Dead Wrangler

by Coke, Justin

  Her instincts took control, and she slammed the truck into reverse and gunned it. She caught the thing, she could feel it crunch beneath her wheels and it let out the loudest scream she had ever heard. It wasn't human, and it never had been. That scream was not human. The zombies freaked out, getting even faster and more excited than before. She kept it in reverse at twenty miles an hour, slamming the suspension and bouncing so hard her head hit the roof a couple of times. Diane just stared at her and kept one hand on the roof and the other on a handle. Once she gained some space she turned the truck around and kept going. Zombies were coming out of the trees now, frenzied, dozens more added to the ones chasing her in the distance.

  Meghan looked at Diane. "Did you see that thing?"

  "It has big claws."

  "They're all chasing us; I think they've got the best chance if we stay away."

  Diane looked around at the zombies milling after them from all directions. "Don't talk, just drive," Diane said. Diane grabbed the radio. "Aunt Tabitha, we're getting chased by them all now, if you can run while they are gone. We have to leave."

  The static crackled suggestively, but they got no response they could understand. The zombies were close now. Meghan hit the gas and went south. They had half a tank of gas and no idea where to spend the night.

  It took them close to an hour to satisfy her they had lost the zombies on their trail. She turned to Diane and pulled out a .38 revolver and holster from her pocket.

  "Don't point it at anything you don't want to kill." She hopped out of the truck and climbed into the bed. Five ten gallon containers of gas, a box of MREs, two gallons of water, assorted weapons and ammo. She grunted, satisfied. She hadn't had any idea what was back here, and she was worried they'd had all the dirty clothes and toilet paper. This was workable, as long as she figured out where the hell she was supposed to go. She grabbed a gas can and popped open the gas tank. Her arms burned from the effort of holding the can up as it seemed to take forever to drain. She scanned for the undead, but none appeared. She drained the can and tossed it back in the bed. She sprinted back to the truck and gunned it. Soon they were going through Iowa City. Aside from a few shambling figures it seemed empty. She knew it was foolish to go anywhere near a city of any size, so she tried to work her way through back alleys and edge away from the city. That was how she ended up catching someone robbing the computer store. As she drove through another nameless alley, she saw movement to her left. It was a man pushing an iMac box into the back of a truck that was loaded with white boxes. She slammed on the brakes, and he startled and ducked behind the truck. His head popped up, and a rifle followed. Time froze for a second as that barrel pointed at her, but then the rifle dropped and he waved. She rolled down the window.

  "Well, hi there. You scared the shit out of me," the man said. "I'm Canyon."

  "I'm Meghan," she said, still frazzled. Canyon bristled when he saw Sgt. Davis's blood coating the truck. When he craned his neck and saw Diane staring at him his eyebrow raised.

  "I'm going to go out on a limb here and say you had a bad day," Canyon said. Meghan realized he might be all of five five in his boots. His eyes had a sort of maniacal friendliness above his sandy lumberjack beard. He was one of those guys that everyone liked, she could tell.

  "Without a doubt. Our group... well, we got ambushed by all these zombies, and there was some kind of Gollum thing with claws that I'd never seen before, and it cut the Army guys throat and then I killed it and we have no idea where to sleep."

  "Well, good thing we met then," Canyon. "You're more than welcome to stay at my place for a while."

  "Why do you need that many computers?" Meghan asked.

  "Why does he need ANY computers?" Diane put in. Canyon smiled.

  "You'll see. Now follow me." He hopped in the truck and started off. Meghan followed.

  "He must have electricity," Diane said.

  "He must have a lot of things to be worried about laptops," Meghan said.

  Diane nodded, smiling. "Somewhere safe."

  They wandered over worse and worse roads until they were bumping on some rough double track that petered out into nothing. They kept going until Canyon drove into a cave. Meghan hesitated, but went in.

  "Is he Batman?" Diane asked.

  "Maybe," Meghan said, as they went inside. She saw a gate roll closed behind them, and after a quick turn she saw Canyon parked.

