Z-Risen (Book 3): Poisoned Earth

by Long, Timothy W.

  Joel touched my shoulder and motioned me close.

  “The fuck we gonna do now?” I whispered next to his ear.

  “It’s gonna go down like the old days. You sneak around the back. I’ll shoot a few, starting with that shuffler, in sixty seconds.”

  “Why the hell are we going to take on this bunch? Let’s haul ass and regroup.”

  “There’s a piece of paper taped to the side of the building. I think they left us a message. The girls wouldn’t desert us unless they felt threatened. I think they left behind a clue.”

  “A clue? Been watching too much CSI?”

  “I ain’t seen a TV in months, ya dumbass,” Joel said.

  I rolled my eyes.

  “So I’m bait and you’re going to shoot them with what?”

  “I have a few rounds for the AR. I can take out the shuffler, but after that it’s going to get tough. You go in swinging and shooting once the shuffler’s down.”

  “What if you miss?”

  “When have I missed?”

  “I don’t know, about fifty times, give or take.”

  It was Joel’s turn to roll his eyes.

  “Fine. We go in shooting, we get eaten, should we leave a note while the shuffler’s eating our brains?” Joel said.

  “Our only other choice is to hide this stuff and then split up. We could each take a direction and try to find the RV. I’m betting they didn’t go far.”

  A shot echoed to the east.

  I looked at Joel, but he only shrugged.

  “What, can’t tell what kind of weapon from the sound? Could that be Anna’s piece?”

  “Man, I don’t know what the fuck a gun sounds like unless it’s an AK-47. Those things are distinct.”

  “It’s like we speak two different languages, Joel. Okay, so the plan is like this: I flank 'em, go in swinging and shooting, and you kill the shuffler. It is like the old days.”

  The first week we’d been in San Diego, we’d become a tight fighting machine. Short, fast engagements resulting in twice-dead corpses, then we got scarce real fast, and hopefully with a few supplies for the effort. Things had changed as the shufflers had gotten smarter. I was also banged up pretty badly, and didn’t even know if I’d be able to get around the building in time.

  “We got this, man. It’s going to be smooth as melted butter.”

  “Famous last words,” I said, and looked at my watch.

  “Sixty seconds,” Joel said, and picked up his assault rifle. He looked it over, and then popped into a squat.

  “Better make it seventy. I’m a mess.”

  “Getting slow in your old age?”

  “No, man. Ankle’s hurting like hell, shoulder’s banged up, the feeling just came back to my knee and it’s not a good kind of feeling.”

  “I’ll give you a minute and a half to flank 'em. When I drop the shuffler, you go in swinging.”

  I dragged my pack to us and quietly unzipped it, then rummaged around inside for a few seconds.

  Joel looked at me questioningly.

  I found the small box of shells I’d picked up from the old woman and handed it to Joel. He smiled and slid the cover open.

  “Merry early fucking Christmas,” I said.

  “Best gift ever,” Joel said.

  He popped the magazine out of his assault rifle and started loading it. I noticed there were only two rounds in the mag.

  “Really, man? You were going to risk my life with two rounds.”

  “Gimme some credit. Two rounds equal two kills.”

  “Ninety seconds. You better not miss that damn shuffler.”

  Joel grunted, quietly slipped the full magazine back into the rifle and shot me a cool look. I nodded back, picked up my wrench and handgun, and moved out.

  ###

  13:50 hours approximate

  Location: Vista

  I started this journal a few months ago. The first entry was about a mission just like this one. We were in the process of finding supplies for “fortress,” and that meant making runs into town. As we ranged farther and farther out, we ran into problems with Zs as they got hungrier. I took to calling it “The Fuckening”.

  I was ultra-cautious back then and took little risk, except for the day we had to get past a bunch of Zs, and one of the quick ones I later came to call shufflers. Since then, the shufflers had grown smarter and could, much to my horror, control a small army of their undead brothers. I didn’t know how the mechanism for communicating with their little minions worked, and I really didn’t care. All I wanted was to kill every shuffler I came across. I wanted to bash in heads and then take a minute to piss on their corpses.

