The King of Clayfield - 01

by Shane Gregory

  I put the gas pedal to the floor. Sara helped on her end, but we couldn't dislodge them. So then it was back to the original plan. I put it in reverse, and then pulled alongside them once again, ramping up a little on the bodies.

  Shotgun loaded, I opened the door to the bus. I shot two on the hood then motioned for Sara to roll down her window. She cracked it.

  "Come on, Sara! Roll it down!" I said. "You'll have to crawl over to me!"

  "I can't! They're everywhere!"

  I shot another one in the face when it started up onto the truck. The creatures were making an awful noise. It reminded me so much of the lowing of cattle.

  "I have another idea," I said, reloading. I'd gone through half a box of ammunition. "I'm going to back up again. When I do, open your door. I'll pull back in fast and just take the door off. You'll be able to step right in."

  "Bullshit!" Brian yelled at me. "That will never work."

  "What else then?" I said. "We don't have many options. Both of you are injured. You might be able to outrun them, but Jen never--"

  I stopped and shot another one.

  "Jen would never make it! The longer we sit here, the more come in."

  Sara nodded.

  "Go," she said. "Come back fast."

  "No!" Brian said. "That door is the only thing between us and them."

  I did it anyway. I backed up.

  Don't open it too soon, Sara.

  I put it in drive and barreled toward them. Just before I got to the truck, the driver's door opened. One of the creatures was right there. It started in. I smeared it against the side of the truck, and then slammed on the brakes to keep from overshooting them. The door didn't come off, but it bent back against the front fender. The two vehicles were only inches away from each other.

  The twisted remains of the thing that had once been a woman were between us and still struggled to get in the cab. I opened the bus door and beat it down with the butt of my shotgun.

  "Kill it!" Jen yelled.

  I didn't want to shoot it this close.

  "It'll splatter," I said.

  "Do it anyway! Fast!"

  I put the gun against its head and pulled the trigger. Gore sprayed out away from the blast like a giant sneeze.

  We'd all be getting drunk that night if we made it out.

  I helped Sara through to the bus. I had to shoot two of the things away before Brian could come through.

  "Come on, Jen!"

  She was having trouble scooting across the seat. I handed the shotgun to Brian and crawled into the cab. He fired the gun, but I didn't turn to see. I grabbed Jen and trusted Brian to keep the things off me.

  "Sorry," Jen said.

  "We're fine," I said. "Just try and help me."

  She untied the straps that held the splint on her leg. She bent it and winced.

  "Okay," she said. "But this is going to hurt."

  She pushed herself toward me with her legs and cried out. Brian fired again. The empty red shell bounced off my back then dropped to the space between the vehicles. Even in all the moaning and lowing I could hear that hollow plastic sound as it rattled to the gravel below.

  I was in the bus. I had Jen under her armpits. I slipped back against the bus steps and Jen fell back on me. We were both on the bus, not fully, but enough. Sara had already shifted it into drive and we were rolling. Jen and I had to pull out legs up in the air to keep from having the clipped off in the doorway.

  Even after we cleared the front of the truck, we had to keep our legs up and out-of-reach of the clawing hands of the undead.

  Brian started helping us up, but we were already out of the driveway before both of us were completely in and the door was shut. The creatures pursued us--a running/jogging/shuffling mob. Some were wild things and others were ambulatory corpses. They all funneled in down that long driveway between that white board fence trying to catch us, but we were too fast.

  "Everyone okay?" I said.

  No one answered. They were alive, but that was all. Jen's wounds had opened up. There was blood soaking through her jeans.

  CHAPTER 44

  I know how these things are supposed to end. I've seen the movies; I've read the books. The little band of survivors is supposed to make a perilous trek to some possible safe haven, usually to find it overran or deserted. Or they dig in, and, standing back to back, they engage in an epic battle with the horde that surrounds them.

