The demon cared nothing for its own little zombie army. There would always be more zombies and the death of the defenders would happen one way or another. It was there to fight any hero who had the courage to stand against it, one on one.
“I should go,” Bryce said, his reluctance obvious and his fear heaping up inside of him. “If I die…” He didn’t know how to finish the sentence. There was no way to tell his parents and he didn’t have friends, at least none that would shed a tear.
“You won’t,” Maddy said, gripping his arm tightly. “You’re stronger than you look. No, I-I mean you’re stronger than you were. And you killed the other demon and you can do this.” She was shit at pepping people up, probably from lack of practice. She had always been a sink or swim kind of person and if someone couldn’t swim on their own, well that was too bad.
Sucking in his breath, he said, “Yeah, I can do this.” He wanted to say more, just as she did, but he had only been this way for a few days while he had been Bryce Carter PhD with a doctorate in being a dweeb for ages, while she had been Maddy Whitmore the annoying prickly pear for just as long. That history put a bulwark between them, and they could only offer each other shy smiles in parting.
Bryce took up his long pipe and leapt over the side of the wall to land among the corpses. They squished under foot in a manner that could not be described. With each step, some let out plumes of noxious gases, while one erupted in a gout of green bile that was sprinkled liberally with human flesh. Even the newly hardened Bryce felt his gorge rise.
This was an ordeal that left him feeling weak, yet he dared not show it. Every eye was on him and every hope as well. Live or die, he had to fight with the same show of confidence and bravery that he wanted the defenders on the wall to show.
The rain began to come down even harder as he went forward. It was a grey wall now and the creature was almost lost with in it. Bryce could feel its presence moving towards him. With it came the army of the dead.
“Leave them!” Bryce called.
A low, hideous hissing laugh from the demon. The zombies stopped and the demon stepped from their midst. It was maybe fifty feet away and Bryce saw that it was more spindly up close, with extremely long fingers, the tips of which hung to its bare knees. Its face seemed stretched and narrow with lips like a drooping grey mustache. The eyes were the worst of all. They were black as pitch and yet seemed to have a fire in them. They pierced the rain and took in Bryce.
A smirk turned up one side of its drooping lips.
“You can go fuck yourself,” Bryce said, hefting the pipe and spinning it. His hands were cold and the pipe colder still.
A simple curse word wasn’t going to wipe the smirk from the creature’s face, and neither was the demonstration of rudimentary skill. It drew itself up and Bryce saw that the thing was closer to eight feet in height. It towered over him. Those arms, Bryce thought. How on earth will I get past them? Sure, the pipe might break one or even both, but what was a broken bone to a demon? It’s not like they felt pain.
Bryce was desperately trying to come up with a plan of attack when the creature took a step forward. It was too late. He could only hope to do his best. “Come on!” he yelled, gripping the pole. He started forward as well, ready to fight to the finish, when without any warning, a gunshot went off far behind him.
Th rifle bullet cracked past his head and suddenly black blood sprayed from the side of the demon’s neck. Bryce was still recovering from his surprise when, fast as lightning, the creature dropped to all fours and scuttled, spider-like back into the ranks of zombies. It stared out at Bryce, accusingly.
“I didn’t know. I never told anyone…”
He felt the danger before it came and took a step back. There was a strange electric pulse in the air and then the zombie horde suddenly charged with a great inhuman screeching. Bryce’s eyes went wide as it appeared as if he were about to be swallowed by an avalanche of living corpses. “Shit!” he cried and took off at a sprint. There were shockingly fast zombies in the horde that would’ve caught the old Bryce and pulled him down. Version 2.0 outdistanced even these. His legs were now long and his footing perfectly sure. He made it to the wall with a second to spare and vaulted up on it just as the first of the dead crashed into it.
Half his mind was given over to anger—it felt like he had been a part of a sly, underhanded plot to coax the demon out into the open; it was a stain on his honor. The other half of him was filled with relief. Deep down, he knew he never stood a chance against it. The relief was short-lived and died as the main horde struck the wall and bowed in the strung together desks.
“It wasn’t me,” Maddy said, coming to fight next to him, hacking with her ice axe.
“I know.” Together, they killed a dozen in quick succession, before he pulled her back. “Your place isn’t here. You still have to set up reserves and divide the lower command among…”
She was staring into space. Robotically, she said, “It’s too late. The wall won’t hold.”
Chapter 13
“Then we retreat inside,” Bryce said, glancing back at the building, which appeared dead and black. “Do it quick, but orderly. And keep it quiet. We can’t have a mad dash for the door. God. The dead would have a feast. And, if anyone gives you lip tell them to come talk to me.”
Normally, an uber-manly statement like that would have had her hackles raised, but just then, she was beginning to feel that sense of impending doom grow larger and larger within her. A brisk nod and she was gone, running for the west wall. The defenders all along that side of the building were few in number. There hadn’t been much action here and the people were numb and shivering from the cold, which did nothing to help fortify their fading morale.
Maddy started at one end of the wall where a couple of dozen men and women were crouched beneath the desks. “Quiet now,” she said to them, pitching her voice low. “We’re retreating inside.”