  Just like the first days, I was about to do something dumb. I was about to be bait.

  The building had seen better days before the z-poc and was now what I’d call comfortably dilapidated. Some kind of vines clung to one side and sunlight shone through space where the walls had been kicked or just fallen in. Two windows faced out, but both were devoid of glass. If it came down to it, I guessed I could just Die Hard my way through a window and hide under a desk. The problem with that plan? I’m no Bruce Willis.

  I ran into my first difficulty as soon as I tried to move to the backside of the building. A big fence was in the way. It was chain-link, sure, and it wasn’t all that tall. But it was going to be noisy as hell. Plus there was a wreck parked right next to the fence, and there was no way I was risking tetanus today.

  My internal clock was about to hit forty-five seconds, so I needed to move with a purpose.

  I crept alongside the fence and found another building that was probably someone’s house. The doors had been mostly boarded up, but a limp and half-devoured body lay near the remains of the wood planks that were scattered all over the busted-ass porch.

  I skirted the building at a near sprint before rounding it and finding the path clear. Then it was just a matter of another thirty or so feet. I reached the edge of the building and peeked around. The Zs were still there, but the shuffler wasn’t in sight. The fact that we had no way to communicate--like those cool little throat mics that the mercenaries had possessed when we were in the city of Vista--sucked.

  There was no real plan, except that it was go time. My internal clock dinged at ninety seconds, so I strode out into the open.

  The first Z saw me as soon as I saw it. I lifted the wrench in my right hand and pointed the gun with my left. Not that I was ever a good shot, and sure as shit not at all good with my off hand, but I had still learned a thing or two about shooting Zs.

  “Hey, you godless fucks,” I said.

  Joel was not in sight, but I assumed he was low and at the corner of a building, covering me from a forty-five degree angle so I didn’t accidentally shoot him.

  The thing snarled at me. Three others turned their milky white gazes on me and staggered. I aimed, exhaled, and fired, expecting to miss the first time, because I’m sharp like that.

  I fired and the Z took a round in the neck. It spun around and dropped to one knee.

  The others didn’t care about their buddy. They saw me and thought I was human steak.

  A shot rang out, and one of them dropped.

  Where the hell was that fucking shuffler?

  I took a half-dozen steps, pulled the wrench back, and flattened the Z who was on his knees. His head turned inside out, and that was okay with me. Pulped brain matter exploded and hit the ground. He dropped without another sound and lay on his new pillow of squished and gnarly rot.

  A pair broke from cover and came at me. Another shot and one of them fell over. His head snapped to the side like he’d just remembered something. Most of his face was gone. What in the hell kind of bullets had the old woman traded to me?

  A pile of car parts that could use a bath in WD-40 provided a decent amount of cover as I dropped to a crouch and took cover.

  An old man in golf shorts and the remains of a tank top looked around in a daze. In general, I don’t recommend playing peek-a-boo with t
he dead. He was dark-skinned from time in the sun, time he’d spent before the change hit. If zombies got sunburned, I kind of felt bad for them.

  Kind of.

  I switched hands and used my much better right to aim. The gun bucked and the Z fell on its face with a neat hole in the side of its head. Damn, I was having a good day. Three shots and two kills. That was some Joel Kelly heroics right there.

  The last Z was slow because he was dragging the remains of his foot. His ripped and shattered ankle hit the ground with each step, making a grinding noise. I gulped and aimed.

  That’s when a fresh wave broke from cover and came at me. There weren’t just a few--there were at least ten or fifteen, and they were spry.

  They’d been in the small alleyway across from our position. The sun had provided cover, and I wished I had a grenade to toss at the horde, because I was sure that’s where the damn shuffler was holding court.

