by R. J. Spears
There was nothing elaborate about my second throw. I whipped my arm forward, working on a course correction, and let it go.
It was a strike, smashing right into the zombie’s face, collapsing its nose and cheeks. The deader jerked backward, his feet flying in the air as it went down hard.
Ordinarily, I might have waited for the applause from the crowd, but on that day I kept it humble and ran for the rifle. I had to leap over the newly dead zombie, but I made it there quickly snatching the rifle up.
Just as I had been drilled, I ran through the briefest of field inspections of the weapon to make sure it was still operational. I pulled the magazine and noticed that it was half empty. (On a better day, I may have said it was half full.)
There was a .45 automatic tucked into the belt wrapped around the man’s bloody middle. It was soaked in blood and the whole thing looked pretty gross, but there’s no looking a gift horse in the mouth. I took it, wiped off as much of the gore as I could and stuck it into my waistband at my back, letting my shirt dangle down to cover it.
I started to check the body for extra ammunition when I heard the sound of the helicopter change, drawing my attention. What I saw scared the shit out of me. The thing was turning my direction, the spray of bullets coming down like water from a firehose with a trajectory that was coming my way.
Doing the only thing I could, I ran in the opposite direction as the machine gun churned up the man, the dead zombie, and the burning truck like a tree shredder sending chunks of flesh and metal into the air like confetti.
I hate retreating, but, at least I was alive and armed. It was time to regroup to find Kara.
Chapter 33
Counter Attack
“There! Over there, by that large oak,” Old man Schultzy yelled at Del and the new arrivals. They had just entered the safe haven of the woods and he knew they probably would like to just keep going, but they had a job to do. So, he told them where one of the weapon caches was positioned. Steve Hampton stood behind a large tree, breathing in and out so heavily that Schultzy thought he would pass out at any moment. The others stood around, too, catching their breaths.
Henry and one of the women ran in the direction of the oak.
Madison broke from the escapees and ran to Mr. Schultz’s side and wrapped her arms around him, and said, “I told you I could do it.”
“Yes, you did, kiddo,” he responded, still keeping his eyes back toward the buildings. He gave her a one-handed squeeze and said, “I’m a little busy right now. I’ll give you a proper hug in a minute.”
She released him and stepped away from his side.
Del asked, “Are there more weapons?”
“Hold on a second,” Schultzy said as he popped off three quick shots towards the building. “They’re going to come out after you soon. There’s another cache just about thirty feet in that direction.” He pointed along the tree line in the opposite direction that he had sent Henry. “It’s hidden in a big evergreen bush just off the edge. You all need to get guns and counter-attack.”
Old man Schultz felt guilty telling these men that they had to participate in a counter-offensive against a well-armed and well-trained army, but this was the zombie apocalypse. The old rules were out the window and traveling to parts unknown.
Del and Stanley disappeared into the trees in the direction that Mr. Schultz had directed them.
“What?!” Steve Hampton asked. “I thought we were safe out here. Aren’t you going to shoot them?”
“Listen up,” Schultzy said, “I’m one man and I’m in my eighties. There’s only so much I can do. You have to do some of this shit yourself.” A pang of pain shot down his left arm, causing him to wince. He shook it off and fired at two shadows lurking thirty yards away from the door Henry and the others had exited. The figures fell to the ground, but he could see them slithering along in the grass. He cursed himself for not taking them out.
Schultz knew firing in place was a bad idea, but his head was light and his chest felt like there was something heavy on it. He wanted to move, but his body wasn’t all that willing at that moment. His hope was that his newly arrived comrades would take up arms and carry the fight back to the soldiers.
“I’m not a soldier,” Hampton exclaimed.
“You need to grow a pair, get a weapon, and take the fight to them,” Schultzy said.
“I can’t do that,” Hampton replied, shaking his head. “I won’t. We should just get the hell out of here.”
“What about the people left behind inside?”
“They’re on their own,” Hampton replied. “There’s no way I can help them.”
“You’re a real chicken shit,” Madison said.
“You need to keep your mouth shut,” Hampton replied with some venom in his tone.
“She’s right,” Mr. Schultz said, “you are a chicken shit. If you’re not going to fight, then shut up and get the hell out of the way.” He paused to change his aim and spotted forms moving off to the left near a separate exit. “Honey, can you had me some extra ammo?” He asked Madison.
“Sure,” she said, reaching down to his feet and picking up a clip and gave it to him. He reloaded and fired three quick shots. The shadows retreated.
Henry and one of the women escapees ran back out of the dark, carrying weapons and extra ammunition. As they settled in next to Mr. Schultz, Steve Hampton started slowly back peddling away from the gathering, taking slow and quiet steps. With them distracted, he was ten feet away before he turned and ran into the darkness. No one heard him go, and no one cared.
He ran as fast as he could into the darkness of the woods. He knew it was dangerous to run blind like that, but it was better than staying with a pack of fools, ready to get themselves killed.
Hampton did his best to navigate around trees, but the tree cover made it almost as dark as a cave. He made it twenty yards when he slammed into something, face first. He thought it was a tree, but he realized his mistake quickly as a pair of strong arms wrapped themselves around his back. The stench coming off whatever he had slammed into was unmistakable.
