The Battle of Zombie Hill

by Nancy Osa

  “Don’t be a party pooper!” Kim called.

  “Yeah, come on, Meat!” Stormie goaded him.

  He looked over his shoulder at the ragged line of horse soldiers and softened. “That’s Sergeant Meat to you, Private,” he replied as Duff slowed, bringing up the rear without any signal from his rider. Like all smart horses, Duff was well versed in the chain of command.

  *

  Stormie suggested they cover as much ground that day as possible. “That way, we can deal with the plains boundary tomorrow when it’s light out.”

  So, against everyone’s normal instincts, they kept riding as dusk came on.

  Kim asked Turner what it was like to work as a paid bodyguard.

  “I like the term bouncer better. It’s kinder.” He underscored this by reaching down with his sword and whacking a zombie that had spawned next to the trail. “Bodyguarding is the same as keeping yourself alive, only more lucrative,” Turner continued. “Lots of folks don’t like to pay for it, though. I’ve had more than one guy try to stiff me.” He took out another zombie. “That’s when bodyguarding takes on a whole new meaning. Now, I don’t condone killing—” He switched hands and impaled a third zombie on Duff’s other side. “—but if it’s a choice between you or me, well, you’re going down, and that’s all there is to it.”

  He slowed Duff as a baby zombie wobbled toward them. “Hello, little ugly monster,” Turner cooed. “Are you . . . lost?” He cut the baby zombie’s head clean off.

  Kim teleported behind them, picking up bits of rotten flesh and the pile of mini potatoes that the baby zombie had dropped.

  “What about you, Jools?” Kim asked. “How did you get into the detail business?”

  “Observation,” he responded. “I’m like you: self-taught. I’ve just always had an eye for patterns, ever since I was a lad. And the thing about patterns is, deviations can be a matter of life and death. That makes what I do lucrative.”

  “Did you get your start during the First War?” Rob asked.

  “That was way before my spawning time,” Jools said. “No, as they say, there’s always a conflict somewhere in the world at any given moment. Labor strikes, political coups, corporate takeovers—I’ve just made it my business to find them . . . and to not get involved.”

  “So, what’s different this time?” Turner asked.

  Jools thought a moment. “What’s different is—I’m not sure there will be a next time after this time—if you get my drift.”

  Turner nodded solemnly.

  The farther they rode from civilization, the fewer hostiles they encountered.

  “Zombies may not be bright, but they’re predictable,” Frida said. “They especially like well-populated areas. They’re opportunists, same as the rest of us.”

  “Hey, speak for yourself,” Turner said, offended.

  Frida grinned. “You, my friend, are the biggest opportunist of all.”

  “That’s why I’m designating you sergeant at arms,” Rob told Turner. “You’ll know when to take the offensive—could be against the enemy, could be to maintain order if there’s a mutiny in our unit.”

  “What if he’s the one to start the mutiny?” Jools asked.

  Turner pulled an innocent face. “I’ll have you know, I am as loyal as the day is long.”

  Stormie waved at the horizon. “Yeah, well, day’s about over.”

  “Good point.” Turner pulled Duff up and dismounted. “I say we make camp here.”

  Rob shook his head. “I didn’t release you, Sergeant. Now get back on that horse.”

  Turner eyed him to see if he meant it. Everyone else waited to see what Turner would do. Slowly, he put a foot back in the stirrup and got back on Duff.

  After about a dozen strides, Rob put a hand up. “And, halt!” He gazed around the empty plains. A line of rock outcrops rose in the distance. “Looks like the biome border’s not far ahead. We’ll make camp here for the night.”

  “Point taken,” Jools murmured, and they all broke formation and set about tending to the horses.

  As Rob and Frida crafted some fences together, she touched his arm and said in a low voice, “You don’t want to start anything with Turner, you know. He’s the deadliest individual I’ve ever met, at least on the good side of the Overworld.”

  Rob put down the sticks he was handling. “And we need deadly on our side. It’s time for me to set some rules if I’m going to lead this cavalry.” Seeing her grave face, he added, “Don’t worry, Frida. He’ll come around.”