  Joel broke from cover and came in shooting. I didn’t wait around for him to accidentally shoot me; I headed for the side of a building. With my back against wood, I picked a target and shot him. He didn’t drop, but I’d scored a hit, judging by the way he spun away.

  A series of loud retorts echoed as Kelly moved in. He wasn’t wasting time on theatrics; he was all badass Marine. His weapon was up and his eyes glued to targets. He dropped three in rapid succession as he strode onto the battlefield.

  I took aim and shot another one, scoring a blast to the face. She probably hadn’t been much to look at before death, and now she sprouted a third eye. Her legs went out from under her as she collapsed.

  Something blurred across the ground and was in the air before I could fire. Joel dropped his aim and shifted to the side as the shuffler landed. He lashed out with his foot, but the shuffler was already moving. I wanted to rush to help, but there was an army of Zs to deal with.

  I did my best to keep my cool as four of the bastards closed in on me. They weren’t fast, not by a long shot, and each sported wounds. One was missing most of an arm, so I automatically labeled him as less of a threat. I went for the fastest one first, shooting him in the head. The chamber slammed back, waiting for me to reload, but I didn’t have a fresh mag, so I dropped the gun back in its holster.

  Taking up a slugger’s stance, I knocked down one of the Zs, but there were still two to contend with, and they were already on me.

  Out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of Joel. He slammed the shuffler in the side of the head with the butt of his rifle and then spun, dropped low, and took another one in the gut. His motions were timed and well-delivered.

  I pushed one back into the other and swung, but missed and hit his arm. The Z didn’t react to the blow--something that would have made a normal man scream in pain. The second Z was faster than I’d anticipated and moved on me. She was middle-aged, with grey-streaked hair that stuck up from a short haircut and a bunch of hair products consisting of blood and zombie goo.

  She hit me hard, pushing my much larger frame into the wall. I levered myself forward by kicking back with my good leg. She fell back, but her arms came up in the classic zombie pose.

  Joel was surrounded and fighting for his life. The shuffler had backed away, but I could tell he was preparing to leap.

  I didn’t have time for dealing with this Z. Instead of fighting her, I spun her around, picked her up, and barreled through the other zombie. The stinkbeast in my arms was so foul it made me want to projectile vomit for about an hour. Her arms were covered in wounds, and she leaked from pretty much everywhere.

  The shuffler turned his rabid green eyes on me and snarled. I didn’t give him a chance to leap, lifting the moaning zombie in my arms, and slamming into him.

  He was skinny as a rail and his hair was long and lank. He’d been low to the ground, on all fours. The three of us rolled around--tussling, I guess you’d call it, although I also thought of it later as fighting for my life.

  I drove my knee into the shuffler’s stomach, but he was quick as a whip. His hands lashed out over and over, striking at me. I got my arms up to protect my face and batted his hands aside. The Z I’d used for a battering ram rolled over and struggled to get up.

  I took a blow to the head, from the shuffler, but exchanged my protection for a strike. I threw from the shoulder, something I’d done many times, and smashed the shuffler in the face. His nose exploded from the blow and his head smashed into the ground. This gave me enough of a breather to strike him again, but he got his head to the side, so I only struck his ear.

  The other Z managed to get to her feet and attack. Why she went after me when Joel was busy fighting off three Zs was weird. Was she holding a grudge, or was this stupid shuffler using some odd mental telepathy, or some kind of unspoken language?

  Joel was surrounded, but went for his sidearm. He drew and fired and then clicked on empty. The Z he’d shot fell away but was still moving.

  The woman I’d used as a battering ram got on her hands and feet and then lunged for me. I was bowled over, and away from the shuffler. I wasn’t just mad that she hit me; I’d had the damn shuffler right under me, and a chance to kill him. Now he was free.

  The breath rushed out of my body as I struck the ground. I tried to roll into it, but with my legs busted up it was a shock I wasn’t knocked flat.

  The Z grabbed me, so I grabbed her back and pushed her down. The shuffler hit me hard enough to make my head spin, and then leapt.

