The Undead Chronicles (Vol. 2): Darker Days

by O'Brian, Patrick J.

  “Not good,” he muttered, not deviating from his course as the Humvees slowed, but continued toward the plane.

  Metzger wondered if the Marines shared his thoughts, caught between securing the prisoners and safely boarding the plane for the return flight to Virginia. When the first Humvee stopped, and the second one pulled beside it, Metzger followed suit. Immediately, the undead took notice, and one Marine from each Humvee took aim with his personal weapon in the vehicle’s turret and began shooting the zombies through their skulls. Metzger heard gunfire from behind him as the Marine riding the truck bed behind him assisted his comrades. They missed their first few shots, firing from a distance and at an odd, elevated angle. Not until the undead staggered a bit closer did the rounds hit home. As one wave of the undead fell, their skulls spurting coagulated blood, a second line of their kind approached the vehicles, endangering everyone with their sheer numbers.

  “There are dozens of them,” Molly noted aloud.

  “We’re going to get overrun if we stay here,” Metzger said. “Someone needs to distract them, or we aren’t going anywhere.”

  “Run their asses over,” Molly suggested firmly.

  “You ever driven a vehicle after zombie guts get into the engine block?” Metzger countered. “You don’t get far, even in a Humvee.”

  As though his thoughts mirrored those of his younger brother, Bryce stepped from one of the Humvees, taking aim with a pistol at a few of the undead, putting them down as the rest of the zombies focused their attention on a hot meal. In the distance, Metzger saw the cargo hatch open, revealing a ramp for the vehicles to enter the plane. One of the pilots stuck his head out, frantically waving with one arm for them to enter the vehicle. Both Humvees drove that way, and the Marine in the back of the truck pounded his hand against the roof, indicating he wanted to experience safety immediately.

  Metzger gave a look to his brother, who ushered him to go while backpedaling from the undead, still continuing to shoot them. Stepping on the gas, Metzger found the truck unable to move as it lost traction in a soft area of the grass between landing strips. He pressed on the gas pedal once more, only to find the tires spinning, entrenching them further in the terrain.

  Realizing the gravity of the situation, the Marine behind them tossed the prisoner off the side of the truck, jumping down behind him and jolting the man to his feet as they gave a wide berth around the zombies. Now some of the undead followed the Marine, breaking off pursuit of Bryce as they did so. With the undead faction divided, the Marines in the Humvees exited, taking their prisoners with them as they darted for the safety of the cargo plane. Each of them fired a few shots as they tried distancing themselves from the main cluster of undead.

  “We need to move,” Metzger said, worried they might get surrounded by the herd and trapped inside the truck.

  Being left behind concerned him, but he wasn’t about to let his brother take on the entire group of zombies alone.

  Metzger and Molly exited the truck at the same time, quickly joined by Bryce, who brought the danger with him as they tried to reach the plane. Many of the undead staggering toward the aircraft turned to the group, attracted by the noise of truck doors opening. As quickly as Metzger sliced through the skulls of two zombies with his sword, another four of them were closing in, too close for him to use the weapon and hope to escape. He ducked under the groping arm of one of them, joining Molly on the other side. Bryce remained separated, and gunfire from the plane knocked a few of the zombies down, but there were still too many between Metzger and his brother.

  “Go!” Bryce shouted. “I’ll catch up!”

  Metzger doubted the sincerity of his brother’s words, because just under two dozen undead weren’t going to stand aside and let his brother saunter onto the plane for a return trip to Virginia. Molly tugged at his arm, and as Metzger started backpedaling with her to guaranteed safety, he began to realize his brother wasn’t intending to make a dash for the plane.

  At least not yet.

  Some of the Marines continued to shoot, trying to support Bryce as best they could, but Metzger began losing sight of his brother as the zombie horde surrounded him. Metzger reached the ramp of the plane, kicking a zombie aside as he ascended for a better view of his brother. He grew more concerned by the second, pulling his sword from its sheath to deal with a zombie that climbed the ramp, groping at Molly. To avoid striking her, he jabbed the carnivorous adversary squarely in the forehead, ending its second life instantly.

  Continuing to hold his sword out defensively, Metzger backed up the ramp, finding his brother drawing more zombies in his direction while getting flanked from every side.

  “We have to help him,” he said to Molly, who started down the ramp.

  Bryce continued shooting the undead closest to him, but his ammunition couldn’t hold out much longer. Despite his best efforts to fend off the onslaught of the undead, Bryce failed to duck quickly enough as two zombies maneuvered behind him. One grabbed him by the arm, pulling him back as the other sank its teeth into his right trapezius muscle, dangerously close to his neck. Bryce’s head arched back in pain before he slammed his elbow into one of them, prying free from both in an instant.

  “No!” Metzger screamed as he lurched forward to help his brother, hoping the zombie’s teeth hadn’t penetrated his brother’s thick uniform.

  He felt strong hands clasp his elbows and shoulders, dragging him into the plane despite his kicks and protests.

  “No!” he screamed a second time, holding the word at the top of his lungs. “Let go of me, you motherfuckers!”

