by Dan Decker
Maybe they would be able to recognize that the viscosity of the liquid wasn't quite right. Try as he could, Parry had never been able to get it to match the actual thing.
Abbott continued to dig deeper into his bag without removing the decoys. Parry wasn't sure how Abbott could have missed them, but he overturned the contents of the bag out onto the ground and started sorting through everything.
As his stuff began to be scattered, Parry tried to keep the grimace off his face. He didn't want to do anything that would be mistaken as a sign of guilt; Weston’s men had killed for far less. The man placed the cans of food on the ground beside everything else and Parry did his best to not stare at them, not wanting to give them any reason to suspect that they were something other than what they appeared to be. He kept expecting that the man would soon hold up the decoys but the minutes began to tick by without anything happening. The squeaking from the nest had settled down, but every now in then, one of the babies would screech.
He thought about the woman who had disappeared and wanted to dismiss the possibility out of hand that she’d taken the decoys, but he couldn't discount the fact that she'd hidden well enough that he hadn't been able to spot her.
That ability was at odds with the way she'd reacted once the zampys had attacked. The longer that Abbott went without finding the anti-venom made Parry more suspicious. Had the woman been playing him?
“He's clean,” Abbott said when he stood, a disbelieving look on his face. “Are you sure we interpreted the communication correctly?”
Stryker bit his lip in thought and turned back to Parry. “Did any of the ground where the bag was hidden look disturbed?”
The other man shook his head. “Everything else looks right, he’s a smuggler, headed in the right direction, only the thing is, he’s got no medicine.”
Stryker looked at Parry. “Why were you crossing that hill? Why go to all the trouble of killing those zampys?”
Parry opened his mouth to speak, but he cut it off when there was a growling sound from the river. The other zombie. He hadn’t put a bullet through its brain. It was standing and limping forward, favoring one of its legs. Parry didn't remember one of his bullets hitting a leg; maybe it had broken a bone when it had fallen.
The third Weston man snorted with derision when he saw the zombie limping their direction and pulled out a pistol, aiming for the head. “A broken leg and still all it can think about is eating.” The man had red hair that Parry was certain he hadn’t been born with and had a gap-toothed smile. He was missing at least three teeth. His patch identified him as Johnson.
The other men laughed, but Parry remained quiet while he looked around. He would have brought his rifle up so that he had it ready to use, but with Weston’s men still looking at him sideways, he thought it best to keep it down while he stayed on alert. There were still two other zombies that hadn’t been accounted for.
As the laughing faded away, he wondered if this was the first time these idiots had been out on patrol with so few people. One could only afford to treat zombies like they were a laughing matter when you were surrounded by a group of twenty soldiers, or you knew that they were all dead and the area had been cleared of all zampys.
Parry heard the rustling brush before he saw it and yelled. “Watch out!” He spotted the movement behind Johnson. “Behind you.”
The zombie broke cover and rushed towards Johnson in the same moment Parry finished yelling.
Johnson turned to face the new threat, bringing up his rifle but it was too late. The zombie tackled Johnson, slamming Johnson to the ground at the same time he fired a shot into its chest. The bullet didn’t affect the zombie, which bit into him.
There were some that had claimed zombies couldn’t feel pain but Parry had never subscribed to that particular belief.
It always seemed to him when he was putting down one of the monsters that behind the eyes there was still a person back there, while they didn’t cry out when they were shot, there was a response there. Whether it was a reflex or flash of pain, Parry didn’t know.
Stryker and Abbott were slow to respond. Abbott had looked up for the first zombie and dismissed it as something Johnson could handle and had gone back to rifling through Parry’s possessions.
Stryker had been staring at Parry as if trying to discern where the anti-venom was hidden. He’d looked as though he’d been planning to have Parry searched when the zombies had attacked. Parry wasn’t keen on the idea of submitting to a personal search and was glad for the distraction that the zombies posed.
Considering the odd angle at which Johnson’s head now lay, it looked as though his neck had been broken. His mouth was moving in a way that reminded Parry of something he’d seen a fish do after it had been pulled out of the water.
The zombie was head down ripping into the flesh of the man. The other two Weston men seemed surprised that Johnson had gone down but hadn’t reacted yet.
“I’m going to shoot,” Parry called out to the others as he brought up his rifle, he could feel that beads of sweat that had formed on his head. They began trickling down his face and into his eyes. He tried to not let it bother him as he found the creature through the sight of his rifle and fired. His first two shots, which he fired in rapid succession, had enough force to knock the zombie off Johnson’s body. As it tried to stumble to its feet, he put a bullet into its head. Parry would still decapitate it with his machete when he had a moment.
Stryker turned back to Parry, he wore a surprised look and let loose a long string of expletives as he reached for his holstered pistol and took it out. There was a brief hesitation on his part during which he seemed to be thinking of pointing it at Parry, but it passed when the other zombie groaned. It was still headed their way and hadn’t been fazed.
Parry turned, intending to take this one down too, when there was a blur of motion from the side as the fourth zombie broke cover and charged towards Abbott.