  Maybe somewhere in the world those scenarios were playing out with different groups. In Grace County, Kentucky, just a few miles southeast of Clayfield, this particular little band of survivors just wanted a place to hide. Two of us were injured. We had only one working gun with ten rounds (give or take), no food or water, and only the clothes on our backs. Supplies could be had for now, but a place to hide and truly be safe had been impossible to find.

  For our group, there might never be a decisive end, just a dwindling--a dwindling of resources, health, people, hope, and will to live.

  Sara entered the little community of Farmtown. She took us through the shuffling crowd and abandoned cars with slow, serpentine turns. The bus swayed. Jen's jeans were down around her ankles, and she was wrapping her thigh with my t-shirt. The bandage she'd put around it that morning was completely blood-soaked.

  "Has the bleeding stopped?" I said.

  "It will," she said. "But all my medicine is back at the truck."

  "We'll give them time to leave, and I'll go back."

  "What if they don't? Something was drawing them there."

  "We're thinking the smoke from the fire," Brian said.

  "We've always had a fire," she said. "No, something changed."

  "It's warmer today than it has been," I said. "It's also windy. Maybe they picked up our scent or something."

  "I sure picked up their scent," Brian said.

  "Do you think..." Jen started, then stopped.

  "What?"

  "Never mind," she said, "it's silly."

  She secured the bandage with her belt then pulled her jeans back up.

  "No," I said, "nothing is silly. What are you thinking?"

  "Well, I started my period last night. It's no big deal, but I've read before how some animals can pick up on that."

  Brian shook his head.

  "Urban legend," he said. "Or rural myth.... either way."

  "Okay," Jen shrugged. "It must be the wind and smoke."

  We passed through tiny Farmtown almost as quickly as we'd entered it, headed back toward Clayfield. Less than a mile away from the town was the Farmtown Elementary School on the right. On the large playground in front of the school was a crashed Chinook helicopter. It was bent in on itself and the double propellers were tangled together. It looked like a massive sculpture. Bodies lay all around it.

  "Sara," I said, "pull in. I want to check it for supplies."

  She looked at me in the mirror then pulled into the entrance to the school grounds.

  "Stop right here," I said.

  I made sure the shotgun was loaded, and then I stepped out of the bus. I turned and looked back up at Sara.

  "Keep the engine running," I said. "I'll try to be quick."

  Chinooks were troop transports. I'd seen them in the sky many times on their way to and away from Fort Campbell. If no one else had gotten to the crash there could be weapons on board and possibly food.

  The helicopter looked like it came down on its tail. The cockpit area wasn't as damaged as the rear. There had been no fire, and the craft wasn't as mangled as one might expect. This led me to believe it hadn't fallen that hard. Maybe it hadn't been that far off the ground. The bodies on the ground all had head wounds. There were spent rifle and pistol casings everywhere.

  There was a door toward the front near the cockpit. It was open like the black entrance to a cave. It was about chest high and at an angle. I stepped up to it and stuck my head in, letting my eyes adjust to the low light. The cockpit was to my right. The bay was to my left. Both were tilted up in sort
of a gentle V shape because of the crash. There were still soldiers strapped in their seats in the transport bay. They were wearing green camouflage, helmets, and goggles. They were no longer people. The two creatures--once a man and a woman--looked at me with curious expressions. The side of the male's face had been eaten away by the female. His bare jawbone was exposed.

  The female reached for me and moaned.

  They both had a sidearm. There were rucksacks in the floor in front of them, too, hooked somehow to keep them from falling. I looked up to the rear of the vehicle toward the large cargo door. There was a big, tarp-covered crate back there held in place with wide orange netting. On the floor, between the two soldiers and the cargo, was an M4 carbine. There was a square door in the floor, too, but it was closed.

  I climbed inside.

