by Vohs, J. W.
Terry remained frozen in place, gaping at Luke in astonishment. “Is there something else you—?” Luke realized mid-question that Terry was staring at his uncovered eyes. “I didn’t mean to startle you; I forgot that I didn’t have my glasses on under the visor.”
“I . . . I . . . apologize for staring, sir,” Terry stammered.
“No need to apologize. I freaked out a lot more than what you just did when I first saw them in the mirror.” Luke wanted to get the explanation over with and return to the business at hand. “I survived a bite; I almost died, and the infection changed me in some ways, but—”
Terry was incredulous. “You actually survived an eater bite? I didn’t think that was possible.”
“My friends were there; they lanced and bled the wound out right away. We’d heard that a couple of people in Utah had survived by using that method, but I’m the only survivor that we know of for sure.”
“You know, your soldiers already think that the creatures can’t kill you just based on the way you fight. It’s pretty awesome that they really can’t kill you—even if you get bit!” Terry’s eyes were shining with admiration.
“The soldiers who know me might accept the way I look, but, believe me, these eyes can be a liability when meeting people for the first time.” Luke slipped on his tinted glasses. “For now, let’s concentrate on the mop-up duty.” He gestured toward the ground inside the perimeter created by the semi-trailers. Corpses were piled knee-high, arrows, bolts, and spears sticking out of the macabre pile at odd angles.
“Of course, sir,” Terry apologized, “I’m sorry for the delay. I’ll spread the word to the squad leaders.”
Luke briefly wondered what all “the word” would entail as he watched Terry scamper away, then he turned his attention back to the battlefield. The view reminded him of a painting he’d once seen with a bunch of dead knights piled up after the Battle of Hattin during The Crusades. Except these bodies were freezing in snow, and the expressions on their faces were different than those of the dead Crusaders. In the painting, the slain warriors looked beatific, their spirits floating up to a martyr’s heaven. Here, the faces of the downed hunters still looked ferocious and angry, except where cold steel had punched through cheeks, noses, and foreheads, and there were a lot of those types of wounds.
He finally turned from the scene and quickly found his way to Gracie’s side, where she updated him on the status of the troops. The small army had grown smaller during the fight; three soldiers were dead and another had a broken ankle. One of the slain had succumbed to inexperience, and would almost certainly still be alive if he had simply let go of his spear when a powerful hunter grabbed the shaft. Two others had fallen from the trailer-tops, a number that was considered somewhat miraculous when the officers considered the heavy snow that was still coming down. The injured soldier had plummeted into the horde when she lunged for a crossbow that was sliding over the edge near her firing position. Zach had been standing a few meters away when the soldier fell, and he’d immediately jumped in after her. He’d used his pistol instead of the beloved hammer, but he insisted that was only because he’d forgotten to grab the sledge before his impulsive leap. Every crossbow-wielder had also frantically worked to cover the rescue with a barrage of well-aimed bolts, a point that Maddy had already mentioned to Gracie at least five times. Luke merely shook his head when he heard that Zach had broken the rule that so many others had broken over the past six months, figuring that it might be time to re-examine the standing order that even Jack had violated on several occasions.
The corpses of the infected were being dragged to the edge of the bridge and dumped into the thick brush below the ramp; an informal count came to over a thousand dead flesh-eaters. All but a handful of the monsters were fully developed hunters, a fact that the experienced fighters found hard to believe considering the few casualties their force had suffered.
With the clean-up progressing nicely, Maddy and Zach joined Luke and Gracie for a hastily prepared lunch of beans and seared strips of venison.
Maddy was almost giddy with enthusiasm. “We really need to think about what we did right today; we might not have lost anyone if that damn snow hadn’t hit us. We were unstoppable!”
“Don’t get overconfident,” Gracie warned. “I think we were lucky today.”
“You, of all people, know it wasn’t luck,” Maddy corrected. “It was planning, and practice, and preparation. And it wouldn’t have been possible without you, Gracie. I think the boys here will agree that we’ve found our chief strategist and tactician.”
