by J. N. Morgan
“Want some more of the book?” Tiffany asked after having helped him take a few swigs of water, now running a hand through her fading red-dyed hair. Nodding with a grin, the man accepted the offer and so she went about grabbing the novel Sharpe’s Regiment. To her surprise, she was actually starting to get into the old historical fiction book.
At some point along the way, a memory came to mind of one of the previous books in the series and he began telling her stories, some of Sharpe’s adventures, people he’s fought alongside and against, friends he’s made, those who have double-crossed him, women he’s had, even some he’s fallen in love with. With the bookmark inside, the one with the picture of his young niece on it, she put the book down on the coffee table by the water bottle, captivated by all the things that can go on in roughly a dozen and a half novels in one series.
A brief wave was given to Veronica as she came down the steps, this time a bit more properly dressed, and though she was far from a morning person it did warm her heart to see Tiffany smiling, giggling, and clearly interested in… whatever nonsense that Ralph guy or whatever was getting on with. She grabbed the bottle of water as she passed them by, sitting herself down in the corner as she took a few swigs. Now he was talking about a series of TV movies that were made in the series, saying he’d drank to them on a fair few occasions. Rolling her eyes, her sitting didn’t last long as she got up and wandered to the kitchen, towards the fireplace. Unlocking and opening the door for said stove, she tossed in a couple bits of wood, warming her hands at the open little doorway. She grimaced as she took another couple swigs of water before screwing the lid back on. Grimacing that her Tiffy would seemingly take a fat, ugly man over herself. A slim, strong, attractive, and thoroughly dominant woman. A woman of pride, a woman of virtue, a woman of of “Fuck…”
“Did you say something, Nicky-?”
“FUCK!” She roared, the sealed plastic bottle clunking to the ground. “Fucking GET UP!” The older woman was about to object to her sudden profanity but it was drowned out by the order to “MOVE! MOVE! MOVE!” She was running up the stairs now to the guest room, that egg she had going until quite late in the night in the bid to relieve some stress had to be put away, along with her other things.
Richard looked to Tiff with wide eyes, who returned the look only briefly before quickly getting up from the couch. The sudden shift of weight jostled him slightly, and he grunted, left hand coming over to his wounded shoulder, hovering over it as the pain shot through it. Grunting, he began moving himself to sit up straight.
“AHH!” The woman shrieked as there was a crash outside the front door to her right while she looked out the kitchen window in the direction of Strathcom. Dozens of them… over a hundred? Door bust open shortly after, the base of Johnathan’s pant legs were wet; had he run through the river to get here? No, he didn’t seem quite that wet. There was a look of sheer panic in his eyes.
“BOARD THE PLACE UP! COME ON! BOARD IT-!”
“With WHAT?!” Tiff demanded, beginning to feel the beginnings of panic herself. In all the yelling, the wounded man’s groans went unheard, but now was leaning against the side of the entranceway between kitchen and living room, managing to see through the kitchen window at the horde approaching. By now, there were easily hundreds heading in their direction.
“We need to go…” he said lowly, but was drowned out.
“Hammer! NAILS! Where are they?!” Unable to lean on his right shoulder for obvious reasons, he’d made his way over to the south side of the entranceway, resting against his left shoulder while his right arm remained in the sling. Teeth were gritting.
“WE HAVE… TO LEAVE!” His voice boomed, and Johnathan was just in the process of running towards the living room to go upstairs and check the attic when the sound stopped him in his tracks.
“They’ll get in!” At a more reasonable voice he looked to the older man in the eyes, dead serious. “We’ll all die… if we stay. We’ll die slow.” Chest was heaving, shoulder was on fire, but he did his best to speak clearly and plainly. “Get your shit and… bring it down here. Tiff!” He smelled something funny as Johnathan ran past him to go upstairs. Darting his eyes to her, she looked at him with her hands up near her chest, eyes looking at him pleadingly, not knowing what to do in this situation. At least in the duplex they had been pretty safe, back in Strathcom, even if there was a horde outside, but here?
“Get my bag, get my rifle…” he spotted the water bottle on the floor. “The water bottle. Make sure we… leave nothing of value behind.” Veronica fell as she went down the last few stairs, catching herself against the northeast wall of the living room right at the base of the stairs. Right hand hit the wall, shoulder made a dent in it. She swore. Tiff ran past her man towards Nicky, speechless as she seen her young friend right herself up with her coat on and dawning her backpack.
“I’m alright.” She said dismissively, picking up the rifle she had dropped while her lantern was in the other.
“JOHN!” The voice boomed. “Come on, man!... we’re leaving!” Slowly losing volume, he informed the older fellow that they were on the way. If he were staying, then it couldn’t be helped.
