These thoughts had Sadie hyperventilating, turning her into more of a target.
Then Jillybean was angling towards her. She had one arm stuck out as if it was dislocated and hanging askew, while the other was pulled in close to her thin chest. It was in this one that she held her flashlight. She flicked it on, sending the beam outward to strike a tree thirty feet to Sadie’s right. For a second, the tree could have been a tall man wearing a cloak with his arms flung out in a dramatic gesture. In a snap the zombies rushed at the tree, their hideous claws scrabbling at the bark. One even launched itself at a jutting limb and latched on with its teeth.
Sadie knew she looked very human as she let out a sigh of relief and let her “zombie” shoulders droop.
Jillybean worked her way to her and grinned. “Like cats with a laser pointer,” she whispered. “Next time hold the flashlight close so they can’t see it. That’s what I forgot. Monsters don’t carry things and I was carrying a light. So silly, I know.” She was smiling in a familiar mischievous manner when a gunshot cracked the night. It was followed by two more; then came a rattle of what sounded like machine gun fire.
The tree was forgotten by the zombies who moved forward in a wave. Ahead of them were the five men that Sadie and Jillybean had slunk by ten minutes before. They were dressed in their odd scarves and with the multi-hued hoods thrown over their heads they looked like strange clumps of dirty laundry and not like humans at all.
Silently, they scurried away from the onrushing horde. They might not have looked human, but Sadie reasoned they didn’t want to risk a chance touch that would leave them exposed and torn apart. They retreated toward the courthouse and the horde followed along as the night began to crackle with more insistent gunfire.
The thousand or so zombies that Sadie and Jillybean had unleashed were nearing the school when one of the horsemen came up at a gallop. He charged right across their front, using the bulk of his animal to stop the forward progress of the zombies.
Sadie and Jillybean were stuck in the stinking crowd. They were jostled from all sides and had to fight to keep from being trampled. Gradually, the horseman started turning the leading elements on a course parallel to the one they had been going.
“Shit,” Sadie hissed beneath the moans. She was about to whisper: What do we do? when Jillybean glared her into silence. The little girl then began to slip through the throng, angling for the edge. She kept her head down but her eyes up while her elbows jutted to keep the zombies away. When she got to the edge, Sadie thought she was going to slip away, but the girl stayed just behind the zombie in front of her, some tall thing that had been a man at one time.
She stayed in his shadow as the horseman came up with his spear spun around. He was jabbing the blunt end into the zombies to keep them turning back to the shit-stinking road when there was a quick move from Jillybean. Steel flashed in the night and suddenly the horse reared up and screamed like a terrified child. It bucked, and then lashed out with its rear hooves, catching the tall zombie in the chest, sending it bowling backwards.
Jillybean stepped neatly to the side in the nick of time. She stood all alone outside the crowd of zombies, a dangerous thing, but no one noticed. All eyes were on the horse that was whinnying and the rider who had lost his spear and was now trying desperately to cling to the back of his animal.
The horse, with a six inch hunting knife sticking out of its back quarter could not be controlled. It leapt once and bucked a second time with its rear hooves flying, this time in an effort to rid itself of the rider. The man tumbled right over the top of the animal, breaking his silken wings and losing his shining helmet in the process. When he sat up he looked too much like a human.
His scream was as loud as his horse’s had been when he was suddenly swarmed.
Sadie moved away from the others and started moaning toward Jillybean. The little girl was not in character. She was staring at the clump. “She liked that,” Jillybean said in a tiny voice.
“Don’t look,” Sadie said, turning her away. “Let’s get to the truck. That’s what the plan is, right?”
Jillybean turned and though her walk wasn’t that of a zombie’s, her blank stare was. “Yeah, that’s the plan. I—I hurt the horse. I wish I didn’t have to...but she liked it. She liked it a lot.”
Chapter 24
Neil Martin
At one point, Neil had thought it an honor that Captain Grey had chosen him to be his wingman. That was before the thousands of zombies had come.
