Heard a gunshot.
“Get up, get up,” Marf said.
I tried, but my shoes had no traction at all. They were coated in shit. My feet kicked and kicked, as if I was running in place.
Dave grabbed my shoulders and pulled me up. I turned around. The zombie was down.
He had not been alone. I saw heads bouncing. Couldn’t count them, but there were more than three. They were coming and they were coming fast.
Marf took another shot. Then another. “Go, run. Go!”
Chapter Thirteen
Sunday, November 1st -- 0212 hours
The dark was complete with the only light coming from the front end of Marf’s gun when he fired off rounds. I had not fired a shot. I held my rifle with both hands across my chest. Running was difficult, but I gave it my all. I slipped, slid, and felt like I wasn’t getting anywhere. Dress shoes sucked. I wished I’d changed out of them when I’d had the chance, back when I’d met my kids at my apartment -- long before the military Humvee rescued us from off the roof of the sidewalk plaza. I hadn’t, so now, I was stuck with fucking shitty shoes caked in crappy mud.
The good thing? Zombies hadn’t caught me. While I wasn’t looking back, I figured they couldn’t be doing much better in the mush. Fast zombies or not.
They groaned and grunted. The sounds forced chills racing up and down my skin, as if a skeletal finger made of ice traced my spine. I anticipated fingernails scraping my back. Each step I made was hopefully a step closer to getting away.
Dave and I ran side-by-side. His heavy breathing assured me I wasn’t alone. Once, maybe twice, when I stumbled, he grabbed my arm like he could see just fine in the darkness. I felt muscles tense each time he snatched me up, startled, sure it wasn’t him, but a zombie about to bring me down.
“Left!” Marf shouted.
We reached the end of the apartment. I think the fence was ahead. The gate to get out would have been to the right -- more back toward the way we had just run from, but to the right. Left only threw us deeper into the camp.
There was no time to argue. I went left, Dave now behind me. Losing my footing, I went down, and face planted into mud. I crunched my fingers against the butt of the gun when I fell on it. Dirty, cold and about to be eaten.
Dave, at least I think it was Dave, had hands on me. I felt the back of my pants and shirt pulled on.
I was lifted several inches, and then dropped back into the mud. I let out an Ooomph!
Something hit Dave hard, tackling him to the ground. They fought. Dave struggled, throwing wild punches from under the monster.
I attempted rolling over by using the rifle for leverage. I pushed on it, but before I could turn, a body slammed into me and onto me. The rifle flew out of my grasp. No chance holding onto it, because it was like my hands were slicked up with Vaseline.
The thing growled, hissed and its black tongue darted out of its mouth, licking at air, as if it wanted to clean the mud off my face. Putrid breath assaulted my nostrils. Acrid, and bile smelling, rotted flesh, like it decayed internally and the rancid fumes escaped from its mouth in plumes like smoke from a chimney.
Its jaws snapped at my face. I braced my forearm against its throat.
Clouds floated past the moon. That light was like a halo and outlined the zombie’s head. Perfectly encircled it. It illuminated dark veins in its skin that streaked from the neck toward the eyes. Most of its right cheek had peeled back from the face, leaving gums and teeth exposed, and flapping as he snapped at me.
Another zombie tried to stop. Its feet kicked up mud, resembling a cartoon character about to take off sprinting. Flintstones is what I thought of. The crazy things that came to mind when I was in trouble made no sense. The thing fell to its knees between Dave and me. It had its pick and could make a dog pile out of either one of us.
I heard several gunshots, but didn’t see muzzle flashes. Expected one of the zombies Dave and I fought against to drop, waited for brain chunks to rain down. Knew Marf was an excellent shot. The zombie on me, nothing. If he’d been shot, he didn’t show signs of it. His teeth nearly rattled loose each time he snapped at me and only snagged at bites of air.
The third zombie dropped onto me over my head. I gasped. Claustrophobia kicked in. I bucked, and arched my back. My forearm still restrained the one at my throat. The second kept trying to get an angle that would allow him access to my face. My rifle was way out of reach.
