What a waste, Miller thought. If that was the best he could expect from these volunteers, every one of them might as well retreat now, including his unit. Maybe he didn’t make himself clear, he wondered. These people had to understand that their ammo was finite, right? He couldn’t dwell on that any longer. An unending wave of infected was pouring over their defenses. It was as if some conveyor belt from hell was depositing them by the truckload over the top of the berm. Did Philadelphia’s entire populace follow them here?
Radzinski wasn’t faring much better at his end of the conflict. Lightning and automatic rifle fire lit up the night, revealing legions of infected. Each minute that passed, hundreds more undead tumbled down the berm into Pepperbush, crashing down into this once safe town. Radzinski and his men held their ground firm while unleashing a torrent of bullets upon the putrid flesh of the enemy.
“Choose your shots, boys. Controlled bursts only!” Radzinski cried out to his untrained volunteers.
In the distance, a carrier’s arm was blown off, much to the Marine’s dismay as the shot was a clear waste of ammo.
“Fuck!” Radzinski shouted just before a second shot from his rifle took off the top of the creature’s head.
Three more infected fell to his rifle in a matter of seconds. A few dozen more fell to his group’s barrage every minute. Limbs detached from bodies, and heads exploded in the hail of gunfire they unleashed upon the horde. Forty yards in front of the men, bodies of the infected began to pile up, forming a wall of sorts. Another obstacle for these things to maneuver around.
On either side of Rachel, a long line of muzzle flashes disappearing off into the distance illuminated the darkened tree line. The sound was deafening. An almost constant barrage of gunfire from nearly a half-mile of townsfolk, refugees, and a handful of soldiers pressed the horde, nearly keeping them at a standstill. For every infected that fell, it seemed that three took its place.
Soraya ran from man to man, keeping them aware of ammo consumption. She stopped at a volunteer who was firing wildly into the darkness, grabbed his rifle’s barrel, and pointed it at the ground. Another shot rang out, exploding a small crater of dirt at their feet.
“What are you doing?” the man yelled, on the verge of panic.
Soraya kept the gun pointed at their feet while getting in the man’s face. “Shooting at nothing is no different from shooting the ground!” she shouted. Soraya depressed the trigger for him this time. A second shot rang out, and the man nearly dropped his weapon. Soraya slapped the man’s hand and grabbed him by the chin, pointing his face toward the oncoming horde. “If you do not aim, you do not kill. Wasteful.” She yanked his rifle away and aimed it at the approaching infected. Soraya pulled back the single-bolt action, took a second to aim, and fired. An infected fell nearly one hundred yards away from them. She repeated the process again for the man’s benefit. “You see?” Soraya directed his head toward the fallen beast. “You can do this.” She handed the man back his rifle before moving on.
Marisol, Seth, and a few of the other police officers who were a part of Soraya’s group began to spread themselves out amongst the more unseasoned volunteers.
“I’ve got this end covered, Soraya. Head down toward the other side. We’ll meet up in the middle when we start to thin these numbers,” Marisol offered, continuously firing on the encroaching mass.
“Thank you, Marisol. I am on my way.” Soraya made her way down the line, helping where she could as she continued firing on the carriers as often as she was able to while also attempting to keep her people focused.
The infected began tripping over their fallen brethren. The ones that fell were quickly trampled into the soft mud whether dead or not, slowing the progress of the ones behind.
Soraya shot another and watched as three more stumbled to clear its corpse, one of which fell over. “Do not bunch up!” she yelled while pointing to the stumbling infected. “Make them fall.” Soraya ran back down the line, pointing out her revelation. Most volunteers under her charge had already begun firing wildly at anything that moved in the distance. The time she spent pointing out one man’s mistakes was long enough for three others to lose their composure. Everyone around her was firing as fast as they were able. Her shouts became drowned out by gunfire and the storm. She pulled on a man’s arm, trying desperately to make him listen. He couldn’t hear her over the onslaught of gunfire and pushed her away to better aim his rifle. Soraya looked up and down the line. Bright flashes illuminated her people’s positions. Every second another shot lit up the night. Soraya knew her men were out of control and would keep firing until they were completely out of ammo. Apprehensively, she too raised her rifle and fired into the horde.