  First, I pulled myself forward to the cockpit. The seats were empty, but there was a map tucked into a slot next to the seat on the left. I took it. I eased myself back down, and then turned my attention to the things strapped in the seats. I wanted those rucksacks and guns. I could stay far enough away from them to get the M4, but I didn't know how to get the other things without shooting them. They were wearing helmets, which would make it more difficult. Plus, shooting them would be loud.

  I was also very curious about that cargo container.

  I'd have to do this as quickly and as quietly as possible.

  A short honk on the bus' horn got my attention. There was a difference in the sound of the engine, and I heard it pull away. We must have attracted some. I didn't let it deter me from going after the stuff.

  I secured my shotgun in one of the seats then pulled myself along the wall opposite the soldiers. The female hissed and growled and strained against her shoulder harness. I made it to the M4, braced myself to keep from falling, and picked it up. The man on the roof at the high school probably had a similar weapon, possibly taken from this very craft.

  I slung the rifle on my back and continued to pull myself up to the crushed rear of the helicopter. I hooked my fingers in the netting with one hand and reached in with the other trying to open the container. I couldn't figure out how to get it open. The M4 and the rucksacks (if I could get them) would have to do.

  As I made my way back down, I looked out the window toward the school. The bus was driving slowly in the parking lot while four of the zombies followed behind.

  The two in their seats were still watching me, probably waiting for me to slip. I made my way back down until I was directly across from them. I sat in one of the seats to steady myself. I could pass on the handguns, but I really wanted those bags. There would probably be extra ammunition inside for the M4.

  Using the rifle, I poked at the bag in front of the male. He wasn't as animated as the female, and I thought I had a better chance of getting his. The bag shifted but not much. It was hooked to the front of his seat by a short strap.

  The bus horn honked again. It was still near the school.

  I climbed back up then crossed over to the other side. I sat down two seats up from the male. He turned his head toward me, but that was all. I decided to go for it. I held onto the seat, squatted in the floor, and reached for his bag. He made a gurgling sound but didn't try to reach for me. The female stretched for me. I could just touch the strap with the ends of my fingers. I would have to get closer.

  The light changed. I looked down toward the door. A zombie was there in the doorway. Out the window, I could see more coming.

  I edged closer and leaned in again. I grabbed the strap and fidgeted with the hook, all the while keeping my eyes on the male. He kept his eyes on me, too. He never made any attempt to even touch me.

  The hook came loose, and the bag started to fall. I caught it, but it was heavy, and threw off my balance. It slid down to the lowest point pulling me with it. On impulse, I reached out to stop my fall and grabbed the female's ankle. An expression that could almost pass for delight came across her face. She still couldn't reach me; the shoulder harness kept her up in her seat.

  I was stretched out there in the floor, both arms extended, a forty-pound (at least) rucksack in one hand, zombie foot in the other. The creatures outside the door were clawing for me, too, but there was no danger of them reaching me.

  Despite my precarious position, I was feeling pretty confident. I was right there anyway. Why not get her bag, too?

  I dropped the bag I was holding so that it would slide down to the back wall away from the door. Then I turned myself on my belly and unhooked her bag. I let it slide down with the other.

  She was beside her self with frustration. She actually let out a howl and stomped her feet. I scooted down with the bags. There were four of them right outside the door. I could see more in the distance. It was time to give that M4 a go. I held it sideways, looking it over, trying to see if I could figure out how to use it. Like the AR-15, it was very lightweight.

  In movies, I'd always seen them pull back on that thingy on the side, but I didn't know if that was how it should be done, or just because it looked good for the sake of the movie. Actors always pumped shotguns unnecessarily in movies to punctuate what they were saying. If a person were to pump a shotgun like that in real life without having fired it, they'd unload the weapon. I didn't want to unload this weapon; I wanted to use it. The safety was already off.

  Maybe it was ready to go...

  I pointed it outside toward the nearest creature and squeezed the trigger. It fired off three rounds before I knew what was happening. There wasn't that much recoil either. The target's head jerked backward and it fell.

