by Dan Decker
The only good zampy was a dead zampy.
While there wasn't any type of official legal authority anymore—setting aside the usurper Weston—there had been several compacts among the various compounds that baby zampys could not be left alive. If word got out that a smuggler was leaving behind nestlings after killing the adults, the compounds refused to buy from them.
Parry walked down the hill without waiting for a response from the woman. She was still holding her shotgun up and not quite pointing it at him. He sighed but didn’t tell her to stop. At least she was cautious when it came to potential zombies.
He was careful with every footstep and continued to be on the lookout for more nestlings. Miniature zampys weren't unheard of out in the sagebrush, but the miniatures tended to keep more to the urban areas and the compounds.
Nestlings and miniatures weren’t the only reasons to be careful, he had a feeling there was another zampy nearby, and there was also the chance that the nestlings had escaped the nest.
“Hold on!” the woman called out.
Parry cringed and turned around as he put a finger to his lips. There were a dozen reasons to never yell if it could be avoided.
In addition to more zampys from this nest, there was also a strong likelihood that other zampy nests might be close by. Weston’s men might be passing through, and there were still the zombies out there that needed to be dealt with as well. He'd been checking across the river and still hadn't seen them resurfacing out of the brush. That wasn't a good sign. He'd have to be careful when he crossed to the other side. While zombies usually didn't move quickly, they were fond of ambushes. Once a zombie got a good solid grip it was hard to break free.
He tried to not get close but when he did there was still a certain amount of intelligence peering back at him out of those mostly dead eyes. That was another reason why he didn’t like killing them. It felt too much like killing another human.
The woman was following him down the hill. He frowned at the racket she made while passing through the brush and kicking up dust.
She must have decided he was no longer in danger of becoming a zombie because the shotgun was no longer pointing his way.
As he watched her approach, he was surprised to see that she was attractive. The wacky spikes of her hair were complemented by the black camo cargo pants and leather jacket she was wearing. In fact, if it hadn't been for the fact that she froze when she should have been shooting, he could have mistaken her for being a veteran smuggler.
When he saw that she had a tattoo of a kitty with daggers poking through both of the eyes and out the back of the head, he had to turn away to keep her from seeing him roll his eyes.
She had indeed been reading up too much on the smuggling trade. Aleb had a tattoo like that. Whatever her lack of skill in the field, the woman was capable of looking the part.
“Weston's men were supposed to be working in this area today,” she said, “Zombie and zampy clean up. They're not going to like it if they find you doing their work for them.”
“You're a piece of work,” Parry said, “you know that? Not only did you almost get us both killed, but you're also acting like we're at a party instead of out in monster country. If Weston's men are close by you shouldn't be yelling.”
“No thanks for the warning? Besides, if all your shooting doesn't get their attention a little shouting won't be noticed.”
She had a small point there, but he wasn’t willing to concede it. There may have been a time before the zampys had come when the sound of gunfire wasn’t heard very often out in the wilderness, but that wasn’t the case today.
Still, he’d been so busy shooting he hadn’t stopped to think of the consequences. He would have got there eventually, but the sooner they got moving again, the better. There was still the matter of the zampy hatchlings, though.
“No thanks for saving your life?” Parry asked. “Twice? Come on, you can at least help me with the babies. Don't let your guard down, even for a second. I have a feeling we're being watched, and I don’t think it’s coming from those zombies we saw on the other side of the river.”
Maybe there was a zampy from another nest that had seen what had happened to the others and was setting up its own ambush. That happened on occasion.
He stopped and did a thorough search of the surrounding area. Nothing, but that didn’t help, he was still feeling uneasy.
He spent several long moments studying the other side of the river again, the zombies still hadn't reappeared. They were either lying in wait or coming for them; they were bonded after all.
Cursing, he picked up his speed. As loathe as he was to kill some more, he needed to get this done and over with. As he walked, he swapped out the half used magazine of his rifle for a full one.
He wouldn’t take the time now to refill the first because he had the other full magazines ready to go. Swapping out half empty magazines had saved his bacon more times than he could count.
As they drew closer, the baby zampys stopped chirping. The breeze had shifted in the last few minutes, and he hadn't realized that they were approaching at an angle that was upwind of the nest. It was too late now to change that.
He slowed as he approached the rock pile. The stones were big enough that a full-size zampy could be hidden on the other side. Several could be hiding there.
He considered using one of the grenades he kept in his vest. They'd been very expensive, and his supplier had said he wasn't certain if he would be able to get his hands on any more.
Discarding the idea, he lowered his rifle and let it rest on his chest, glad again for the investment he’d made in the sling and instead removed one of his pistols.
He waited for several seconds, preparing himself for what he would do next if a full-size zampy was hiding on the other side. He noticed that the woman had followed but had stopped ten feet back.
He shouldn't have been surprised by that. She’d already left all the other hard work for him to do, why not leave the rest to him as well?
She had another thing coming if she thought to claim some of the zampy heads. That was the only good thing that was going to come out of all this shooting today.