2:40 am - Mother Leeds
Far in the distance, a carrier’s head exploded. Its traveling companion barely registered the thing’s fate as it too fell. Behind it, more continued to drop. On the roof of Mother Leeds, Garrett breathed in slowly. A quarter of a mile away, another infected fell. He couldn’t keep up this pace all night. No matter, though. His ammunition wouldn’t last, anyway. Behind him, Damon stayed at the ready with a second fully loaded magazine at all times. Working in tandem with Damon’s constant supply of fresh ammo, Garrett was putting down nearly two dozen infected per minute. Joining them, Ryan patrolled the rooftop, looking for any carriers who might have snuck their way into the town’s interior.
Below in the bar, Markus, Samantha, and Ayn could clearly hear the gunfire over the storm. The girls jumped with each gunshot or volley of thunder. A few roars from the clouds startled Markus as well, though he did his best to conceal it.
“I guess those things really made it over the berm after all,” Samantha muttered with an air of surprise as if Garrett’s warnings were merely an exaggeration. “I can’t believe this is actually happening. It seems like just yesterday I found this place.” She grew sullen. “I was lost, you know, heading for New York, a modeling gig. It was going to be the one to finally get me noticed. Then I took a wrong turn off the interstate, and, well, here I am.” Samantha twirled her long red curls as she paced the bar. Back and forth she trod as if waiting for customers who would never show.
“Well, it is happening, Samantha, and I need you here with me. This is as real as it gets.” Markus attempted to keep the woman focused. “If these things are half as bad as the one me and Damon ran into, then we’re in for a long night.”
“Do you think they’ll make it this far? Into town, I mean?” Ayn leaned against the opposite wall, peeking through the cracks of a boarded-up window. She was rail-thin, and her clothes hung off her bony body. In the dim light, leaning forward like she was, she could have easily been mistaken for one of those things. Candlelight flickered, keeping her face mostly in shadow, though a slight stream of tears was unmistakable to Markus. He joined her at the street-side end of the bar, peered through the hodgepodge of boards covering the front windows, and squinted for a glimpse of any familiar shapes in the darkness. “Let’s hope not,” he said. “Because if they hit Main Street, we’re all fucked.”
3:15 am - Security Headquarters
Takashi paced the small security building, waiting for news from his unit. Thunder and pouring rain made it impossible to accurately judge how much gunfire was coming from the south. His radio sat upon Sam’s desk as he desperately awaited a status report from his unit. He trusted each of them to get their jobs done, but he needed an update. It was useless for him to be so far from the front line, giving orders if there was no intel to analyze, and he knew it. As if in response to his worries, the radio suddenly came to life.
“Colonel, Garrett here. Do you have ears on? Over.” The radio buzzed for a moment, then went silent.
Takashi snatched the device from Sam’s desk. “Garrett, I need a sitrep from your vantage point now. Over.”
Sam and Ron eyed each other, daring not to move for fear of interrupting the radio’s increasingly delicate signal.
“Infected have breached the southern wall,
sir. All squads are engaging the enemy. Over.”
“Goddammit, how many casualties?”
“Hard to tell from here, sir. I haven’t seen or heard anything yet, but that doesn’t mean no one’s gone down, though.”
“How many carriers are we dealing with, Lieutenant?”
“Impossible to say. I’m guessing thousands. I’m going to need a second, Colonel.” Garrett cut off communication.
Takashi would have to have been blind to miss Sam’s stern demeanor. Pepperbush’s head of security would stay at the colonel’s side for the duration. For a moment, Takashi made eye contact with Sam and thought that under better circumstances the man could have made himself an honorable career as a leader of men. Why he chose the life he did was lost on Takashi. A conversation for another day, perhaps.
From Takashi’s location, he could clearly make out the distinctive crack of a high-powered sniper rifle. Over the next twelve seconds, three more bursts pierced the storm.
