“Don’t worry, I’m sure the whole section is covered by monitors. Everywhere else is,” Peter announced with a little anger in his voice. He remembered his supervisor bringing video feeds up, to replay to him, to show him he was always being watched.
“In fact, I can guarantee it.”
“What was that?” Emma asked, as she shushed them both and stood still to listen. She turned her head toward the sound.
“What did you hear?” Bachman asked.
“They are down here with us,” Peter muttered.
“Shhhh!” Emma strained her hearing. Just as she did a loud splash could be heard originating from behind them. Then the wet slapping sound of tentacles hitting the water and walls, and the sound of their armored, spiky legs clicking on the concrete echoed down the tunnel, as a collection of shadows poured in from the large cross-section they had just passed.
“Run!” Emma shouted.
In the panic, Peter tripped and splashed down into the congealing sewage. His face was saved because of the mask, but the rest of him was covered in dark brown sludge. He regained his feet with the help of Bachman, who was quickly as his side. After being helped back up, Peter quickly ran after Bachman. The creatures followed closely behind.
130
Terrance, and the others
In a gas station
Just outside New York City
The Sound of the powerful gun mounted on the jeep pulled Terrance’s eyes away from the infected pouring from the field. He watched them get mowed down by the high velocity bullets. The naked creatures in front were ripped in half as if they exploded into pieces.
Then something else caught his attention as he raised his machinegun to fire – there were people running towards the infected. The strangers had weapons raised, ready to start the fight.
Who are they? he questioned. But he didn’t have time to ask out loud, because the infected were upon him.
Terrance turned his attention to the creatures when a woman with short cropped strawberry blonde hair, and silver rimmed glasses ran past with two axes raised in the air. She swung them around like a person possessed, impressive for a woman that looked like she was in her early fifties. She was also wearing a large set of headphones and it sounded like she was singing along to the music.
Lindell had to release the trigger, in fear of hitting any of the strangers running past.
More women joined in.
Terrance guessed there was about ten or more females and two males, all charging head on at the infected. They all carried weapons. One sounded like she was shouting, “For Tish!”
Then, just as it couldn’t get any weirder, the roar of a motorbike could be heard through the sound of the rain against the large metal covering, and the sound of gunfire.
A motorbike sped down the road, with a woman riding it, and another sat behind her with a handgun in each hand. As the bike braked and spun in a large arc, swinging the back end around, the woman on the back stared firing. As bullet casings spun in the air, the driver pulled a shotgun from inside her bike leathers and shot a running naked man in the chest, sending him flying backwards.
Terrance was confounded. What was happening. Who were these people? They seemed like they were enjoying the fight.
The woman in front with the two axes swung them with precision, slicing a neck wide open to one side, while embedding an axe in the forehead on the other. She would force a foot on a chest, to aid her pulling the axe head out of a body, then she would continue – swinging left and right. Creatures tumbled all around her.
Right behind her other women, all with different weapons fanned out, while using the light from the canopy to see what they were doing. One woman with long blonde hair in a ponytail had a multiple shot crossbow. Another with auburn hair had a gleaming katana sword. Another with a blonde bob and black Buddy Holly glasses had a handgun and a machete – an assortment of deadly devices being wielded by a group of females who looked like they were in the late forties or early fifties.
One pair looked like sisters, each covering the others back. As they moved forward they circled around each other to cover all sides – like a slow dance. They looked younger than all the others – around the late thirties, and regardless of the cold weather they only wore cut off jeans and tee-shirts.
They all looked like they knew what they were doing – it looked like this wasn’t their first mass slaughter of the infected.
He could hear a few others also shouting, “For Tish!”
Terrance lowered his weapon. He was afraid to hit any of the strangers. And by the looks of it, using his gun would only waste bullets. They didn’t need his help.
A large man, with short blonde hair, and glasses, wearing a blood stained shirt with Serenity wrote across the front, and wielding a double handled machete jogged along behind the rest. He ran passed the jeep and leaned on a support column by Terrance.
“Bloody hell.” He was out of breath. “Smokie’s always gotta run everywhere. Why can’t she walk for a change?” He then wiped sweat off his forehead.
“Sorry, I’m Stu, by the way.” He gave a wonky smile. He stood straight again, and continued after the others. “And as a great man once said, ‘Someone ever tries to kill you, you try to kill ‘em right back!’” he shouted as he jogged after the others. He then added, “For Tish!” As he reached the fight, he started to cut the heads off any injured creatures on the ground that was still moving. Terrance would swear on one hand the man had a green clove puppet that was holding onto the handle.
“What the hell is happening?” Terrance muttered as he watched the man run into the fray and decapitate a young boy who was thrashing around on the ground.
131
Bachman, Peter, and Emma
Inside Zone 1
The underground bunker
Quirauk Mountain, Pennsylvania
“We can’t outrun them,” Bachman shouted over his shoulder.