Cursing, Parry swung his rifle back, but he didn’t get there in time. The zombie had already tackled Abbott and was biting his hand. As Parry put his sight on the monster, three pistol shots rang through the air. Abbot had put his pistol to its chest and was firing.
Parry had been staring right at the zombie’s eyes when it had happened. It squinted, as if in pain.
Abbott pushed it off of him, and Parry turned his attention back to the limping zombie in time to see Stryker empty his pistol into it.
As the monster went down, Parry scanned the rest of the area, hoping that the day’s body count was over. He turned in every direction while checking on the zombies that had been put down. Even with their heads mostly blown off, he’d still seen some of them get up and walk around. He wouldn't be taking any chances. Once things had settled down, he would have to sever their heads at the neck.
“My hand.”
The words sent a chill down Parry's spine, in the heat of the battle he’d overlooked the fact that Abbott had been bitten.
Cursing, Parry turned and focused on the man through the sight of his rifle. From the corner of his eye, he could see that Stryker had his pistol on the man as well even though he was in the act of switching magazines. The bitten man still held his pistol, but he held it at his side.
A man’s desire to live outweighed rational thought. Parry had seen it before when another man named Charlie had been bitten. Charlie had tried to take out a team of five people to escape himself.
Abbott had less than five minutes before he converted. He could choose to live out his last few minutes in peace and dignity, but Parry didn’t think he would. He’d seen that happen once.
“Please.” Abbott gasped and looked at Parry. “Don’t do this. Give me some of your anti-venom. I know you have it.”
Parry opened his mouth to speak, but Stryker cut him off. “Wouldn’t do any good, you know that only works on a zampy bite. There’s no such thing as anti-venom for a zombie.”
A wild look came into Abbott's eyes, he still held his pistol as h
is side, but Parry wasn’t taking any chances and slowly begun to depress the trigger. He was opposed to shooting men that had been bitten until they’d become zombies, but the memory of old Charlie was still fresh in his mind, and he wasn’t sure if he was willing to take that chance.
After a moment of reflection, he decided that he wouldn't shoot the man until after he'd converted. Parry didn't ease up on his trigger, though; he wanted to be ready if Abbott did something rash.
“Drop the pistol,” Parry said. “I’ll pull out an old recorder I have and record your last words. You got anybody you want to say goodbye to?”
Abbott considered. “You promise to wait until I convert?”
“Sure,” Parry said. “You got it.”
“What about you captain?”
Stryker nodded. “I know Marge will want to hear you say goodbye. It’s always easier if there’s a video.”
With a sigh of surrender, Abbott nodded his skull-tattooed head and tossed his pistol to the side.
Parry glanced around as he let out the breath he'd been holding, everything was still and the only sounds to be heard were that of Abbott crying and the river as it rushed by. Parry reached into his pocket where he carried his recorder and took it out.
Three gunshots rang out, and Parry turned. Abbott was on the ground, and smoke was curling out of Stryker's pistol. He wore a grim look on his face. “I’m sorry. Just couldn’t take that chance.”
Parry lowered his hand with the recorder and looked at Stryker, who avoided making eye contact with him.
“You ever been around a newly converted zombie?” Stryker asked. Parry didn’t answer, Stryker had made a tough call, and Parry wasn’t sure it had been the wrong one. Parry had dealt with many new zombies and knew that it was tough to kill them. He still preferred to do that than to kill a man. “The monsters move quickly. Far better to take him now.”
Parry nodded his head. Many people believed this way, he didn’t know if it was right or wrong, but the logic did make sense. It was just something he never intended to do. He did feel that Stryker had jumped the gun. Stryker could have at least allowed Abbott to make a quick video.
They stood in silence for several minutes, whether Stryker was quiet out of respect for the dead or still stunned by what he had done, Parry didn’t know and kept himself busy by watching everything around them very carefully.
“I had better—” Parry stopped when he heard the sound of the chirping nestlings and cringed. He lowered his rifle into position where it rested on his chest and reached for his pistol.
Now comes the tough part, he thought. He took several steps forward. It was times like this that made him wish he hadn’t lost his .22 revolver. It was a shame to waste large caliber ammo on the nestlings when something much smaller would do.
“I’ll take care of them,” Stryker said. “You can go ahead and run along.”
“You’ll take care of the zombies as well?” Parry didn’t have to explain what he meant. That was something everybody knew to do, even if the head was blown off, you still severed anything that was left from the rest of the body. “Or do you want help with that?”
“If you wouldn’t mind.” Stryker walked back up to the top of the hill where Parry could just make out the top of the ATV. He supposed that it was electric; otherwise, he would have heard it coming, even in the middle of fighting off a zombie attack.
“Pssssst.”
It came from behind, and Parry looked up at Stryker to be sure the Captain hadn’t heard it too before he turned around. He wasn’t surprised to see the woman peeking her head from out behind one of the large rocks of the nest.
His eyes narrowed though when he thought of the missing decoy vials from his pack. What other explanation was there? She must have seen him hide his pack and had stopped to search it while he’d been trying to figure out where the zampy nest was located.
