by Tripp Ellis
“Where the hell is he?” Steele muttered to himself. He was pacing back and forth in front of the APC, keeping an eye out for lurkers. The clock was counting down. Delroy should have been back by now, he thought.
“Did you try him on his mobile?” Susan asked.
“He’s not picking up.”
“You think he’s okay?”
Steele’s face tensed a moment. He was part pissed off that Delroy wasn’t back yet, and part worried. He may have been their superior officer, but these soldiers were like family to Steele. “I’ll give him another 15 minutes. If he’s not back by then, we go looking for him.”
“We don’t really have time for rescue missions,” Susan said.
“Nobody gets left behind. Nobody.”
“We don’t get the president back, there’s going to be nothing left.”
Steele gritted his teeth. “Fifteen minutes. Then we set out to find alternate transportation.”
Earl and Duke had scavenged the field for sticks and branches—anything that they could use as clubs. They were out in the field, pummeling some lurkers with branches the size of baseball bats. It was kind of like T-ball.
Duke yelled “Batter up.”
Earl lined up an infected man’s head and swung. The makeshift bat connected with a thud. The man fell back onto the ground. He rolled around for a moment, then staggered back to his feet.
“Steeeee-rike!” Duke yelled.
“Now how you gonna call that a strike?” Earl protested. “I hit the dang thing in its head.”
“Okay, foul ball. Look at him. He’s standing back up. That certainly ain’t a home run. Hell, that ain’t even a base hit.” Earl’s face twisted up. He tightened his grip on the branch. Then he swung again as hard as he could. But he missed. The bat whiffed right past the infected’s head. The inertia spun Earl around, and he fell to the ground, splatting in a pile of cow shit.
Duke laughed his ass off. “Strike two.”
Earl pushed himself out of the dung. He looked like a hot fudge sundae exploded on him. Earl’s face was red, and the veins were popping out in his forehead. His lips were tight, and he looked like he was about to cry.
The lurker was staggering toward him.
Earl didn’t know if he wanted to hit Duke or the infected man.
Duke was laughing so hard, he was crying. He was huddled over, holding his sides, gasping for breath in between chuckles.
Earl clenched his jaw, gripped the branch, and wound up. He put everything he had into it. All his anger and frustration. All the animosity built up from all the times that Duke made fun of him. The branch swished through the air. It connected with the infected man’s face with a crack. Earl hit him so hard that the lurker’s jaw broke and dislocated. His neck snapped, and his head flopped to the side. With the spinal cord severed, the ghoul instantly dropped to the grass.
“Home-mother-fucking-run,” Earl said.
Duke was still laughing. “Okay, Babe Ruth. I’ll give you that one.”
Earl started chasing Duke through the field with his cow patty covered hand.
Duke ran for his life, weaving through lurkers. “I swear to God, you wipe that on me and I’m going to beat your ass.”
Steele watched the two make asses of themselves out in the field.
“To think, this could be all that’s left of humanity,” Susan said. Then she leaned in and whispered in his ear. “We might have to work on a repopulation plan some time.” Her words were like satin. Her blue eyes sparkled at him. Then she turned and walked back toward the APC. Steele watched her as she sat down beside Chloe and started talking to her. “How are you doing, sweet pea?”
“I’m A-OK, ma’am.” Chloe gave her a sharp salute.
“You’re a brave little girl.”
“This is child’s play, ma’am. I’ve seen a lot worse than this.”
“I bet you have. You’re pretty lucky to have a guy like Major Steele looking after you.”
“Yes, ma’am. But, I’m the one who looks after him. He’d be in a whole mess of trouble without me.” Chloe said, sassy as ever.
Susan chuckled and glanced at Steele. He smiled back at her. It might have been the first time Susan saw him smile since she met him. She wasn’t quite sure he was capable of it.
Steele’s grin faded, and his face turned back to stone. A herd of infected staggered up the highway, from the east. Not just a handful, but maybe 50 of them. Too many for Steele to handle on his own with a sword.
Earl and Duke were still jacking around in the field. The commotion had gotten the attention of the horde, and they were marching toward them.