He had collided into a zombie and it had him. Hampton opened his mouth to scream, but the zombie’s head fell into his face, cutting off the scream before it started. It was the most grotesque French kiss in the history of the world as the zombie ripped out most of Steve Hampton’s mouth. Blood filled his throat, and he knew it was all over him. His body went limp as he surrendered himself to his fate.
“What’s the plan?” Henry asked.
“It’s really simple,” Mr. Schultz replied, “you take the weapons you have and go after the ones that chased you out that door.”
“There’s got to be more to it than that,” Henry said.
Del and Stanley appeared out of the darkness carrying an armload of guns and ammunition.
“What’s the plan of attack?” Stan asked.
“Pete and repeat,” Mr. Schultz said.
“What?” Henry asked.
“Nevermind,” Mr. Schultz said. “Here’s what you need to do.” He went on to direct the group to split into three separate contingents, breaking into right and left side groups with a couple left in the middle. The side contingents would move in from their respective positions while the middle supplied covering fire. When the two side groups made appreciable progress, the middle group would advance. He oversimplified the plan because none of them were soldiers and he was using techniques he had been taught in Korea. He figured if they had worked then, they should work now.
The planning session was cut short when a burst of gunfire filled the tree just above their heads, sending down a shower of broken limbs and ripped apart leaves. To their credit, no one screamed or ran.
“Go, go,” Old man Schultzy said, “they’ll zero in on this position at any moment.”
“What about you?” Henry said.
“I can take care of myself,” The old man said.
There was no time for anything else and the two groups split off
from Mr. Schultz and disappeared in the darkness, heading off to the left and right.
Mr. Schultz said to Madison who had stayed behind, “We’ve got to move from this spot or they’ll shoot our asses off.” He paused for a moment, then said, “Shoot our butts off. Sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize,” Madison said. “What can I do?”
“Grab the extra ammo at my feet.”
Two shots slammed into the tree they were hiding behind.
“Better hurry up,” he said.
And she did, filling her arms with ammunition. Fifteen seconds later, they stepped back into the woods and cut to the right for twenty feet. Mr. Schultz picked a suitable broad maple tree to set up a new base of operations. The problem was that each breath he took in was labored as if he wasn’t getting enough oxygen. His head felt light and spots danced at the corners of his vision.
“Are you okay, Mr. Schultz?” Madison asked.
“I’m old, little girl, just old,” he said. “Now, drop that at my feet and be ready to hand me some if I need it.”
“Okay,” she said as he aimed into the darkness, looking for the enemy he knew was coming. It was just like Korea. Everything old is new again.
Henry moved through a row of waist-high bushes just ten feet off the tree line until he found a suitable approach path. A woman named Patricia Dobbs, who went by Pat, and Mrs. Hatcher were with him. Pat reminded him of his ninth-grade English teacher, but with a rough edge. Mrs. Hatcher was never high on his list, but at least she was there, unlike Steve Hampton who had evaporated in the cool night air. Pat emanated a quiet competence that he felt he could trust.
His dad had drilled him on how to handle a gunfight, but this was his first real one, other than a brief skirmish with raiders during the winter. This time was quite different. They had been defending, but this time they were on the offensive which was a whole new ballgame. Defending meant shooting at attackers from pre-planned and well-fortified position. Being on the offensive meant that they would be on the attack, getting out in the open, and moving forward. These weren’t a ragtag gang of hill jacks who had guns. These were trained soldiers.
It also meant killing real, live, breathing humans. He had shot his fair share of zombies, but they were dead already. They didn’t have families; wives, husbands, kids, and parents. But then again, their families and friends were probably dead already. That didn’t mean that they didn’t want to live.
Henry’s thoughts were interrupted when he saw two crouching shadows moving across the fields off to his left. He could see they had weapons. He nudged Pat who just nodded. She, in turn, tapped Mrs. Hatcher’s shoulder.
She went “Oh!” in a high voice that cracked.
Pat responded with a harsh, but subdued “Shhhhh.”
Mrs. Hatcher got the picture and shut her mouth.
All the while, Henry kept his eyes locked on the two figures moving across the field toward the place where Mr. Schultz had been positioned. They stuck out, silhouetted against the backdrop of the lights from the building. Henry broke away from watching and looked back at Pat who was bringing up her rifle to aim at the figures. She glanced toward him and just nodded her head. Behind her, Mrs. Hatcher brought up her pistol, holding it in two shaking hands. Henry thought it might be better that she just sit this one out, but didn’t have time to say anything. Things were moving fast. There was no time for nonsense of any kind. He returned his attention to the field where he quickly reacquired the two figures skulking along.
He felt that nervous ache in his chest that he always got whenever he had to do anything stressful. When he was in school, coming up to bat when they played intramural softball always made him feel that way. His legs felt rubbery and his arms were useless sticks, but he pushed up the barrel of his rifle, taking aim at the figures.
