by Jake Bible
However, he didn’t think of what the force would be like for the cables. Cables, while checked regularly, that were made decades earlier and meant for easy rides back and forth, not hellish speeds that would probably cause the average workers to shit themselves.
“Yee haaaaaaa!” Diaz yells, one arm up in the air. “Ride ‘em mother fucking cowboy!”
“You can fucking say that again,” Anna Lee shouts. “Fuck yeah!”
Val laughs. All apprehension and trepidation gone. She’s DTA and so are her Mates. They live for this shit.
Of course, as the other trolleys whiz by heading downhill, part of the reason the uphill trolleys are moving like bats out of hell, Val comes to the conclusion they have maybe made a tragic mistake.
“HOW DO WE STOP?” she yells over at Stanford, whose trolley is pulling slightly ahead. “FORD! HOW DO WE STOP?”
Then it hits Stanford. The part he couldn’t quite figure out that he was forgetting back at the Bell Tower.
Oh, fuck, he thinks. The brakes…
“I DON’T KNOW!” he shouts back. “HOW DID YOUR DAD STOP IT?”
Val closes her eyes, the wind whipping past her face, roaring in her ears, and tries to think back to that day many years ago. Her mind races to the memories and she can see the images of startled faces and hear the sounds of terrified screams. Then her eyes shoot open and she knows for a fact that they made a big mistake.
“WE CRASHED!” Val says. “REMEMBER, FORD? WE CRASHED!”
Her Team all look at her, and then look up ahead at the switching station rushing towards them.
“WHAT DID SHE SAY?” Shep asks Tommy Bombs.
“WE’RE GOING TO DIE!” Tommy Bombs shouts.
“WELL!” Shep yells. “FUCK!”
The switching station is fifty yards away…then twenty…then right in front of them. Stanford can see the sparks of the cable flying through the pulleys and he smells scorched metal. None of that really registers as it’s quickly overpowered by the sensation of being weightless, as the trolley slams into the switching station and pulley system, flinging everyone inside into the front bars.
***
“What the fuck,” Collin Baptiste says as he stands waist deep in a pit he’s digging for the new part of the municipal building septic system. “Haven’t heard the bells in a long, long time.”
“Get your ass out of that hole, Baptiste,” Sheriff Marsh says, running up to the pit and tossing a shotgun to Collin. “We got a herd heading our way.”
“Is that what all the racket is?” Collin asks, catching the shotgun easily. He walks to the short ladder and climbs up out of the pit, watching all the frenzied and panicked citizens scurry this way and that. “Fuck. We’ve gotten soft, Ward.”
“You ever going to call me Sheriff Marsh?” Marsh asks.
“Let’s see, you’re the guy I used to drop peyote with as a teenager and then go throw rocks at Zs,” Collin says, racking the pump back and making sure a shell is in the chamber. “So I’m guessing no.”
“Fair enough, Baptiste,” Marsh nods. “Just don’t go spouting off about the peyote, okay?”
“Jesus, Ward, lighten up,” Collin says as the two men start jogging towards the main gate. “I’ve been telling those stories for years. Why do you think you get elected Sheriff so easily?”
“Asshole,” Marsh says as he pulls back the bolt on his Sako A7 .300 caliber rifle.
“Why do you still use that thing?” Collin asks, starting to get winded already. “You know there are semi-automatics you can get from Ross, right?”
“My daddy gave it to me,” Marsh says. “His daddy gave it to him and his mom gave it to him. May only hold 4 cartridges per magazine, but more Zs have been dropped by Marsh hands with this than probably any other weapon in the Stronghold.”
“So it’s got sentimental value then?” Collin asks.
“Yep.”
“Sentiment is for pussies,” Collin smirks.
“Says the guy with the short range shotgun in his hands,” Marsh smiles. “Good luck with that.”
Collin looks down at the Mossberg he’s holding and shrugs. “Whatever. Dick.”
