by R. J. Spears
As soon as his feet hit the ground, he looked the man’s way, but he was blotted out from view by the approaching zombies. The gun boomed and one of the zombie’s head exploded, sending a spray of blood into the air. The man fired twice more and the other two zombies went down in bloody masses, missing most of their heads.
“Don’t just stand there,” the man growled.
Aaron froze in place for a moment, taking in the horror of the scene. These things had once been human, living real lives -- walking and talking, and now they were going to kill and eat him. But now they had no heads and this spark plug of a man stood at the corner of the building, smoke wafting up from the barrel of his shotgun, looking as confident as Clint Eastwood ever had in a Dirty Harry movie.
“Come with me if you want to live, because I’m getting the fuck out of here.”
Aaron broke from his trance and started toward the man with the shotgun.
“Hurry the hell up!” the man shouted. “The ones in front will be here fast.”
The man was right. When Aaron got to him, he could see down the narrow corridor between his apartment building and the house next door was filling with the undead.
As soon as he got beside the man, the man asked, “What’s your name?”
“Aaron,” he replied, his chest feeling tight and his breath coming out in ragged gasps.
“Get rid of the dumb ass frying pan,” the man said, watching the approaching zombies and weighing whether to shoot or not. “That thing is about as useless as a cardboard house in a hurricane.”
Aaron took in the man, but discovered that he wasn’t all that small. Aaron’s own size and the fact that he was looking down from the fire escape seemed to distort the man’s size, but he wasn’t all that big either. Aaron guessed he wasn’t much bigger than five foot, five.
“Let’s go this way,” the man said, pointing down the alleyway toward a bisecting alley that led up a hill.
“What’s your name?” Aaron asked as they started running down the alley.
“Brandon.”
Brandon, Brandon, Brandon...Aaron thought as he glared back at Kilgore. Brandon had saved his life. Brandon had shown him how to survive and how to defend himself. Then Brandon had taught him how to attack. He had taught Aaron how to be a man.
Now, Brandon was dead and this piece of shit commander with a stick up his ass was alive and trying to tell him what to do. Trying to lord over him and the others like he was king shit.
Aaron would have none of it.
The problem was that the Colonel did hold all the power. He had the manpower and his men had all the guns. He was also close to the edge of insanity, but no one could really see it except for maybe Sergeant Jones. He alone could see the frayed edges, red sleepless eyes, and nervous tics.
Kilgore crossed his arms and took Aaron in. Then he said, “I think it’s time you talked. You can show me all your bravado, but everyone in this room knows who is in charge.”
“What are you in charge of?” Aaron shot back. A small set of soldiers who should be defending us rather than threatening us?”
“You don’t know the big picture,” Kilgore said. “We have a greater responsibility to humanity.”
“I look around all the people in this room and they are all human,” Aaron said. “Don’t we count?”
Kilgore started to simmer again. “This is getting us nowhere.”
“So?” Aaron asked, spreading his arms out. “What are you going to do?”
A cork popped inside Kilgore and he started toward Aaron, slowly clenching and unclenching his fists.
“Bring it on,” Aaron said, holding his hand out toward Kilgore in an invitation.
“Colonel Kilgore, can’t we--” Sergeant Jones asked rising from his seat.
“Keep your mouth shut, Sergeant Jones,” Kilgore spat out as he closed on Aaron.
The room went quiet like before a schoolyard fight, but this wasn’t the schoolyard, and the stakes were real. Life and death. No one, including most of the soldiers, knew where this would end, but it didn’t look like anyone would be skipping down the yellow brick road.
Aaron had size and youth over Kilgore, but Kilgore had years of experience and training. Aaron simmered with anger, while Kilgore was driven by a tinge of insanity and a spoonful of desperation with some just plain pissed-off thrown in for good measure.
Aaron stepped further away from the crowd to get good separation as Kilgore closed the gap. Kilgore stopped just a few feet from Aaron, keeping his eyes locked on Aaron the whole time. Neither one had their fists up, but both were ready for the other to take the first punch.