If he was lucky, he might make enough off the heads to recoup his costs for the ammo he'd used and for the fact that he'd lost his edge on getting to the compound ahead of the other smugglers.
He took several deep breaths and continued to imagine the scene unfolding before him. There wasn't just one zampy, there were two. He visualized himself putting three bullets into the chests of each in rapid succession.
After a few moments had gone by without any renewed chirping, he scrambled to the top of one of the rocks with his pistol in hand, prepared for anything.
He was relieved when there wasn't the sudden rush of movement. He looked down at a gap beneath his feet and found the nest. He pointed his pistol down at it.
At least a dozen pairs of little eyes stared back at him. These babes were barely ten inches tall. They were much smaller than the nestling he’d killed earlier. The thought filled him with anxiety. There was another nest close by.
He’d never had to exterminate a nest of such a young batch before, and his stomach churned. It wasn’t hard to see why some people had tried to domesticate the little bug-eyed creatures.
The nest had been constructed to keep the little zampys inside until they were large enough to escape on their own. Several moments passed by as Parry stared down at them, putting off the inevitable.
One of the baby zampys lunged and came close to scrambling up the rock towards Parry. He fired on instinct, and its body fell back into the squirming mass. The chirping began again but this time it was higher pitched and the sounds were faster, indicating a note of alarm.
Several of them turned on their fallen sibling and began devouring it. Others attempted to jump out of the nest as well, but this time Parry didn’t fire. The zampys weren’t likely to reach him.
As he looked down at the nest, trying to decide
what he was going to do next, he saw a sudden movement across the river.
When he looked up and focused on it, he groaned. Two of the zombies he’d spotted earlier were charging towards him.
When they hit the water, one of them stumbled and made a big splash as it fell into the river. The other didn’t falter and continued to charge towards Parry. When it was almost to the other side, it slipped as well and for a moment was in danger of going in until it regained its balance and continued on.
Parry put his pistol back in his holster and brought up his rifle and fired several shots. One of the bullets hit the closest zombie in the chest, but the others missed.
The woman said something he didn't understand. Parry would have just ignored her, but he caught a tone of alarm in her voice that somehow drew his attention. Another zampy had broken cover from behind him and was now hurtling towards Parry as well, even though the woman was closer. It looked like it had been hiding in a row of sagebrush. If he hadn’t known any better, he would have sworn that the whole attack had been coordinated with the zombies, but that was impossible. Wasn’t it?
Cursing again, he turned back to the zombies crossing the river.
The zombie he’d shot hadn’t slowed in the slightest and had kept coming, with the rotten gore of what had once been blood oozing out of its chest and down the tattered remains of its shirt. Parry lined his sight on the chest and fired five more in rapid succession, this time, the impact of the all the bullets hitting their target sent the zombie to the ground.
He turned to the zampy which had covered half the distance between it and Parry in the time he’d taken to bring down the zombie. The woman wasn’t even trying to shoot the zampy; instead, her eyes were fixed on Parry, wondering what he would do.
That was for the best because Parry was quickly becoming the backstop for any shot she may have taken. Maybe she'd realized that and decided to hold off. He’d didn’t fancy the idea of having to pick out embedded pellets from his flesh or even worse, losing an eye.
As he took aim at the zampy, he heard the zombie behind him in the river struggling to get to its feet. Bleeding frickin’ heck, he thought, this is coordinated. It has to be.
He’d heard stories from other smugglers that had made it sound like zampys were capable of strategy, but he’d always dismissed them as lies and speculation. Now he was becoming a believer. Why else had both the zampy and the zombies waited to attack together?
The first couple shots went high, but his next two took the zampy in the abdomen. His blood had gone cold as he fired and he noticed that his forehead was covered in perspiration. This zampy had been a smart one; the first two shots had missed because it had stepped to the right as it ran. Had it known what was coming and dodged the shots?
Now he was becoming paranoid. Zampys couldn’t do that.
He didn’t wait for the zampy to roll to a stop as it fell and turned back to the other zombie which had got back to its feet but had slowed to finish crossing the river. It was now almost across. He had it lined up and was about to take the shot when the woman yelled, drawing his attention.
The zampy that he’d thought was dead was still charging him, it moved a bit slower and had blue blood dripping down its side, and it looked as though only the bullets had grazed it.
“Frickin’ heck!” Parry looked back at the zombie and fired several shots before he brought his rifle back around. He didn’t even have time to see if he’d hit the zombie or not.
The zampy was now back up to its full speed and was closing the distance fast. It took every ounce of Parry’s willpower to summon the discipline to aim before firing. This time, he didn’t stop firing at the body of the zampy as it rolled to the ground.
Once it had stopped moving, he pumped it full of bullets. He couldn’t be certain, but it had looked as though the zampy had rolled just as he shot. Perhaps that was why Parry had thought he’d hit it when in fact he had not. Tricky little lizard.
He’d never witnessed that kind of behavior before and a voice in the back of him mind told him that it was important and something that he needed to think about.