I had a knife with a giant blade on my hip. With my free hand, I reached for it, thinking for sure it wouldn’t be there, and the sheath would be empty, but it wasn’t. My muddy fingers wrapped around the hilt. I yanked it free. I brought it up and plunged it into the first zombie’s temple. The blade was sharp. It cut through the soft tissue and sawed clean into the brain. He fell forward, over me. Working like a shield, he protected me from the second zombie.
I tugged on the blade, but could not get a tight grip, because my hand kept slipping off. Using both hands, I pushed on his chest and rolled out from under him. The second zombie wasn’t fooled. He scrambled up over the dead one; the one with my knife lodged in his brain. My rifle was just out of reach. I clawed my fingers into the mud, dragging myself toward it.
Hands locked onto my leg, so I kicked my free leg at its arm, trying to pry it loose. The muddy shoes weren’t hurting shit, weren’t delivering any kick in the kick.
The rifle was right there. I could see it, but I just couldn’t get to it, despite the effort.
I sat up, balled my hand into a fist, and threw an uppercut at its jaw. Its head fell back, bounced forward. Its milky eyes rolled, I think. It screeched like metal being ground against a spinning stone. I would have plugged my ears if I didn’t need to get the creature off my leg.
I pulled up my knee and drove the flat of my muddy foot into its nose. Heard bone crunch. Dripping mud revealed a flattened snout and missing front teeth. That would certainly help, but I didn’t trust the lack of front choppers to save me.
The kick to its face might not have knocked him out cold the way it would have a real person. The hand did release my leg. I backed away, spun around and dove for the rifle. Falling on my back was the best I could do.
The thing was on all fours crawling at me. It was more wolf-like than we had been when we first rounded the enclosed camp. Its breath huffed from its mouth. Its head was low and it growled like a beast about to strike down prey.
I wrestled with the rifle, finger on the trigger and pulled.
White flames danced from the front of the muzzle. Six shots. Bullets tore its head to shreds.
Dave!
I got to my knees, ready to help my friend.
Dave straddled the zombie’s chest and, was in the process of destroying its face with hammering blows from the butt of his rifle.
No doubt in my mind that my shots would attract more zombies. I was winded. Lungs burned. Cold tears streaked the mud as they rolled down my face. “We have to find Marf,” I said.
“You okay?”
“I am. Killed two. Not like you. Only fighting off one.”
“Go fuck yourself,” Dave said, and smiled.
Chapter Fourteen
0247 hours
“Where’s the Lieutenant?” Dave said.
We stood with our backs pressed against one of the apartment buildings, both of us trying to control labored breathing. It began to rain again. The air was more than crisp. In fact, it was downright frigid. Temperatures seemed to keep dropping. Wet and muddy, I was cold. “I didn’t see. No idea where he went,” I said.
“This is kinda out of control now,” he said. “I mean, we came looking for three soldiers. I was down with that. It made sense to me. They helped us, so in good conscience, I couldn’t leave them out here. Not if there was a chance to save them.”
“I agree,” I said.
“But not now, I mean, now it’s all different. You know what this is, don’t you? It’s a war. More than a battle. We’re at war,” he said. It was the most I’d ever heard him talk
. Ever.
“We can’t leave them,” I said.
“I never said that,” he said.
Maybe we were all thinking it, though.
He pointed at me. “You, too?”
I nodded. “I just want to get back to the ship and be with my family. It’s all I’ve ever wanted, but I can’t just leave, just go back there. There was a time I think I could have, but not now. We have to try to find them,” I said.
“Some of them.”
I agreed, “Some of them”
Hated to think I mostly figured on just Lieutenant Marf. Not sure I was up to going after Vitale’s group. They had the two soldiers and Chatterton with them. They could fend for themselves, as we were. While I hoped to find and help Barron, Palmeri and Saylor, I think my faith that they were still alive was shaken, if not completely shattered.
Gunshots brought me out of my train of thought. “Where’d that come from?” I said.
“Behind us. All I can tell. Behind us.”