“If you think your hard stare is going to melt me, think again, asshead” Aaron said.
Kilgore made the first move, feinting a quick left jab at Aaron’s face. Aaron barely got out of the way in time, underestimating the older man’s speed. Kilgore didn’t rest with the feint but came in with a right that clipped the side of Aaron’s jaw, knocking him off balance.
Between Brandon and Greg’s hand-to-hand combat training, Aaron was decently equipped, but he hadn’t been trained and honed by regular bouts of training like Kilgore. If the military did one thing, it trained you to be a fighter.
The one thing that Aaron had going for him was anger. The kettle inside him went from simmering to a full boil in milliseconds as he swept out a sidekick that smacked off Kilgore’s thigh, but the older man dodged at the last moment, reducing the effect of the blow. Still, he knew he would have a massive bruise there tomorrow.
Kilgore knew he has underestimated this big ox of a man, but he wouldn’t do it again. He danced away as Aaron shook off the effects of the kick, but felt like he had dodged a bullet. They circled each other, looking for an opportunity. Aaron kept his arms in close to his sides, storing up all that kinetic energy. Kilgore’s kept his arms away from his body, his hands seeming to dance in the air, poised for a strike much like a bird of prey.
Aaron was big, and lumbering and Kilgore was deft and nimble, but Kilgore was not a small man, by any means. He had enough meat and muscle on his bones to take almost any man. He just looked a little small when compared to Aaron’s bulk.
Kilgore feinted in but jumped away at the last moment. Aaron swung a long and looping punch that was more defensive than offensive. Kilgore moved well for his age and swept in around the blow and popped two quick jabs in Aaron’s side. Each one felt like hammers hitting his ribs.
Aaron grunted from the impact, and the people from the Manor collectively gasped. Jo readied herself to make a rush at Kilgore if this got out of hand, regardless of the armed soldiers around the room.
Aaron stumbled away from Kilgore, but quickly righted himself. He realized that if he let Kilgore dance around him, taking shots whenever he could, and then get out of range, he would be toast. He waited and watched as Kilgore moved in an arc around him, looking for an opening. Kilgore reached the end of his arc and crossed his back foot in the opposite direction and that’s when Aaron saw his chance. He launched himself forward with a roar, both of his arms outstretched like a net, hoping to envelop Kilgore. Once captured in Aaron’s big arms, he would draw Kilgore in and crush him.
That was the plan, at least.
Kilgore dodged back to the left and Aaron jerked in that direction. Kilgore tried to limbo himself away from Aaron’s pawing hand, but Aaron leaned in, off balance, and caught Kilgore by the arm, clamping his hand down like a vice. Aaron yanked Kilgore in towards his body and readied his other arm to close around Kilgore, trapping him in a death grip.
Kilgore saw that he was caught and used the momentum of Aaron’s tugging to his advantage, surrendering to it. He flew into Aaron’s closing arms, but at the last moment, Kilgore drew back his head and jerked it forward, almost convulsively, smashing his forehead into Aaron’s nose. It was like smashing a huge, wooden sledgehammer into Aaron’s face.
Everybody in the room heard the cracking of the bones in Aaron’s nose. Stunned, Aaron released his grip
on Kilgore and staggered back, nearly oblivious to everything in the room. Blood exploded from the bottom of his nose like a small geyser, sending a spray onto his chin and chest.
While everyone thought that the move had been costly to Aaron, Kilgore didn’t get away unscathed. The impact split a three-inch seam in his forehead. His blood came almost instantly, seeping out of the wound in a small stream. His head also rang from the smashing blow, but nothing like Aaron’s.
Aaron’s world swam before him, his vision scrambled and shrunk down to a murky gray tunnel. His legs felt wobbly and insubstantial. He saw Kilgore’s blurry figure a few feet away but didn’t have the strength or wits to do anything other than to stay upright, which was becoming a struggle in and of itself. His arms hung limply at his sides.
“This fight is over,” Jo shouted stepping toward Aaron.
