way. Truth be known, I think we’re all scared little boys. I won’t say this out loud of course. I still have a reputation to uphold.

  A branch snaps on the other side of the clearing where we are sitting in the woods. Duke quickly gets to his feet. He bears his teeth. A deep growl pulses from his partially open mouth. Before we can react, a voice comes from the cover of the trees.

  “Don’t shoot!”

  “Come out slowly with your hands up,” Dawson orders. He’s got the handgun trained dead ahead.

  The figure rustles about in the brush before coming out to the right. It’s Tony.

  “You boys ok?” he wearily asks.

  “Yeah. Just a little banged up is all,” Dawson replies while lowering his weapon.

  Limping and with blood covering his torn shirt and pants, Tony takes a seat on a rock. He’s visibly winded, breathing heavy and sweating profusely.

  “I wasn’t sure if you made it out or not.” I’m glad to see Tony’s alive and that he found us.

  “It wasn’t easy, but I managed to track down what info Roy had on the military’s movements,” Tony grimaces. “I destroyed what I could and tore ass to the fence. I barely made it over before it went live again.”

  Tony clutches his right arm. His shirt is ripped. Blood seeps out over his grimy hand. I get to my feet. My legs ache and scream for a moment’s peace as I head his way.

  I reach for his wound. “Here, let me bandage that for you.”

  Tony holds up his blood-covered hand and stops me cold. “Don’t come any closer, James.”

  I now see the wound. A good size chunk of his flesh has been torn and ripped free from his bicep. Duke starts toward him. I snag him by the collar.

  “Aw dang, man,” Dawson mutters.


  Tony looks down at the teeth marks in his flesh. “It happened when I was trying to get out of there. A chaser came up on me from behind and took a chunk from my arm before I could do anything.”

  “So why the hell did you come find us, man? Kind of seems like you should’ve kept rolling on, dude,” Dawson snidely inquires.

  “Dawson!” I snap.

  Dawson shrugs. “I’m just saying, James, if he’s infected, then he could be turning at any time.”

  “He’s right. The only reason I sought you out was to make sure you were ok. Probably was a stupid decision, but I needed to know.” Tony crumbles to his knees. He coughs violently, hacking up blood that dribbles to the dirt. He’s looking worse by the second. I limp over and lift him up. I lean him back against the rock. His eyes are barely cracked open. The whites of his pupils are fading into the blackness.

  “Come on, James, we need to get back on the move,” Dawson urges.

  “Listen to your friend. I spotted a few of those things just over that ridge.” Tony lifts his unsteady arm and points dead ahead.

  I grab Tony’s hand and grip it tightly. Tears stream down my face once more, turning the dirt to a gritty mud mixture. I lower my head, embarrassed. I’m trying to hold it together the best I can, but it’s slipping away from me.

  “Don’t worry about me, kid. I’ve been in tougher situations than this.” Tony coughs and hacks again, each one sounding more painful than the last. He releases a nasty blood mixture from his mouth, hurling it to the grass. Seemingly spent, Tony’s head falls lifeless back against the rock as he stares up to the sky.

  Snap! Snap!

  Branches snap and crunch from behind Tony. I peer up through the trees and bushes, but spot nothing. The noise remains, creeping closer to us.

  “Dude, come on.” Dawson grips my shoulders, the urgency potent in his tone.

  I reach around and pull out the handgun Snyder slipped me. I hand it to Tony. “Take this. I’m not asking.”

  Tony lifts his arm up slowly, acting as though it’s a chore just to flex his limbs. I meet his hand, placing the grip in his palm. I give him a single nod, with no words to follow.