by Mark Wandrey
“Worked, didn’t it?”
They only made a little more than an hour that time. While Wade was just about at his end, Andrew had to admit he wasn’t the only one nearing their last gasp. This time they hadn’t made a lot better time than their pursuers. Their options were becoming limited.
“We need to slow them down,” he said, “let us catch our breaths maybe.”
“I can see what I can do,” Chris volunteered. Wade just lay on the road again and breathed.
Andrew considered for a moment then shrugged. “Sure, give it a shot.”
Chris took his M-16 and lay down on the road in a classic prone position, legs splayed and gun braced on his left elbow. “I don’t like these sights,” he grumbled as he tried them from different sight pictures before settling in. His thumb found the selector switch and flipped it from safe to single shot. A moment later the rifle went “Crack!”
Andrew had fished out the binoculars from his bag and observed one of the crazies jerk from a left shoulder hit.
“Were you aiming at the guy with the Yankee’s shirt?”
“Yeah.”
“Left shoulder. Far edge.”
“I was aiming for his chest.” Chris turned the gun in his hands and examined how the elevation and windage worked. He went back on target and gave the control knob a couple clicks. “Crack!”
“Stomach,” Andrew said. The crazy staggered from the second shot. The binoculars weren’t the best but he could see blood spreading from two wounds now. “Switch targets,” he suggested.
“But the first one isn’t down yet,” Chris complained.
“That isn’t entirely necessary,” Andrew said.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that bleeding out and wounded might be a better option than dropping them.”
“I didn’t think about that,” Chris admitted and switched targets. “Woman in the red dress.”
Andrew moved the binoculars. It was actually only half a red dress. The bottom part to be precise. She’d been attractive before blood was splattered down her face and breasts. A moment later the gun barked and a tiny hole appeared between those breasts. The woman fell like a ragdoll.
“Square on target. But about the wounding thing?”
“Sure,” Chris said and picked another target. For the next fifteen rounds he shot one person with each round. Every round was a hit, and all leg hits. One of the fifteen was still limping on, the other fourteen were on the ground. Andrew bit his lip and crossed his fingers as others came slowly into view.
“Come on,” Andrew whispered, “dinner is served you sick fuckers.”
“What’s happening?” Wade asked. Chris explained as Andrew watched through the binoculars. The first of the next wave reached the woman Chris had shot dead and stop, considering her. After a moment he walked on. “Damn it,” he spat, “they’re not stopping.” But no sooner had he said that then the next one knelt down and started tearing at the woman’s flesh. “Wait…” Several others joined the feast. Next others went for the man Chris had shot several times. He was lying there, still moving. That excited them and a dozen went for him.
“Here we go,” Andrew said. Dozens and dozens began falling on the wounded and dead. In a minute it became a slaughter. Even a few who hadn’t been shot were injured and set upon. “We’ve bought some time,” he said. “Can you walk, Wade?”
“Slowly,” the man said.
“Good enough.” Andrew and Chris helped Wade to his feet and they were moving again.
Andrew kept trying to figure out what road they were on. The group had literally stumbled across it an hour after they left the gunship crash. Now they’d been leapfrogging as often as they could keep moving for almost seven hours. Despite that, Andrew guessed they’d gone less than ten miles. Many rural roads only had road signs around intersecting byways.
As they were walking a road sign finally came visible. It took a few more minutes of walking for it to get close enough to read. Highway 83 was what the sign read. And just past that, a sign gave a more precise location. “Laredo – 12 miles”.
“Wow,” Andrew said, “we were way off course when we crashed. Must have been just across the Rio Bravo.”
“Is that bad?” Wade asked.
“We’ve been heading north, I thought we were further east. Maybe this had been Highway 16 into Hebbronville. Much smaller town, maybe five thousand people. Laredo is a quarter million or so.”
“That’s a lot of people,” Chris said, “more chances of getting help.”
