The Rise of Macon: A Zombie Novel (Macon Saga Book 2)

by Micah Gurley

  "Kyle killed them?" asked Grace, shocked at the news.

  Patrick released his slide forward, loading a bullet in the chamber of his gun. "He did, but they'd already killed the owner of the store, a nice old guy according to Abe. Anyways, they were pointing shotguns at them and Kyle said he didn't have a choice. I didn't see it myself, but James said he did the right thing. Now, we have to focus, there's a battle going on."

  Patrick moved closer to the edge of the wall, away from Grace, and started yelling while he continued to shoot. Grace flipped the safety off her handgun and joined him, all the while thinking about Kyle, still confused about the world she lived in now. She stopped thinking, she could do that later. Today,she needed to survive. She pulled her trigger and watched a diseased fall back into the mob surrounding him.

  ***

  Kyle needed to make decisions, ammunition was low and soon it would be chaos. He cringed at the small pile of magazines left. Not enough. He walked to the end of the firing line, now shooting slower, making every shot count. He yelled out, "Close the earthworks."

  Billy turned. "How big?"

  "Two feet," Kyle replied. The two long lines of earthworks closest to the fort had a gap of fifteen feet, which need to be closed. Kyle wanted a choke point for the diseased. He wanted it easy enough to go through, just not too many at one time.

  The shooters on the line responded, changing the directions of their shots.The two long earthworks of death were closed, leaving only a small opening into which the diseased jammed themselves.

  Kyle, satisfied with the opening and the wall's height, gave the next order. “Billy, it’s time to make the wall.”

  Billy looked up, his son stopping to look over at the interruption. “It's time?" He looked over the field, still crawling with life. "I'd hoped we'd get more of them."

  "Me too, but we're down to our last two thousand rounds for the rifles. We need to make the move and clear out some space."

  Old Ben turned on his side and squinted up at Kyle. "Well, look who decided to do some work; his highness."

  Kyle stepped next to him and smiled. "Careful old man or I won't help you up."

  Old Ben bristled. "The day I need help from a professor is the day I hang my hat."

  "Real men back their word."

  Old Ben growled, leaned back on his stomach and put his arms down, as if to do a push up. Slowly, but with no hesitation, he pushed himself up, his white hair almost shaking with the effort. He got to his feet and looked at Kyle, his speckled and wrinkled face a monument to determination.

  "See that there sonny, this old man ain't done yet."

  Kyle grinned back, appreciating the effort and feistiness of Old Ben. "I can see that." Kyle turned his head as wild yelling and whooping sounded out behind him. He laughed at the effort.

  Old Ben peeked around Kyle and his face twisted in contempt at the dancing Edmund. "Something's wrong with that boy. He isn't right in the head."

  Eric walked past carrying his rifle. "He's alright Ben, he's just young. Let's get to work, we don't have much time. Rich, you with us?"

  "I was young once too, but I never did act like that there."

  Kyle gave a small laugh as he watched both groups walk in different directions around the sides of the fort. All firing stopped. It was time to draw away some diseased.

  Kyle looked into the moat. What once had been a grass covered bottom twenty five feet wide, now flowed and moved as thousands of diseased moaned in rage at the free reign of their prey.

  "Can we get all of them?" asked James.

  Kyle turned to James, who usually showed either complete confidence, or an aloofness bordering on indifference to dangerous situations.

  "You worried?"

  James looked out at the diseased still entering the field from the woods beyond. His eyes narrowed as he examined the thousands still coming. "A little," He said.

  "We'll make it," Kyle said with a confidence he didn't feel. "Do you mind getting Jasmine to try the radio again? And I'm sure she wants to check on her kids."

  James ran off without replying, leaving Kyle standing alone at the front of the fort. He'd been told about the radio transmission from a base up North. He hoped they could get through, and maybe get some help. It was the only plan B he had. Otherwise he knew this would be an epic battle, but would end as the Alamo did.

  Chapter 18

  "Any more up front?" cried Patrick.