Gracie looked slightly embarrassed. “It was just one fight.”
Zach sided with Maddy. “Nope,” he argued, “you’re the one who figured out how to modify the walls at Vicksburg. We’d probably all be dead if it wasn’t for your ideas there.”
“And,” Maddy added, “you’re the one who thought of cutting holes in the sides of those trailers . . .”
“That was definitely a brilliant idea,” Zach agreed. “We should take the trailers with us somehow; forts on wheels would be awesome.”
“Hey,” Gracie, feeling self-conscious, was happy to change the subject from her leadership abilities, “I read something like that in Luke’s book.”
Luke sensed that Gracie was trying to redirect the conversation. “Which one?” he quizzed.
“That book on ancient warfare you drag around,” she replied; “something about wagon forts in medieval Bohemia.”
Luke nodded. “Ah, you’re talking about the Hussites.”
Maddy rolled her eyes. “The whose-ites?”
“H-u-s-s-i-t-e-s,” Luke slowly spelled for his wife and friends. “They used wagon-forts in the early 15th Century—helped them win a war they should have lost.”
Just then, two of Zach’s company commanders arrived with several important questions for him, and the rest of the young leaders busied themselves with their meals while Zach conferred with his men. As soon as the soldiers left, Zach announced, “We have a final count: one thousand, three hundred and thirty-two dead hunters.” As an afterthought, he added, “So what were we talking about?”
“We were analyzing our success,” Maddy replied.
“Anyway,” Luke interjected, “the main thing we did differently today was modifying those trailers. We’ve used semis, bridges, crossbows, and shield-walls before; those murder-holes in the trailers were the difference.”
“The only thing is,” Zach objected, “most of the dead had bolts in their skulls.”
“That’s true,” Gracie explained, “but our spears kept the hunters from getting at the shooters. We’ve lost plenty of people in action like that before. Luke was the only one of us who fought at Pickwick Dam, but I know our troops had problems with climbing hunters there.”
Remembering comrades lost during that desperate clash, Luke swallowed hard before commenting. “They only needed to get one hand on the edge, and they were up in a split-second; maybe only ten or twenty percent of them can jump that high, but when thousands are attacking . . .” his voice trailed off.
Gracie waited a few seconds before going on with her train of thought. “As I remember it, you were on top of a trailer with a squad of Utah troops, guarding the flank of the phalanx below.”
Luke nodded, stone-faced, thinking about what might have been if he’d had soldiers inside that trailer like he did today. “A lot of good people died on that dam.”
Maddy had seen part of the Battle of Pickwick Dam from the waters below, where she and Zach had been part of an impromptu, floating sniper team that brought down one of the enemy helicopters. “Me and Zach saw what you were up against that day; you might have killed more hunters with a modified trailer, but you never could have held that position indefinitely.”
“It was only a matter of time,” Zach agreed.
“Unlike today.” Maddy didn’t want talk of an old tragedy to dampen the victorious mood. “Today their time ran out, and they were destroyed!”
Zach high-fived his exuberant friend. “One thousand, three hundred and thirty-two demons sent to hell!”
Gracie noticed that her husband seemed a little distracted, and she regretted bringing up the losses suffered at Pickwick Dam. She tossed him a strip of venison, “Here, zombie-boy, eat a little more meat; you’ll feel better.”
Luke playfully flipped the meat back at Gracie, “Not to sound like Zach, but I’ll feel better after I take a leak. And I want to check in with Terry. I’ll be back in a few.” He found a private spot, well out of ear-shot of his dinner companions, and threw up until there was nothing left in his stomach. One thousand, three hundred and thirty two . . . demons?
Will’s head pounded as he scanned his companions for some sign of intelligence. He’d joined this pack out of desperation—he’d wanted to disappear into his former, instinct-driven existence. Nothing had turned out right.