  “Yeah, but watch your back. Sometimes he comes around like a boomerang.”

  Rob felt a pang of worry, but he realized the luxury of showing it was over for him. He’d read that being a commander was a lonely job. Still, that didn’t mean he couldn’t line up some allies. Frida, he could trust.

  “You know this world better than I do,” he admitted. “I’ll be counting on you to keep your finger on the pulse of . . . everything. You’ll be our vanguard. You’re the best at scoping out a situation, even before it happens.”

  “You mean, you want me to be a spy?”

  “Call it what you want. It’ll be your job to scout things out and draw the battle lines—even if they’re inside the battalion.”

  “I’m not sure I want that job.”

  He paused. “Somebody’s got to do it. It’s for the good of the unit.”

  “And the good of the Overworld.” Frida made up her mind. “Count me in.”

  They finished hooking together fence panels and got the horses settled inside the corral. Saber raised his head, looking meaningfully at Rob from the inside as he shut the gate behind him.

  “I know, buddy. It’s just for show. Set a good example, will you? I can use all the help I can get.”

  CHAPTER 8

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING, THE MEMBERS OF Battalion Zero mounted up and crossed over from the plains to Bryce Mesa uneventfully. Dr. Dirt’s griefers must have been busy elsewhere, sorting through their plunder, while their legions retreated into darkness for the day. Rob couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief as Saber stepped from turf to clay, putting the boundary behind them. Dead bush and cactus gave way to prairie grass, and the trail began to climb. The small party of riders could have been out for an everyday ride.

  The new landscape, though nearly void of trees, offered an endless variety in colors and textures: Flatlands were rimmed by towering stalagmites of clay-covered sandstone, striped by mineral deposits, and interspersed by blue tributaries. Green cacti stood out in relief against the red, orange, and silver rock palette. It was as though the small troop had ridden into an enormous sand painting. And it made Rob more homesick than ever.

  His ranch lay in the high desert, in a place not so different from this one, yet a world away . . . somewhere. Although they had gained elevation, Stormie explained that their vantage point couldn’t match the altitude of the extreme hills. Still, Rob hoped he might glimpse a landmark that would point the way home.

  “Emerald for your thoughts,” Kim said to the quiet cowboy as she teleported alongside him.

  “Well, I—” He emerged from his reverie and tucked his emotions away. It was up to Rob to rally his soldiers around their shared goal—saving this world. His new status as cavalry commander would not allow him to share his longing for home. “I . . . was just thinking how much we have to do to build a base camp,” he said.

  “What can I do to help?”

  “Things are about to heat up for our equine friends, here. I’m naming you master of horses, Kim. We’ll need you to keep them fed, healthy, and ready for battle.” She nodded. “It’s what I do best.”

  “I’ll also want you to act as my ground crew during drills. We’ll have to get started training these recruits as horse soldiers, as well as training the horses to work together.” He knew that Kim’s keen eye could come in handy.

  “While I’m at it, I might as well divvy up the rest of the duties.” He called to the others, “Gather around, players!
”

  Rob explained that they would be fortifying a safe camp and preparing a defensive strategy as soon as they found a suitable location. “Frida will ride ahead with Stormie to scout one out and update our map. Once we get where we’re going, everyone will have to take the initiative to fulfill their tasks. Turner, you’ll do as you see fit to keep swords, bows, arrows, and axes available to the rest of us. Jools will watch our food and health levels and make sure we have enough vittles, milk, fuel, and other supplies. He’ll also assist me in drawing up our battle plans.”

  Turner hit his palm with his fist and Jools nodded.

  “I’ve put Kim in charge of the horses, and she’ll help Frida get grass and sugar for them.”

  “What’ll I do?” Stormie asked.

  “I’ve been thinking about the day we first met. When you blew Lady Craven out of the water. Do you still have that TNT cannon?”

  “Sure do.”

  “Then you’ll be our artillery commander.”

  “Anything that can be made with gunpowder will be made with gunpowder, sir!” she said, snapping off a salute.