  Edmund ran up, out of breath from his dancing and yelling. "We've got most of them, but they're still dropping like flies, with no end in sight."

  "Doesn't matter," interjected Billy. "We've got as many as we can cram back here without them climbing each other, though that's still a possibility. Let's get this done."

  Everyone nodded and left the impromptu meeting at the back of the fort. The two groups of defenders ran in opposite directions, both heading for the sides of the fort.

  Patrick's group stood together, staring down at the mass of diseased thrashing less than twenty feet from them. Patrick picked up his rifle and shot what used to be an obese man at the front of the wall. The man's head shot back, his body crushing a smaller body behind him. Patrick was joined by six others as the group shot a line across the twenty five foot moat.

  Starting near the inner wall, the group shot the diseased until they were stacked five feet high, then started working out towards the outer wall. In less than five minutes two walls were built inside the moat, consisting solely of fallen diseased.

  "Why are we doing this again?" Terry asked.

  Patrick stopped, looking at Terry in irritation. This had all been explained before the fight started. Besides, it seemed fairly obvious to Patrick. "To trap these diseased back here."

  "Why not just kill them?" Terry continued.

  "No bloody ammunition mate," jumped in Edmund.

  Patrick took a shot and lowered his rifle to get a better view of the wall. "This way we use the moat at the back of the fort, trap a few thousand of these things and don't waste ammunition on them."

  "Pretty smart thinking," Terry said as he realized the implications of the wall.

  "Don't tell Kyle, he'll get a big head," Patrick said with a smile. "We don’t want that. Okay everyone, let's see if it works. Move left twenty feet and make some noise."

  The seven defenders moved farther down, then proceeded to yell, scream or sing in Edmund's case. Some of the diseased, hearing the noise, growled and began to climb the wall. The unlucky climbers were killed and added to the wall. Two more feet were added before those trapped seemed unable to climb the steep slope of bodies.

  Satisfied, Patrick ordered everyone back to the front of the fort, leaving Edmund behind to shoot the occasional diseased that tried to scale the wall. A few extra bodies wouldn't hurt.

  ***

  The small group, tired and on edge, stood in a short line on the far left of the inner wall. Before them, a diseased covered hell none of them could have envisioned only thirty minutes before. Three long lines of earthworks split the field into a delay maze for the thousands of diseased still marching toward them. The moat and walls of the fort had given them courage, for none of them had come close to a diseased; not yet.

  Kyle watched as the diseased, moving in an unearthly column, marched around the first earthworks, then proceeded to jam themselves through the small opening that had been created for them. After finishing the walls, he knew they had less than a thousand rounds for the rifles, a gut clenching thought.

  "Use the rest of the rifle ammo to build the earthworks higher," Kyle called out over the wails of the diseased. "Make your shots count, we still have some time."

  Kyle looked down into the moat as the shooting started, the blasts of the rifles temporarily overpowering the sound from the diseased. The moat on this side of the fort was half full, with the diseased pushing forward to reach them. Kyle knew the problem would be the clumping of bodies on each other.He only hoped his plan to counter it worked, or the diseased would mas
s and climb on each other in an effort to reach them.

  "Out."

  "Out."

  "Me too, all done."

  Kyle waited until the last of the rifles clicked empty, were then placed out of the way, and the shields picked up. There were eight shields, made of spare wood and reinforced with metal brackets. They were big ungainly things that could be used to crush body parts. The shields were given to the strongest of the survivors, those who could wield them the easiest. Kyle put his down, letting the others know they didn't need to waste energy holding them yet.

  They weren't light.

  "We'll be fine. Don't panic. Listen to my commands and be ready to move. We'll get through this, but we have to work together. You're my family now and I don't intended to lose anymore. Not here. Not now."

  The group reciprocated his feelings, calling out encouraging words to him and each other. Jasmine ran up the stairs, joining the line next to Patrick. She grabbed Patrick's hand, sharing quiet words only heard by him. She gave Kyle a small shake of the head.