But Kilgore shot out a pointed finger toward Jo that stopped her in her tracks. “You take another step, and I’ll have my men open up on you and your people.” He wiped his sleeve across his forehead, smearing a long streak of blood down his cheek and into his hair.
Jo stopped and held dead still. She could tell he meant it.
The brief delay allowed Aaron to rally some. His vision was still blurred, and the blood flowed freely from his broken nose, but some of the strength returned to his legs, and he was able to get his hands back up, but making a fist was a struggle. He just needed a few more seconds to regain his senses. Yes, just a quick respite to get all engines back online and ready for battle. That would fill the bill.
But Kilgore didn’t wait. While he wasn’t in the best of shape, he knew he had to strike before Aaron could fully rally. Kilgore moved in and slammed a vicious sidekick under Aaron’s slow-moving left hand. The kick landed on Aaron’s side, smacking just below his ribs. Anyone in the front row of onlookers heard the crack of ribs and shuddered with the impact. Air jettisoned out through Aaron’s broken and bloodied nose like a whale spout, spraying blood onto the floor in a short convulsive gasp.
Aaron was a house of cards now, barely able to stand. Any gains he had made were now lost and then some. He struggled to get his breath. The broken nose didn’t make it any easier. He staggered along for two shaky steps, then fell to one knee.
Kilgore pressed his advantage and slid around Aaron’s nearly defenseless right side. He punched at the side of Aaron’s head, but whatever reserves inside Aaron’s head came to life, and he shot out his right hand in a weak slapping gesture. Kilgore’s blow still made it through, slamming into Aaron’s shoulder, albeit a little weaker than before.
Kilgore showed no mercy, shifted to his right, and sent out another kick which landed into the center of Aaron’s back, sending him sprawling face first onto the floor. He was so out of it; he was barely able to get his arms out in time to break the fall.
Sergeant Jones stood and said, “I think he’s had enough.”
Kilgore stopped dancing and looked to Jones, “This is far from over.” He turned back to Jo and the rest of the people at the Manor. “You people are going to learn what it means to cross me.”
Jo felt a sinking sensation in her stomach and knew that the worst was yet to come.
Chapter 16
Shared Vision
I woke up feeling rested, and something about that seemed so very, very wrong. I hadn’t had a good night’s rest in months. Maybe in over a year.
It seemed incongruous that a full night’s sleep would suddenly set someone’s alarm bells off, but I shot awake and sat bolt upright in the bed, my heart slamming in my chest. The room was almost completely dark, and the air was cool but a little stale and dry. Thoughts flooded through my mind.
This was the calm before the storm. This wasn’t a place of rest, it was a jail cell, and I would never get out of it alive. And where was Kara? They had already taken her, and I had slept through the whole thing. What about Naveen, Jason, and Brother Ed? Where were they? Of all of my screw-ups, this one topped them all. I had literally fallen asleep on the job, and they were all paying the price.
My eyes adjusted to the darkness and I could see a narrow slit of light coming from under my door, giving just a dimmest of illumination. The room was appointed in a minimalistic way with the sturdy, but nonsense metal bed frame with a stiff mattress, a small night stand, and a metal folding chair. A light sat on the nightstand, but I didn’t want to announce that I was awake, so I left it off. The walls were made of coarse rippled metal with hard edges, painted a dark color that looked maroon in the dim light.
I slid my feet out of bed, and my boots hit the ground before I noticed that I had slept in them. Exhaustion can do that to you.
I checked my body and the floor around me to see if I had anything to use as a weapon, but there was nothing. The nightstand could be used as a bludgeoning tool, but that was a reach. I slipped my fingers into the inside of my boot and felt that small compartment I had crafted out of duct tape where I secreted away the satellite phone I had taken from the old farm house. The thing was off to conserve battery power and to keep Kilgore and his gang of soldier thugs from tracking us.
I considered sending a text back to Aaron and the others to tell them my predicament, but I wanted to find out just how bad things were. Plus, I had no idea where we were. I also imagined that they had problems of their own.