If she had been able to do that, she was better skilled than she’d led him to believe. Her ability to disappear just before Weston’s men had shown up further supported his hypothesis. He was beginning to smell a rat.
He motioned for her to go back into hiding, put a finger to his lips, and turned away before she had a chance to do anything else. If the woman had half a brain—it appeared that she had more than he’d given her credit for—she would stay there until Stryker had left.
Parry walked over to his pack and started to replace the contents while he kept a watchful eye for zampys and zombies. He was wary of what Stryker had returned to his ATV for and hoped that it wasn’t to call in reinforcements.
He was beginning to regret his offer to help with the decapitation of the zombies, but it had been the polite thing to do and would keep his cover intact.
He was glad that Weston’s men had been unable to find the vials of anti-venom. If they had, Stryker might have turned his pistol to Parry after killing Abbott. If Stryker had put a few bullets into Parry as well, who would have cared?
The woman hiding back behind the rock wouldn’t have come to Parry’s aid and wouldn’t have hesitated to loot anything of Parry’s that Stryker hadn’t claimed as his own.
He could feel the woman’s eyes on his back so he was careful to not inspect the cans of food where he’d hid the vials as he picked them up and replaced them at the bottom of his bag. They were cold to the touch, a fact that he was glad Abbott hadn’t picked up on.
Once his belongings had been stowed away, Parry looked up at Stryker and saw that he hadn’t yet begun the trip back down the kill. What was taking him so long? Parry had offered to help, not to take on the whole grizzly task himself. He unstrapped his machete from his pack and withdrew it from its sheath. Between the half rotten flesh of the zombies, a swift arm, and heavy razor sharp blade, he was usually able to sever a head with one stroke.
He looked at Abbott's corpse as he reached into one of the side pockets of the pack where he kept a box of rubber gloves. He would save the fresh corpses for Stryker.
A neck that hadn’t partially decomposed usually took Parry at least two or three strokes, he didn’t relish having to do that.
As he walked over to the closest zombie—the one that had been limping—he noticed that the woman was looking at him again. He put his hand in front of him and motioned for her to hide which she did after he repeated the motion several times.
How stupid was she? Maybe he had been wrong about her being more than he'd given her credit for. Was the woman trying to get him killed?
If Stryker found that she was carrying anti-venom, there was good chance he might just try to execute her and Parry along with her. Stryker would assume that Parry and the woman had been working together.
Parry looked away from her as he approached the zombie. He groaned when he recognized that it had been a woman, a young one by the looks of her, she had a sharp angular face that might have been very beautiful in a pre-zombie existence. It saddened him; he kneeled and grabbed her hair—
There was the sound of footsteps at the top of the hill and he looked up. Stryker descended the hill holding a bunch of small metal cages; he was wearing thick gloves that went up past his elbows. Cursing, Parry let go of the zombie’s hair and ran over to confront Stryker.
6
“What the frick you doing?” Parry held his machete to the side to keep Stryker from feeling threatened.
“What’s it look like, idiot? Taking back live specimens.”
“No.” Parry shook his head. “You’re not. You go into the nest trying to take some alive, you’re going to be bitten. Haven’t enough people died in the last ten minutes? Do you need to join their ranks?”
Stryker unslung some thick bags from over his shoulder. “You think I haven’t done this before? Put a zampy in a cage, the cage goes into the bag.”
“No,” Parry said, “how about you run along. I’ll clean this mess up? I’ll take care of the decapitations as well as the nestlings.”
“A tempting proposition, but I need the babies.” Stryker's e
yes narrowed. “Why you so eager to get rid of me? You going to collect the zampy heads and sell them? That’s as bad as smuggling. I could put you into the ground right here if I caught you trying to make off with those zampy heads.”
Parry shrugged. “Fine. Go collect your zampy babies, I’ll come help. Do you have any anti-venom on hand for when you get bitten?”
“You have better gloves than that?”
Parry looked down at his latex gloves. “I’ll let you do the collecting, I’ll kill any strays and watch your back.”
Stryker nodded and strode past.
Parry looked at the cages and shook his head.
As Stryker walked forward to the nest, Parry went to his pack and returned the machete to its sheath. By the time he turned around, Stryker was already on top of the rocks where Parry had been when the zombie attacks had begun. Stryker balanced two of the cages on a separate rock and squatted down to the nest.
As Parry approached, he kept an eye out. This would be a fine time for another zombie or zampy to rear its head. He reached the rocks without seeing anything to be concerned about.
Stryker had already grabbed one of the babies by the neck and had pulled it out of the nest. The zampy was squirming and twisting. It bit Stryker’s gloved hands more than once. Stryker smiled when it did and let out a chuckle. “These gloves are impervious to the little sucker’s fangs.” He opened one of the cage doors, thrust the zampy in, and slammed it shut.
Parry had to admit that Stryker handled the operation with a surprising amount of finesse. He had the look of somebody that had done this numerous times. Once the zampy was secured, he flipped the other cage around so that it was ready for the next.
The captured zampy thrust its weight against its cage and was able to rattle it, but it stayed in place where Stryker had placed it on the rock.