Sam peered into the darkness with a pair of binoculars. “I can’t see a damned thing, Colonel.”
The radio buzzed to life again. “Sir, from what I can tell, carriers have taken the southernmost sector.” Garrett was urgent but calm. “I could be wrong, but it’s damn hard to know for sure in this weather.”
“Understood, Garrett. What does your position look like?”
“No movement on this end of Main Street and the gate is clear for now. Will continue support from my location. Over.”
“Keep me posted.” Takashi broke contact before throwing his radio onto the desk and kicking a small wastebasket out into the storm.
No sooner had Garrett signed off than Takashi’s radio crackled to life again. This time it was Miller on the line.
“They’re everywhere, sir. Hundreds of them. Southern wall completely compromised. Falling back to the neighborhood,” he shouted, gunshots and screams clearly audible through the static.
“Miller. Miller, say again. Everything after southern wall,” Takashi responded with urgency.
“Don’t know how much longer we can—” The radio went dead.
“Miller, fall back. Do you hear me? Fall back dammit,” Takashi ordered, but it was no use; the transmission had ceased.
Takashi leaned into the front door as the wind whipped into the small structure. A frail screen door repeatedly banged against the front of the building. He turned from the storm and shut the interior door.
Sam could see that Colonel Takashi was losing hope as the man pulled him aside, out of earshot of the others in the room. “What are your thoughts, Colonel?”
“It may be too early to tell, but keep your people apprised of what you just heard. I’ll do the same, at least for the ones I’m still in contact with.” Takashi looked Sam in the eye. “Start processing the idea of abandoning town.”
3:33 am - The Farm
After starting a cozy fire in his living room fireplace, Thomas went from room to room, opening the windows and unlocking the doors. He was a very old man, and without his farm, he would be a burden on the good people in town. That was what he thought, anyway. The citizens of Pepperbush would have had a few things to say about it had they known how he felt. Whatever fate had in store for the town he loved so this evening, he realized that in all likelihood his farm wouldn’t survive the night.
He’d lived a good life, and it was better this way, really. One less mouth to feed was how the old man justified his sacrifice. His motives were not entirely altruistic, though, as Thomas yearned to see his wife again. Soon, he imagined. Jefferson, his oldest son, would be angry with him, wondering why he was giving up after fighting so hard his entire life. The thought made the old man chuckle. Jefferson had always been headstrong, sometimes missing the point of an entire conversation as a result. Tonight would have been no exception.
Thomas sat by the fireplace in his old rocking chair, flipping through a dusty photo album. His eyes teared up at a picture of his whole family together in happier times: his wife, three boys, and daughter. He touched the photo and smiled; they were celebrating his seventy-first birthday, eighteen months before his wife took ill.
“At least you went fast.” He sighed contentedly. “And thank God you didn’t live to see what this world you loved so much has become.”
His attention moved to his children, and he drifted back to the days each were born. Again, his mind soared as he pictured vividly the day each of them moved out. Off to the big city to make a life for themselves. A tiny piece of his heart went along with them. Ever the optimist, Thomas was confident that his children were safe, wherever they might be.
Glass broke in the kitchen, and dishes crashed to the floor. It was time; the infected were in his home. Thomas removed the old family photo from the book, kissed it, and tucked it away in his left breast pocket. He closed his eyes, rocked his chair forward and back ever so slightly, smiled, and whispered, “God, I love you, Margaret. I’m coming home, darling.”
3:50 am - Burke Residence
Tobias paced the living room. He kept his rifle propped up against the front door; he was ready to drop everything at a moment’s notice should he receive the call. With each stray noise he would dart to the entranceway and equip his readied weapon.
Isabelle sat by the fireplace, smoke from a freshly lit cigarette wafting around her face, her previous butt still smoldering in the ashtray. In the dimly lit room, the fire danced in her contempt-filled eyes.
“Do you really need to smoke so much? The kids are right here,” Tobias asked. His way of telling her to put it out.
