The carrier attempted to stand and inadvertently placed a rotting hand on Jim’s body. It slipped off, crashing face-first into Jim’s wet neck. Distracted by an unexpected feast, the carrier lost interest in Vanessa and proceeded to tear at the still-warm flesh. Jim’s damaged groin seemed to be of particular interest to the thing, as it tore and bit at the wound, enlarging it to fit a good portion of its mouth and jaw inside the cavity. Jim’s intestines were pulled from the hole and promptly devoured by the hungry beast. Foot by foot, the creature pulled Jim’s insides out. Whenever it dropped a piece, it simply reached back inside to pull out more.
Vanessa held a hand over her mouth, desperately hoping not to puke. She reached the top of the stairs and disappeared around the corner. The carrier was finally out of sight. Mindful of every footfall, she crept as lightly as she was able toward the window above her back porch, which led to a small overhang and escape. She put one foot out of the window, followed by the other and finally the rest of her body. Vanessa was on the small patio roof. The cold downpour drenched her in seconds. Caked blood melted from her hair and slid down into her eyes as she struggled to see, searching desperately for more infected below.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Incursion
Desperation had set in for those charged with helping Takashi’s unit defend the front line.
“There’s too many of them!” one of the volunteers yelled while taking a few steps back.
“Keep your shit straight and we can do this. Hold your goddamn ground until I say otherwise!” Radzinski ordered the woman, himself never taking too much attention from the encroaching mass.
An ever-increasing number of undead fell as Miller and his group continued to fire upon the horde of infected. Hundreds of bodies littered the forest floor at the southern defenses. Infected tripped and fell over each other in a furious attempt to reach the group. Three carriers lunged at a man. One of them bit down on his chest and face. A second woman opened fire at the group and was quickly swallowed up as well. More of the inexperienced men shot randomly. Ignoring what Miller had said about choosing their shots, they went full automatic, spraying the oncoming horde with dozens of bullets. Chunks of rotting flesh and limbs torn from bodies flew in all directions. As a testament to the men’s ignorance, few infected stayed down.
“Oh, fuck this!” one of the volunteers yelled. A kid, no more than twenty years old, Miller guessed. The sustained battle was too much for the young man, and panic sent him running down the front of the line, oblivious to the deadly rain of gunfire. A stray bullet caught him center mass. Another sent him spinning. The third bullet finally buckled his legs from under him. The boy was dead before he hit the ground. Farther down the line, others took notice of the friendly fire. Uncertainty spread throughout their ranks. Concentration was lost, targets were missed, and the line fell apart. The mass of infected pressed forward, gaining ground with each failed shot as the other volunteers began firing wildly, rarely hitting their targets, much less putting them down.
Each depression of Miller’s trigger dropped another infected. Most stayed down. The others, though, were merely a waste of ammo. They should have evacuated. Not leaving when they had the chance clouded Miller’s mind. “This is suicide.” Doubt was creeping in.
Volleys of lightning illuminated thousands of infected pouring over the entirety of the berm’s southern perimeter. Lines were quickly overrun; the volunteers fled in every direction. Some disappeared into the darkened forest. Most were swallowed up in waves, unprepared for the sheer numbers descending upon them.
Soraya spun around with her kukri extended. She cleaved a carrier’s head in two and kicked a second to the ground before pouncing on it and burying her blade in its skull. Marisol helped the young Israeli to her feet. The pair of them and a handful of others desperately raced for the police station.
Another flash of lightning lit up the berm for a brief second, long enough for Radzinski to gather the full scope of what they faced. As far as he could see, stretching the length of the berm, thousands of undead clawed at the ground, desperately trying to get to their feet. Heavy, deep mud was the only thing preventing a full-scale slaughter. “Holy shit! We’re out of here. Come on.” Radzinski yanked Rachel by the back of her tactical vest and flung her toward the nearest homes.
Rachel swung her empty rifle like a bludgeon, smashing in heads and trying her best to keep the oncoming swarm at arm’s reach as she stumbled into the path of her fellow soldier. Three carriers were tangled up in a bush between them and Radzinski. Two of them yanked his gun from his grasp. He let the weapon go. As he fell backward, he used the momentum to roll away from the bush, tripping up two more carriers in the process. Radzinski rose to his feet, sidearm in hand, and dashed for a cluster of homes in the distance. He used the weapon as a club, bashing in approaching carriers’ faces or swatting away arms. Radzinski would conserve what little ammo remained for as long as he was able. Rachel joined him in the fracas, the pair of them clearing a path for any survivors as best as they could.
“Conserve your ammo goddammit!” Miller barked at the panicking volunteers with no effect.
More and more infected filled the spaces between the trees and buildings. The southernmost homes had been engulfed in a sea of undead. Low on ammo, most of the men who hadn’t already fled were quickly overwhelmed and ripped apart, sharp teeth easily rending flesh from bone.
One of the volunteers heaved a propane tank from an overturned barbecue grill above the heads of the oncoming horde. Another man’s weapon tracked the projectile. He fired, and the container exploded over the carriers’ heads. A shower of shrapnel followed by a fireball engulfed the crowd. Dozens of burning infected, unresponsive to the searing heat, continued their march toward the houses.