  Kyle felt his hope crash as she gave him the bad news. No go on the radio. He hadn't realized he'd been putting so much hope on it. There would be no help, no Calvary to rush over the horizon and save them. They were alone. Kyle knew they would die, there were just too many of the diseased. He pushed away his fear, his doubts, and forced his mind to believe they'd be victorious.

  Kyle moved down the line, slapping some shoulders and trading a few words with each person. He stopped in the middle, inserted himself next to James and Grace, who gave him a heart stopping smile. He returned it, hoping he'd see her smile tomorrow.

  "This will be the hardest part, but we have to wait." Kyle stopped talking and grabbed Grace's hand. He didn't look at her, but felt the squeeze returned. He needed it. They all did. The fear and sense of hopelessness was crushing as they watched the diseased, in their thousands, fall into the moat in front of them.

  The diseased, having squeezed through the small opening in the earthworks, instantly turned in the direction of the uninfected. A primal sense? An instinct? Nobody knew.

  The line, having gone through the delay maze Kyle cooked up, thinned to three abreast, then exited the opening and headed for the survivors. Twenty five feet before they reached the survivors, they dropped into the moat. The moat began to fill, the diseased, clumping up, ignored all other areas of the moat except where their prey waited. No thought, only instinct. They began to pile on each other, the ones on the bottom being crushed under the weight of others. The pile grew: five feet, ten feet, fifteen feet.

  "Shields," ordered Kyle. The shields were picked up, those carrying them hoisting them on their left arms. The square shaped shields had been curved at the corners by Eric, to ease the weight, if only a little. Though quickly constructed, they were solid.

  "Wait," called out Kyle. "Wait for it."

  The diseased, still dropping from the back of the moat, hit the bottom of it, oriented themselves and begin to climb the growing pile at the front. Many of them rolled back down, the slope too steep, but the pile began to broaden, making the climb feasible for the ungainly creatures.

  "Handguns," cried Kyle, pulling out his own Beretta. "One magazine. Fire."

  The line erupted as Berettas and a few 45s shattered the dominance of the diseased. As the pile of them came within a foot of the top of the wall, they were met by bullets, fired from only yards away. In less than a minute over a hundred diseased died, settling their weight on those trapped underneath.

  The firing stopped as more of the diseased dropped, rolled and climbed the pile. From this distance their pale, almost white, skin seemed more plague victim than human. Every orifice leaked blood. Their eyes, once cloud white, now swam in dark red. The blood created a slick pile of death leading to the top.

  The pile rose.

  The first diseased to reach the top of the wall climbed the pile with quick movements. Once a teen girl, she was light and climbed the pile easier than the others. She stood with shaking feet on the pile, and lunged at the survivors standing on the wall. She collided with a solid piece of wood held by the towering Rich. He flicked the shield, small in his arms, and the diseased rolled back down the pile.

  More diseased dropped.

  More diseased reached the top, lunged and were met by the wall, more than one receiving steel through their faces as defenders pushed their swords straight into the oncoming diseased.

  Kyle kept his eyes on those diseased in front of him. One, a towering tree of a man, made its way up. The man, well over two hundred and fifty pounds, found the pile easier to tread than others. He reached the top, his hand shooting out at the feet of Kyle. Kyle slammed his shield down on the arm of the diseased, while bringing his short sword over the top and ramming it down into the head of the beast from above. The man's head cracked like an egg, the sword scrapping bone as Kyle pulled it out.

  Kyle felt no sickness, no guilt at his actions. His heart beat only for survival. To save those he loved, those he stood next to. He picked up the shield and front kicked the big man down the pile, his body thumping down the ever growing side.

  A dozen diseased now stood on the top of the pile, its width growing, making it easier to stand on.

  "Shotguns,"Kyle yelled.

  Those carrying shotguns, including Jasmine, fired from the sides of the shield wall. The diseased standing on the pile were blown from the top, their bodies knocking others down in their descent.