“Was there a demon?” This came from what looked like a mound of dirty laundry. There was a woman somewhere within the layers of coats and rags. She had a meat cleaver in one gloved hand. “We heard there was some sort of monster.”
“I’d worry more about the zombies,” Maddy told her. “Now get up and quietly go inside.” This was greeted with relief and, strangely, groveling gratitude. They acted like Maddy was some sort of savior and their repeated thank yous soured her. “Just, just go.” The second they started to get to their feet, she was off to the next group, who were so similar to the first that Maddy thanked God that the attacks here had been as weak as they had been. A hundred zombies would’ve sent them running.
Maddy went to the south wall next where she found people already deserting their posts. With the fight to the east growing ever louder and the cries of the defenders becoming shockingly desperate, some of the braver souls had run through the grey rain to see what was happening. They had been stunned to see the size of the horde. Its numbers seemed to have swollen and its rage was beyond anything they had seen yet. Their takeaway was that it was a wonder the wall hadn’t been crushed under the first onslaught and that it wouldn’t last much longer.
Bryce was the reason it hadn’t yet. As Maddy scurried the defenders inside, she kept glancing back towards the fighting. He stood out from the others almost as if he had some sort of internal glow. And she could hear him crying out encouragement, his voice rising above the din. He sounded almost jovial, as if fighting for his life was fun.
His machismo was an act, of course. Bryce was far from jovial. The pressure on the wall was enormous. A normal zombie attack would’ve been as relentless as it was chaotic, giving the defenders breathing spaces and time to at least reload their weapons. This attack was being driven home with a powerfully malignant will.
“Hold them back!” he cried, whipping the pipe all around. No one could get too close for fear of catching the whizzing end of it in the back of the head. Even with his presence, the defenders wavered. Ammo was running so low that here and th
ere men were swinging their guns like clubs. To Bryce this was true bravery.
His booming voice rallied the defenders three times when they were on the verge of failing. Bats hammered and makeshift spears lashed out, but each time there was that much less strength behind the attacks. The defenders were tiring. Each of them faced a half-dozen diseased hands reaching up for them at a time, with waves of zombies behind these. They swung their weapons at the grey heads even as blisters formed across the palms of their hands.
The rain only added to their exhaustion. The heavy coats and layers of sweaters that had protected them from the cold were now little more than sponges and the layers constricted their movement and weighed them down. Their spirits were weighed down as well. The fight was the worst sort of slog, one that could not possibly end in victory. This had been obvious for some time, but Bryce seemed to be always near, calling out encouragement and killing the creatures with apparent ease.
He had an odd allure about him. An expectation, perhaps. It wasn’t exactly subtle and when he was around the idea of being bit was preferable to letting him down.
This latent ability, subtly powerful as it was, could not take the place of numbers or ammo, and eventually a breach opened in the wall, one that could not be repaired by any sort of heroics on Bryce’s part. The wall itself caved inward under the weight of the dead, both living and otherwise. Desks were overturned and into the breach slithered dozens of zombies like worms from a bait can.
A reserve might have held them back long enough to form some sort of new defensive perimeter. Bryce looked to see if there was anyone who could help and only saw fleeing grey shapes in the rain. The entire defense was less than a minute from collapsing completely—he knew this. There were still upwards of a hundred and fifty people doing all they could, oblivious to the fact that very soon they’d be fighting each other to get inside the building.
Bryce leapt from the wall and sprinted towards the doors, stopping thirty feet in front. He grabbed the first person to try to pass him. “Stay right here!” he ordered. Another, with wide eyes above a piece of cloth torn from a coat. “You! Stand with us.” As people ran from the wall, he gathered them in an arc around the doors. At first, they came in dribs and drabs, then all at once everyone was running pell-mell for the safety of the building and if it hadn’t been for Bryce and his frail line, there would’ve been a battle among them to get inside first.
“Stand and fight! It’s your only chance,” he cried, grabbing people left and right. At first it was chaos trying to get panicked people into a semblance of a line and had not an unlucky few been caught by the horde and eaten alive right there in front of them, the line would’ve crumbled at the first clash.
The screams of the dying bought them time as the dead swarmed out of control of their master. In the brief interlude, Bryce rushed about, trying to be everywhere at once and failing.
Then Maddy was there, her voice clear and strong. Despite still being only slightly above average height, she manhandled people into position. Plinkett showed up as well, bringing with him a dozen senior FBI agents. Although aging and already tired, they were at least proficient with their weapons, and they lent more leadership to a mob composed of civilians of every background imaginable—among them was a hedge fund manager, a mother of six and a foul-smelling homeless man who’d been faking his veteran status for twenty years.
They needed all the help they could get as the single entrance way was crowded with people fighting to get inside. “Get that door cleared!” Bryce yelled at the closest person to him, who turned out to be Nichola Lines. She’d been both guilted and threatened into joining the fight by Plinkett. She was happy to get away from the grey mob, the lead elements of which were already fighting with the civilians.
Zombies were far harder to fight face to face, and right away the line washed back and a gap threatened to undermine the entire perimeter. Bryce ran to the spot of first contact, his whirring pipe practically unseen. It was certainly felt, however. TANK! TANK! TANK! The sound of the pipe crushing skulls rang out as the dead dropped, one after another. He darted in and out, spearing with it when he had to, kicking out legs and bulling the dead back with the pipe held sideways.