“Keep them off of me!” Grey barked. They were both arrayed as the undead in their rags and mud-daubed faces, however neither was acting the part. There was no time. They had been the last of the teams to leave the school. Grey had given Marybeth final orders: “Wait ten minutes and move everyone to the trucks as quietly as possible. Don’t let them fight over seating. Split them evenly into three groups and have them hide in the truck beds. And I want you to watch over Deanna personally.”
Marybeth had nodded but looked uncertain under the captain’s fierce gaze. “You’ll be fine,” he added, with a smile that was brief and not very comforting.
Now, Neil was wishing he had Marybeth’s job. He had thought he was simply going to assist Grey with stealing the fuel truck parked down the street from the courthouse. It sounded easy enough but was proving extremely difficult. The Duke was no fool. Not only had there been a man guarding the truck who had to be overcome, but, of course, the keys were with the Duke and the steering wheel was chained to a ringbolt on the floor of the cab.
“We can shoot it off,” Neil said after Grey had slipped up and thumped the guard on the back of the head with the butt of his M4.
Grey rattled the heavy chain and held the near fist-sized Yale padlock for a second. “That usually works best in the movies. In real life it’ll take four or five shots and where do you think the ricocheting bullets will go?” He gave a significant glance to the rear of the tanker, where ten-thousand gallons of diesel sat waiting to explode like a bomb.
“Oh,” Neil said, disappointed. Stealing the fuel tank had been one of the highlights of Jillybean’s ‘chaos’ plan. It was heart-wrenching and very scary to think they would have to leave it all behind and try to make their escape in trucks which were low on fuel.
For a second, Grey stared at the chain. He then gave it a mighty tug, testing the bolt. When it didn’t give and Neil’s face fell even more, Grey said: “We’re not licked yet. First thing is to get this hot-wired and the next...” That had been when the first gunshot had rang out. It was surprisingly close.
“You think that was Michael?” Neil asked in a whisper.
“Don’t know, don’t care,” Grey said, crawling under the dash. He took out his ka-bar and began prying back the molded plastic. “Keep an eye out and shoot any of the Duke’s men if they come sniffing too close.”
Neil almost shot Michael. He and his nephew came sprinting out of the dark, their shredded zombie-clothes flapping. “Slow down!” Neil hissed as he lowered his pistol. “Act the part or you’re going to get shot. And another thing, stop shooting. Zombies don’t shoot guns.”
Michael threw a glance over his shoulder where hundreds upon hundreds of zombies were charging. “There was a rider. We didn’t have a choice except to shoot.” They weren’t the only ones shooting. There were shots coming from all around them.
“Just get to the trucks,” Neil said. “Leave as soon as everyone is back.” Michael left, still in such a panic that he looked more man than monster. Behind him, the zombies closed quickly. Neil slunk low in his seat and then reached out and slowly closed the truck door.
“Don’t close that yet,” Grey said. “You still have to fire the flare gun.”
Neil wanted to argue that everyone had to be running back to the trucks by then, but he knew what Grey would say: Stick to the plan. “The zombies will see us,” he said instead.
Grey grunted, saying: “They’re going to see us anyway.” He then turned on his flashlight and griped:
“I can’t see anything under here.”
That had been the beginning of their problem. The zombies saw the flickering light and went bonkers trying to get at the two men. While he still could, Neil rolled down his window and shot the flare into the sky to alert the others to retreat back to the five-tons.
After that they were under siege.
Zombies piled over each other to get at them and soon they were getting close to the height of the door. Neil was starting to roll down the window with his Beretta in hand when Grey’s door was flung open and scabby, diseased arms and bodies crammed into the opening. “Keep them off of me,” he snapped. “Just don’t miss.”
Grey was lying on the floor of the cab and was completely exposed to attack. Neil shot over him. From four feet, he couldn’t miss and in eight shots he had cleared the door. Right when he lunged forward to close it, his own door opened behind him. Thinking he was slick, he spun on one knee and started blasting in that direction.
“These doors have locks, you know,” Grey reminded him.
So much for being slick.