  "Now this is a bit awkward, so I wouldn't mind the help," Canyon said as he popped out of his truck. He dropped the truck bed, and went over to a hatch. He put his thumb up to a glowing red cube, and there was a metallic chunk. He grabbed a wheel that stuck out of the ground and started turning. After a few turns he lifted the wheel and a hatch opened. "Come hand the computers down to me." They did, and they saw the inside; it was a concrete hall. Even though it had no features it felt old, and those thick subterranean walls were inviting. She had to restrain herself from crawling down and just sealing herself in. Staring at that dull concrete was like the night before a Hawaiian vacation.

  "What is this place?" Meghan breathed.

  "Old nuclear missile silo. I've owned it for years," Canyon said, breathing a bit hard.

  "You have power!" Meghan sighed.

  "Oh yes. Solar for the residential stuff, diesel generators for the serious stuff," Canyon said. "Yup. This setup is ludicrous."

  "Why?

  "Why what?"

  "Why this?"

  "Just luck really. I swear I didn't buy it for this shit, I swear! Just... some personal and career choices that just happened to also be perfect for the Apocalypse. Come on down. Janice will be ecstatic and we're just in time for her to start cooking for four."

  They climbed down the ladder. Canyon scrambled back up and grunted as he brought the hatch down with a clang. He screwed it tight and hit a button. A metallic chunk locked the hatch in place.

  "Follow me," he said. They went down the concrete hallway for a few hundred feet to a heavy steel door. He punched in a code and engines hummed to life to pull the door open.

  "Blast door," he said. On the other side of the door–Meghan almost fell to her knees. It was a finished room. Leather couches, huge TVs–it was like something you'd see on Cribs. Diane cackled in delight and dived onto a couch.

  "I don't think I got your name," Canyon said to Diane.

  "What do you have?" Diane asked as she inspected the five remote controls.

  "Ummm... Finding Nemo?" Canyon said.

  "Perfect." Diane grabbed a blanket and dug in. Meghan looked at Canyon and shrugged.

  "Sure thing, darling," Canyon walked over to the blu-ray player and grabbed a disc from the cabinet.

  "She'll be fine here. She won't be able to get to the other levels or outside. Not that I think we have to worry about her leaving," Canyon whispered to Meghan. "What's her name?"

  "Diane," Meghan said. All she wanted to do was watch the movie too, but as the adult she felt like she needed to be responsible.

  "Diane, if you want any food, the kitchen is through there. There's fruit in the fridge, and some crackers and cheese," Canyon said. Meghan's stomach lurched, and she found herself in the kitchen without deciding to go. Canyon followed, looking like he wanted to cry and smile at the same time. Diane followed.

  "Please forgive my manners, I should have known," Canyon said. He hustled, slicing fresh apples and cheese, and breaking out what appeared to be home-made crackers.

  Meghan could not remember the last time she had fresh fruit, or fresh anything. It was so delicious she started crying. Diane remained dry eyed but ate voraciously. Canyon nibbled on some cheese and watched. Finally they were full; so full they felt like bursting.

  Diane took Canyon's hand. "Thank you, mister." She shook his hand and wandered back into the living room.

  Canyon smiled one of those true smiles that Meghan had seen or felt only once or twice in her life. He radiated happiness.

  "Truly strange, don't you think? How life just throws momen
ts like that at you, even in this dark age. Do you want the tour or would you like to sleep for a while?" Canyon asked.

  "Sleep," Meghan said. Canyon started down the hall and delivered her to a lovely guest bedroom. The blanket was down, and the mattress was a pillow top. She felt like she was floating. She remembered something as she drifted down to sleep.

  "Canyon, you have a CB?" she asked.

  "Of course."

  "Check channel 3. Our friends, the ones we lost, I think they survived, and if they did they'd be using that channel to look for us."

  "Roger wilco. I'll go right over and start broadcasting. Got a good range on my rig, they might be able to hear me even if I can't hear them."

  "Of course you do. Tell them we're in heaven," Meghan said as the warmth started to sink in.