At first, their alpha had eyed him warily, but Will had grunted, crouched low to the ground, and gestured deferentially to show that he had no interest in challenging the leader’s authority. The pack was small, both in number and stature, but they all appeared to be strong and uninjured. Will’s mind had instantly labeled them: Mostly female. Taller than the others, the pack’s alpha had pushed its pack-mates aside and aggressively howled a challenge to the newcomer in spite of the submissive behavior. Will would have retreated into the woods, but as he’d stood to go, the alpha had lunged—not realizing his physical disadvantage until it was too late. The deadly outcome was mercifully quick.
So Will was once again a pack-leader, whether he wanted to be or not. At first he’d found some hollow comfort in the familiarity of the pack, but soon the simple-mindedness of his subordinates only magnified his loneliness. They seemed unable to understand basic concepts—not one of them could follow his example of how to throw a stone to take down a bird. They would come when called, and stay when commanded, at least temporarily. Whenever he tried to leave them behind, they would somehow find him. Thus, they were all heading west together.
Will found it was easier to keep the memories at bay if he kept his mind and body occupied. It was cold, and the group travelled at a brisk pace, mostly feeding on rodents and birds. Figuring out the best ways to capture these creatures occupied Will’s thoughts—he worked out a design for a simple snare in his mind and successfully tested his idea when the group stopped to rest one night.
This morning had brought snow and strange noises in the distance. He watched his pack mates as one-by-one they cocked their heads and began to quietly moan. Will knew the moaning would only get louder, signaling the possibility of Food. He’d awakened with a typical headache, and he fiercely snapped at his pack to quiet them.
Will couldn’t identify the unnatural noise, but he did recognize another sound: the familiar howls of a frenzied pack in pursuit of Food. His pack-mates whimpered to join the distant hunt, and he temporarily felt conflicted. Will had no desire to be swallowed up by a mindless mob of his brethren, but this was a chance to separate himself from his tiresome followers. He could send them ahead and continue his journey west without them. Once they merged with hundreds of their own kind, they would no longer feel compelled to follow him.
He locked eyes with the smallest member of his pack, surprised to find that she wasn’t whimpering along with the rest of the group. She’d obviously been watching him, studying him, as he’d been considering his options. Don’t leave us, her eyes pleaded. What will become of us without you?
Will decided that he would lead his group closer to the frantic howling to see how his subordinates would react. To his surprise, they followed him silently through the forest and out onto a road where the fierce wind and blowing snow made it difficult to see much of anything. Worse than that, the mysterious and obnoxious screech had only grown louder. An alarm went off in Will’s mind: This is a trap.
He snarled a warning to his pack as he retreated back to the protection of the woods. He was curious about what was happening here, but he didn’t see any reason to expose his small group to unnecessary danger. As he led them away from the road, he could hear the not-too-distant sounds of an advancing crowd over the ringing in his ears. Will stopped to allow his pack-mates to hear the approaching horde as well, but their attention was diverted by the appearance of another alpha with a handful of followers sprinting towards them.
The group skidded to a stop when they saw Will and his pack, then the unfamiliar alpha advanced slowly and deliberately, making strange, high-pitched cooing sounds.
Will made no sound in reply, but met the newcomer half-way. They stood face-to-face in silence for nearly a minute before the strange alpha cocked his head and extended his hand. A hundred thoughts seemed to explode in Will’s mind. Instinctively, he understood that this was a gesture of friendship, but he didn’t have a label for this feeling. He reached out and lightly tapped the alpha’s hand, pointed back at himself, then pointed in the opposite direction of the road. The alpha grunted in recognition, and together the two packs hurried away from whatever danger awaited the assembling masses.
When Luke returned to the fire, he was surprised to find his friends arguing about the Hussites.
Maddy sounded exasperated. “He said they had rolling forts.” She turned to Luke. “I can’t believe I’m actually saying this, but you need to tell us more about those Hussites you mentioned after the battle today.”