Neil had been traveling in military vehicles for so long that he had completely forgotten about the locks. Embarrassed, he shot twice more to clear his door. As quickly as possible he slammed it shut and locked it. When he turned he saw a zombie was reaching for Captain Grey, his sharp claws already entwined in Grey’s brown hair. When Neil had first met the man weeks before, his hair had been creeping over the tips of his ears. Now, his hair was so long that he’d been complaining of being a “hippie” for the last few days.
The zombie had a good grip and started to pull.
“Do something, damn it!” Grey hissed through gritted teeth.
This was a tougher shot since the zombie was reaching up from below and Neil had to aim between the steering wheel and the side of the seat. His arm was strong and his aim surprisingly steady and yet, when the bullet left the Beretta, it clinked off the steering wheel. There was a snap of metal on metal which was followed by a string of curses from Grey.
“What the blazes are you doing?” he cried. “Get closer, damn it!”
“Right,” Neil said, realizing he wasn’t using his head at all. He crawled along the bench until he was right over the zombie. It hissed at Neil, showing cracked and broken teeth in a black, dank mouth. One bullet blasted out the orbit of its right eye, lodging somewhere in the thing’s head. But it did not die. It fell back, still with a grip on Grey’s hair.
“Son of a bitch!” Grey said.
Neil shot again, this time blasting a hole in the thing’s temple and though it’s remaining eye went blank, its hand remained clenched. “It won’t die!” Neil cried. He went to shoot it a third time, however the pull of the trigger elicited nothing—it was empty.
Neil fumbled for his remaining clip, dropping it once. Before it clicked in place, the soldier took the razor-sharp knife that he’d been using to splice the wires with and ran it across his hairline. The zombie dropped among the rest and Neil forgot his weapon and reached for the door. Ugly grey hands and fingers got in the way of it closing but he kept slamming the heavy, metal door on them until it finally latched shut. A second later, he slammed the lock down.
“Oh, man. That was close,” he said, breathless. “You ok?”
“Yeah,” the soldier said, touching his head as though searching for cuts or scratches. “Yeah, I’m good.” He sounded relieved.
A grin crossed Neil’s face. “Not as good as you think. You look pretty stupid and that’s coming from a man in purple crocs.”
The soldier felt the ragged edges of his hair and grunted out a laugh of his own. It was short lived. Just then, a zombie crawled up onto the hood of the fuel truck. It stared hungrily in at Neil just a foot away and then launched itself at the glass, smearing it with a nasty scum.
“Hurry,” Neil said to his friend. More of the grey-skinned beasts were tearing their fingernails out trying to get at them. They clawed their way onto the hood and onto the fenders. Soon, all the windows were being subjected to fists slamming into them. “Come on!” Neil said in a whining voice. “What are you doing down there?”
“I don’t know,” Grey groused. “Something’s wrong. I’m not getting any spark on any of these. There’s something wrong with the battery…if there’s even a battery in this thing. We’re going to have to check it out.”
His eye caught Neil’s. The look was full of meaning.
“We’re going to have to go out there, aren’t we?” Neil asked.
Grey struggled out from beneath the steering wheel before answering. “It’s the only way. There’s a latch on both sides of the hood. Here’s the plan: we clear our sectors, pop the hood and see what’s what.”
“What’s what?” Neil asked. He tried to smile but, instead, he looked like he might vomit.
“Yes,” Grey answered, simply. “Ready? Now!”
Neil wasn’t ready at all. Wasn’t there supposed to be a moment to collect himself or to check his limited ammo supply, or even to pray? Grey didn’t give him that moment. The soldier threw open his door, knocking over the precariously perched zombies. He took two seconds to blast away the undead creatures clinging to the fender and the hood before he snapped the latch up. He then gave Neil an incredulous look from the other side of the glass.
Neil had yet to move.
“Oh, sorry,” the smaller man said and then put his shoulder into his door. It gave way about three inches. He had to lift his feet and piston out with his legs in order to bowl the creatures back far enough to allow him to climb out onto the fender. Scabby hands grabbed at his pants and a finger hooked into one of the holes in his crocs. A cry of fear wanted to come bursting out of his throat. All below him was a wriggling, moaning mass of evil and his grip was precarious on the side mirror.