One at a time, I wiped my palms down my pants, but it did nothing, because there was as much mud and moisture on them as there had been on my hands. There was nowhere to clean them off. All I could imagine was dropping my rifle again. That was my lifeline and I didn’t want to risk losing it. I would have to do my best, and hope for it. The best. “Okay. Follow me,” I said.
I must be losing my mind, because I’d just volunteered to take point. No idea what I was thinking, just that I couldn’t be thinking straight. Point was a good way to go and get myself killed. Dead was the last thing I needed right now. Dead or worse.
“Right behind you,” he said.
The moon glow was about the only Godsend I’d witnessed since finding my kids. How pathetic have my last several days been? I silently counted to three, pushed off from the structure frame, and ran around the corner.
Something exploded.
A ball of fiery light shot into the sky. Flames mixed with black smoke. The heat reached where we stopped. I thought my eyebrows singed.
“Son of a bitch,” Dave said. “What do you think that was?”
It came from the center of the camp, I thought, but I couldn’t be sure. Question now, do we head toward or away from the fire? Toward could be a death sentence. The explosion would attract zombies. Noise did that. The fire might harm them. It would be awesome if the explosion killed most of them.
“I think we need to get back to the ship,” Dave said.
I couldn’t disagree.
Someone screamed. The person was crying out was clearly in pain. It could be that he was being eaten alive, or had been injured by the explosion.
Shots were fired behind us from outside the camp. Who was outside the camp? Spencer. That was who. Spencer who accepted orders to shoot Travis Keel if the fucker tried to pull the Coast Guard vessel away from the slip.
Was the good Captain hightailing it? Leaving with my kids? This sucked. It sucked because if he did pull the boat away, I’d be thankful. My family would be safer on the water. Those things weren’t going to swim out and attack the boat. That meant I had time to see who was screaming for help, and the truth was I really didn’t want to.
We didn’t run. We cautiously slinked toward the fire. Definitely, something burned toward the center of the camp. The sound was amazing. Loud. Crackling. Popping. Wet wood was defenseless against heat this intense. I smelled a combination of things burning. Some of it had to be flesh. Cooking flesh.
“It’s where the zombies are going, too, you know,” Dave said.
I put my sleeve to my mouth. “Lieutenant Marfione? Sergeant Vitale? Anyone?”
I stopped walking, waited and hoped for a response. Dave was right. The explosion had been loud. The noise would work like a bug zapper with flies. Attract them, but not necessarily kill them unless they curiously walked right into the flames. I’d seen them fall off a bridge into a river to get to us. It wasn’t that far-fetched to think they might walk right into the fire.
“You think Vitale or someone blew something up on purpose? You know, get them all to one spot?” he said.
It made sense. A lot of sense. Sounded like a military maneuver. A hunter’s scheme. A bait-n-shoot. The zombies were the deer.
“Marfione? Vitale?”
“Marfione here, over.” It was a whisper. Barely heard it. I pressed a finger against the bud and tried pushing it deeper into my ear, but the transmission ended.
“It’s McKinney, sir. We’re trying to find you,” I said.
“What exploded?” Marf said. “Over.”
“No clue, sir. Where are you? Are you okay?” I wasn’t saying the ‘over’ shit. When I was done talking, he’d know it. Then he could talk. It wasn’t that complicated.
“In one of the apartments. They came from behind me. We were getting sandwiched. How are you, how’s Rivera?”
“We’re good. We’re fine. We want to find you.”
“Won’t be hard. I’m in the apartment with the zombies outside of it. I can see them through the window. They’re everywhere. Thought if I were quiet they’d get bored and leave, but that hasn’t happened.”
I looked left and then right. Dave and I had not gone far. We, from what I remember, rounded one corner. The very next corner might be as far as Marfione got. Figured that had been the one Marf had gone around, as well. I didn’t see any zombies outside one of the apartments. I raised an eyebrow at Dave.
“I don’t see any,” he said, with a finger pressing his bud hard against his ear, too.
I hadn’t heard anything from Vitale, Spade, or Chatterton. “You sit tight, Marf. We’re coming for you.”