“The kids are not right here. They’re upstairs in their rooms,” Isabelle answered with a long drag of her cigarette. “If you pulled your head away from the window for more than thirty seconds, you’d know that.”
“It’s just too much with the windows locked and the air off. The smoke bothers me,” he replied, returning to the window.
“Do you ever stop and consider what I want? What I need?” she returned unapologetically.
“Izzy,” Tobias tried.
“I’m serious, and if you call me ‘Izzy’ one more time, I’ll beat your fucking head in with this ashtray. You know I hate that name,” she said calmly. “Tell me, Tobias, when was the last time you even considered my needs? Was it last week? A month ago? And don’t give me this the-town-needs-me bullshit. I needed you.”
“You needed me?” Tobias turned to face his wife, who was glaring intently into the flames.
“I stopped needing you the day you left me barefoot in the kitchen to go play messiah of the people.” Isabelle lit another cigarette.
4:05 am - Shearburn Residence
Vanessa stirred. She slowly rose to a seated position beside Jim’s battered corpse. Drying blood was sticky. Her hair, she found, trying to run her fingers through it, was matted into clumps with the stuff. She stretched her fingers, releasing them from the grip of drying blood gluing them in place. Her arms, chest, and face were covered in crimson. What remained of her white tank top resembled a butcher’s smock.
She sat on the floor beside Jim, staring at his lifeless corpse, then back to her own bloodied body. She killed this man with her bare hands. The thought yanked her from contemplation. Vanessa struggled in vain to move the body outdoors. If she could just get him outside, maybe, with any luck, those things would dispose of this garbage for her and she could avoid having to explain any of this. She slipped and fell in the blood puddle; it was no use. Even in death, Jim proved to be just as stubborn as ever.
“Fuck this,” she panted. Vanessa kicked herself away from the corpse and slid a few feet from it. She was finished trying to move the brute.
The unmistakable sound of breaking glass could be heard from the direction of the kitchen. Vanessa was on her feet and pressed against the wall before the commotion stopped. A framed picture’s reflection, adjacent to the kitchen, allowed her a distorted view of the cause of the racket. An infected was fumbling around the doorway, one foot in and the other,
twisted and broken, dragging behind it in the rain. The carrier looked to the cabinets, down to the floor, and back to the broken windowpane its shirt was stuck on.
The beast paused and for a moment. Vanessa could swear the thing looked confused. Maybe it recognized the sight of a kitchen, or maybe somewhere deep in its rotting mind it could sense her. The thing focused its gaze at the misplaced appliance, almost as if it knew the refrigerator shouldn’t be slid halfway to the door like that. Behind it, a second crept into the doorway, slipped on the pile of broken glass, and crashed to the floor. The impact freed the first from its bonds as the second remained on its back, staring at the rotating ceiling fan, its mouth opening and closing slowly, almost in rhythm with the fan blades.
Vanessa had seen enough. She inched away from the wall and tiptoed back toward the stairs. She was nearly halfway up as the first carrier came into full view. The thing was a mess. Rotten bite marks and deep gashes littered its body. Its left arm was missing at the elbow, and the left breast was mangled. What remained swung from ruined flesh. One of its feet was barely attached by a string of impossibly stretched skin and tendons. Vanessa laughed to herself for a moment, and just as fast as it happened, she covered her mouth, holding back a retch. After what she had just done to Jim, seeing this thing in her living room, torn to pieces but still upright and moving, shouldn’t have bothered her, but there she was, contemplating the absurdity of what she was witnessing.
The carrier crossed into the living room. Its head twitched slightly and its one good eye, milky as it was, made contact with Vanessa. She began to breathe heavy but stayed calm as she slowly climbed the stairs one at a time, never breaking eye contact with the carrier. The duo moved in unison. For every step the infected made forward, she took one back, up one step, up another, and the next. The beast followed suit, tracking her across the room, its milky eye fixed on Vanessa. Oblivious to Jim’s body, the carrier tripped over it, falling to the floor and shattering every bone in the left side of its face.
The Roaming (Book 1): The Roaming Page 18
