Taking on the Dead

by Annie Walls

  Not acknowledging me, he continues, “I won’t ever forget the first time I saw you. You were running over those putrids with a manic grin on your face.” I remember, but it’s news to me this was his first glimpse.

  “It’s not because I like it, well, maybe a little.” I grimace, not knowing it’s that obvious.

  He interrupts before I can say anything else. “I know, you think the people can still be in there. You’re showing them mercy. I understand.” That damn notebook again. I’ll burn it with the next zombie corpse. “Of course, you asked me if I believe in ghosts.” A chuckle erupts through the cab. I’m glad he’s tickled pink.

  I don’t say anything, just sharpen my machete.

  The blessed silence doesn’t last long. “You should learn to shoot a gun.”

  “You’ve voiced that opinion before, and it was taken into consideration.” I clip, and give the machete one last hard slash with the stone.

  “I didn’t clarify,” he mutters, lost in thought. “Have you shot any famished with your crossbow?”

  “Of course,” I say way too fast as he raises his eyebrows at me. I sigh, defeated. “It’s fine at close range, but any farther than ten to twenty feet, it only slows them down, except for putrids. The first zombie I saw run fast, the arrow sort of stuck, and I had to drive it in with a hatchet.”

  “It worked for you for a while, I understand. If you really like the arrows I–Mac can give you some pointers, but a gun would be useful to you. When there are more than one, and you don’t have to worry about drawing more.” I’m not comfortable using guns, and never recovered from the first and only time I ever shot one. I briefly wonder what he was going to say before he said Mac would help me. We drive the rest of the way in silence.

  ***

  Driving through downtown makes my heart ache for the past. There were many great things in Nashville. It wasn’t a huge city like say, New York, Chicago, or Houston, but still a metropolitan area. Even though it was Music City, it wasn’t all about country music.

  Sadness fills me as I take in the sights, reminding me of better times. Reminding me of Malachi. We would go to Predator’s games with season tickets Malachi’s parents purchased every year on his birthday. The times we went to see the Nashville fireworks display as the Nashville Symphony synced music to it. Malachi would surprise me with the Frist Museum exhibit openings. Our late nights in Printer’s Alley, the highlight of Nashville nightlife. A back alley with a Bourbon Street feel for our enjoyment. Only permissible with fake ID’s. The annual Guitar Drop on New Year’s Eve and our midnight kisses.

  Putting a plug on my thoughts, it’s sad to think of the history that would no longer be kept alive. Here and everywhere else in the world. Driving down Second Avenue, perpendicular to Broadway, the streets once famous for tourism with restaurants, street performers, bars, and clubs are deserted. I watch the skyline, each building as we pass. My favorite was always the AT&T building, towering with two points in the sky, known locally as the Batman building.

  Being cold and overcast, we can expect any kind of zombie. Scorch spots dot the road, with burned out cars. Trash litters the streets, blowing in the wind. Broken glass glitters, even without the sun. I can almost see the people walking the sidewalks. Something bad happened here during the outbreak.

  We roll to a stop near an old parking garage.

  “Where are all the zombies?” I wonder out loud.

  “Probably in hiding.” Rudy turns off the truck and Reece’s motorcycle rumbles to a stop. We look around and nothing. I don’t know what to expect really, thinking we’d be ambushed or something like it.

  “Maybe we should spilt up and hit the garages?” I contemplate, since zombies horde in dark and cool places during the day.

  “Yeah, let’s see what everyone else thinks.”

  I jump down from Agatha just in time to see about a dozen famished hauling ass toward Reece. We easily outnumbered them, but it’s still a sight to see, zombies stampeding, snarling and hissing ferociously like a pack of rabid dogs, drooling in their craving for flesh.

  Reece stands by his bike calmly. I know my crossbow won’t do any good. All of the famished are fresh, with no incriminating wounds on any of them. How did they turn, and where do they keep coming from? These famished all have the same look about them, dressed alike, almost like a group living together, getting attacked, and then turning. Usually, a multiple famished attack would result in ghastly injuries from being eaten alive.

  I shake my head from trying to figure out why, when it’s irrelevant. No time to think about that now.