“Right,” Wade agreed. The grade had leveled out and headed down slightly, allowing the big gamer to feel a little relieved.
“Not good,” Andrew said, shaking his head for emphasis. “If you haven’t been keeping up with current events we’re in the middle of a pandemic?”
“Zombie Apocalypse,” Wade corrected.
“Whatever,” Andrew spat. “The point is a large part of that horde following us came from big cities. You notice they’re not dressed like farmers?” Chris pursed his lips as he considered. “Do you really think this plague isn’t north of the border?” The two other men shook their heads in the negative and Andrew just nodded.
They stopped again for a break as the afternoon slowly advanced. The sun was dipping towards the horizon cooling things off fractionally. After a half hours rest they were up again. But after walking only a few minutes Andrew stopped in his tracks. The other two men went several steps before they realized he’d stopped. They looked back just as he started pulling magazines out of his pack.
“What?” Chris asked, then looked down the road in the direction they’d been heading. Only a few hundred yards away people were walking towards them. “Are they…zombies?” Andrew stopped stuffing mags in his belt long enough to hand Chris the binoculars. The shooter put them to his eyes and adjusted them. “Zombies,” he said simply and handed the binoculars back.
“Take some magazines,” Andrew said, handing over several. “Wade, here’s that handgun again.”
“I’m not very comfortable shooting people,” the big man complained.
“Do you have any idea how many you gunned down in that plane? Just take the damn gun, okay?” He took it and Andrew spent a second going over its operation. He finished by jacking the slide and locking the safety. “Flip this, point, pull the trigger. Got it?”
“Sure,” Wade said and gingerly put the gun in his pocket. “What now?”
“We head east, no choice. The river is about five miles that way, but it won’t do us any good. So shallow this time of year you can walk across it.” Andrew pointed about fifty yards in the direction they’d been heading. A dirt road went off to the east. “If we’re lucky we’ll find some shelter before we get overrun.” With varying levels of effort, the three men moved up the road and turned down the gravel way, moving at a right angle to the two approaching groups.
From almost three hundred yards away, Andrew turned and lifted the binoculars. He was saying a silent prayer to a God who he rarely addressed that the crazy fucks would just keep going in opposite directions, or maybe come together in some apocalyptic killing frenzy. The two groups met about seventy-five yards south of their road’s cutoff.
They slowed as they approached each other, seeming uncertain if they were friend, foe, or food. Sure enough, there were some squabbles, though none went past the grabbing and biting phase.
The crowd grew steadily as two massive flows continued to run into each other and built, slowly overflowing the road to both sides. Andrew thought it reminded him of how bacteria swarmed in a petri dish. As long as they’d had a direction and indications of prey, they’d had no problem walking onwards almost forever. But now they were almost confused, lacking direction or coordination. And endless number flowed into the ever growing swarm.
“There must be a million of them,” Wade said, watching with a hand up to shield from the afternoon sun.
“Ten thousand or so at least,” Chris suggested. Andrew ju
st nodded. The tableau was deeply disturbing, and strangely compelling. He wished he were watching from twenty thousand feet instead of just a few hundred yards away.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here before they see us,” Wade suggested.
“Just hold up a few,” Andrew said. “As long as we keep down and don’t be obvious, I think we’re safe. Besides, I want to know what happens.”
The scene played out for almost half an hour. Wade didn’t complain anymore, it gave him a much needed breather. Now that the sun was low to the horizon the temperature was dropping fast. The sojourn was having a rejuvenating effect on him. Andrew absently fished out the second to last water ration, took a deep drink and passed it out. He did it quickly so he wouldn’t miss much.
As the sun just touched the horizon the first few infected began wandering down the dirt road. Andrew couldn’t see the inbound flow from either direction abating in the least. As those first few wandered in their direction, more followed. In just moments it was a concerted flow. Then a river.
“Time’s up,” Andrew said and slung the binoculars.
“It was worth hoping for,” Chris commented.