They were within pistol distance outside, seriously not much time left. They had to go! Tiffany struggled, but she got his heavy backpack on her back, slung the bayoneted rifle over her shoulder, and grabbed the water bottle in her free hand. The pistol was already on her hip once more, and the spare mags for it were in a few pockets on her jacket. Meanwhile his bandolier of .303 was hastily thrust into his pack. How he managed to travel with all that without complaint, she had no clue.
With one forlorn look sent towards the cabinet that he knew contained that precious, precious liquor he so desired, he knew that neither of the girls would want to lug it around, and he himself would have a hard time making it as-is without any burden at all. It won’t be long before they’re within God damn bayonet-range, and so the three went out the front door, slamming it shut behind them. The deck was slick, stunk of gasoline; the Jerry can was knocked over and evidently the stopper wasn’t on tight enough. Going down the steps of the deck was agony for Richard, giving grunts of pain from between gritting teeth with each one, mumbling that he’d only slow them down.
Nicky did not complain, nor did she presently give a damn about the petrol she had lugged there all the way from Strathcom, or about the fact that she must have not put the stopper on properly last night when she was pissed off and poured some on her fire spot. She knew he’d slow them down, and he knew it, but in spite of her already heavy load Tiffany ducked in under his left arm, having moved the bayoneted rifle from right shoulder to left so it was out of his way, and so took some of his weight as well as the three started. She was sweating and breathing heavily almost immediately, but she kept her mouth shut of any potential complaints.
They weren’t going much faster than the dead as they made their way at a snail’s pace to the east, the Sun high above, must have been roughly noon or near enough to it. Looking back, the sight of Johnathan quickly moving through the living room to the kitchen could just be made out. Went right, towards the front door, but already some of the dead were there. Left, to the back door, and they heard it open and close loudly. The slamming got the attention of a few who were heading towards the three survivors, and they expected to see Johnathan run around the southeast corner of the building to follow but he did not materialize. There he was in the window again, something in hand, and he went to the right towards the steps in the living room.
“The idiot is fucking suicidal, come ON!”
“HNNG!” In the slow pace, doing little more than walking as she went alongside the two hetero lovebirds, her mind had been racing. The smart thing to do, and it was even going through Richard’s mind as well, was to put a bullet through his head and go on without him, but God damn it he didn’t have the guts to say it. Nicky did, but knew that Tiff would never forgive her for even suggesting such, so got the physically unfit woman
out of the way. It moved the man, pained him, but it was obvious that she could move him better than her friend could.
“Agh, nnh, fuh-GGH!” In good form the fit African-Canadian took more of his weight than Veronica had managed, and got him almost to a jogging speed, much faster than Tiff had been managing. Speed was good, but it made his arm move a lot more, and it was agony to go at this pace but he knew it was necessary so just tried to keep his weak legs from tripping up.
“Fat… fuckin’… prick…” the young woman huffed. Fantastic physical condition, true, but it was still a lot of weight to handle, yet the white woman was clearly struggling even more even without the man, but the three continued. Tiffany looked back to the house, the sound of glass breaking had been heard. Johnathan was in sight in the living room again, what the fuck was he doing?! Wait, where’s the TV, wasn’t it in sight from the window earlier? Was he trying to barricade the doorways with objects? He was scooting one of the book shelves towards the kitchen when he suddenly let it go, moving behind it, back turning to the window, and she could see some of the dead inside now only a few meters away from him.
A double-take was made to the living room window, he grasped at the book shelf in front of him, reaching down around it, and turning once more a book was hurled through the glass pane. Then another. Using yet a third book, he cleared away what he could on the bottom of the window sill then immediately through himself through it. Through the moans, the heavy breathing, the panic, she still managed to hear him grunt as he hit the grassy ground. More of the dead appeared inside; must have gotten through the back door.
The first dead to be in the house since poor Denise, they jostled about, going towards the east-facing window where the man had escaped. He now got up and began running towards the three. Tiff smiled through her sweat and panting. Nick called for her to hurry up since they were actually starting to out-pace her a bit, meanwhile the distance from the walkers was slowly, very slowly, growing. As one went to walk through the kitchen in the house, a rotting knee struck the doorway of the fireplace, which slammed against the opening. The latch didn’t catch, it swung open again, a rush of air from the swinging little door fueling the flames. Another of the dead tripped from the door, knocked against the fireplace, then fell to the slightly wet floor.
One of the bits of wood that Nick had tossed in, now burning nicely, rolled off one of the other logs. Hitting the base of the fireplace it sent up a surge of flankers, of tiny embers, and as they left the fireplace to flutter to the ground the zombie that had fell against the stove erupted in flame. Having slipped on the deck, knocking of the Jerry can, Johnathan had gotten wet with petrol which he brought into the house, dripping as he panicked in the kitchen, then ran through the living room. Those drops of gasoline caught fire, spreading it quickly.