“Get in the APC,” Steele said.
The vehicle was on its side, but the back ramp and top hatch were still functional. They could seal themselves inside and be safe. The lurkers wouldn’t be able to penetrate the armor.
Susan took Chloe and helped her into the vehicle. Parker loaded Brandi inside, then started to push the back ramp shut.
“You too, Parker.”
“What? I’m not letting you take on that horde by yourself.”
“You don’t have a weapon. Get in the APC. Now. That’s an order.”
Parker’s face scrunched up, but she complied. She climbed inside the APC and pulled the ramp shut.
Steele heard the locking mechanism engage. Then his eyes fixed on the horde, and he unsheathed his sword. The bellows and moans of the infected grew louder. They spilled into the field like a dam bursting.
“Duke… Earl…” Steele yelled. “ You just got promoted to the major leagues.”
Their eyes went wide as they saw the looming horde.
21
Delroy blazed down the highway on the Yakuma YX 125. The two-stroke engine was like a buzz saw—and so was Delroy. He hacked and slashed at any lurkers he passed. He wielded the machete like a medieval knight, lopping off heads. Delroy the Terrible. That has a nice ring to it, he thought. He decided his machete needed a name too. Skull Crusher would do, until he came up with something better.
The gas station was right where the GPS said it would be. Delroy pulled up to the pump, swiped his credit card, and filled the dirt bike’s tank. Odds were he wasn’t going to have to pay his next credit card bill. In all reality, the automated billing system would still spit out a bill. The robotic postal service would deliver the letter. And if he didn’t pay it, his credit would still get dinged. Those automated systems would keep functioning as usual—whether there were people alive or not.
When the tank was full, Delroy screwed on the gas cap and hung up the nozzle. Then he unholstered the 9mm and strolled cautiously to the store. He peered in through the glass door. There were blood smears on the glass, and blood splatter on the floor inside.
Delroy scanned the rows of groceries. Overpriced, miniaturized versions of just about everything you could find in a real grocery store. Bread, peanut butter, chips, candy bars, mouthwash, pain relievers. Rows and rows of soda, bottled water, and beer lined the back coolers. The infection had spread so fast that there had been no run on supplies. No hoarding of gas or water. No looting. There was no one in the aisles, and he couldn’t see anyone behind the register.
Delroy pulled the door open, and the chime rang. He stepped into the convenience store with his 9mm ready. He cleared the corners and rows, then moved around behind the counter. He opened the register drawer. It was full of crisp bills. He couldn’t believe it. Hundreds, twenties, tens, fives. He emptied the drawer and stuffed the bills in his pocket. He didn’t see anybody around. The store owner wasn’t going to be needing the money now. Better Delroy than the next person that stumbled in here. If there was a next person.
It was instinctual to see a stack of bills and want to take them. But at this rate, money was going to be useless. About the only thing you could use it for was kindling to start a fire. Still, there was something about having a fat wad of bills in your pocket.
Delroy holstered the 9mm and stepped to the aisles. He grabbed some chips, bread, peanu
t butter, pain relievers, a couple sodas, some candy bars, and a few beers. He stuffed them into his pack and spare pockets. He took as much as he could fit.
A thump in the back storeroom startled him. He dropped a bottle of soda and it fizzed on the floor. He snatched his sidearm and took aim. Delroy crept toward the storeroom and pushed through the swinging door.
It was dark in the storeroom and Delroy couldn’t find the light switch. A few rays of fluorescent light beamed through the freezer racks from the main area. Delroy’s tactical goggles were up on his helmet. He didn’t want to risk the momentary blindness that would result from pulling them down over his eyes and powering them up.
The storeroom was full of boxes. Rows and rows stacked high, almost to the ceiling. His heart was thumping in his chest. The hairs on the back of his neck stood tall. Delroy didn’t really like creeping through dark spaces. A fair fight, out in the open, no problem. A cramped, dark space gave him chills. It felt like being in a haunted house. And he hated haunted houses.