***
Commander Lee rubs her face and stares out the window, watching the defensive guard start to form in the town center. She knows she needs to get out there and coordinate them quickly, but she doesn’t want the others in the room to see how badly her legs are shaking.
Monkeys.
They’re supposed to be dead.
“They’re supposed to be dead, Maura,” Mayor Coolidge snaps, echoing her thoughts. “You assured me of that. You said TL Baptiste and DTA wiped them out a decade ago. That’s why it was safe to start inventorying the Silos and getting them prepped. That’s why we’re getting the copper together and other supplies. You said having those nukes would deter the Consortium from coming at us. You said-”
“Shut the fuck up, Paul,” Commander Lee snaps. “This isn’t the time to second guess or point fingers. We have bigger issues.”
“Despite their fucked up name, that cult almost killed every Team we sent at them,” City Manager Larry Husson says. “Those Monkeys ripped through them faster than a Z through a kindergarten class. We got lucky with Baptiste and DTA being able to take them out!”
“I know!” Commander Lee shouts. “Don’t you think I know that? Don’t any of you think, of all the people in this room, I’m the most aware of what this means? We apparently failed. Now it’s coming back to bite us in the ass.”
“Why now, Lee?” Councilwoman Linda Kleig asks. “Why all these years later? And why come here?”
Commander Lee looks towards the wall in her office and the safe hiding behind the watercolor of a Colorado sunset. She knows exactly why they have come. They need the other half.
“What they’re after doesn’t matter,” Commander Lee replies. “If we don’t hold them back, then we won’t live to see the consequences.”
“Don’t you think we should be more worried about the Zs?” Councilman Tony Quell asks. “Runners are reporting seeing thousands coming up the mountain. Thousands!”
“The defensive guard and the wall will keep the Zs back,” Commander Lee says.
“But if even a dozen Code Monkeys get through, then the Stronghold is done for,” Mayor Coolidge snaps. “They’ll wipe us out.”
“Code Monkeys?” Councilwoman Kleig laughs. It’s a high-pitched, nervous laugh and makes her sound more like an old gossipy woman than the youngest Councilperson the Stronghold has ever had. “That is a ridiculous name.”
“It used to mean something else pre-Z,” Councilman Quell says.
“What’s that?” Councilwoman Kleig asks.
“It used to mean who gives a flying fuck!” Commander Lee shouts. “It doesn’t matter! They are a cult like no cult you have experienced. These are not the Ghost Dog Whisperers! These aren’t the Quarry Boys! These motherfucking nut jobs cut their own eyes out shortly after birth! They grow up blind, learn to fight and kill while blind, and bested our fucking Teams! BLIND! So laugh all you fucking want at their name, because when they disembowel your snarky twenty-five year old ass, you won’t have the strength to laugh again!”
Councilwoman Kleig shrinks back from the tongue-lashing and Commander Lee looks back out the window. The town center is full.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some people to coordinate and hopefully not send to their deaths.”
She storms from the room, turns and looks back at the stunned faces still sitting there.
“And get the fuck out of my office and go make yourselves useful!”
***
Diaz untangles himself from his Mates, checking to make sure they are still breathing.
“You alive, little guy?” he asks Benji, seeing the gash across the Runner’s forehead.
“No,” Benji replies.
“Everyone good?” Val says as she scrambles to get the cage open. “Tell me you’re good!”
Everyone in her tr
olley mumbles something.
“Okay,” she says, stepping out onto shaky legs. “Time for the second leg of our trip.”
“We’re doing it again?” Alastair asks, holding his head back as his nose gushes blood.
“If we want to get up the mountain before sunset,” Val says and walks over to the other trolley.
DTB is slowly getting out, making sure to double check each other for serious injuries.
“Your Team still breathing?” Stanford asks.
“As far as I can tell,” Val says, twisting her back this way and that then rolling her shoulders. “Yours?”
“DTB?” Stanford asks.
“Fuck you,” Shep says. There are similar sentiments from the others.
“Yep,” Stanford says. “All breathing.”