Catching up to the three, out of breath, the oldest of the four noted how they’d all slowed to a stop, looking back to his childhood home. Looking back himself he seen a flaming walker falling through the window he had gone through, with nothing in sight behind it but flames. Smoke was soon rising from the house, the fire making its way upstairs at a frightening pace. He’d have been roasted alive if he had done as he originally planned; try to barricade himself in the master bedroom with the bed blocking the doorway.
Clenching teeth, baring them, face twitching in anger and frustration as beads of sweat descended his slightly wrinkled face, those gnashing teeth opened to let out a roar of anger. Veronica twitched, as did Richard whom then immediately regretted doing so, and Tiff quickly brought her hand to his mouth to muffle him. The dead that were following, most of them turned to look at the fire that had caught their attention. Seeing the light, the flickering, the smoke, hearing the crackling, but hearing the roar many of those nearest them turned their attention back. With SKS in hand, she fumbled at the bayonet and swung it forward, her polymer-stocked rifle now probably on its way to melting up in the guest room, having decided not to bother with it. That shotgun he used was probably doing similarly there under the bed in the Master bedroom along with poor Charlie’s uniform.
Over two dozen dead continued towards the three, Johnathan removed the feminine hand from his mouth as his anger was replaced by regret, and the four turned to leave when they all shook terribly. A staccato of gunfire was heard and they all ducked. It was coming from the house. Richard felt he was going to break his teeth from how hard he was clenching them to try and keep quiet, looking more pale.
The nearest half a dozen gave a passing look back, but continued towards the living, meanwhile all the others shambled their way back to the burning house, the attic now filled with flame; each floor on fire save for perhaps the basement. That’ll burn inevitably however, as Richard knew from his experience with the terrible Fort McMurray wildfire. Give it some time, and only a smoking hole where the basement used to be would be left. Veronica hung back to deal with the stragglers who followed while the others continued east, Johnathan now helping the wounded fellow along.
CHAPTER 8
“NNGH! NNGH! Hahhh, hahhh, fuck…” the man fought against the pain, finally sitting again. On the grass near a tree on the south side of the road, had he had his wits about him he’d likely recognize that he’d dragged that deer along here when he’d taken it down around a week ago. Though the blood had been washed from the grass by the rain, the grass was none the less slightly left flattened from where the beast had been pulled along. Only a week, it seemed like so long ago.
“Shhhhh-shh-shh-shh…” Tiff went, letting him use her lap as a pillow as she fed him water after having given him some of his meds. Extra pain killers, and of course the antibiotics. His shoulder was bleeding again, fresh redness blotting the bandaging that had been redone not long before it all went to shit. The soft caretaker was just starting to get her breath back, Johnathan looked vacantly down at the grass as he felt like he had nothing left in the world, meanwhile Veronica sat calmly, cross-legged, staring west as she watched the dark smoke rise in the near distance. No walkers in sight, thankfully, and she hoped that each and every one of them stupidly stumbled into the flames and burnt to a God damn crisp…
With the medication taken, no danger immediately in sight, and that horribly heavy pack taken from her shoulders, the older women let his head down softly to the grass so he could rest and catch his breath. Of the four of him, he was the only one still huffing and puffing like he’d just ran a marathon. Still a little winded but nowhere nearly as bad, Tiffany stood up with a feminine grunt and began to look about.
To the east, the only real direction they had, a rock-cut guided their way with a pair of vehicles broken down and crashed together in the middle of the road. A ridge ran north and south from there, which would make quite difficult traversal to the northeast or southeast. Directly north and south didn’t look to promising either, and obviously the only thing awaiting them to the west was death. No, there was only one real option, but for now she helped herself to the ground as well, lying down, letting her impressive chest heave to regain her breath.
Slowly Richard’s breath was caught, and heard to his right someone drinking out of his bottle of water; they had to conserve it. With his feet pointing west, he looked north by simply turning his head, mouth still gaping as wind rushed in and out of his burning lungs. Vera sitting with almost meditative-like attention paid to the west, towards their nearest known threat, had nothing in-hand. Peering up towards the northeast where Johnathan sat forlornly, he had a bottle in his hand, but it wasn’t plastic. Thick, black, and strong dark rum in his hand, opened, and he exhaled hotly from having taken a swig of the Kraken he had released.
“Have I… ever told you… Johnathan… how much… I love you?” Furrowing her eyebrows as Tiff heard this while looking up at the cloudy sky, she then looked over, and seen the bottled being passed from between the two men. Struggling with his left hand, trying to reach it as the glass bottle was held to his right, she couldn’t help but laugh a little before getting up to help hi
m have a drink.