  “We’ll all have to chip in as additional duties arise,” Rob told the group. “We might have to set a night guard. . . . We’ll see.”

  “Wish I had some brushes and dyes,” Stormie mused. “This scenery is awesome.”

  “You paint?” Kim asked.

  “In my nonexistent spare time.”

  Turner sidled up to her on Duff. “Hey, if we do get some time off, maybe you could do a likeness of me.” He showed her his profile. “I promised Sundra something to remember me by.”

  “You mean, other than a lingering odor?” Jools remarked.

  “All right, all right,” Rob scolded. “We’re supposed to be forming a unit, not starting a civil war.”

  “Ain’t nothing civil about him,” Turner grumbled.

  “Sergeant! Let it go,” Rob rebuked him. “The world is depending on us. We’re a cavalry now. Let’s act like one.”

  *

  At Frida’s suggestion, the budding battalion made camp on the lee side of a rugged, red cliff studded with rock spires that seemed to shoot up toward the moon.

  “Looka them hoodoos,” Turner said, admiring their tall, striped beauty.

  “They’re almost like sentries,” Kim remarked.

  “They are, in a way,” Rob said. “We’ll use them as a natural fence.”

  Frida studied the rock towers. “I can plant cacti in between them to seal marauders out.”

  “Or keep us in,” Jools noted. “I died once from touching a cactus. But then, I rarely wear armor, so it was my own fault.”

  “Well, that’s going to change,” Rob said. “Desert or no desert, I want everyone in body armor during drill.” He eyed Jools. “And we’ll all participate.”

  Jools was taken aback. “But—”

  Rob broke in. “I’m not asking you to fight, Quartermaster. I am asking you to be ready to fight if push comes to shove.”

  Jools absorbed this idea, but at least he didn’t argue.

  “Besides, you’re a fit rider. I think you’ll enjoy the mounted drills. And working with the group might motivate Beckett to get the lead out.”

  Jools cracked a smile. “Nothing like a good gallop, I always say.”

  They staked out their camp next to a stream, with a clump of dead bushes for shade. Jools set up his crafting table and supply chest. Turner inventoried their weaponry and ammunition. Then they all took a break, enjoying a lunch of pork chop jerky, which did a great deal to ease the earlier group tension. As their food bars filled, they chatted busily about their duty rosters. The horses found a sandpit to roll in before stretching out to bask in the sun.

  When the hoodoo rimrocks began to cast afternoon shadows, the time came for their first drill. The cavalry donned their armor and outfitted the horses. Rob asked Kim to mine some hardened clay and place the blocks end to end to make an oblong arena. A few of the others busted up some sand blocks and lined the inside of the area with sand. Kim, looking businesslike in her pink iron helmet, called for them all to wrangle their horses and file in. They then spent more time than it should have taken to form a line facing Rob and Saber. Their leader intended to give them a short demonstration of some of the more advanced moves they could look forward to.

  “Kim! Can I borrow your earring?”

  Rob hung the gold hoop from a long, twiggy stick he’d pulled from his inventory and stuck into the ground at one end of the arena. Next, he rode Saber to the opposite end and drew his new sword. “Somebody say charge,” he instructed.

  Kim put up a hand. “Charge!”

  Saber took off at a mad gallop, heading straight for the target.

  As they neared, Rob made ready to stab with his sword and capture the earring. Perhaps he should have talked this over with Saber first. At the last second, the horse swerved directly at the stick and—thinking it was an obstacle—gave a mighty leap to clear it. He did . . . leaving his surprised rider behind.

  In an all too familiar way, Rob found himself tumbling through space and landing abruptly on a pile of sand. At least there aren’t any zombies waiting for me this time, he thought wryly, feeling more like a rickety skeleton than he ever had before.

  “And that move would serve what purpose in battle?” Jools asked with mock sincerity.

  “I think Rob’s showing us how not to do it, y’all,” Stormie said in his defense. “Right?”

