by R. J. Spears
Lodwick responded, “Yes, sir,” and rushed off toward the building.
The other soldier guarding Jo and Russell asked, “Sir, what about them?”
Kilgore came back to the issue at hand and examined Jo and Russell through slitted eyes. Jo felt the seconds ticking away and knew that her life actually hung in the balance. After killing Aaron so remorselessly, she knew Kilgore was just as capable of snuffing out Russell and herself without a second thought.
She watched warily as Kilgore weighed what to do with them.
Years ago, Jo had been coaxed into going whitewater rafting in West Virginia by her ex-husband. She remembered that the night before rafting, a tremendous thunderstorm had swept through the area. The next morning they were about to hit the water, but the river ran high and hard, the water churning violently. She watched the current rush by the rocky outcroppings but paid particular attention to the rocks sticking out of the water as the brown, frothy water swept over them. They looked particularly fearsome.
Watching Kilgore reminded her of those dark murky waters. While the water in him sometimes ran placidly on the surface, she was sure that whatever was underneath was jagged and dangerous. She was pretty sure that whatever moved his waters was darker than dirty water of the river she had barely survived that day when, against her better judgment, she decided to get into the raft.
He looked back at her, and she swore he might have been reading her mind. She expected him to tell the soldier to shoot them, instead, he said, “Take them back inside.”
She let out a deeply held breath and wondered why he didn’t just have them shot but decided to take what she could get. Still, she remembered the dark and churning waters inside him and wondered if she or any of her people would survive.
The soldiers led them away as Kilgore looked to the north. He stared so intently it was as if he could actually see across the miles.
Chapter 21
Hidey Hole
Soldiers made their way into the woods, cautiously, but noisily, moving slowly, not knowing if there are one or a dozen enemies. Old man Schultzy knew this and hoped that it would work in his favor.
He stayed as quiet as he could, crouched in his little hidey hole as insects crawled over the inside of the tree and his arms and legs. It took everything in him not to take a swipe at them, but he restrained himself. Besides the insects and the soldiers, other than outright discovery, his biggest concern that they would use thermal imaging to ferret him out of the woods. Of course, they had no idea where he was, but that’s what the searching was all about. He hoped that the tree might shield him from thermal imaging, but doubted it would.
He listened intently. His hearing wasn’t what it used to be, but it was impossible not to hear the rustling of leaves and snapping of twigs as the soldiers passed by his tree. The footfalls moved away, getting some distance from him, but they were no sooner gone than another set of soldiers headed his way.
He shook his head. These soldiers weren’t that good. They should have been spread out to cover more ground. Then he nearly kicked himself. He had used a path through the woods to make to this tree. It was the least path of resistance. He should have gone off the path. Of course, they used path, too, and it would take them right past his hiding place.
Schultzy kept his ear towards the slit in the tree, partially leaning in that direction. He also had the rifle ready to yank up and blast anyone that tried to pull the bushes out of that gap. He doubted whether he could take them all out, but he would go down fighting.
Yes, he would.
A set of footsteps moved right outside the tree. Schultzy took in a large breath and held it. Gradually, he brought the rifle up and aimed it toward the gap, the end of the barrel nearly brushing against the leaves of the bush that protected him from being seen. The rifle wavered a little, and he wasn’t sure if it was his age or nerves.
In his mind’s eye, he saw the soldier outside the tree, swiveling his head across the landscape, his rifle following the motion as it came toward the tree. He imagined the soldier narrowing his eyes and seeing the dark outline of the gap in the tree through the leaves of the bush covering that gap. In fact to Shultzy, in his mind’s eye, the bush seemed almost transparent, and he was up shit creek without a paddle.
He tensed his finger on the trigger, waiting for the cue to fire. He wasn’t sure what that cue would be, but like the Supreme Court couldn’t define pornography, he’d know it when it came.
A voice boomed outside the tree, and Schultzy nearly pulled the trigger.
“Did you hear that?”
The voice didn’t boom, but in the silence, it seemed overloud.
“Hear what?” another voice asked.
So, there are two soldiers out there, Schultzy thought. He didn’t like the idea of the two soldiers but then countered that with the thought that at least he could handle two of the enemy. If he had to.
Schultzy chanced a long, but quiet exhalation.
“Over there,” the voice spoke again.
“What?” the other voice asked.
“Over there, asshead, by the two big oaks,” the first voice said.
Schultzy held his aim, but let himself breathe normally, still ready to fire.
“There!” the first voice said, rising and getting excited.
That’s when the soldiers fired. The blast of their guns made Schultzy jump, but miraculously, he didn’t fire his gun. In fact, the shock of the shots made him drop his rifle, but he caught it before it fell free and held onto it as it dangled between his legs.
Boom, boom, boom, the soldier’s guns roared. Schultzy didn’t feel any impact, but he still ran his hand along his chest and upper thighs to check for wounds. He found none, but his heart hammered inside his chest and he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t have a heart attack right then and there.
The soldiers fired a couple more times and then stopped.
“Those dead shitheads,” one of the soldiers said.
The other responded a moment later, “They must have been drawn in by our gunfire.”