  “Famished!” I yell the obvious, opting for my machete and hatchet. Running over to help Reece, he cocks a sawed off shotgun and shoots a famished in the head that makes an explosion of blood and icky fragments. The headless corpse slumps to the ground.

  “Whoa!” I squall in awe, having no idea where he pulled that from. Reece’s my choice for showing me to use new toys. Mac laughs at my outburst before returning focus to the famished.

  The famished change course seeing more people pile out of vehicles. An arrow whizzes by piercing a zombie skull putting Rudy somewhere behind me with his bow. He has good aim considering these famished are moving with speed.

  Sam catches my eye standing on top of a car as he watches the famished spread out with grim determination. I can make out Ty’s tiny dreads in the passenger seat underneath Sam. The moment a famished gets within ten feet of the car, Sam throws his body toward it in a fluid motion, pulling a kung fu move so fast I wouldn’t have thought it possible for his physique. My mouth drops when the zombie’s head dangles from its shoulders from a broken neck. The bobbling head only slows the zombie down. Its mouth grinds even as its own blood slobbers out.

  Ty removes himself from the car, silver glinting from both hands as he flips his wrists in an intricate motion making the silver dazzle in a dance. He nods at Sam, who turns to another zombie. I recognize the butterfly knives as Ty lunges forward stabbing the zombie with the broken neck in its temple, twisting his wrist and jerking the knife out, bringing with it blood spatter and brain matter. Gore gushes onto the concrete as the zombie falls to the ground. Ty turns to help Sam with the other zombie.

  A zombie, a little taller than me rushes toward me. I snap my mouth closed and brace myself, seeing blue famished lips snarl and gnaw as if it already has flesh in it. It launches toward me the rest of the way. I move left while I arch the machete with my right hand, covering my face as dead plasma spurts all over me. It’s sticky, bringing a stench of coppery, rotten meat. The famished goes down, choking on clods of blood while snapping at me. I swallow a lump that forms in my throat. Its hands grab at me as I hack at his head that finally comes off and rolls gingerly down the sidewalk, leaving a thick blood trail like a slug.

  I look up in time to see Bunyan kick a short famished in the chest. The famished zombie falls backwards, taking another one with it. It’s almost comical how Bunyan lives up to my first impression. Several bullets shower the fallen famished, effectively cutting off their heads in the process.

  My ears ring from the echoes the shots bounce off the buildings. I search around before realizing the shots come from the top of the parking garage. A man on Bunyan’s team struggles with a chain around a famished throat. The zombie was sprawled out on its stomach with it arms and legs wildly trying to get his captor. Several shots hit concrete next the guy, spraying up dust. The guy freezes in shock, glancing around him. That’s all it takes for the zombie to gain some momentum.

  “Watch out!” I scream, but it only distracts him further as the zombie’s mouth bites down on his forearm, taking out a chunk of skin and muscle. The guy shrieks out a manly cry of pain. More shots are fired, hitting the zombie and the man. I watch in horror as blood pools out from his forearm and the hole in his head.

  “You’re surrounded! Put your weapons down, or we’ll shoot!” A booming voice from the sky yells. It’s deadly quiet as we all take in our unexpected situation tha
t’s only about to get worse. I search the top of the building for the source. Glancing at Rudy, he’s covered in zombie gore. With narrowed eyes, he wipes a big hunting blade on his jeans.

  “Who are you? Show yourself!” Rudy calls back, remaining calm.

  “People who will shoot you if you don’t put your weapons down!” An angry voice screams down at us, echoing throughout the buildings. I can’t tell how many there are, and worse, what they want with us. Rudy’s scans the surrounding buildings. Mac doesn’t look happy. In fact, he looks down right murderous.

  Movement catches my eye in the parking garage. The same garage the zombies came from. I keep my eye in that direction expecting more famished to come running out.

  “What do you want?” Rudy yells to no one in particular.

  A long moment passes with nothing said. The silence is deafening.

  “Leave the girl. Get in your vehicles and leave!” is the response.

  I’m sure color drains from my face, probably turning a ghastly shade of green while my stomach plummets. I swallow. Why me? Movement catches my eye again. A man in black hides in the shadows, watching with curiosity from the darkness of the garage.