“We are?” Dave said.
I knew what he thought. He was a brave man. He had Sues now. Without his brother, she was all he had. Like me wanting to get back to Allison and my kids, he wanted to get back to her. The more time we spent out here, the less likely it was we’d ever return. I knew it. He must, as well.
“We’re getting him fast and then we’re out of here.”
“So we’re looking for a swarm of zombies. First time we’ve hunted them,” he said, and laughed.
I put a finger to my lips. “Shhh, are you kidding me?”
“Sorry. It’s just, Chase, we’re looking for a bunch of zombies.”
I got it. Didn’t like it, but I got it. The fire was not going out but seemed to grow. Red flames licked and roared at a black sky. Wonder if other structures caught fire, too? Think the rain might prevent a fire from spreading at least. Everything was so damned wet.
“Let’s find a swarm of zombies and get out of here,” I said.
Chapter Fifteen
0308 hours
They knew he was inside. No way could they smell him. The ones that chased him into the apartment before he slammed the door must have started scraping the wood, and tapping fingernails on the glass window. Then there was the moaning. Growling. Maybe it was like a call that told other zombies they had trapped a potential meal. Combined, it was more noise than I would of thought possible without an actual word being said. The ten, twelve of them there were all doing it, scratching, tapping and moaning. Growling. Yeah. Oh yeah, it was loud enough to attract the attention of more zombies to the area.
I’d also have guessed that the explosion would call some away. Didn’t seem to be the case. The food was here and they were intent on waiting it out, or scratching a way through the wall to get inside. Giving up didn’t seem like it belonged in their vocabulary, but they didn’t speak, so vocabulary was not accurate. Not at all.
“That’s a lot,” Dave said.
I hated that most of them wore military uniforms. Some carried rifles strapped around their shoulders and slung over their backs. Doubted they knew how to use them, fire back at us. Hell, they couldn’t even figure out how to open the door.
I took a knee.
“You a good shot?” Dave said.
“Don’t think I have to be. From here, we can just shoot into the group.”
“If they’r
e fast ones, they’ll come at us.”
I bit my upper lip. “The two of us shooting, I think we got it.”
“Think?”
“Got a better idea? Want to go in closer. Hand-to-hand?”
Dave raised his rifle, closed one eye. “Monkeys in a barrel.”
Think it’s fish. Not monkeys. The kids’ toy was those looped arm plastic red monkeys. They came in a barrel. Didn’t matter, was neither here nor there. I took aim, as well.
“If they charge, might be easier to shoot. They’ll be closer. Bigger target,” Dave said. “And right in front of us.”
Before I could answer, he opened fire. My ears rang. My head buzzed. Not wanting to be outdone, rather being told to Go Fuck Myself, I pulled the trigger.
They weren’t monkeys, and they sure as shit aren't fish. A cluster of zombies, and us maybe twenty yards away, we shouldn’t have missed as many as we did. Should have been a lot easier. The moonlight, the fire, it helped, but not enough, apparently. We sucked. The darkness, which was still too consuming made seeing difficult and accuracy nearly impossible. For us, anyway.
I hit one though. Was my bullet for sure. Took him in the gut. Watched thick blood spray. He went down. I thought, fuck headshots!
No sooner had I thought it, the mother got slowly onto all fours. Pushed his way up, and stood. I swear that fucker looked right at me, as if it knew I was the one that shot him. He spit out a mouthful of gunk. The bulk splatted into the mud. The rest dangled on a thick string of goo from his lower lip. When he charged, I panicked.
My hands fumbled on the rifle, needlessly. I felt my fingers loosen, grip, and then I brought the weapon up and aimed it as best I could before firing.
However, I hit nothing. Fired again. Nothing. It wasn’t my fault. Blame the mud. The thing did lose its balance, slid, but didn’t fall. My bullet must have just missed, whizzed by his head. That was my guess. What I was sticking to.
“Dave,” I said. A heads-up to the fact that the thing was headed right for us fast. The camouflage it wore didn’t hide shit. It looked like a brick house running straight for me.
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