He loved Halloween and scary movies, but you couldn’t pay him to walk through a haunted house. Delroy’s mind always wandered too much in the dark. And one’s imagination is often more terrifying than anything reality can throw at them. He always had this overriding fear that some serial killer had snuck into the haunted house and was really killing victims. No one would ever know until the end of the night, when the lights came on. Delroy’s friends used to make fun of him for it. But every now and then, he’d catch a news story where that very thing had happened.
Nope—you couldn’t pay him to go into a haunted house.
Delroy was about to turn around and get out of the storeroom when he saw a can of beans rolling on the floor. Then his eyes caught movement in the corner. He snapped the 9mm toward the movement, his finger gripping the trigger. His heart was in his throat. He was about to blast. But it was just a rat scuttling its ragged claws across the floor. Delroy exhaled, and his body relaxed. He figured the rat had knocked over the can.
Delroy turned around and marched toward the exit. A lurker lunged at him from the shadows, tackling him to the ground. The Koenig Haas 9mm clattered across the concrete, sliding out of reach.
Ferocious teeth hovered inches above his flesh, snapping and growling. Delroy struggled to get the lurker off of him. But this thing was big and fat. He must have weighed 300 pounds. He was bald and had a goatee and wore a plaid flannel shirt over a black T-shirt. It was emblazoned with the logo of a metal band that Delroy had never heard of. The ghoul was drooling on him. And he smelled like he hadn’t showered for days.
Delroy twisted up his nose at the stench. He had his hands around the man’s throat, trying to keep the ghoul’s deadly mouth away from him. The thing’s jaw was snapping at him like a hungry tiger.
Delroy squeezed the man’s trachea with all his might. With his other hand, he grabbed the can of beans that was rolling around on the concrete. Delroy clobbered the man’s fat, bald head. The impact lacerated his scalp. Dark, infected blood oozed out from the gash.
The blow was enough to knock the ghoul aside momentarily. Delroy wormed free and scurried to the 9mm. He snatched it from the concrete and took aim.
BAM. BAM.
Double tap to the head.
The man’s pale, round head exploded in a flurry of bone, brain, and gristle. His body slapped the concrete and twitched for a moment.
Delroy wiped the sweat from his forehead and exhaled a deep breath. He climbed to his feet, then kicked the lurker in the ribs for good measure.
He left the storage area and grabbed two, 5 gallon, plastic gas cans from one of the rows. Then he walked around to the register, and rang up a cash sale on pump number 2. Of course he didn’t put any cash back in the drawer.
Delroy pushed through the glass door, heading for the pumps. The door chimed on his way out. The sound of crickets filled the air. The buzz of mercury vapor lights mixed in harmony with the sounds of the night. They bathed the pumps in a greenish glow.
Delroy filled the plastic gas cans, then bungeed them to the back of the bike, like saddlebags. He slammed his heel down on the kick starter, and the two-stroke engine roared. He revved the engine, let out the clutch and rolled onto the highway, heading east. This time, he didn’t do a wheelie.
22
Steele plunged his sword through a lurker’s eye socket. Blood squirted. The lurker gurgled and did an impression of a scream. But it was just a gnarly glottal sound. The thing jerked like it had been electrocuted. Steele kicked the ghoul in the chest and drew the blade out. It stood, twitching for a moment, then collapsed.
Earl and Duke were pummeling lurkers as they approached. They were swinging as hard, and as fast, as they could. It was almost impossible to keep up with the onslaught.
A snarl filled Steele’s ear. He spun to the side and slashed at a lurker. It was almost on top of him. The ghoul was reaching out to grab him. Steele’s blade sliced the man’s finger tips off. Blood spurted from each nub. The blade continued on, carving through the man’s neck and cervical spine. It cleaved muscle, tendon, fascia, and bone with ease. The composite metal blade made a razor look dull. The creature crumpled. Another one took its place. Then another and another.
Steele hacked and slashed. He spun like a tornado, shredding anything in his path. But as quick, and precise, as Steele was, it was a struggle to keep up.
Duke and Earl weren’t fairing very well.
Earl stumbled. A lurker pounced on top of him. Duke cracked the thing in the head, knocking him off. Earl scrambled to his feet, fumbling for his stick. Another lurker lurched for him. Duke kicked the creature away.