There was a long pause that seemed to stretch for an hour as the two soldiers stayed in place just outside his hidey hole. Schultzy’s heart lowered back down close to a normal rhythm, but he felt sweat running down his spine, collecting at the top of his tighty whities. (Not that his tighties were all that white anymore.)
Schultzy waited, though, and heard the noise of something large and clumsy moving through the underbrush. He couldn’t tell where it was coming from, but one of the soldiers sighed loudly.
“There’s another one of those dead bastards,” one of them said. Two shots followed up this sentence, and something that sounded like wet carpet thudded to the ground.
“Definitely,” the soldier said. “It’s our shooting that’s attracting them.”
“So, the more we shoot, the more we draw in?” the other soldier asked.
“Yep,” was the response.
There was a momentary pause. “It seems like a no-win scenario.”
“What do we do?”
“Hell if I know.” There was a brief pause, and the soldiers stood, not speaking. Somewhere in the distance, there was the sound of moaning followed by the noise of bushes and leaves being walked over. “Call it in.”
Schultzy heard the soldier’s rifle butt hit solidly against the ground and listened as the soldier fiddled with something that sounded like it was made of metal and plastic. A slight static noise followed this, and the soldier spoke again. “HQ, HQ, this is Parker and Butera. This is Parker and Butera, HQ. Come in.”
A moment later a voice sounded over a small speaker competing with static. “What is it, Butera?”
“No, this is Parker.”
“Whatever,” the voice over the walkie-talkie said. “What is your status? Have you found the shooter?”
“Negative,” the soldier who said he was Parker replied.
“Then why the hell are you reporting in?”
“Don’t bust m
y balls, Lodwick,” Parker said, and his tone wasn’t very cheerful.
“I’ll bust whatever I want, private,” Lodwick said, raising his voice in his quick reply.
Nothing was said for nearly ten seconds, but Parker broke the silence. “We haven’t seen any sign of the shooter, but we’re getting zombies. We think our shots drew them in.”
“How many?” Lodwick asked.
“A few, but it sounds like there are more on the way,” Parker said.
“Can you safely go on with your search?”
“Maybe,” Parker said.
“What the hell do you mean by maybe?” Lodwick asked, his voice back into annoyed range.
“The more we fire our guns, the more that come our way. Why can’t they use the choppers for the search?”
“Because we don’t have an endless supply of fuel here, dipshit,” Lodwick responded. “Plus the Colonel wants them up in the air for something else.”
“We’re already down men, and there’s not an endless supply of us, either,” Parker responded.
It was Lodwick’s turn to delay a response. After a few seconds, he said, “Hold your position. Let me ask the big man.”
“Fucking great,” Butera said. “We get to stay out in a zombie death trap while he asks Kilgore.”
“Those are the breaks,” Parker responded.
The moaning outside the tree became louder, and Butera said, “There’s another one.”
A single shot silenced the moaning.
“I don’t want to stay out here any longer,” Parker said.
“The Colonel will have our ass if we come in against his orders.”
There was a long pause where Schultzy only heard the shuffling of feet outside the tree, then Parker asked. “Do think the Colonel’s acting weird?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, he’s always been a hard ass, but now he’s acting...acting...like he’s about to explode all the time, only from the inside out. Like he’s afraid something’s about to happen.”
Butera chimed in. “Yeah. He’s wound tight, but he looks like he’s about to break open. And what’s so important about this Jason Carter? We should just get back to Wright-Pat and call it a day.”
Parker started to speak again, but the walkie-talkie interrupted him. “The Colonel says to return back to HQ. The shooter is probably long gone.”
“Returning to base,” Parker responded. There was a click and after a moment he said, “Hell yeah, we’re returning to base, you brown-nosing asshole.”
Butera laughed, then said, “Lodwick’s nose is so far up the Colonel’s ass it should be poking out his belly button soon.”
Parker laughed this time. Schultzy heard Parker stow the walkie-talkie and the soldier’s started to walk, but then they stopped. Moaning drifted their way.
“Shit. Another one,” Butera said.
“Should we shoot it or head back?”
A single shot was fired, followed by the sound of something stumbling through bushes, then the sound stopped.
“What do you think’s going to happen to Jones?” Butera asked.
“Hell if I know,” Parker replied. “I like Jonsey. He’s a stand-up soldier, but he’s crossed the Colonel. That is always a bad thing to do.”
“You hear that?” Butera asked.
“Let’s get out of here before have a small platoon of those undead shitheads chasing us.”
Schultzy heard the soldiers move off through the underbrush and waited another ten minutes. By then he had to piss like a race horse and nearly went in his pants but held on another ten minutes more just to be safe.
The trip back across the woods was interesting, but he managed to avoid several of the undead as they wandered past him on their way toward the complex. He wasn’t sad to see them headed that way.
Chapter 22
Riding, Riding...
They say nothing is as much fun as riding a bike. Don’t ask me who “they” are. Whoever they are, they’re full of shit and surely didn’t have to ride up a mile long mountain carrying a thirty-pound backpack with a rifle and a baseball bat hanging off their backs.