“Fall back!” Miller yelled, though his cries landed on deaf ears.
Raging winds and pounding rain compounded with the moans from thousands of infected drowned out any chance at communication. A group of volunteers scrambled between the houses. Others forced their way into one of the homes in an attempt to barricade themselves away from the horde. The weight of the infected piling up at the back door ripped it from its hinges. A wall of undead spilled into the house. Some still in flames ignited curtains and furniture. Within minutes, despite the storm’s intensity, a half dozen of the southern homes were engulfed in flame. High winds threatened to spread the fire.
Miller and three volunteers were all that remained of his segment of the southern defense. The group of four fell back, hoping to gain a little ground on their retreat to Main Street.
Beyond the western wall on the outskirts of Pepperbush, Thomas’s farmhouse and fields were brimming with infected. Thousands of them made their way to the berm. Carriers climbed up and over each other, eventually sliding down the other side into the unprotected western portion of town. Scores of infected penetrated the defense’s overlooked weak point en route to the already overwhelmed and unsuspecting populace. They crept through the trees and fields, instinctively wandering down dirt paths. A second wave of infected quickly spread to all corners of Pepperbush.
4:15 am - The Church
As the night wore on, the storm’s intensity increased. Outside of the church, shutters banged against the building. Shingles flew from the roof, becoming deadly projectiles. The branches from a 120-year-old oak crashed against the building, slapping the worn wooden siding, scraping the windows and threatening to burst through the side of the church. Inside, the clattering echoed throughout the large open room. The banging seemed to follow the structure’s skeleton, down the old framing to ground level, rattling the dozens of stained glass windows and threatening to tear the doors from their hinges.
“That’s not the wind. Someone’s out there.” Don pulled aside a curtain to see who was trying to gain entrance to their sanctuary.
Through the stained glass windows, it was clear: the silhouettes of dozens of infected shambling about the church grounds were unmistakable. They had be
en overrun. The idea of safety at only a stone’s throw from combat was wrong. Takashi was wrong; they were surrounded.
“Holy shit, they’re all over the goddamned parking lot! Everybody, out the back. Hurry! We got to get the fuck out of here!” Don sprinted to the rear of the church.
In his haste, he knocked Emily to the floor. On her way down, she hit her head on a pew. Blood trickled from a cut above her eye as she tried to right herself. A second older woman helped her up into the nearest pew. This woman produced a dirty handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed some blood from Emily’s eye.
“No, Don, wait!” Broderick lunged at the man. He found a handful of Don’s shirt, but Don yanked himself free.
Don threw aside the cabinet, blocking the back door, forced it open, and darted for safety. He was free from the prison of the church. The other side of the building was swarming with infected as well. In a desperate bid for freedom, Don ran straight into the mass before he could realize his error. He was tackled to the ground almost instantly. The sheer weight of the mass pinned him to the earth while countless mouths and fingers ripped his clothes off and chewed and tore at any piece of exposed flesh they could find. Don was swallowed up, completely out of sight in a matter of seconds as hundreds more crawled over or around the mound of bodies in a bid for the narrow doorway.
The mass of carriers tumbled over each other in a mad dash to reach the trapped people inside. The front and back of the church became mirror images of each other as infected swarmed into the building, trapping the huddled people inside thanks to Don’s irrationality. At the front of the church, windows broke under the sheer weight of undead piling up outside.
The dozen or so who were capable opened fire on the horde. Bullets sprayed the infected with little effect. A lucky shot caught a carrier in the face, sending the ghoul spinning into altar candles. The fallen torches rolled in all directions, igniting the altar’s tapestry.
Amidst the chaos, Grace along with several other people succumb to their fear. Kneeling in their pews, they prayed for a quick end. Off to the side of the altar in a back room, the crippled and wounded were easy prey for the voracious attackers.
Broderick’s shotgun blasts tore limbs and chunks of flesh from the encroaching infected. “Stay together. Don’t let them get between us!” he shouted, though most ignored him as they ran haphazardly about the room and fired randomly into the attackers.
A few, though, listened to the young soldier’s advice and stayed grouped tightly with Broderick. Gunfire echoed throughout the church. A carrier’s knee was blown out mid-stride, sending the creature sliding headfirst into a table leg, crushing its face. Its mangled jaw and broken cheekbones didn’t slow it down as the ghoul used its momentum to crawl toward a group of panicked parishioners in their pews. Another carrier’s head exploded in a shower of gore, spraying a woman who was standing too close. Chunks of skull and cold torn meat flew into her eyes and mouth.
“Oh God, get it off me!” the woman screamed, wiping at her brain- and blood-drenched face. “It’s burning my eyes!” The woman flailed about, tearing into her own skin and trying desperately to wipe the filth from her face. Blinded, she ran headlong into a group of infected that promptly shredded her clothes, exposing the warm flesh beneath. The horde wasted no time rending her to pieces, ripping and chewing at any hint of meat.