Luke smiled. “A history lesson is more Jack’s kind of thing,” he pointed out, “and you usually complain whenever I start sounding like a history professor.”
“It’s in your genes; you can’t help it,” Maddy countered. “I would have thought you’d be happy that I’m finally showing an interest.”
“She’s right,” Gracie added, “you may never get this opportunity again.”
Luke’s stomach growled, but he didn’t trust himself to eat anything just yet. Talking about the Hussites would keep his mind off other, more troubling things. “Okay, so, around the year 1400 there was this preacher in a place called Bohemia, pretty much the modern day Czech Republic. Anyway, he had some radical ideas for the time, and as usual, the church managed to get their hands on him and burnt him at the stake. He’d been promised safe passage if he went to a council and explained himself, but they just tortured him for weeks and then executed him. A lot of people in Bohemia were pissed off about that, and most of them joined together and revolted against the Roman Church. Since the nobles and high-ranking clergy were pretty much intertwined in those days, that meant the Hussites were mostly a bunch of peasants.”
“Medieval peasants usually didn’t fare well in their uprisings,” Gracie pointed out. “I remember that much from world history class.”
“No,” Luke agreed, “most of the time they ended up getting butchered, but not this time.”
“Why were the Hussites different?” Zach asked with genuine interest.
“Well, a military genius from the upper class did join the movement, a guy named Jan Ziska, and he developed an army based on what resources he had available.”
“And he made rolling forts, right?” Maddy pressed.
Luke pretended to ignore her and continued, “The vast bulk of his forces were men, and some women, from the agricultural peasant class. Instead of trying to turn these people into knights, Ziska developed tactics based on the farmers’ strengths. Literally, they turned ploughshares and other farm-implements into weapons of war.” He turned to Maddy, “But the smartest thing they did was transform their wagons into rolling forts.”
Maddy smacked Zach on his head and snorted, “I told you so.”
Gracie focused on her husband; Luke sounded fine, but his body was tense. She walked around behind him and started to massage the tight muscles in his neck. “So our modified trailers reminded you of those wagon-forts . . .”
“Yeah—ouch!” Luke replied. “Which is why I should have thought of it sooner. It’s a good thing I have such a smart wife, but could you be a little gen
tler back there?”
“I’m glad you appreciate me,” Gracie responded as she wrapped her arms around her husband, “but it feels like you have rocks in your neck. I’ll give you a break since our friends here are waiting for you to finish the story.”
Luke leaned back against Gracie and continued, “Ziska would anchor his flanks with war wagons, or draw them up into laagers, and his farmers would shoot crossbows and primitive handguns from behind their solid walls. The Pope’s armies, which included knights and fighters from all over Europe, launched five different crusades against the Hussites, and lost them all. Those war wagons were tough nuts to crack.”
Zach figured out where the topic was headed. “And you’re thinking of trying to develop our own version of these ‘war-wagons’?”
Luke smiled. “Why not?”
“But where would we get the horses to pull them?” Zach furrowed his brow in thought. “And how would we manage to take care of a bunch of horses?”
Luke’s smile grew. “Henry Ford already figured that out for us.”
The plan was forming in Gracie’s mind as well. “You want to try to modify vehicles at the depot, right?”
“Yep,” Luke confessed. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and we should be able to make it work. As far as I know, all Army vehicles run on diesel; that stuff lasts a lot longer than regular gasoline.”
Maddy joined Zach among the ranks of the doubting. “The military spent all their ordnance in the war against the infected; what makes you think they saved any diesel?”
Gracie decided to run interference. “How about, we all just wait until we get down there and see what we can scrounge up? Right now we’re all just speculating, but if we could possibly get some armored-up Hummers on the road—”
“Exactly,” Luke finished. “We could advance westward on two axes, one by river, another by land.”
Zach stood up and brushed crumbs and snow from the front of his coat. “Okay, so tomorrow we hit the depot and see what we can see. I guess now we finish the mop-up and start getting packed up. So much for my plans for a lazy afternoon.”