The two cousins look at the next set of trolleys and frown.
“So…any thoughts on a better way to stop?” Stanford asks.
“No,” Val replies.
“Really? Nothing?” Stanford says. “I thought nearly dying would be inspiration.”
“Did it inspire you?”
“It inspired me not to get into a trolley ever again.”
“Me too.”
“That doesn’t help us much, does it?” Stanford asks.
“Not in the least,” Val replies.
“The hard way again then,” Stanford frowns, rubbing his neck. He turns to the Mates. “You know how this works. Let’s get the next set ready to roll.” He looks up at the sun. “We have five hours tops before the sun is down. We are going to need every single minute of that time. I don’t have to remind any of you what it’s like to take on those blind fuckers at night. Especially since we only have blades and 9mms at hand.”
Everyone grimaces at the thought.
“Get to work, Mates!” Val orders. “We need to be on the road again in ten minutes!”
“Now I have that song in my head,” Alastair says.
“The one the Gulch Mulchers sing?” Lang asks.
“No, I think it’s the Rodeo Clowns,” Horton says as she and Tommy Bombs start working a cable loose.
“Rodeo Clowns broke up last month,” Carlito adds. “Sean found Emily 69ing with the drummer, what’s his name?”
“Billy, I think,” Carlotta responds, pulling the pin from one switch, yanking out the gear, and replacing it with a larger gear before putting the pin back in place. She gives a quick tug. “And he’s married to Laurie Henkel’s sister, right?”
Val looks over at Stanford and they shake their heads. Badasses or not, the Stronghold is a small town.
***
Commander Lee stands before the assembled defensive guard, a group made up of retired Mates, as well as those willing to volunteer. Most of them haven’t seen combat in years, while the rest haven’t seen combat at all except for their brief time serving in the Teams, usually as support crews. She does see some hardened veterans of the Reclamation Crews and knows those bastards can take down a Z.
“You will be what decides this fight,” she says. “Not that wall, not that gate, not any of the traps and razor wire strewn along the outer perimeter. You. Every shot you take has to count. We do not have the ammunition to just fire wildly down at the Zs. We do not have the manpower to hand you a fresh magazine when you empty yours into one Z like a green rookie out of basic. You will carefully aim your shots and you will kill with each pull of the trigger.”
She nods to Kevin Ross and the man starts walking along the front line, then working his way back, row by row, handing out small pouches as he assesses the ammunition needed by each member of the guard, calling back to a group of weapons techs that are watching him closely. He calls and they run up with a pouch. Soon the entire town center is holding a pouch and Kevin walks back up front to Commander Lee. She gives him a nod.
“Besides the limited amount of ammunition you have for your individual firearms,” Kevin says, “you will find two fragmentation grenades and four flares in your pouch. The fragmentation grenades are last resort only. I cannot stress that enough. I would rather you never touch those, okay? You will see some folks up there firing launchers. Let them. That’s their job. Do not join them. Keep those frags ready for when you absolutely need them.” He watches for acknowledgement and doesn’t see as much as he’d like. “The flares are for when you run out of ammunition. You toss a flare to the ground and you place one on the platform up on the wall. This will tell us where the weak points in the defense are.”
“If you see a flare close to you while you are up on the wall,” Commander Lee says, taking over again. “You will spread yourselves out to cover that gap. You know how the Zs can get piled up. The undead are stupid, but they can climb mounds of bodies. We want to thin out the line and not let them get the chance.”
“Climb the bodies?” a man asks. “The wall is fifty feet high.”
“Yes, it is,” Commander Lee says. “And there are thousands of Zs coming at us. You may not have done the math, but I have. It only takes a hundred dead Zs stacked in one spot to create an issue. So try not to kill them at the base of the wall, alright? Shoot out away from the wall. Drop them before they can be a problem.”
Standing in the front row, Collin leans over to Sheriff Marsh. “That sound right to you?” he asks. “Worried about Zs climbing over each other?”
Marsh shakes his head. Collin tries to catch his sister’s eye, but she refuses to look right at him.