“I enjoyed the rest,” Wade said as he struggled to his feet.
Andrew was thinking as they started on down the dirt road. Because of the location in the horde that began to head his way, it looked like those who mostly came from Laredo. Was it just him, or did they appear not nearly as travel weary as the ones that had chased them from the crash site?
* * *
Turning might have been their only option, but it was ultimately a mistake. Andrew wondered if they should have gone west and taken their chances with the river? The road had gone on for maybe a mile before turning north. Even before they turned everyone could see the dust plume of another group coming south. Probably more of that quarter million from Laredo. Two hundred or, two hundred thousand. It didn’t make much difference to their situation.
The other two man stood and watched in opposite directions as the two groups approached them. The bank of the road was low, with no real ditch. All around them were scrub trees, dried brush, and cacti. There was no way they’d be able to hide. And both the groups were close enough to see them now. The closer of the two, from their original direction, could already be heard howling and growling, picking up the pace. They weren’t trundling along any longer, now they moved in long, loping strides that chewed up the distance.
“Look,” Chris said and pointed to the east.
Andrew spun and looked. There was a speck in the distance. He brought up the binoculars. A structure of some kind. Maybe a farmhouse or factory? He let the glasses fall on their lanyard as he examined the turn. Sure enough, there was a mailbox and barely discernable ruts in the hard packed dirt leading off in that direction. Ruts meant a car. Maybe.
“What is it?” Chris asked.
“A building, can’t tell.”
“Jesus,” Wade cried, “they’re running!”
“No choice, move it!” Andrew said and started jogging towards the distant building, the other two close behind.
After only a hundred yards Wade was already flagging. Stopping was no longer an option. Andrew glanced back. The first group, the ones from the road they’d come from were gaining at a disturbing rate. They were maybe another hundred yards from the turn off. He glanced to the north. The others were cutting off the road and vectoring in on them like an interceptor missile! They were going to be cut off in the open!”
“Chris, pop a couple from that group!” Andrew said, gesturing at the ones to the north.
“On it,” the ex-champion shooter said.
The targets were closer than before, and time was of the essence. Chris adopted a standing, braced shooter’s stance. In only a moment the first shot rang out. Andrew flipped his own M-16 around on its sling and brought it to his shoulder. He wasn’t any kind of a champion shooter. He’d qualified as marksman with the M-4 carbine, a shorter-barreled, more modern version of the M-16. It also had better optics than these peep sights. But shooting was shooting. As Chris took his fifth shot and his magazine went empty, Andrew breathed out as he’d been instructed, let the sights lower until the torso of a half-dressed businessman came into view. He raised his aim to the top of the man’s head and slowly squeezed the trigger. “Crack!”
The sound of the rifle jammed icepicks into his ears. He reacquired his sight picture and saw the man staggering, a hole pumping blood down the suit jacket from his left breast. Andrew clicked the windage one, found another target, and repeated.
Chris fit a new magazine and fired five more rounds before the two men stopped. The results were less than satisfactory this time. Only a few slowed to take advantage of the new meal. It was almost as if this group were…better fed.
“No joy,” Andrew proclaimed, slinging the rifle. “Come on.”
“I don’t think I can,” Wade said.
“You giving up?”
“No!” the gamer barked, “but I’m out of gas.”
“If you’re breathing you can move. Chris, help!”
Andrew grabbed one beefy arm and drew it over his own shoulder. Chris took the other and did the same thing. Wade didn’t complain. Between the two of them, they helped him enough that the three managed a shuffling jog. Andrew briefly considered a fireman carry. Then felt the weight of the guy. Only half his weight, actually, on his shoulder, and discarded that. His leg was throbbing, and he doubted he could carry the huge man for even a hundred yards.
“Come on,” Andrew yelled, “we’re almost there!”
