Rotter Apocalypse

by Scott M. Baker

“I never stopped treating you as part of our group.”

  “You did.” Dravko unshackled Roberta and stood. “Once you got it into your head to go after Price and help the survivors, you assumed Tibor and I would go along.”

  “You could have asked to leave at any time. I would have allowed it.”

  “Allowed it?” Dravko’s temper flared briefly and he brought his emotions under control. “It wasn’t your decision to make. It was mine, and I made the wrong one.”

  “No, you didn’t.” Robson tried to reason with him. “Remember all the lives we saved.”

  “You really don’t get it, do you?” Dravko pointed to the decaying, dehydrated corpses of Caslow, James, Ed, Yukiko, and Magda. “These people were not our responsibility. Simmons and Wayans knew that. That’s why they refused to allow them to stay in Gilmanton. For some reason you felt you had to save everyone in that camp. Where has it gotten you? You and Roberta are the only two left from your group and I’ve been ostracized by the last coven of vampires.”

  For the first time Robson realized that Dravko was right. He never asked Dravko for his advice, and expected that everyone would follow his lead. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “There’s nothing to say. We’re in this situation because of the bad choices we both made.” Dravko picked up the kerosene lamp. “This is my final act of friendship. It’ll be dawn soon. Once the sun rises, you and Roberta get as far away from here as possible. Vladimir had all your vehicles pushed into the lake, so head north. There are humans coming from that direction. If you’re lucky, maybe you can reach them before the coven hunts you down.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m hoping Vladimir will let me live and give me a chance to redeem myself. If not… things have changed so much this past year I’m not sure I want to live in this world any longer.” Dravko extinguished the kerosene lamp. He pushed the barn door open enough to stick his head out, and checked to make certain no one saw him. He paused long enough to say, “Goodbye, and good luck.”

  Roberta gave Dravko time to get out of earshot before asking Robson, “Do you think we have a chance of making it to safety by nightfall?”

  “We’re not going anywhere.”

  “Are you nuts? We have a chance of getting—”

  "We stand little chance of getting away. We can’t travel far with our Achilles’ tendons cut, and if we try they’re going to bleed, creating a scent that will lead the coven right to us.”

  “You heard what Dravko said. The coven may try to escape rather than hunt us down.”

  “Vladimir will never let me go.”

  “So we’re going to sit here and wait to die?”

  “No.” Robson paused. “We’re going to take down the last coven of vampires.”

  “You are crazy.”

  Robson hesitated, wondering if he should reveal his plan to Roberta. He knew he could trust her because she had always been a loyal member of the team. And now, thanks to Dravko’s last act of friendship, she would play an integral part in his scheme. He spent fifteen minutes going over what he had in mind and answering her questions. At first she was incredulous. The more he explained it, the more convinced she became. When finished, he sat against the support and waited for her response.

  Roberta thought for a moment. “You realize what you’re proposing is suicidal?”

  “For me it is. You might still have a chance. Besides, this is the only way we can stop Vladimir.”

  Roberta’s gaze fell on the bodies of the five survivors who had been ravaged at the hands of the coven. “Count me in.”

  “Thanks.” Robson closed his eyes. “Now let’s get some sleep. We’ll need it.”

  BOOK THREE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  The lead rotter stumbled through the woods. It was once female, and wore the tattered blue uniform of an EMT technician, the right shoulder and breast shredded and encrusted in dried blood from a bite in its neck. It remembered nothing of its past life or the wound that killed it. All it knew was hunger, the voracious need to feast on human flesh. Something had sent it off in this direction, although the decayed brain could not recall what had prompted this exodus of the living dead. Instinct drove it now, pushing it forward in a quest for food. The rest of the horde followed. Chance had placed the rotters on this path. A few hundred yards to the east or west, and they would have continued through the woods unnoticed. As fate would have it, the EMT rotter emerged from the trees and ambled into the wooden fence forming the northern perimeter of Denning’s farm.

  Normally it would have continued walking along the fence line and wandered off in another direction, leading the rest of the living dead behind it. However, a noise on the opposite side attracted its attention. It detected movement. The EMT rotter had no idea what caused it; it only recognized that noise and movement meant food. Stretching its arms across the fence, it grasped at its prey and moaned in anticipation of satisfying the insatiable hunger that consumed it. The moan served as a signal, attracting the rest of the horde.

  Grazing on the opposite side of the fence, Walther heard the commotion and went over to investigate. As he drew closer, his presence agitated the horde. The rotters spread out thirty wide, with the remainder swarming behind them, pushing to get to the food. Walther retreated a few paces. Although not afraid of anything, a sixth sense warned him this opponent was more fierce and powerful than anything he had faced before. He bucked from side to side and stamped his hoofs to warn off the intruders, and bellowed a battle call. Rather than scare off the horde, it excited them even more. The living dead let out a collective moan and pushed forward, desperate to get to the prey.

  Along a forty-foot section of fence, the support beams bent and cracks formed in the horizontal slats.