Emma was behind him, with Peter at the back. The sewage was too difficult to run through, plus they had no idea where they were heading. Bachman knew the only chance they had was to turn and fight. Being in a tunnel was an advantage, they would only have to fight one creature at a time, and all their weapons had long handles.
“Don’t stop!” Peter cried. He kept looking over his shoulder. The creatures were too fast, as they used their tentacles to drag themselves along, propelling their spindly legs.
“I don’t want to die in a fucking sewer!” Peter shouted as the waste dripped from his clothing. He sobbed loudly. He knew he had to turn and fight. He had no choice.
“Keep going, I will hold them back,” he shouted in a moment or rare bravery, as he stopped dead, and spun around.
The light from the small embedded bulbs was enough to see the creatures churning up the tunnel, with tentacles thrashing, and legs clicking. It was hard to tell if it was one creature or five, they blurred together. The worst part was the sound. Apart from the noise of the deformed bodies surging down through the congealing blood and waste, dragging the useless remains of the human behind, and that of the bodies hitting the walls, there was no other sound – no screams or cries, or guttural roars.
Peter held his ground, with the rake held straight out in his slippery grip. The problem was, there was no sharp points facing forward. With the rake held at arms length the spikes pointed downwards.
Peter was so focused on the charging creatures that he had no idea if the other two were right behind him, or running full pelt down the tunnel to save themselves.
Peters legs shook, and piss started to run down the inside of his leg, as the rake felt like it had an anvil hanging on the end. Yet he stood his ground as the thrashing creatures surged towards him, in a frenzied mess of tentacles and armored legs.
Then they hit the rake, pushing Peter back, as the armored legs dug into the concrete, and the tentacles lashed out to grip him and pull him close.
It took all his will power to hold the rake level, while he could f
eel the strength they were exerting against it. Black tentacles thrashed around his arms, as they tried to get a purchase. The soaking wet clothes, covered in blood and waste, was a blessing, the creatures couldn’t get a hold, he was just too slippery.
Peter closed his eyes, and held on with all his strength, he had to give the other two time to get as far away as possible.
A quote from the late Christopher Reeve jumped into his panicked mind. He shouted it out loud to give himself strength as tentacles lashed around his face.
“A hero is an ordinary individual who finds the strength to persevere and endure in spite of overwhelming obstacles.”
The rake started to slip from his wet hands.
132
Alex, and the others
In a gas station
Just outside New York City
Alex could hear gunfire, and he thought, who are the strangers? Just as he felt a burst of pressure on his chest as he was knocked backwards onto the grit cover floor. The wind was forced from his lungs, as the back of his head slammed onto the concrete.
Just before darkness took him, he thought, Fuck, did I just disturb a Popper?
His mind slipped to a dream he had been having, on and off, over the last few weeks, since the outbreak started. An endless ocean, stretching to infinity. A calm sea with heavy clouds above, all in pastel colors of turquoise, blues, and greens. He floated helpless, with no one else around. There was no boat, no raft, no floating debris, just him in an empty ocean of silence and stillness.
A wave of heavy rain was heading his way from the distance. He had no idea how far. It could be a mile or twenty, there was no way of knowing when there was no reference to size or distance.
He treaded the water with aching arms and legs. He had no life vest and he was tiring. He wouldn’t last for much longer in the cold water. Fins circled him at a distance – waiting patiently. He would die in the middle of nowhere and no one would ever know. He would either drown or be ripped apart – both horrific ways to go. Both his worse nightmares.
Then in the distance he noticed something – a small dot on the horizon. He couldn’t tell if it was a boat or an island – the distance made everything hazy. He had no choice but to try and swim to it. With his last ounce of strength he started to move in the dots direction, as the fins kept pace. The only problem was, no matter how far he swam, the object was getting no closer. It was like a shimmering mirage in the distance.
Just then, as his arms and legs started to cramp and his head dipped under the salty water, and the fins changed direction, heading right for him, he woke up… He always woke up, just as he heard the words – the same he always heard just before he awoke – No turning back...
He started to come back to the moment at hand. His first instinct was to hold his breath. If it was a Popper, spores would be dancing all around him.
He did a mental inventory. Apart from his head and chest, he felt no pain.
The sound of the gunfire started to fill his ears again.
No ringing from a concussive explosion, he reasoned. However, he could hear a strange whining sound. He took a gulp of air. He opened his eyes.
A blurred image of someone was stood over him, with blood soaked hair and globs of flesh in each hand.
133
Lindell, Terrance, Troy, Naomi, and the others
In a gas station
Just outside New York City
“What the hell is happening?” Lindell asked above the sound of the hammering rain and screaming women, as Terrance ran to stand next to the jeep, with his gun held at his side.
“The fuck if I know Bro.” Terrance watched the strangers hack down the creatures that were pouring across the field.
The two people climbed from the bike and joined in with the fight. The woman in leathers shot another infected square in the face, then used the stock to slam into another smaller woman, and then swung it around while pumping it, to shoot the creature she had just hit as if fell to the wet ground. She stepped over the remains and continued to pump rounds into the fast moving infected.