  Mac’s attention moves toward the alley in front of him. A man steps out holding a gun to him. “All of you get down on your knees.” No one moves. The man bites his lower lip in a high pitched whistle. A shot rings out, and another one of our men drop to the ground. “Do it!”

  The man stares at me, and holding up my hands in a peace gesture, I start to lower slowly. Taking the opportunity, Mac hits him with his hand in a chop motion directly in the man’s throat. The man gags, and goes to swing. Mac easily avoids it, chopping him in the gut before cradling the man’s head and twisting violently.

  All hell breaks loose before the man hits the sidewalk.

  Gunfire going in all directions, I turn to run, but someone comes from nowhere and lands on top of me. Falling to the pavement, I catch myself on my hands. Gravel digs into my palms and oil from the street is thick in my nose. My knee hits the curb of the sidewalk with a crack, and my machete clatters away as the person yells out.

  “Get off! We need to get out of here!” I manage while looking over my shoulder. Mac.

  “There was another guy on the street aiming for you, and just shot me, so you’re welcome!” he snaps, obviously in pain.

  “What?” I screech. Was it the guy in black? At this point our men hide behind the cars, and I spot the targets now that the sun decided to make an appearance. They keep shooting, and we’re both out in the open. I wiggle and Mac gets up groaning, but he does it quickly while covering me. A bullet whizzes by his head, causing his eyes to widen as he ducks. The bullet pings off Agatha, the truck. We both do a panic duck at the ricochet. Coming around the truck, Rudy and a couple of his team squat behind it, taking cover. He visibly relaxes when he sees us.

  “We need to go.” Rudy, Captain Obvious, states.

  “Mac is shot,” I tell Rudy, looking Mac over. He breathes heavy and sweat starts to bead his upper lip. “Where are you hurt?”

  Mac swallows, “Nothing major. Let’s go!”

  Rudy whistles and gestures for everyone to follow. Throwing open the driver’s door, I leap in turning to help Mac up. I yelp when Mac tumbles into my lap from Rudy’s boost. He shoots Rudy an indignant look as Rudy hops in, slamming the door, starts the engine, gasses it, and speeds off. I wiggle over to the passenger side. Mac still looks irritated from Rudy pushing him into the truck, and on top of me.

  Glancing in the side mirror, the vault doors swing wildly, shots expel out from the back, the team still in counter attack mode. As we turn the corner, Reece’s Hog sits, being left behind. The guy in black steps out into the street to watch us retreat.

  ***

  “Was anyone else hurt or killed?” I need to know.

  Rudy shakes his head, “I don’t think so.”

  I let out a breath, relieved for the moment. I turn to Mac, “You idiot! You should have just ran!” I want to say something about that man, but I know it’s pointless. He did what he had to do.

  “No way, I saw him…and nothing went through my mind, just action,” he grunts, bleeding on the seat looking rather Casper-like. Blood stains my jeans from his brief stint in my lap.

  “Where were you hit?” I ask reluctantly. It looks like he could have been hit in a large artery with all that blood. Checking my palms over, they’re scratched, but nothing I will even call minor.

  Rudy coughs back a laugh. He bites his lips together to keep from doing it.

  “What the hell is so fucking funny, Rudy?” I demand as he glances at Mac. Nothing is funny about this situation. People died. Mac’s injured, and so many questions start popping into my head, I don’t know where to start. They both burst into laughter at the look on my face. Mac’s laugh is more of a wheeze, but he smiles at me.

  His ocean blue eyes gleaming, “I was shot in the ass. Will you kiss it and make it better?” They both choke out more laughter. They think this is hilarious. I glare at them, trying to keep a straight face, hard to do with both of them laughing contagiously.

  “If you don’t remember what happened to my wound, I’ll just tell you, infection doesn’t feel good.” I’m upset Mac is bleeding, but I won’t be able to keep from laughing if they keep making jokes.

  “Sumthin’ jumped up and bit mae!” Mac jokes in a perfect imitation of Forrest Gump. Okay, so that’s funny. I couldn’t hold it any longer, I laugh with them and realize they might be laughing just to relieve the stress of our earlier predicament. It helps.