  * * *

  Miriam was sitting on the front porch. She was not asleep, though after close to six hours on watch her attention had lost its focus. She had worn the night vision goggles throughout her shift, keeping an eye on the access road leading to the farm, and at four o’clock had even walked the perimeter. The only thing out of the ordinary had been a family of deer grazing near the fence and a few raccoons scavenging for food. Her eyes had grown tired from staring into the device all night, so she’d taken them off half an hour ago. The first hint of sunrise colored the eastern horizon a soft azure, and she doubted anything would happen in the last half an hour of her watch.

  Leaning back in her chair and resting her head against the wall, Miriam thought about how lucky she and her kids had been in finding the farm. If not, they’d either be dead right now or… she pushed those thoughts out of her mind. After listening to Windows’ story, it made her nauseous to think about the other possibilities that could have befallen them. Not only had Denning and Windows saved their lives, they offered a safe environment to ride out the apocalypse. And God knew her kids enjoyed having someone their own age to play with. She could see her family staying—

  A commotion from Walther’s pen cut through the silence and ripped Miriam back to reality. It sounded like a stamping of hoofs and bellowing. Maybe he was trying to scare off a wolf or some other predator. Then she heard the moaning. A cold chill passed through her body, extinguishing the flame of hope she had felt moments ago. Miriam slid on the night vision goggles. From this distance she could not see anything. She grabbed the Bushmaster, chambered a round, and headed toward the field where Walther grazed, fear gripping her stomach and spreading through her body. Through the goggles, she saw the mass of living dead pressing against the fence. At this distance and in the poor light she could not determine exactly how many. She knew there were far more than the three of them could handle. Even worse, she could see the fence bulging and fracturing, and heard the crack of wood snapping. They had minutes, at best, before the farm was overrun.

  Spinning around, Miriam raced back to the house to warn the others.

  * * *

  Windows had rolled out of bed when she heard Miriam burst through the front door a
nd bound up the stairs.

  “We’ve got trouble!”

  Windows ran out of the bedroom half-dressed and nearly collided with Miriam in the hall. The woman was bordering on full-blown panic.

  “What’s going on?” Windows asked.

  “We have to get out of here!”

  “You have to tell me what’s going on.” Windows grabbed Miriam’s upper arms and squeezed, hoping the pain would bring her back down.

  “There’s a horde of zombies along the northern perimeter of the farm trying to break in!” Miriam gasped, regaining her focus. “It won’t take them long. The fence is about to collapse under their weight.”

  The door to Denning’s room swung open and he stepped out. He was wearing a pair of jeans not yet zipped up and pulled a shirt onto his arms. “Did you see them?”

  Miriam nodded. “I heard a commotion in Walther’s pen and went to investigate. They’re all along the northern fence.”

  “How many?”

  “There were too many to count. I figure at least fifty or sixty, probably more.”

  “Shit,” mumbled Denning, buttoning his shirt.

  “What are we going to do?” Windows asked.

  “We need to get out of here now before they reach the house,” Miriam suggested.

  “That’s not going to happen,” said Denning.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t have a car or truck. The only way we’re getting out of here is by walking.”

  Miriam blanched with the memory of the last time she’d tried to escape from the living dead by foot.

  Windows felt a hand press against hers. Cindy stood by her, fear in her eyes. “Are we going to be okay?”

  “Yes,” Windows lied. She knelt down in front of Cindy. “Mr. Denning and I will take care of it. I need you to go sit with Rebecca and Philip. I’m sure they’re scared and need someone who’s older than them to calm them down. Can you do that?”

  “Sure.”

  “Good girl. Now off you go.”

  Before Cindy left, she threw her arms around Windows’ neck and gave her a long hug, the type of hug you give to someone when you are saying goodbye. Windows felt a tear run down Cindy’s cheek and onto her own. The young girl broke the embrace and rushed off into the bedroom where Rebecca and Philip slept.

  When the bedroom door closed, Windows asked, “So what do we do?”

  “We find a way to stop them from getting in here.”

  “What about me?” Miriam asked.

  Denning took the rifle from her. “Stay here with the kids and keep a close watch on what goes down. If we don’t stop them, you’re on your own.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, don’t worry about us. Grab the kids and head south. If you don’t think you can outrun them, lock yourselves in here and hope for the best.” Denning reached under his shirt, removed a .38 revolver, and handed it to Miriam. “You’ll need this.”

  Miriam took it and stared at the weapon in her hand. “I’ll never stop all of them with this.”

  “That’s not what it’s intended for.”

  Both women stared at him, fully aware of the reality of what they faced.

  Denning clapped his hands. “Let’s haul ass before those things break through.”

  Miriam slid the revolver between her back and pants, and lowered her shirt over it so the children wouldn’t see it, then ran off to be with them. Windows raced back into her bedroom to put on pants and shoes.

  * * *

  Walther positioned himself in front of the fence. He stomped and bellowed, yet could not comprehend why these intruders weren’t scared off.

  The EMT rotter couldn’t move anything except its arms, the mass behind it pinning it against the support. It leaned forward and flailed at the food. The additional weight on the fence proved too much, and the support beam ripped free from the ground. The horizontal boards either snapped in half or were torn from their mountings. A fifteen-foot section of fence collapsed, and the rotters toppled forward, sprawling into the pasture. Those to the rear surged forward, tripping over the fallen. A pile of living dead formed in front of the collapsed fence.