  “Uh, yeah.” He smiled sheepishly and got up from the hard ground. “Let that be a lesson. Even the most experienced rider can fall. And look where you want to go. Don’t expect your horse to know what you’re thinking!”

  “At least Duff won’t have to worry about that,” Jools needled Turner. “‘Nature abhors a vacuum.’”

  “People! Another lesson.” Rob put his foot in the saddle stirrup and remounted Saber. “If you fall, you have to get right back on.” He wheeled Saber around and performed the earring maneuver again, this time legging the horse firmly to the left and keeping his head down until after his sword had successfully grabbed the golden earring.

  This prompted a smattering of applause from the onlookers, and even Turner conceded that the exercise was a good form of target practice.

  “When you can send an arrow through that earring, you’ll really have something going,” Rob said. “Now. Enough of the preview. We’re going to get you all cantering and the horses comfortable in close formation.”

  Carnival music would have been a good accompaniment for the chaos that followed, which lasted until Rob and Kim worked out the proper lineup for the horses. Beckett was too slow to be in front. Armor was too antsy to be in the rear. Ocelot didn’t yet understand the need to travel in a straight line, and until she did, Frida fell off again and again when gravity overcame the horse’s sinuous movements. To everyone’s surprise, Turner and Duff were the stars of the show wherever they were placed in the order.

  When Rob mentioned this to Kim, she replied, “That’s why I chose Duff for him. That horse is a born babysitter.”

  Turner was outraged, of course, but Rob knew what Kim meant. Some horses just naturally take care of their riders. In this case, it made Turner appear to have far more skill than he really did. Rob used the illusion in his favor. “Babysitter . . . What she means is, Turner will obviously pass on excellent horseback riding genes.”

  “No doubt, Sundra will be pleased,” Jools commented.

  At last the entire group was able to ride at a canter, and Rob and Kim had figured out the order that kept the horses happiest: Armor in the lead, followed by Ocelot, then Duff, then Beckett, and last, Saber. This would allow Rob to keep an eye on everyone and ride the boss horse in to help if anyone got into trouble.

  Next, Captain Rob, as Stormie was calling him, fell out of line and split the others into pairs. He had Armor and Duff canter in a circle in one direction and Ocelot and Beckett in the other, passing each other at their right shoulders. Of course, Ocelot
veered out, and Turner forgot which side was his right side, and they enjoyed several near misses that left Frida and Stormie on the ground.

  Rob insisted that they keep repeating the drill until they got it right. But after half a dozen go-arounds, the women were getting frustrated and the men were getting bored. Rob responded to their whining by tightening the proverbial reins. “Again!” he commanded. “With feeling this time.”

  Another three tries and three more commands brought the troopers to the edge of their patience—which Rob ignored.

  He might have had a goal in mind, but Kim could see that an early grave was more likely. As Rob balled his fists and made to berate the group again, she teleported over to him and settled on Saber’s rump.

  “Begging your pardon, sir,” she whispered in Rob’s ear. “They may be soldiers, but they are players first. Think back. What was it that you wanted when that creeper blew up your sand pillar? Or when those zombies caught fire in the sunlight?”

  She jarred him back to that first day in this new world. “I wanted to know what the heck was going on,” he answered, tight-lipped.

  She clapped him on the shoulder with a pink palm. “You wanted to know why.” She waved at the riders, who were clearly not pleased with the situation. “Orders are orders, but if you want your commands to be followed, you’d best explain why. They’re like smart horses. Nobody wants to follow a blind lead.”

  Rob took a deep breath. She was right. The group had no idea why he wanted them to go through these exercises.

  “Thanks, Kim. Sometimes I need a second set of eyes to see what’s really going on.”

  “Just doing my ground crew duty, sir,” she replied graciously and teleported back toward Frida to help her up from the dirt.

  “Okay, players,” Rob called. “Come over here and line up in front of me.” He waited, letting them straighten out their ranks on their own instead of at his instruction. Then he gave them the rationale for circling toward each other at a canter—it got the horses used to an enemy charging at them. Passing on the right prepared the riders for sword combat with oncoming hostiles.