All other thoughts were pushed out of his mind when he turned and saw how close the zombie was. He almost didn’t need to aim, but he still lined the zombie up in his sight before pulling the trigger.
As he fired his first shot into the other zombie’s chest, he tried to add up how many bullets he had used since he’d switched magazines and couldn’t remember. He fired several more in rapid succession until the slide hung open and the last shell was ejected. The zombie had slipped again in the water but this time maintained its footing.
Cursing, Parry ejected the magazine, loaded another, and slammed the slide shut. In the next instance, he had his sight lined up again on the zombie and fired five shots into its chest. It fell to the ground, and he aimed for its head, but before he was able to get off a shot, the first zombie sprung from the ground in front of him.
“Terrible brutish monsters!” he screamed as he brought his rifle around, but he was too late. The zombie had already lunged.
Its head exploded as he brought up his rifle. The blood and gore of the zombie landed all over his arms. Ugh, he thought, I’ll have to go for a swim in that river now. Had that woman waited until the last moment on purpose just to get back at him for his comment about the zampy blood not infecting her?
He discarded the idea. She wasn’t skilled enough for that. Though, now that he thought about it, he hadn't heard anything more from her in a while.
Parry didn’t have time to wonder how the zombie’s head had exploded because in his effort to dodge the zombie he had dived down into the zampy nest.
He jammed the muzzle of his rifle into the rock on the other side and hung in the air above the squeaking nestlings, most of whom were leaping up, trying to take a bite out of him.
One the zampys scored a hit on the leg of his pants, but he shook it loose. It had latched onto a point above the line of his boot.
From what he could tell, its fangs hadn’t made contact, but as soon as he was out of this mess, he would examine his leg. If he even had a scratch that he didn’t recognize he’d inject himself with one of the bottles of anti-venom. He worked his hands up the body of his rifle. By flexing his arms, he was able to push himself back upright. He heard laughter as he did so.
Once he was stable again, he turned to the woman, but the words died on his lips. She was gone. In her place were three of Weston’s men, their uniforms were unmistakable, he could have picked them out from a mile away.
5
Not knowing what else to do, he hopped off the rock and slung his rifle over his shoulder after a quick glance at the muzzle. It had been roughed up some, and there was some residue on the front of the rifle, but it didn’t look as though there would be any permanent harm and if he needed to use it again, it should be all right.
As he walked, he noticed that several pieces of the zombie’s head had gotten on his legs. He shook them free and hoped that none of the gore had touched any of his open wounds.
He pulled up his pant leg that the nestling had gotten and was relieved to see that there wasn’t even a nick on him. He almost laughed when he realized that he wouldn’t have to use one of the vials of anti-venom on himself after all.
If it hadn't been for Weston’s men, he would have smiled and heaved a sigh of relief. It wasn’t the closest call he’d ever experienced, but it had been one of his luckiest.
Half a second more and that zombie would have got him. There wasn’t anything that could be done about a zombie bite. One bite and that was it. He might have had as long as five minutes before the effects would have become prominent, but within the hour he would have been like any other undead piece of garbage wandering through the sagebrush.
“Who should I thank?” He asked as he approached Weston’s men, deciding to take the approach of gratitude. Hopefully, they wouldn’t find his bag. He’d try to play it off as him being in the wrong place at the wr
ong time.
“Nobody,” said a gray-haired man that Parry thought looked familiar. The patch on his chest identified him as Stryker. “Where is your anti-venom?”
“I’m no smuggler.” Parry smiled as if the suggestion was the most ridiculous thing in the world. “I wish I had some of that stuff on hand, though, it would have been convenient seeing as how close I’ve come to getting bit today.”
“Should have told the truth.” Stryker turned to one of his men and called him forward. The man that he’d beckoned to pulled Parry’s bag out from behind a sagebrush plant. Parry did his best to keep his face calm. “Abbot, see what you can find.”
Parry doubted that they would find the real anti-venom, but the decoy stuff was convincing enough. Trying to convince them to taste it to prove it was corn syrup wasn’t going to help his case.
The man with his bag had a shaved head with a tattoo on the back of his head of a crushed skull; he opened it and began to rummage around at the top. The patch on his chest identified him as Abbott. They hadn't asked him to disarm yet, but that would be the first thing that they did once they discovered the decoys. Parry considered his options and didn't like them.
A lot of the smugglers didn't think twice about killing Weston's men, but Parry didn't fall into that camp.
He hadn't killed another human being yet and had no intention of starting, he felt bad enough about the zombies he’d killed. There were no regrets on that score to be sure, just wishful thinking that someday they might have been healed.
The captured smugglers were drafted into Weston's army if they were of suitable age and physical fitness, those who weren't were either branded and forced into slave labor for a few years or they were outright executed. Whatever suited the mood of Weston's men that day. Any way that this went, he didn't like his options.
The thing that irritated him is that they would have had nothing on him if it hadn't been for the decoys. He didn't want to go down for a bunch of decoys. Perhaps he'd be able to convince them that the vials were just corn syrup. It was an unlikely chance, how on earth would he convince the men to taste the vials?