Three of the more able survivors worked desperately to extinguish the fires. Trying to smother it with coats and blankets, they were transfixed by their task and were taken unawares, the lot of them tackled to the ground and savaged by yet another wave of infected. Chunks of flesh were torn from their faces, and fingers were bitten off. One woman squirming to escape rolled into the fire, igniting herself and a few nearby infected. She howled in agony, desperately searching for a way out into the cold rain. The infected took no heed of the tormenting fire; they chewed and scratched at the woman. Blackened, charred meat was no different from raw.
Fire spread up the walls to the ceiling, rapidly filling the church with thick black smoke. The lack of air caused some trapped people to panic and bang fruitlessly at the windows. The infected outside took notice. Mimicking the people’s actions from outside, they rattled the windows as well. Glass shattered as dead arms reached inside to pull desperate people out through the razor-sharp glass. A myriad of carriers were worked up into a frenzy over fresh-spilled blood that poured from dozens of deep wounds.
The carriers’ numbers grew by the second. The survivors shrank in number as they were forced farther back into the church. Another infected lunged at Broderick and grabbed hold of his shotgun. The young soldier booted the creature in the chest, sending it back a few feet and giving him time to pull his sidearm. Two shots to the head put the thing down.
“Come on, Grace! Don’t just sit there. Get up!” Broderick tried to pull Grace from her pew with no effect. He could only watch as greedy hands and hungry mouths pulled her and a few others beneath the pews.
In its haste to grab Grace, one of the infected tumbled over a pew headfirst onto the floor. Now under the pew and undaunted by the impact or its cracked skull, the undead fiend continued its pursuit across the floor to Grace’s exposed legs. The creature wasted no time clamping its jaw down tight upon her limb. She screamed for the Lord to help. Her only reply was hundreds more teeth ravaging her frail old body. The half-burned creatures tore away her clothes, exposing her tough but soft flesh. They attacked her with a ferocity rarely witnessed outside of the animal kingdom. Ravenous in their hunger, some carriers bit away chunks of other carriers in a desperate bid for a turn at the spoils. Grace’s struggling eventually slowed as she was crushed under the weight of so many undead.
“Everyone, back to the far wall!” Broderick shouted over the screams of the dying, the moans of the undead, and the crackling of a now raging inferno.
Broderick herded a handful of survivors to the back of the church. The smoke had grown too thick. The young soldier strained to see the person beside him. They were trapped, and he knew it. Broderick and another woman with a rifle shielded the few remaining people against the wall.
He touched the woman on the shoulder. “Make these shots count.”
The woman nodded her reply before making the sign of the cross.
The duo fired aimlessly into the blackness. Broderick and the few left alive in the church were swallowed up in a black cloud of blinding smoke, clawing hands, and gnashing teeth.
Fire burst from every window and door of the church. The roof hissed and buckled as a cold rain poured down. Thunder rolled in the distance, nearly loud enough to drown out the screams from inside.
4:22 am - Police Station
Marisol, Soraya, and the two remaining members of their group ran for the back door of the police station. Hundreds of undead were in pursuit.
“Stay close, everyone. We’re almost there!” Marisol yelled to the others as she pulled a short-range radio from her belt. “Marisol to Corey. Come in. Corey, do you hear me?”
“Right here, ma’am.”
“It’s way worse than we thought. We lost almost everyone. Unlock the back door. We’re on our way. I can see you from here.”
“Already there, ma’am.” Corey slammed the door opened as Marisol barged past and into the relative safety of the police station.
“They’re right behind us. Grab everything you can and get to the trucks!” the sheriff shouted at the three remaining police officers who were watching the building.
Soraya, Seth, and two more police took up positions at the back of the police station, firing on the approaching throngs of undead. Many fell, but most got back up. Still, scores more descended upon the small building.
In the armory, Marisol reloaded her shotgun, then packed up a duffel bag with guns and ammunition. “Here, put this in your truck. I’m going back for the others.” Marisol handed the duffel off to Isaac.
Isaac scurried through the small building and out the front door and made his way to the police SUVs parked i
n front of the station. Corey was right behind him. Isaac tossed the duffel in the back of one of the vehicles and started the engine. “Corey, get in here and keep this piece of shit running. I’ll start the other truck. We have to go. Just keep your eyes open for any of those things. The others will be out in a minute.” Isaac ran over to the other truck and quickly turned over the engine.
Back inside, Marisol finished stuffing another small satchel with ammunition, then ran to the rear doorway where the others were still firing upon the oncoming mass. “Let’s go! The trucks are loaded and ready. We have to leave now!” Marisol waved them back into the police station.
Soraya was the last one in the building, firing off a few more rounds as she entered. Two more carriers fell. A few more tripped over them and were momentarily disabled, though scores more moved past the fallen as they encroached upon the small building.
Marisol slammed the door shut and locked it before tipping over a heavy file cabinet in front of it as well. “Every little bit, right?”
“Yes. Now we go!” Soraya picked up a gas can as the two women hustled for the exit.
Out front in the courtyard, the others split up into the two trucks and awaited the rest of the group.
Marisol advanced toward the SUVs but stopped short. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.” She hesitated for a moment, then handed Soraya her rifle as she ran past the awaiting group and across the courtyard in the direction of Town Hall.
The Roaming (Book 1): The Roaming Page 19