  "Hot damn."

  I put it to my shoulder, and careful to only fire one round at a time, I took out the remaining creatures. The horn honked again, closer. Since I was making noise anyway, I turned the weapon on the two strapped inside--one each, right through their goggles. It had become so easy to do that. I almost didn't feel anything anymore. Once they'd slumped forward, I pulled myself up to them.

  I removed their pistols and dropped them down to the bags. I also found an extra magazine on each of them for the M4. If I'd had the time, and if I could have gotten past the smell, I would have removed their body armor. But that was a big "no" on both counts.

  I stuffed the pistols, map, and magazines into the rucksacks, put both bags on my back, and hopped out of the helicopter with the shotgun in one hand, and the M4 in the other. It felt like I was carrying at least 100 pounds extra weight, and I went right to my knees when I hit the ground. More of the monsters were coming in. Sara pulled the bus up as close to the playground as she could. I stood and went as fast as I could to get aboard.

  We found a big empty house between Farmtown and Clayfield to hide in for the night. When I say it was empty, I mean just that. It was completely empty with a realty sign in the front yard. It did have gas logs and a big propane tank outside, so we'd be able to stay warm. Unfortunately, there would be no bathing. We all had varying amounts of blood splatter on us, and there was the lingering smell of decay.

  There were MREs in the soldiers' bags, but Brian was the only one with any sort of appetite. We discussed whether we should return to the Lassiter Stables. We also discussed all the possible reasons why they would have come in such numbers so unexpectedly.

  Jen's menstruation wasn't ruled out, particularly when Sara told us that the whole time she'd been surrounded in the church she'd been on her period, too. Jen also added that the blue house on Bragusberg Road, as well as the building behind the courthouse were all surrounded while women were inside. It could have been a coincidence, but there might have been something to it.

  "The stories about animals pertained to pheromones," Brian said. "From what I've read, the pheromones of one kind of animal do not affect another kind. That's why I said what I said. Of course we and they are of the same species, but in this situation, if it was indeed the reason, it might have been the blood itself. Jen's leg injury might have contributed to it, too.”

  "Like sharks," Jen said.
>
  "Yeah, maybe," Brian said.

  "It all happened so quickly," I said. "I never asked.... Brian, did you and Sara update Jen on the other problem?"

  "Yeah," Jen said. "They told me about the other survivors. They sound like a bunch of dicks."

  "Probably the same group from Lowes, so yeah," I said.

  We took inventory of our haul from the Chinook. The contents of the bags were almost identical except for the toiletry kits and the sizes of the clothing.

  Each bag contained: one T-shirt, two MREs, two pairs of socks, a gun cleaning kit, night vision goggles, a poncho-style raincoat, a plastic bag, 1 magazine for the M4, 1 magazine for the 9mm handgun, a small first aid pouch, and a small toiletry kit. In addition to these items were the two 9mm handguns, map, and two additional magazines for the M4.

  "You did good," Jen said. I felt pretty good about myself, and was about to say something, but then she added, "Gun-wise. They'll come in handy. Of course, we'll need water and food pretty soon. I don't know if it was worth all the trouble no more than you got."

  "What about the night vision?" I said. "That's going to be a huge help."

  She shrugged, seemingly unimpressed.

  "You and Sara better put them on," she said. "It's dark out, and we need booze."

  "We can wait and drink tomorrow," I said. "We have a few hours before the fever kicks in."

  "A few hours at most," Jen corrected.

  "Do you think we'll have to live the rest of our lives like this?" Sara asked. She was already wearing the night vision goggles, looking out the front window.

  "By 'rest of our lives' do you mean until we get old or until we die?" Brian said.

  She tilted the lenses of the goggles up and turned around and sighed.

  "I'm so tired," she said.

  "Me, too," he said. "Weary, actually. I'll go out to find alcohol. If all you need is a getaway driver, I think I can do that. You stay here with Jen and rest."