“Who the fuck are they?” Naomi asked, who had heard the gunfire. She stood near the shattered window.
Lindell wondered why she ran towards the sound of weapons discharging, instead of barricading the storerooms door.
Neither brother answered her. They knew as much as she did.
The naked figures littered the boggy field that was churned up from the fight. Blood gathered in pools.
Above the sound of the creatures animalistic screams, and the sound of gunfire, every now and then the phrase, “For Tish!” rang across the fighting group. The others would holler the same words in unison.
It was a ragtag group. Mostly older women – few were younger than fifty. However, they fought with a ferocity which seemed personal.
Troy stood alongside the two brothers and Naomi. The four watched the fight come to an end, as the horde of infected were cut down. A few wandered in the pouring rain, helping the man called Stu finish the creatures off.
The woman with the headphones on headed toward them with two dripping axes that looked medieval, as if they belonged in a museum. She hooked them back into a belt around her waste. She then wiped a blood soaked hand on her sodden top before pulling an old fashioned portable CD player out of a waterproof pouch. She stopped the music and pulled the headphones down around her neck.
“Hi! I’m Linzi Osburn. You can call me Smokie. I suppose I’m the leader of this ragtag, motley crew.”
Naomi was the first to acknowledge her.
“Where the fuck did you all come from?”
“A straight talker huh?” Smokie wiped water out of her eyes. “We have a boat resting in dock just behind the station. We get followed by the dumb bastards. They keep pace along the riverbank. They’ve been collecting over a few days. When they get to a fair size group, we pull over and sort them out.”
“A boat?” Troy muttered.
“Yup, an amazing forty-foot fishing boat we swapped for our old one.”
“Old one?” Terrance said.
“Wondered when you were gonna speak. And may I just add you, and I’m guessing he’s your brother,” she said nodding her head at Lindell, “you are some mighty fine male specimens.”
Terrance was a little taken aback by her statement.
“Don’t mind me. I’ve been hold up with a bunch of women for the best part of three weeks, with only Stu, Flash, and Andy for amusement. I’m getting tired of the sight of them. I could do with some darker meat.”
“Your boat?” Terrance said to get the conversation back on track.
The others had started to wander over from the carnage, and gathered under the gas station canopy.
“When the world turned to shit, most of us were on a cruise ship, heading down the river on a relaxing holiday. We all presumed it was nothing, something that would blow over. When we realized it wasn’t it was already too late. Most of the crew jumped ship, leaving us high and dry.” A glob of bloody flesh dripped off her chin.
“We stayed together – you know, safety in numbers,” another women announced who was standing next to Smokie. A katana sword dripped in her hand. “Hi, I’m Sherry McIntire by the way.” She gave a tired smile. She looked like she had just climbed out of a river.
Smokie continued. “However, The boat was a piece of shit. We soon traded it for a fishing boat we found a week later.”
Sherry started introducing the other women who were stood covered in the creature’s blood they had just hacked down. She raised the sword and pointed at the woman in motorbike leathers.
“That’s Soozie Blue. Over there’s Kate Moore, Norma Seitz, The Shapter sisters, Donna Thorn, Shannon Walters, Caroline Hickman–”
Smokie cut her off. “No time for introductions right now. Is there any more of you, because we had better get back to the boat”
“What?” Lindell said.
“We should make a move.” She turned to wave at the mangle
d, naked corpses around the field. “This is just the forward advance group – the fastest of the bunch. The large pack are still on the way!”
Just as she said that a collection of animalistic screams pierced the air, as the larger group of the infected started to pour across the field.
Then behind them, Alex’s shouting pierced the air.
PART SIX
A Friend in Need
134
Peter, Bachman, and Emma
Inside a sewage tunnel
Zone 1
The underground bunker
Quirauk Mountain, Pennsylvania
Peter was ready to let go.
Surely Bachman and Emma are far enough away. The creatures will concentrate on me, giving them time to escape. Please don’t let my sacrifice be in vain. He wasn’t sure who he was begging. God?
He never believed in God. Peter was a man of science. As far as he was concerned, everything had an answer if it was studied close enough. The bible was okay thousands of years ago, when man knew no different, but in today’s world, with modern technology, there is no excuse for small mindedness.
His arms started to lower. He was so tired. It felt like he has been running for weeks, not hours. He has no idea how long he has been standing, while fighting them off with the rake. Two minutes. Twenty?
Is this what it feels like to let go? To give in to the inevitable? He thought it would be scarier. He didn’t feel afraid; he just felt exhausted.
If there is no God, where do I go next? he reasoned? Is my consciousness an energy source that enters another plane of existence? I will soon find out.
Soundlessly, the black tentacles lashed around him, trying to get a purchase on his slippery clothing. Peter’s feet started sliding backward through the congealing blood around his boots. He tried not to think about how many people had to die to fill a tunnel this wide and long.
The Sixth Extinction: America (Omnibus Edition | Books 1 – 8) Page 32