  "Hah. Well, close enough I guess," Canyon said, and closed the door.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Napalm

  November 10

  After that Ted sent me to get some rest. Dozens of people worked for the rest of the night sealing the gate. It was a difficult task with thousands of zombies trying to force their way in, but keeping all of us up was a waste of resources. At least that is what Ted claimed. I think sending me off to sleep was a good way to ensure that I wasn't spreading panic. And when he picked me to lead the team that was supposed to take back the grocery store, I was honored. But I have to admit that a cynical part of me wondered if maybe this was also his way of ensuring that I wouldn't be alive to break my word.

  If I hadn't known what I knew I would have taken it as an honor to be chosen for such an important job. Knowledge can be a curse. Responsibility certainly is.

  Fire wasn't an option. We need the place more or less intact, which meant that a whole lot of gunfire was a bad idea too. So I came up with the chute idea. People hated the idea of letting the zombies in any further, but I convinced them that the only way to resolve the situation was to build chutes. Let a hundred or two hundred of them into the chute, then trap them. We could then go to work.

  We spent quite a bit of time and lumber on it, but by midday we had two 50 foot long chutes built around the two doors to the grocery store. They were six feet tall, and well reinforced. At 5 feet, they had a foot tall gap. At the entrance they had heavy steel plates, hung like guillotines. They were ready to fall when we wanted to close the chute and reseal the station.

  I had teams armed with shotguns ready to go if we had to, but I didn't see the point in wasting ammunition to shoot fish in a barrel. The rest of us had axes, and jury rigged spears. There's a lot of stuff in a hardware store that can adapted to killing zombies. So when we were ready, I reached through the chute and drew back the bar blocking the door. It bulged inwards almost immediately. The lock was about ready to go and I didn't want to have my hand in there when it did, so I ducked away and got ready with my spear. The tension was palpable as the door bulged inward. Finally the lock gave and they spewed in the room with a fantastic howl. The push was so great that quite of few of the frontrunners fell and had their skulls crushed by the feet of their comrades. It only took maybe ten seconds for the whole chute to fill. I yanked the rope holding the guillotine in place, and it fell with a crash, amputating the leg of a zombie. Three of us strained to shove it down, and the guillotine locked into place. Then we went to work.

  It was fish in a barrel, but they were diseased, filthy fish. And even if you were Airborne immune, I didn't want to create any new carriers. As much as possible I used bite immune people, but even they were in rain slickers and wearing gloves and masks. It was disgusting work; no one needed a whole lot of persuasion. Immediately we started hacking away. The zombies were helpless. It took only a few minutes to kill all of them. It took longer to drag the bodies up to the roof and throw them over.

  Then we repeated, with both chutes.

  It seemed like the height of efficiency, but my God. We just kept going and going. Ten times, twenty times. Each time they came with the same density and ferocity. And each time we slaughtered them.

  Around the tenth time, they didn't come. We pulled the guillotine open and they just stared at us. Didn't even scream or anything. They looked at us with this dumb, passive look. Not one crossed into the trap. There were still thousands of them in there... but they wouldn't come.

  Ted and I looked right at each other. The Herder was in there, telling them to stop the attack.

  This put us in quite the pickle. It occurred to me that if this herder was so smart, we might not want to eat anything from the store. God knows what it might put in the food.

  I could see that Ted was having the same idea. Poison. Disease. Hell, it would have been harder not to contaminate the food with all the filth it had let in.

  So maybe the game wasn't worth the candle. On the other hand, we couldn't let them have the store. It was too dangerous.

  I decided to call their bluff.

  The building had a false-drop ceiling. I got about ten guys and headed up there. We made our way through the roof on the little trails left for maintenance workers, then pried off the ceiling tiles. Below the mass of zombies was still roiling. All ten of us cut loose with shotguns. You could not miss. Every shot hit two or three zombies at least. If it weren't for the sheer numbers you might have called it a massacre. But even after half an hour of non-stop firing, we had only trimmed the density. Still they refused to attack.

  I ordered them to stop for a second. Where was this herder and what was he thinking? With us up here, it was only a matter of time until they were all dead.