  Joel backed up and tugged his knife. Jesus Christ! We were getting our asses kicked here.

  I was just about out of gas. I managed to hold of the Z, but she was strong and managed to trip me up. She fell on me and her mouth snapped next to my exposed neck. I pushed her head away, but she leaned in and almost got part of my cheek.

  Joel managed to slash the shuffler, but the other zombies were closing in on both of us. The largest tripped on part of a carburetor and almost bowled Joel over. He grabbed Joel’s boot and tried to bite him.

  I ripped my eyes away from Joel when a gunshot cracked. The Z on top of me slumped to the side. Her blood, cold and thick, hit my face and splashed over my forehead and into my hair. I pushed her off, letting her slump to the side, and looked at Joel to see if he was okay.

  He kicked the biter in the face and trudged back from the shuffler. The shuffler came in fast. Joel slashed a Z across the face. Kicked back, making another Z drop. A rotter covered in rags reached for Joel.

  Another loud shot, and one of the Zs that was after Joel went down in a heap.

  A couple of shapes took form from the East. I looked, then did a double-take as they materialized, sun-high, blinding me. They strode like something out of a western.

  Roz and Anna to the rescue.

  Anna struggled to keep her arm crossed across her chest, but her good hand held a handgun. It boomed, and the shuffler that had been so persistent fell to the side like a wounded animal. It snarled, touched a wound on his leg, then skittered away on three limbs. Anna lifted the gun and aimed, but dropped the heavy barrel as the shuffler disappeared around the corner of a building.

  I rolled over and found my feet. Then I found my wrench. Cleanup duty was almost fun.

  ###

  13:50 hours approximate

  Location: Vista

  Turned out that the place had been surrounded by Zs. Anna and Roz decided to move a few blocks to the East, but Roz had been smart and left us a note: the flapping piece of paper I’d been trying to reach. When the shuffler had led his little army of dumbshits into our temporary Fortress, Roz had backed the camper up and moved down a few blocks.

  Roz helped carry some of the supplies. I put the half-case of beef stew over my shoulder and ignored the rumbling in my gut.

  We trudged back to the camper and found it under the overhang of a house that was long since ransacked, and partially burned-out. One of the walls had a hole big enough to drive a motorcycle through, and was surrounded by ash-covered belongings. Whoever had fled that place had come back to gather
anything they could salvage, then left sans foreclosure sign.

  We didn’t have long before daylight was gone, and I planned for us to be on the road as soon as possible.

  It was silent until we were close enough to see the drawn curtains covering the camper’s small windows. Joel went first and inspected the site to make sure no one had taken an unwelcome interest while we were gone. He moved through the house, and then did a sweep of the camper.

  When Christy and the dog appeared in the camper doorway, I finally breathed a sigh of relief.

  ###

  13:50 hours approximate

  Location: Vista

  An hour later we’d pulled off a side road and parked under some trees. We warmed up a couple of cans of stew, and as much as I’d promised myself I’d eat slowly, I ended up wolfing down my portion. Some canned mixed vegetables got added to the mix. In a small pot, Roz had made a few cups of rice. It was the most filling meal I’d had in a week.

  I wanted to take a nap, but we had business to take care of.

  ###

  13:50 hours approximate

  Location: Vista

  Anna tossed back a pair of painkillers, looked at the pills in the bottom of the little brown bottle, and added two more. She downed a bottle of water and then looked at us expectantly.

  “Wish this was vodka or something,” she said. “What will they do to me besides numb the pain?”

  “Oh you’re gonna feel really good in about half an hour. Those are Percocets, you’ve heard of Oxy, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Same thing. Get ready to feel a little better about the apocalypse in about twenty minutes,” Roz said.

  “It’ll be over soon, baby.” I tried to sound reassuring.

  “Call me baby again and I’ll jam a pain pill up your ass just before I kick you up and down the camper.”