  Molly continued down the ramp, attempting to assist Bryce as the plane’s ramp began ascending. Metzger locked eyes with his brother momentarily, seeing a fight in the Navy man’s expression that indicated Bryce wasn’t dead, or finished, quite yet. He fought against his attackers, even as the undead attempted to claw and bite at him. Bryce knocked several of them to the ground, and Metzger clearly saw a bloody spot on his brother’s shoulder while he personally struggled against the Marines restraining him. A third military man came over to ensure Metzger didn’t break free as the stream of daylight from outside the plane grew thinner with each passing second.

  One of them snagged the sword from his right hand, and Metzger glanced to Molly, who’d exited the plane and now looked at him with confusion and mild fear as the undead turned to face her. Metzger felt dizzy, his legs rubbery, as though he might pass out from the overwhelming circumstances. Molly set to defending herself, and Metzger spied a blur pass along his left side as someone saw an opportunity to escape. Metzger wasn’t positive, but he felt certain Fournier took advantage of the confusion and lack of manpower guarding him to leap from the side of the ramp before the door closed enough to confine him.

  One of the Marines holding Metzger back started after him, but the leader put a stop to it verbally.

  “Let him go! We have the paperwork, and the secondary objective is secure.”

  Metzger turned, staring the man in the eye, and he immediately realized he was the secondary objective based on the fact that the man looked directly at him when he spoke the words. They had just sentenced his brother and Molly to almost certain death, and let one of the worst people on the planet escape. Although he locked eyes with Metzger momentarily, the Marine leader looked away and walked to the front of the plane to carry on with his objectives.

  Not until the cargo door slammed shut, sealing Metzger’s fate, did the Marines let go of him. Bathed in the artificial interior lighting of the aircraft, Metzger couldn’t possibly learn how his brother, Molly, or Fournier fared outside because the only windows were in the cockpit. Even if the engines hadn’t roared to life within a few seconds, he couldn’t have heard noises beyond the metal hull of the aircraft. He eyed his sword lying on the ground, but temporarily ignored it, walking absently to one of the seats along the side. Plopping down heavily, he felt overwhelm
ed by the sudden turn of events, certain he’d seen his brother as a living being for the last time while his only remaining ally was cut off from assisting him any further.

  Confused, shaken, and angry, Metzger sat as the plane taxied, burying his face in his hands. He worried about the fate of his brother and his friend, feeling helpless because he wanted to be on the ground with them. Instead, he sat on a plane, destined for Virginia where he’d be lucky if they let him break the terrible news to his sister-in-law because the military obviously found some use for him.

  He watched as the Marines secured their remaining prisoners, his body numb at the thought of losing his brother after fighting so hard to reach Virginia in the first place. He felt partly responsible for tagging along, but in the end the military made decisions that cost him the remainder of his family.

  And though he felt a tear slide down his right cheek, Metzger decided he would get answers and hold the fragmented leadership of his country responsible if it was his last earthly act.

  Twenty-Two

  “We’d better have some weapons left,” Driscoll said as he drove hurriedly toward the houses he and Sutton occupied, “or this is going to be a really short fight.”

  After a momentary reprieve when the pursuing vehicle lost them, the group heard squealing tires behind them as Dark Lady’s people located them and made a sharp turn onto their current road.

  Jillian questioned how much of what the gypsy woman spoke was true, because her people seemed to know exactly where to find them in South Hill at all times, and the pursuit came about rather quickly after they departed the property where Vazquez was murdered. To her, it felt as though their new adversaries might have conducted surveillance a day or two before making their move. She couldn’t understand why the group escalated from being a common nuisance to outright murderers.

  “You’re going to have to park us right beside one of the front doors,” Sutton said as Buster paced what little he could, confined within a car.

  He sensed the tension among the four humans with him, which left him antsy as they raced to possible salvation.

  Driscoll didn’t say a word, but as the houses came into view, he directed the car into the yard of the closer residence, getting them as close to Sutton’s house as possible without striking it. Everyone scattered from the car at once, like cockroaches in a bathtub when the overhead light is turned on. Buster followed his master into the first house, and both Jillian and Gracine chose the nearest house as well because their enemies drew closer by the second.

  When Jillian entered behind Sutton, she found him heading for the kitchen, opening several drawers and pulling a semi-automatic pistol from beneath some old instruction manuals. Handing it to Gracine, he opened the refrigerator, then the storage tray near the bottom, finding another semi-automatic pistol he handed to Jillian. She ejected the magazine, checking the ammunition level, finding it just a few rounds short of full. Times like these made Jillian thankful for her father’s guidance, and being lucky enough to find people who were helpful and like-minded during her travels.

  “Some of the good stuff was in that truck,” Sutton grumbled as he walked to one of the bedrooms further back, Buster right on his heels.

  He emerged a moment later with an AR-15 in his right hand and a revolver tucked into his belt. Buster still sensed the group’s anxiety, but wagged his tail and looked up to Sutton with wide eyes.

  “What about extra ammo?” Gracine asked as they returned to the front of the house.

  “None,” Sutton answered succinctly.