They had no idea that he was there as they were focused on the woods where the shots had come from. He remembered something his father had told him about men in battle. That deep down, there was an inbred instinct not to kill others. In fact, the vast majority of soldiers would do anything they could to avoid shooting the enemy. This wasn’t because they were cowards, but it was because, deep down, it had been ingrained in them not to harm others. Greg, his dad, had told him, that it was kill or be killed when the battle started.
Despite this, it almost seemed unfair. These men had no idea they were about to be fired upon, but he knew they were hunting his friends, so he packed that down deep inside where he could deal with it later. At that moment, he couldn’t afford the price of a conscience. It was kill or be killed.
His finger tensed on the trigger and just as he started to pull it, Pat fired just over his shoulder causing him to jerk and pull the trigger. The rifle bucked in his hand, but the bullets flew, both from his weapon and Pat’s as well.
The figures whipped around in their direction, but they were fatally slow. One of them cried out in pain and fell backward, his weapon flying in the air. The other one got smart and fell to one knee and returned fire. Bullets whizzed by Henry, cutting into the trees and brush around him. He heard an ugly wet thump, followed instantly by a yelp of pain. There was no turning around to see what happened or who it happened to. The soldier fired unrelentingly on their position, causing Henry to duck down. What he did notice was that there was no return fire from his comrades in arms. When he looked back, he saw Pat laying on the ground, a large portion of her head missing. Next to her body, Mrs. Hatcher stood in shock, looking ready to cry and throw-up at the same time.
Essentially, it was him against this trained soldier because Mrs. Hatcher was useless.
So, he waited until the soldier stopped firing, peeked around the trunk of the tree and saw the soldier hunched over. He could only guess that the soldier was reloading.
Henry wasted no time, sighted the soldier, and fired three quick shots. His bullets slammed into the soldier knocking him backward. Henry kept his gun trained on the soldier, but the soldier didn’t move again.
Shots rang out from the other side of the clearing and Henry watched as the other contingent moved forward, firing at a single retreating soldier. The counter-attack was on and there was only one direction to go -- forward.
Henry looked back to Mrs. Hatcher one more time and saw how pathetic she looked.
“Stay here,” he said. “I’m going back in.”
He moved out from behind the tree and toward the downed soldier, where he retrieved the rifle and some ammunition from the man he had just gunned down. All during this, he avoided looking that the soldier’s face. He just couldn’t go there. Once he was stocked up, he started his advance to rescue his mother and the other people still inside the Manor. He hoped some of the other teams made it inside, because he knew he stood no chance of rescuing anyone by himself.
“I think we’re winning this one,” Old man Schultz said to Madison.
“Really?” Madison asked, not quite believing it. Her whole life after the zombie apocalypse had been nothing but a long line of compounding defeats. Losing her dad, then her brother and mom. She, along with the others, had been forced out of their safe haven by the same soldiers they were now fighting. Winning wasn’t a part of her experience, so it was hard for her to grasp.
“Yes, kiddo,” Mr. Schulz said. “Our guys are pressing forward and the enemy is pulling back.” He paused for a moment and wiped a sheen of sweat off his forehead, despite the chill in the air.
“What should we do now?” she asked.
“Well, it’s been my experience that you press any advantage you have and move forward.”
“Okay,” she replied. “What can I do?”
“What you have been doing. Gather up the ammo and let’s get moving.”
She did as she was told and packed what ammunition she could into a small duffle bag. She was so intent that she didn’t notice Mr. Schultz leave the safety of their tree and start into the open field.
What broke her focus from her task was Mr. Schultz’s loud c
ough. When she looked up, she saw him stumbling forward, barely able to stay upright. He dropped the rifle and one hand went to his chest, while the other arm shot out from his side, clutching at the air for balance.
“What’s wrong?” she said standing up and letting the duffle bag fall down to the ground with a clatter.
“Oh shit,” Mr. Shultz said and pitched forward onto his face and didn’t move again.
Chapter 34
Inside/Outside
Edging around the corner of the doorway and looking down the hall, Russell still held the twine that he had pulled to detonate the grenade he had attached to the zombie. Smoke filtered down the hallway like a storm cloud, obscuring his view. A few seconds later, the smoke cloud dissipated, revealing the carnage left over from the grenade. A soldier lay face down on the carpet. Blood splattered the walls like some terrible piece of abstract art. The acrid smell of the explosives filled the air.
The zombie was torn apart, its upper torso separate from its legs which were five feet down the hallway. Still, the arms reached for the body of the soldier, clawing at the air, unable to move. Its movements seem to say, ‘If only?’ If only I had legs, I would eat you.
A second soldier stumbled into the hall, his hands to his face. He walked off balance, stumbling into the wall on the opposite side of the hall, letting out a startled cry. Blood dripped off several wounds on his head, onto his hands and the floor.
“Help!” he yelled. “I can’t see. My eyes.”
Russell heard a voice shout from down the hallway, “Kenton, is that you?”
The wounded soldier turned toward the voice, “Corporal Kinsler? Is that you?”
“Yes,” the voice responded and Russell saw another soldier step into the hall, but further down the hallway at a T-intersection.
“Stay back,” said another male voice from around the corner next to Corporal Kinsler. The voice sounded familiar, but Russell’s ear still rang from the grenade explosion.