  When we all calm down, Rudy shakes his head still grinning, “We’ll clean it. Help out the medic. If Kan helps, I can dig out the bullet for you,” he says in a more serious tone.

  Mac’s head flops back on the seat, making his curls bounce. “Gee, thanks,” he mutters sarcastically, making me feel horrible. Another person trying to rescue me, when I usually deal with things on my own.

  Curiosity burning, I ask, “Mac, was the guy that shot you wearing black?”

  He stiffens. “I don’t think so, I’m pretty sure it was a brown shirt.” Mac looks like he’s getting ready to say something.

  Rudy chimes in, “Black canvas?”

  I think about it. “Could have been. The pants had lots of pockets.” Watching him, he stares at the road intently. “Have you seen him before?”

  Rudy blinks, eyes never leaving the road. His grip on the wheel tightens, the tendons white. “The people that took over the Clarksville base wore black canvas. The same ones that killed living people who didn’t deserve it.” I remember the story he told me about the men who went in guns blazing, and how he had barely escaped the famished. Reliving it, he remembers what he doesn’t want to remember.

  He glances at Mac. Mac shrugs and doesn’t say anything. His tongue runs along the inside of his bottom lip, lost in thought. A war seems to be raging on behind his blue eyes. They sparkle looking out the front windshield, seeing without seeing.

  I put my hand on Mac’s arm, “Thanks, for covering me,” I say quietly, trying to change the dark subject. He looks at me for a second without really seeing me, his eyes like windows. Hopelessness, dismay, and maybe acceptance of it all cross his features. I can’t even begin to imagine what those eyes have seen before. His pupils focus on me, and he smiles slightly. I look back out the window, knowing we’re going into something way over our heads.

  ***

  Mac does not want to be carried. Rudy lets us out on the other side of the community, using the door Glinda took me through on my first day to the Clap Trap outside the fence. I don’t want Mac to have to walk far. We decide to take him to our room to remove the bullet, and stop the bleeding. I help him to our room, and he tells me where I can get some medical supplies. He also tells me to get a jar of moonshine from his room. He doesn’t want to waste the pain medications on an ass wound. I almost argue with him, but his stubborn look tells me I would not win.

  Walking t
o Mac’s room, I think back to the events, having a weird feeling about the man in black I spotted in the garage. Something’s not quite right. The base needs further investigation. Mac stayed silent not giving his opinion at all. He knows more, but isn’t telling. From what I know about Mac so far, it’s highly out of character for him to keep his opinion to himself.

  The bachelor building he stays in is the only one-story brick structure in the community. It’s very thoughtful, splitting it up like that, families, working girls and single women, and the bachelor’s. Putting people with almost the same lifestyle together makes it hard to disturb anyone.

  When I get to his room, it’s perfect and orderly. His bed covers stretch with military tightness. No dust on the furniture and the small window sparkles clean.

  My lips pull into a smile. Walking over, I untuck the bed covers. The bag of medical supplies and moonshine sit right where he said they would be. His room even smells clean, with a hint of aftershave. I feel bad for taking him to our dump of a room. Even though we did our best to clean it. The smell is faint, but still there. Hopefully, the moonshine will take care of it.

  When I return to our room, Rudy has Mac lying on his stomach. Mac gives Rudy instructions on how to take care of the wound. I shut the door and hand the bag to Rudy.

  He says, “Mac, I’m going to cut your pants.” Rudy cleaned up some and took off his sweatshirt. He pulls a pair of small scissors from Mac’s bag.

  Mac’s face burrows in my pillow and snorts a laugh. “No shit.” It comes out muffled, so his sarcasm comes out with less heat.

  He begins to wiggle, trying to get his pants over the wound. Rudy’s caught between helping him and going ahead and using the scissors. I can tell he’d rather cut them.

  “Mac, let me help.” I walk over and grab each side of his pants and ease them over the wound. Trying not to bite my lip, my gaze follows his perfect butt muscles shaping down into thigh muscle. He turns his face toward me, and catches me looking and grins. “Oh, stop!” I laugh.