As strong as he had become, Bryce could not keep up that level of speed indefinitely. It took everything he had to give the defenders time to reform.
Gasping, he ducked back into the ranks, took a few gulping breaths only to see another spot where the fighters were wavering. Maddy reached it at the same time and they fought shoulder to shoulder, each secretly marveling at the other. Maddy was fluid, conserving her energy, striking only when her second sight saw an opening. She was quietly efficient and appeared completely unruffled facing down the horde.
Women in the group were in awe of this, while the men were straight-up stunned, neither realizing that she was perfectly terrified. She could still hear the bubbling whimpers of someone near the wall buried under a pile of the undead. That would be her if she slipped. It would be her if she tired. It would be her if the demon caught her scent. It was close, crabbing spider-like among the zombies. For now, its black mind was centered only on Bryce and its army. She could feel the wicked pulse coming from it to Kill, Kill, Kill. Not that this was needed. The zombies had people in front of them and needed no more incentive than that.
Next to her, the tempo of Bryce’s fighting was superhuman but after a minute, his arms were like lead and his lungs burned fire with each breath. He and Maddy dropped back into the line, but were not given a second’s rest as screams filled the air. Two of the defenders had been dragged into the howling mob.
One of them was a woman and her high, shrill scream drilled through the air. The undead swarmed the pair, tearing at them with their claws and ripping at them with their teeth. It was violence on a sickening scale and yet, it was a long death for both. Their damp heavy coats had to be ripped into and their jeans gnawed through. Their faces were pretty much fair game. A person can live without lips or eyes, and ears were mere cartilage and hardly vital. The pair screamed for what felt like ages.
They were the first to be lost, but not the last. More were pulled in, and as bad as these losses were for the defenders, the desertions were worse. For each person taken, two ran away. The line shrunk until there were only fifty of them left, formed in a hard semi-circle in front of the single door.
The fighters kept looking back at it, all thinking the same thing: the first one to break and run for it would live, the last would die. In truth, it wouldn’t just be the last, it would be half of them, maybe more.
Even Bryce looked back at the door. He was stumbling with exhaustion, swinging the pipe like a hundred-pound axe.
Unworthy thoughts came unbidden: I should go. I’m important. I’m more worthy than them. And if he asked the others if they thought they were worthy, too? His chin dipped in shame. Their lives were just as important as his. Without any powers at all, they were facing the same death as he was.
A lethargic punch on his arm brought him around. It was Maddy, slick with rain, panting with her mouth hanging open, her face very white. Fear thrummed in her bosom. “What do we do?” That was the question. How did they extricate the last fifty people with minimal loss? Some of them were going to die, there was no other way.
“I stay behind.” And get torn to pieces. He swallowed loudly. “There’s no other way.”
She wouldn’t hear of it. “You can’t. Not like this.” He didn’t look like he could even hold the pipe. He was leaning on it like it was a staff.
“Give me a better option.” When her mouth came open and no words came out, he sighed, rolled his neck on his shoulders and turned to the fight. He pushed to the front and killed a zombie with a heavy crack on its head. “All right!” he yelled, his voice cracking, no longer the roar it was. “Let’s do this!”
He eyed the mob, hoping to see more of an opening among them, one he could dart into and perhaps lead them in something of a chase, the ending of which w
as foreordained. He would never get through the entire crowd. It would be impossible even without the presence of the demon lurking somewhere within them.
Spying Plinkett, who was whacking about with a bat in one hand and a pistol in his other, he asked, “Can you clear something of a lane for me?”
The old-looking baby seemed to have aged another ten years. He shook his head, causing his jowls to swing back and forth. “I only have four shots left.”
“Four might do it.” But probably not. He tried to smile at Plinkett, wanting to say something; maybe a fitting goodbye or a message for his mother, but all he could think was Why the hell am I doing this? Who cares about honor at a time like this? And, When did I ever care about honor?
He had never been exactly dishonorable, except on rare occasions, and sure, if asked, the old Bryce would have called himself honorable in an instant, but his previous honor had never been quite defined. It had always fallen into the vague category of “being good.” With fifty lives depending on him, there was clearly more to it than that.
“Go ahead,” he managed to spit out.
Plinkett shrugged and raised the pistol, but before he could pull the trigger there was a burst of gunfire behind them which was followed by the sound of glass shattering.
Maddy had solved the problem of a single narrow entry point by making a new one. She had shot out a pane of glass the size of a garage door and was now screaming for everyone to get inside. This was all the encouragement needed and there was a general stampede for the building.
Bryce ran with them, but did so with his head turned. The dead were coming on fast, however a last ragged barrage of gunfire struck the front rank. They fell and were rolled over and swallowed by the mob. Still, this gave Bryce more of a lead and he made it into the opening just as people rushed up with chairs and couches and strange items made of twisted metal. It was a moment before he realized that these were pieces of art. What had cost thousands of dollars was now junk and heaped in with the rest.
Anarchy Page 10