He thought he had reached the maximum of fear, only he had a reserve of cowardice in him that he didn’t know he possessed. His right croc was pulled off his foot and he went into a spasm of panic as his ankle was grabbed and his body was stretched. He felt himself being elongated like taffy.
“The latch!” Grey bellowed.
The latch was the farthest thing from Neil’s mind. He was only hanging onto the mirror by a few fingers and they were slippery with his sweat. His legs were being pulled into the gaping maws of the undead and he couldn’t get the picture of his toes getting chewed off out of his mind.
“Oh God!” he cried as he pointed the gun into the mass of undead. All he saw were leering, hungry faces and a hundred hands reaching out to him. He began firing the Beretta into the crowd, concentrating on the zombies directly beneath him.
He kept firing until he saw a hole suddenly appear in the toe of his remaining croc—he’d shot himself!
“Holy crap!” he screamed. He had shot himself, but where was the pain? The only thing he felt was a sudden coolness and his leg no longer felt weighed down by two-hundred pounds of zombie. He looked at his foot a second time and saw that the croc was gone and that his socked foot was intact save for a split seam at the very tip of his big toe.
He had missed after all! Out of the blue, he suddenly cackled like a mad-man and stuck the hot Beretta into the waist of his BDUs.
“Get the latch, Neil!” Grey yelled again.
With his socked-foot digging to find a grip on anything that would help to secure his position, he said: “Yeah, yeah. I’m getting to it.” In that one moment he felt he had finally matured as warrior. It didn’t matter that seconds before he had been practically wetting himself; that fear was in the past and was already practically forgotten. What mattered was that he had collected himself in a heartbeat; his mind had leapt back to the task at hand.
He saw the latch and snapped it up.
Grey heaved back on the hood, exposing the engine. Not knowing what else to do, Neil climbed back into the cab, shooting three of the hardier zombies on the way. When he was safe once more, he cracked his window and yelled over the endless moaning: “What’s the problem?”
The soldier was sitting in the engine compartment, hunched over and seemingly oblivious to the hundreds of zombies who were surrounding them. “The battery is disconnected is all. Do me a favor and watch my six while I get this reconnected.”
“Sure,” Neil answered. Killing zombies from the safety of the locked cab was right up his alley. With the window never more than a few inches down, he fired the Beretta every few seconds at any stiff that got a good hold and threatened to climb up at Grey. He had just fired his sixth shot when the dashboard suddenly lit up. “Oh, hey! We’ve got lights in here.”
Grey turned to the window and grinned. “Clear my door,” he said.
The driver’s side was swarming with the undead. “No,” Neil said. “Just come in my way.” Grey nodded to the idea, then, with the dexterity of a monkey, he swung out over the crowd, using the side view mirror like Tarzan uses a vine. In a second he was crawling past Neil and going to work on the wires beneath the dash. Eight more seconds passed and then the engine suddenly coughed into life.
“Hot dog!” he exclaimed, happily. Just then the first of the five-ton trucks chugged up. Everything seemed to be falling into place. “Go! Go!” Grey yelled to them and then stuck the fuel truck into gear.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Neil asked, pointing at the heavy chain that still hung from the steering wheel.
The truck lurched as Grey struggled to find second gear. “This mother is sticking,” he griped. Finally there was a grinding of metal and the ride smoothed. Only then did he glance over at Neil. “No. I haven’t forgotten the chain. We’ll worry about that when we have time.”
“How the hell are you going to drive this thing with a chain on the steering wheel?” Neil asked.
“Very carefully,” Grey answered as he heaved the steering wheel as far to the right as possible. The chain was loose enough to allow a ten degree arc either right or left. It meant their turns were going to be great sweeps and it also meant that when Grey had answered: very carefully, he’d been lying through his teeth.
The Undead World (Book 6): The Apocalypse Exile (War of The Undead) Page 28