“The herd has just reached the outer perimeter,” Commander Lee continues. “We have pulled everyone that lives outside the wall into the Stronghold proper. They are being placed in secure households now. A select few sentries have volunteered to remain outside. They will be posted on the roofs of houses, taking out as many Zs as they can. It is their choice. The gate is being closed and it won’t open until this nightmare is done.” She sees some nod, but also that others are staring at her, fear and worry beyond themselves clouding their features. “I know we have people down the mountain, but they aren’t our concern right now. I’m not trying to sound cruel, but that is the reality. We cannot let the Stronghold be breached by anyone. By the Zs. Is that understood?”
The crowd nods.
“Good,” Commander Lee says. “You’ve all drilled for this, so get to your posts. No one fires until the order is given, but once it’s given, you do not stop firing until you are empty. Make those shots matter!”
“Every person counts!” someone yells.
“We always remember!” another replies.
“Before you go, remember where the fall back positions are,” Commander Lee says. “Get to the Gym or the Team command center. Now go!”
More calls of “every person counts” and “we always remember” go back and forth, as the defensive guard hurries off to the wall.
Collin stays behind, waiting for his moment, then sidles up to his sister.
“Not now,” she says, brushing him off as she tries to hurry away.
He grabs her arm and spins her around. “Yes, now,” he snaps. “What’s this shit about bodies piling up and Zs climbing over? So what? Zs are clumsy as fuck and gravity ain’t their friend. So they get inside, we’ll pick them off. Or just fucking hide.”
He waits but his sister doesn’t respond.
“God dammit, Maura!” he shouts, garnering more than a few worried looks as people hurry by them. “My daughter is down the mountain and so is your son! You be straight with me right the fuck now!”
Commander Lee thinks of knocking him cold, just to avoid telling him what she knows. She could easily do it, even though he outweighs her by a good seventy pounds. But she sees the look in his eyes and realizes he’s not being his usual, obstinate asshole self. He’s actually scared.
“Code Monkeys,” she says almost so quietly that he doesn’t hear her over the chaos.
His face blanches and he rubs his mouth, really wishing he had a drink or fifty of corn hooch.
“You’re sure?” he asks finally.
“
Yes,” she says. “Carlyle confirmed it. They’re back.”
“Holy shit fuck,” he says, his fear turning to anger. “But they were supposed to be dead.”
“I know,” she replies.
“My son was born blind to make sure they were fucking dead! My wife died of cancer to make sure they were fucking dead!” he shouts, then lowers his voice. His hands are shaking with rage and the shotgun gripped in them starts to rattle. “Are you telling me my boy never saw his mother’s face for no reason? Are you telling me my wife died for nothing?”
“No one dies for nothing in this world. Every person counts,” she replies, grabbing the shotgun and steadying it. “And I know you’re pissed. So am I, but the reality is the reality. Don’t let the bodies pile up or those blind fucks will climb right over that wall and butcher us all.”
Collin stares at his sister, realization dawning, pushing through the broken connections in his hooch-addled brain. He pulls the shotgun from her grip and throws it over his shoulder. He looks at the woman before him, a woman that used to be a little girl, who once screamed at him to, “Go away!” when he wouldn’t stop teasing her. And he suddenly sees what he never could before.
She is scared too.
Not of dying, that would be an honor, but of living. Living in a world all alone. A world she has put herself in. A jail cell of her own making.
“You’re right about every person counting,” Collin says. “So maybe apply that to yourself, for a change?”
He pushes past her, filing in with the others that hurry around, preparing for the inevitable.
***
This time, they are ready for it.
Their gloved hands firmly gripped around the cage bars, legs wrapped around each other’s waists so they look like human pretzels, the Teams set themselves for the coming impact.
Three, two, one.
It’s still as bone jarring as the first crash, but with considerably less bruising and blood.
“Again, people!” Val yells, feeling the role of TL starting to fit her. “We still have a couple more trips to make before we get home!”