  "Now! Move!"

  The line of survivors picked up their shields and remaining guns and ran forty yards, making it to the opposite side of the front, where the curvature of the structure started to go around the fort. The moat in front of them only contained those diseased who still stood on the bottom. Twenty feet below.

  The line of diseased, marching from the gap in the earthworks, turned their attention from the already made bridge on the left to the far right of the wall, where the living now stood. A few remaining diseased climbed the abandoned pile, but they were met by James, who stayed behind to deal with them.

  Kyle looked at the people around him, his body shaking uncontrollably from the adrenalin. "Good work! Take a breath everyone. Terry, Can you check on Edmund?"

  Terry dropped his shield and ran back along the curvature of the inner wall. The others, Incredulous about surviving their first hand to hand combat with the attackers, felt jubilant, almost euphoric. They traded stories and slapped one another on the back, all while keeping a wary eye on the growing pile in front of them.

  The group laid their shields down, reloaded magazines into their assortment of handguns, and drank some water placed along the wall. Old Ben, carrying a shotgun, walked next to Kyle. "Well, son, it worked. Must have gotten near about a thousand at least. We can do this all day."

  Kyle didn't think it was a thousand, though that would have been nice. Do it all day? They would run out of wall after a few more of those attempts, then it would come down to standing their ground, not something they were likely to survive. He didn't mention this, not wanting to rain on the parade.

  "We'll make it, I think the line of diseased from the woods is thinning out."

  While it was true that the column exiting the trees wasn't as thick, the group of diseased standing and maneuvering in the field in front of them was immense. Kyle thought there might be more than five thousand of them. Neil had certainly gathered most of the diseased on Oak Island.

  James ran up, nodded to Kyle, then headed for the water. Edmund ran in from the other side, his skinny frame barely holding up his rifle.

  "How's it looking over there?" Kyle asked.

  "A few dozed tried to climb the wall," Edmund said, "but I added their collective to it instead."

  Kyle nodded to the water. "Good job. Get some water."

  Edmund gave a salute and ran to the water, never out of energy.

  Kyle walked next to Grace, touching her elbow as he looked down into the moat. Already ten feet high. He gave grace a smile a
nd called out, "Let's get ready, we're not done yet.

  Chapter 19

  Kyle ran to the middle, dropped his shield and made sure everyone was in position before handing out some water. They'd defended the wall three more times, hopping back and forth on the wall in an effort to keep the diseased spread out and to buy time. That was over.

  Only one gap, ten yards wide, still existed, directly over the gate in the middle of the fort. He was tired, physically and mentally exhausted by the fighting. His friends were the same, some better, some worse. There had been no training, no preparing for a medieval battle with zombies, but their victories had been amazing feats. Now, the last empty part of the moat was filling, leaving thousands still to deal with, all trying to reach them.

  They didn't have long to wait this time, the mounds on either side of the opening still crawled with the diseased. This gap would fill faster than the other four had. It was also directly in front of the small gap in the earthworks.

  It wouldn't be long.

  James stood next to Kyle, his obsidian eyes evaluating the remaining diseased. He'd been ready to die, hoping Yolanda waited for him, but he felt something incomplete now, something not yet finished. He finally admitted it to himself; he didn't want to die.

  Saying that, fear didn't control him, didn't cause him to shake in fear, or in any way affect him. He'd learned long ago to deal with it. He remained absolute. He'd stay beside Kyle, keeping the promise he made to himself. He was determined to not let Kyle do something stupid again, not while he could stop it. He'd die first if it came to that. He drank the last of his water, threw down the plastic bottle and looked over at Grace and Kyle, as the latter called everyone to the line.

  The diseased, like clockwork, tumbled into the moat from the outer wall, hitting or crushing those already fallen. They rose on wobbly legs and moved forward like true zombies, ready to die. They reached out their pasty, bloody hands, clawing themselves up the pile, reaching ever closer to the top, where their rage would be satisfied.