  When they stepped outside, the group didn’t see or hear the vehicle that pursued them most of the way through the town. Driscoll stood on the front landing of the house he occupied, holding a rifle of some sort. He appeared ready for a fight, which came naturally to him, much like it did for Sutton. Firearms often sorted out predators and prey in the apocalypse, and Jillian knew if the group hadn’t located the firearms, they wouldn’t have stepped outside at all.

  “Where did those motherfuckers go?” Gracine questioned aloud, her eyes panning the area around them.

  “They’re too dumb to retreat,” Driscoll commented.

  “Or they outgun us and they’re waiting for us to let our guard down,” Jillian said. “We should probably get to a better tactical position.”

  “Agreed,” Sutton said, motioning toward an area down the street from them. “Come on,” he called to Buster, who readily followed him.

  Further down the road, a larger house sat near the base of a hill, offering them both cover and a topographical feature that prevented a vehicle from following their retreat if the battle didn’t go their way. They all jogged down to the house, which remained unlocked like virtually every other building in the town. A truck and an SUV remained in the driveway, offering them cover outside of the house, and as Jillian reached the driveway, she ducked behind the truck for a look behind her.

  Met by eerie quiet, she wondered why the group broke off the pursuit, because they certainly hadn’t gotten lost in a small town like South Hill. Jillian looked to the eyes of her companions, and they appeared equally mystified, and nervous, until a sound reached their eardrums that caused all of them to stiffen.

  As though a large jungle cat had been set upon them, the roar of a loud engine broke the silence and only a few seconds passed before the large vehicle meant for transporting humans and equipment raced directly at the group.

  Like the others, Jillian realized immediately the truck wasn’t slowing down for anything, aimed directly at them and their chosen cover. Either their transportation was capable of withstanding high-impact crashes, or they simply didn’t care what happened to it, because they were about to strike two vehicles and possibly a house. All four of them scattered for cover in different directions, which certainly aided their adversaries, who created a ripple effect by hitting the truck and barreling it into the SUV behind it.

  Jillian managed to keep her grip on the firearm Sutton provided her, knowing she couldn’t fend off large carnie types with sheer will and empty palms. Rolling over to take aim at whomever emerged from the truck, she didn’t have to fire because the truck backed away from the driveway. Perhaps their attackers thought better of their assault once they saw their prey armed, or their intent was simply to scare the four souls and one dog, but Jillian didn’t want to give them an opportunity to regroup.

  She looked to her colleagues, finding Sutton and Gracine had regained their footing while Driscoll was a little slower to rise, despite being further from the collision than the others. Buster snarled and barked at the truck from a safe distance, showing aggression Jillian had yet to see from the canine.

  “Bastards,” she muttered at the people inside the truck, taking aim at one of the tires before the truck could speed away.

  One round took out the front tire, though it required two additional shots for Jillian to disable the rear tire on the same side as the truck turned to attempt a retreat. Sutton quickly caught on to her idea and attempted to flatten the other tires, but his rounds struck other portions of the truck as it turned away from him. Jillian striking two tires significantly slowed the truck, and she heard the rubbery thumps each time the bulging portion of the two blown tires slapped the pavement.

  “I don’t think they have weapons,” Jillian called to her colleagues as Driscoll regained his footing and joined the others as they approached the partly disabled vehicle.

  “Get out!” Sutton called to the people inside the truck as Buster continued to bark behind his owner.

  Jillian looked over, taking more careful notice that Buster wasn’t barking at the truck, but rather behind where Jillian stood, and to Driscoll’s other side.

  “Everyone, get to cover!” Jillian screamed as she darted to one of the smashed vehicles before a hail of gunfire rang out.

  A single person emerged from the truck, rushing to the back of the veh
icle as he fired rounds at Gracine and Driscoll. Sutton had already reached cover, calling Buster to his side as Jillian realized her intuition proved correct just in time. The truck had waited before coming at them because the driver let his passengers out for an ambush, knowing their targets were heading to an area with only one true exit road.

  Jillian knew someone was on the hill behind her, but she wasn’t going to leave her spot and become a target for the other potential gunmen. Her eyes desperately searched for the shooter, finding only overgrown grass and a few trees lining the hill until she saw some of the grass move. Wind wouldn’t selectively blow blades of grass, and no creature with intact hearing would remain so close to the deafening noises below, so she took aim and fired.

  Suddenly the grass stopped moving, but no yelp of pain or spurting of blood accompanied the stillness. Jillian wanted to run up the hill to see if her theory proved correct, but with shots ringing out around her, and from different areas, she decided to stay in cover.

  Daring to look where her colleagues should have been located, she found each of them now ducked behind the vehicles, or trees, exchanging gunfire with their attackers. Although Sutton handled firearms better than anyone else in the group, Jillian found herself wishing Metzger were there for the briefest of moments. His instincts often kept them out of conflicts, because he knew how to resolve issues verbally, using force only when necessary.

  Flanked by at least three sides, the group remained stuck behind the two disabled, smashed vehicles because no one on either side stuck any body parts out from cover. Although not a ceasefire, nearly a minute passed while both sides stopped shooting, waiting for an opening or a mistake by their adversaries.