The sound of muffled voices filtered under my door, but I couldn’t make them out. I listened intently for nearly a minute, but I couldn’t hear any distinct words, just murmurs. The voices sounded feminine for some reason. I rose from the bed as quietly as I could and stepped over to the door stealthily. The door handle was one of the types that was long and thin, made out of metal, and was cool to the touch. I expected the door to be locked and kept my hand tensed on the handle, preparing to jerk the door open and readied myself to spring on any guards outside.
I sucked in a deep breath, jammed the door handle down, and ripped the door open. It flung back hard and clanged against the metal wall as I took up an offensive posture, hands up, ready for anything.
What I saw instead as Kara, Billie Sue, Donovan, and Lou sitting at a small round table. Each one of them had mugs, either in their hands or sitting on the table.
All heads turned to me, and not one of them looked like they were ready to attack me.
“Good morning, Joel,” Billie Sue said.
Kara smiled at me reassuringly, but her expression seemed to say, “Silly man.”
I let my hand relax at my sides and felt the adrenaline flow out of my system as I said, “Good morning.”
“Do you want coffee or tea?” Billie Sue asked.
There was something so surreal about this. Just two days ago, I was fighting for my life along with everyone else at the Manor. Then there was the night escape through pouring rains and a helicopter shredding our truck to pieces and another mad dash through the woods. Out of nowhere, armed bushes took us hostage and now, after a good night’s rest, someone was offering me a hot cup of coffee. Just when were the men in white coats coming to wrap me in a straight jacket?
“It’s okay, Joel,” Billie Sue said, her voice calm and soothing,” it’s safe here.”
My feet didn’t move. After two hellish days, it was hard to trust anything, least of all, a kind invitation to have breakfast.
“It is okay, Joel,” Kara said, extending her hand out to me.
That got me going, and I walked to her, took her hand, and sat down in the chair next to her still feeling like I was on another planet.
“What will it be, coffee or tea?” Donovan asked.
“Coffee will be fine,” I said, still not completely ready to accept this skewed version of reality.
Donovan poured steaming coffee into a tall mug, and the aroma almost made me want to moan. Coffee. I hadn’t partaken of it before the world went to crap, but it was now my elixir of the Gods. In all of our scavenging, it had been hard to find, but when we did, it was like black gold.
I took a sip, and I did moan, th
en looked around at everybody at the table feeling a little embarrassed.
“Don’t worry about it,” Donovan said. “It’s damn fine coffee.”
I took a longer pull, and the flavor and warmth of it invigorated me. “What did I miss?”
“Well, you slept for almost sixteen hours,” Kara said.
I felt my mouth open and my eyebrows go up.
“It’s okay, Joel,” Kara said. “You were exhausted and pretty badly beaten up from the battle. Your body needed it.”
“Where are the others?” I asked.
“They’re in the dining room,” Donovan said. “Getting some lunch. They were just as beat as you.”
“I told them about the battle with the Lord of the Dead and the arrival of the troops and filled them in on what is going on, and they already knew some of it,” Kara said.
“How?” I asked.
“Will get to that,” Billie Sue said.
“You probably want to know who we are,” Donovan said.
It was sort of embarrassing to feel the need to ask the people who had taken you in, fed you, and let you get a full night’s sleep about who they were and what their intentions were, but it was the next obvious question.
“That had crossed my mind,” I said.
Donovan paused, then said, “We’ve been preparing for this for a long time.”
“Us getting here?” I asked.
“No, all of this,” Donovan said. “What happened to the world. The way it went down the drain.”
It took me a moment, then I said, “Oh you’re one of those.” I felt bad about it as soon as the words left my mouth.
“Yes, those crazy preppers,” Donovan said and left in a pregnant pause emphasis. “But it looks like we were right.”
“You do have a point, but you didn’t think it would be zombies, did you?” Kara asked.
“No, but it was going to be something,” Lou said, jumping into the conversation. “An EMP, a solar flare, a bio-weapon, maybe a meteor or nukes. But we were ready for anything we might encounter afterward, too.” He patted the holstered gun at his side.