It was a complete lie, of course. Wade was so gone he was only looking down and somehow managing to put one foot in front of another. He might have carried one-quarter of his mass, Chris and him the rest. But they kept moving, somehow. Foot after foot, yard after yard. The building was closer every time Andrew glanced up. And so was the ravenous sounds behind them.
They were just getting close enough to see some detail on the building when Andrew heard it. Footfalls, clear as day. He flipped Wade’s arm off his shoulder, spun and clawed at the old military style flap holster on his hip. The man was maybe twenty feet away and coming in fast. Really fucking fast. He was nearly naked, lean, tanned, and muscled like an athlete. Some part of Andrew’s mind knew that was likely exactly what he was. Maybe he’d been a distance runner or even an Olympic sprinter? It didn’t matter. As Andrew fumbled the M-9 clear of its holster and worked the safety he knew it wouldn’t be fast enough. He decided to move sideways and draw the man off and away from Chris and Wade. Maybe it would buy them a few moments more of life. “Boom!”
Another pistol spoke before Andrew had his up. The crazy who’d been reaching out for him had the back of his head bloom like a red cabbage and he went down into the dirt and rocks face first, skidding to a stop inches from Andrew’s flight boots. A foot away Chris held out his own M-9 pistol, one handed and at a bad angle. The shot had been flawless.
“Three gun, remember?”
“I do now,” Andrew said. He holstered the M-9, swung his M-16 around and flipped it from safe, to full auto. “Ears,” he warned the others a second before emptying the remaining 15 rounds from the assault rifle in one long burst. He raked it left to right across the approaching crowd, now only 150 yard away. At that range, every round was a hit. And it actually slowed them. More from tripping over the fallen than from any other effect, but he would take what he could get.
Andrew let the magazine fall empty, slapped in another, and grabbed Wade’s arm. The man had been standing there, eyes glazed, gasping for breath the whole time. He hadn’t so much as twitched when the gunfire started.
“Haul ass!” Andrew yelled and they were moving again.
Every hundred yards Andrew repeated the ritual. An entire magazine was sprayed at the closet group. It didn’t stop them from closing the distance, but it did slow them. He was almost certain the gain was worth the pause. On the fourth time he didn’t have a magazine in his pants to reload
so he was forced to use one from Chris. Once they were moving again he awkwardly slung the rifle (which was getting hard to handle, the barrel was becoming very hot) and managed to get into his pack with a free hand. He found the last six magazines and took them out. He looked up, a part of his mind noted the building was about four hundred yards away. Jesus, it was going to be close!
He was going to go back to the same routine when he glanced behind them and saw their pursuers were maybe a hundred yards and gaining. Running and stopping to shoot wasn’t going to work anymore.
“Chris!”
“Yeah?”
“Take a couple mags and shoot as we go.”
“You can’t pull him along by yourself,” Chris said as he took the magazines.
“No,” Andrew agreed as he slung the rifle, pulling on the strap to tighten it snuggly before turning to Wade. “Are you sure you can’t go any further?” The other man just panted and shook his head, chins waggling and sweat pouring from his hair like he’d just come out of the rain. “That’s what I was afraid of,” Andrew said. He took Wade’s left hand and pulled it over his own shoulder. The other man didn’t resist. Once he was up against the man’s chest, he bent over and put his shoulder against the gamer’s solar plexus. Holding the wrist tightly, he pulled the arm, pushed in and pulled. Andrew wrapped his left around behind Wade’s knees and stood. The man’s body went over his shoulders balancing the mass evenly.
“Jesus Christ with a jelly doughnut,” Andrew groaned as he felt like Atlas taking the full load of the world.
“Don’t,” Wade moaned.
“Shut up,” Andrew said as he started walking. Every other step felt like an icepick being jammed into his leg. The ground was not completely level with large gravel that threatened to turn his ankle at every step. His back screamed under the load, and he desperately wished he’d taken the M-9 pistol out of Wade’s waistband before pulling him into a fireman’s carry because it was right up again his collarbone.