  "Flashlights," I hissed. I turned mine on and started scanning. We weren't alone up here, I was sure of it. It took a few swings but I was right. I saw its eyes peeking around an air vent, its big blue eyes, fixed too close together in a face that looked like a compendium of every possible birth defect. The eyes where sharp and watery, and conveyed a sense of sheer hate that was almost overwhelming. A zombie lacks the intelligence to hate; it wants to feed and that is the only emotion it has or wants or needs. This thing... perhaps I read too much into it. I only saw its eyes for a second, but I've never felt so hated in all my life.

  It pulled back once my lights were on it. I was transfixed, Pete almost had to slap me.

  "There's something over that way. And over there too."

  I looked. I saw nothing. But at that moment I was the least skeptical man on the planet. It would be hard to walk into that kind of hate on a sunny day; in a dark and cramped maze of shafts and poles it seemed suicidal. Still, for a second it seemed like that was my only option. I had to dislodge them. I looked at Pete. I came close to ordering them to advance.

  The mouse becomes fearless. That was the thought that ran in my head.

  Perhaps I was a carrier, heedless of the risks? Perhaps I was just stupid, but I almost threw all our lives away in that moment, but thankfully I pulled back.

  For whatever reason they hadn't expected this. Why would they know about drop-ceilings? But I had the advantage, because I could fire at their soldiers and they had to charge a bunch of guys with shotguns to stop us. All I needed to do was remain calm.

  "Andre, go get more guys." He nodded eagerly and was gone in a split second.

  I picked four of the remaining men. I explained that there were zombies in the roof and that they had to stay alert. The rest I told to keep firing. It might take longer that way, but it was safer.

  The herders were a lot more agile than I had imagined. I learned that the hard way, when its gigantic claw shot through one of the ceiling tiles and grabbed Jimmy. He fell screaming into the waiting mass below. Other claws burst through looking for targets. The herder's claw–it looks like a human hand, except our nails are more of a nuisance, something that evolution would get rid of if it could be bothered. Its nails had a purpose. They were long and thick and ended in an icepick. Its hand was like a twisted pitchfork.

  We started screaming. I had an automatic shotgun, six shells in. I was out as fast as the gun could fire. T
o this day I have no idea if I hit anything.

  Two more men fell. We fumbled to reload, cursing and shaking.

  The dread I felt at that moment was a lot like the dread I used to feel when I was a kid and my feet were dangling off the bed. Somehow I had gotten it in my head that there were two corpses under my bed, head to foot. I knew that they would grab my feet and pull me under if I let my feet dangle over the bed. I would wrap a blanket around my feet. Every kid knows blankets defeat all night time monsters.

  It was my nightmare come true.

  The retreat occurred on its own. We ended up backing away, trying to guess where they were. We put the occasional shot through the tiles just to make sure. I saw a tile bulge, as if someone were slipping a hand around the beam that held it in place. I put a shot through where I guessed the body was. I got the fucker; it screamed that nasty high pitched scream and the zombies below went into full riot mode. I saw part of it as it fell, and the body surfed a wave of zombies for a few bizarre seconds.

  I've never seen anything so horrible. It was somehow human, but also not. It was what an alien would build if the only things it knew about the human race were the Universal Man and the pickled exhibits at a museum of defective fetuses.

  When that herder fell I think the rest of them decided to call it a day. We waited, the din of the battle below almost ignored as we looked and listened for the slightest sign that they were still there.

  Pete came with ten more guys. He looked pale. Later he said he'd seen the bodies fall, and knew we needed help.

  The chutes held from their ferocious assault. With twenty of us firing at them as they tried to cram themselves through those tiny doors it ended quickly. Soon enough there were only a few left teetering around. The biggest danger was not the ambulatory zombies, but the risk of infection from the gore. In some places the corpses were four feet high. The entire store ran with rancid, fetid blood. You ever smell a rotten steak? Imagine that with twenty tons of rotten steak. Our first priority was sealing the place up tight, and not just against zombies. We sealed the whole station up like we had the crown jewels. Every exit, no matter how small, was welded shut. Motion detecting alarms were put in places you wouldn't expect them to be. We took every step to make sure they couldn't slip back inside.