Kara was jazzed about being on the bikes. While she had never ridden competitively, she was an avid biker, taking long rides in the country as a kid and was even in a cycling club as a teenager.
I could never fathom going to all the effort since God had graced us with the combustion engine, air conditioning, car stereos, and heated seats. Then again, prior to the fall of man, I was about as soft as an old pillow.
For the first few miles of riding across flat roads, it was all fine and good. The breeze generated by riding was cool and relaxing, but that was offset by all the sweating. We could take in the beauty of the countryside, riding by long stretches of woods and fallow farm fields. It was a proverbial ride in the country. Then we had to summit Mt. Everest on a bike.
Okay, it wasn’t Everest, but it was a very tall hill. I would also have to concede that it wasn’t coated in ice and the oxygen wasn’t so thin that we would die, but it was a damn tall hill. and I felt like it was trying to kill me.
We started our ascent at somewhere around eleven in the morning and were still going up at eleven thirty. My thighs burned so badly that I was sure they were about to combust. My lungs were sending high volumes of complaints back to my brain and were threatening to go on strike. I would have screamed uncle, but when I looked at the others, they all seemed to be faring well with the exception of Jason, who looked in about as bad shape as I was, taking up the rear of our little biking convoy.
Kara was out in front, leading the charge up the hill effortlessly, her legs pumping the pedals with the well-tuned efficiency of a car engine. Brother Ed wasn’t too far behind her but didn’t look half as graceful as Kara. Making me look really bad was Naveen, just a link behind Brother Ed. The only blessing of this relentless climb was that I wouldn’t be weaving in and out of abandoned cars. We had witnessed a few on our ride, but it seemed like people had seen this merciless hill and given up before even trying to start their cars up it.
That was my theory, as lame as it was.
I decided to suffer in silence and grace and continued up the hill. My memory told me that it was the highest one on our route to Columbus, but that wasn’t of great consolation at the time. It was just pedal and grind it out.
As we approached the summit, I peeked back at Jason. He had dropped further back and was laboring at making any upward progress. His normally pale complexion was nearly beet red, and I could hear him gasping for each breath. I considered going back to help him, but knew two things; I would be of little help, and he wouldn’t accept it anyway.
Between the two of us, if some unexpected raiders decided to descend on us, we might have looked on it as a blessing. At least they would have ended our suffering. Of course, when you’re suffering, you think it can’t get worse, but, in reality, it always can.
I looked up and saw Kara disappear over the top and prayed that she stopped up there for a rest, but I couldn’t be sure. As the leader, I should have had a better plan, but, in the case of riding up a very tall hill, I didn’t think I needed one. Obviously, I was wrong about that. I continued watching as I pedaled along on this ruthless hill and saw Brother Ed make it next, followed by Naveen.
I put my head down, stood up on the pedals and reached deep for the final push, chugging away, bobbing up and down. All the while, I sucked in air like an industrial vacuum, unashamed, unaware and not caring what I looked like.
My right leg pushed down then cycled up as my left did the same an instant later finding a groove and sticking with it. It was a rhythm, but a torturous one. Where my lungs had been protesting before, they were no in all-out revolt, but I soldiered on, chugging away.
The summit got closer, and I took a glance back at Jason and saw that he had abandoned the idea of riding altogether and was pushing the bike up the hill. That’s when I asked myself why I hadn’t thought of it, but I knew the answer. It
was one simple word, pride. I watched him, and his head was down, but I couldn’t tell if it was out of exhaustion or shame. I doubted whether it was the latter.
I focused on getting to the top, but it seemed like it was getting no closer as if the road were a giant treadmill, sliding away under my tires. Still, I kept at it, and a decade later, I made it to the top. Some part of me wanted a brass band and a parade celebrating my victory over the hill, but, in reality, I was ready to collapse. And there was no band.
To my utter thanks, I saw Kara, Brother Ed, and Naveen resting just off the road under a set of trees. I jumped off my bike and tried not to act as if my lungs were ready to jump outside my body in a desperate search for oxygen. To cover my exhaustion, I stood at the edge of the summit looking down the road monitoring Jason’s progress, all the while taking in huge gulps of air.
“Hey Joel,” Kara yelled, “do you want to head on now?”
I waved a hand in her direction, “No, we need to wait for Jason.” I said this sentence with long gaps between each word as I waited to have enough breath to even say the words.
“Okay, we’ll be over here,” she said without sounding winded at all. I didn’t curse her name, but my thoughts were not very pure at that moment.
Jason approached the top, pushing the bike slowly. He was actually breathing better than I was, but he had been pushing his bike and that didn’t take the effort of riding. At least, that’s what I told myself.
I walked over to meet him just as he made it and he smiled broadly at me. He made an exaggerated pantomime of being tired, huffing out big blasts of air with his shoulders rising and falling. Even though it was an act, I could see that he was nearly spent.
“Yes, that was tiring,” I said. “Between you and me, I thought I was going to die in those last few yards. But we made it.”
He clapped me on the back, and we both pushed our bikes over to where Kara and the others rested and took generous gulps of water from the canteens Donovan’s people had provided. Strength slowly ebbed back into my legs, and my lungs no longer complained bitterly about the lack of oxygen.