Earl and Duke were surrounded, and the perimeter was collapsing rapidly.
Steele had his own troubles and couldn’t get over there to help them. He was fighting his way in their general direction. But he was mobbed by these damn things. At this rate, Earl and Duke were going to join the shuffle club. And Steele might not be far behind.
Steele grabbed a lurker with his titanium fist. He held onto the ghoul’s shirt, the fabric knotted up in his fist. Then he used the lurker as a blocking dummy. He slammed the thing into two other lurkers, knocking them on their asses. Then Steele plowed forward through the herd. He barreled ahead, knocking lurkers to the ground like bowling pins.
The blocking dummy was gnashing at Steele’s forearm the entire time. But all he got was a mouthful of titanium composite.
Duke was flailing around, swinging wildly. He was trying to keep these things off of him. But he wasn’t having such good luck. A lurker tackled him from behind. Sharp teeth streaked toward his neck. Soon, this ghoul would be feasting on his flesh.
Steele smashed into the ghoul with the blocking dummy. The lurker fell to the ground, and Steele stomped its skull with his boot. Its cranium shattered, and brain pudding splattered out.
Steele tossed the blocking dummy aside and skewered its skull. He retracted the blade and kept hacking and slashing at the endless swarm of lurkers.
Duke staggered to his feet. His jaw was slack and his eyes were wide. He couldn’t believe that he didn’t get chomped on. He couldn’t believe that Steele would spend effort trying to save him. But he didn’t have time to dwell on such things. Duke clutched his stick and got back into the fray. The three of them fought back to back, trying to maintain a perimeter. The air was a cacophony of dull thuds, wet slaps, breaking bones, and ripping flesh.
Dozens of bodies lay strewn across the field. Some were still. Others twitched. An undulating sea of carcasses. Garbled moans emanated from some of the corpses.
Duke and Earl were just about out of steam. They were tired and sloppy. At the beginning of the onslaught, Duke could take out a lurker with one hit. Now his blows lacked force. He had to smash skulls multiple times. He and Earl had worn themselves out playing T-ball. They were plain exhausted now.
The perimeter was getting tighter. Earl swung one way. Duke swung the other. A lurker broke through the middle and lurched f
or Steele. The ghoul grabbed his back. Steele shrugged him off before his mangy teeth could bite into flesh. But it was enough of a diversion to compromise Steele’s defensive position. Another lurker tackled him. Steele crashed to the ground. All he saw was a flash of ravenous teeth and blood red eyes.
The thing was about to rip a chunk of flesh from Steele when its head exploded.
CRACK!
Its head vaporized in a cloud of blood, bone, and brain. Its body collapsed on Steele. He shoved it off and sprang to his feet. Two more lurkers were almost on top of him.
Delroy was roaring through the field in the Slinger 300 Magnum. He was hanging out the driver side window, shooting left-handed.
CRACK!
BAM!
The two lurkers in front of Steele dropped to the ground. Delroy wasn’t normally this good of a shot. But today, he brought his A-game.
“Yeehaw,” Delroy hollered. He mashed his foot to the floor, and the engine growled. He plowed through the field, mowing over dozens of lurkers with the giant truck. Bodies pinged off the grille guard. Heads shattered. Sheet metal dented. Giant, knobby tires ground bodies into the dirt.
After the first pass, Delroy turned the wheel and spun the truck around. It fishtailed and spit dirt from the rear tires. Delroy floored it, and the Magnum steamrolled another dozen infected. It was like a demolition derby. And the lurkers were losing.
A few more passes, and Delroy had demolished just about everything. What he missed, Steele finished off. Delroy pulled the truck around and slid to a halt next to Steele and the others. Duke and Earl were in awe. Delroy was now their hero.
“That was bad-fucking-ass,” Duke said.
Delroy hopped out of the truck with a shit eating grin on his face. Duke high-fived him.
“Shit, I want your autograph,” Earl said.
“I got transportation and 10 gallons of gas. That ought to get us to Fort Ramsey.”
Steele stared him down. “What took you so long?”
“Oh, come on, Chief… give me a little credit.”