  A male rotter in blue mechanic’s overalls climbed to its feet and moved toward Walther. Walther stamped his hoof and snorted. When the attacker did not back down, Walther lowered his head and charged. His left horn sliced through the rotter’s abdomen and out the back, the tip grazing off its spine. Raising his head, Walther lifted the rotter off the ground and shook it violently, shredding decayed skin and rupturing partially-liquefied organs. The thing tore in half, its legs and abdomen being flung in one direction and the upper torso in another. Coagulated blood and bits of intestines and skin splattered Walther’s face. The stench repulsed him. He ran back a few feet and shook off the human debris. Another rotter lunged toward him, this one a female wearing gym shorts. Walther charged, butting it with his head and throwing it into the air. It came apart like a broken piñata, raining internal organs on the pasture.

  By now, several of the living dead had risen to their feet. Five of them circled Walther, led by the EMT rotter. The bull stood his ground. When the first one approached, Walther charged, driving his horn through its lower gut. This one did not fall apart. It leaned to the side, grabbed Walther by the head, and sunk its teeth into the skin just above his left eye. Walther lashed around, attempting to throw it off. Being impaled on the horn, the rotter held on and continued chewing. Walther lowered his head and dragged the rotter backward along the ground to dislodge it. After a few feet, it slid off and dropped to the grass. Walther faced down the other four, ready to attack. He hadn’t realized that while thrashing about he had spun around and backed up against the fence. Eight rotters grabbed him from behind and the sides, dead hands and teeth ripping into his flesh. The four in front surged forward, pushing Walther even further back into the horde where more of the living dead latched on to him and began to feed. The bull might have been able to break free if pain and fear hadn’t overwhelmed him. Instead of fighting back, he allowed himself to be dragged to the ground, bellowing his last cries of defiance.

  Those rotters that could not get close enough to feed continued on toward the farmhouse.

  * * *

  The sun had crested the tree line by the time Windows and Denning arrived at the southern fence to Walther’s pen, giving them a clear view of his death throes. Denning started to climb over the fence, tears streaming down his face.

  Windows placed her hand on his shoulder. “It’s no use,” she said softly. “You can’t help him now.”

  “There is one thing I can do.” Wiping away the tears, Denning raised the rifle, aimed, and fired a single round. Walther’s head jerked back as the round slammed into his temple, putting the animal out of his suffering. His body slumped. The horde didn’t care and continued to tear off chunks of flesh and organs.

  “Goodbye, old friend,” Denning said under his breath.

  When Windows looked out over the pasture, her heart sank. Close to a hundred living dead were heading toward the house. A pack knelt beside Walther, stripping the carcass clean, while others flowed through the break in the northern fence. Another thirty or so shambled across the pasture, heading for them. She knew the children could never outrun a swarm this large, and they had no way of putting down so many rotters with a pair of rifles. A part of her wanted to race back to the house and be with Cindy for their final minutes together. Instead, she unslung her AK-47 and fired at one of the approaching rotters. The shot was low and to the left, punching into its shoulder. She took aim again when Denning placed his hand on the barrel and pushed it down.

  “We’re never going to stop them this way. There’s too many. They’ll be at the fence before we can take out even a fraction of them.”

  “Do you think the fence will hold long enough for us to kill them?”

  “Doubtful. And once they break through, there’s no stopping them.” Denning glanced back at the house.

  “What a
bout gasoline?” she asked excitedly. “We could burn that at the fence line.”

  “I don’t have any gasoline since I don’t own a vehicle. The only gas I have.…” Denning’s eyes lit up. “I have an idea. Follow me.”

  Windows fell in behind Denning as he ran along the fence toward the eastern perimeter.

  * * *

  Miriam stood by the window to the bedroom, watching the nightmare unfold. From her room, she could see the pasture. In the sunlight, she realized how badly she had underestimated the number of zombies converging on the farm. The .38 pressing against her back felt more ominous than ever.

  Rebecca came up to the window, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing much,” Miriam lied, lowering the shade so none of the children could see. “A few zombies showed up along the fence last night. Windows and Mr. Denning are taking care of them, and we have to wait here until everything is cleaned up.”

  “Okay.”

  “Tell you what,” Miriam said, forcing herself to sound happy. “Why don’t you kids get dressed, and when the others get back I’ll make breakfast for all of us.”

  Rebecca’s face lit up. “Can we have some of that bacon Mr. Denning keeps stored away for a special occasion?”

  Miriam fought back her tears. “Of course we can.”

  “Yay!” Rebecca ran over to Philip. “Come on. I’ll help you get ready.”

  While the children were preoccupied, Miriam pushed aside the shade again to see what was taking place in the pasture. The zombies were stumbling to the southern fence, and Windows and Denning were going somewhere in a hurry.

  * * *

  Denning led Windows down to the southeast corner of the pasture where he kept the combine. He hopped the fence and ran over to the ladder leading up to the cab. Windows stayed close.

  “Are you planning on escaping with this?” Windows asked. “We all won’t be able to fit on it.”