by Joshua Guess
He absorbed this in a single snapshot. Trying to slip into the gaps would get him shot at the least, and break the line completely at the worst. There were almost a hundred zombies in the swarm, and centered on the human line in a tight group.
Kell watched as Johnson snatched up a shield from the pile next to the berm of dirt, walking through a flat space between two sections of the barrier.
Laura put a hand on his arm, feather-light, and he stopped.
“You can't just sidle up in there,” she said.
Kell nodded, pointing to the barrier. “I know. So I'm going over. I might need you, but you should stay within the stakes. Keep me supplied.”
“I don't understand.”
“Just throw me another one when I put my hand up,” Kell said.
Laura growled. “That's not a good explanation, K.”
He dashed up the dirt hill, giving her no choice but to follow.
Carefully picking his way through the stakes, Kell snatched one on the outer row as he moved forward. His leg ached, but felt strong. His heart hammered, pulse beating against his skin. Sweat already poured from him as his nerves lit up like a city at night.
His mind was calm, his hands steady.
Kell circled the swarm and hit them from behind. There wasn't much chance of being shot, as there were bodies ten deep between him and the defenders. He thrust the wooden spear through the back of one zombie, shoving it with all his might until it pierced the undead in front of the first victim as well. He had hoped for three, but the weapon bound up against the spine of the first victim. He released the spear and stepped back, watching them fall.
Experience told him as long as he kept out of their reach, the two undead he had impaled would be unable to rise. Coordination between them was impossible without higher-order brain function, and as hard as he'd lodged the spear in them there was no way they could get it out.
Still unnoticed by the rest of the undead, Kell raised his hand. A few seconds later a wooden shaft sailed over the crowd and buried itself in the ground nearby.
Taking up the fresh weapon, Kell repeated his trick, this time skewering three through the soft tissue in their gut. He was stepping back again when several of the undead in the pack took notice of him at once. The first reached out faster than he had ever seen the dead move, snatching his left arm in both hands and biting down on his forearm.
Kell ignored the gnashing teeth as he lashed out with his right fist at a second zombie, armored glove locking tight into a plastic and steel wrecking ball. He felt the zombie's face crumple under the force of the blow, and a second, shorter punch sealed the deal. He had spent the time in his cell productively, adding hard metal projections to the knuckles of those gloves.
The zombie biting his left arm flew free as he dropped one leg back and flung his arm across his body with his hips. Not a martial arts throw by any means, it was still an effective move for robbing the attacker of his balance. The aluminum links he'd added to the sleeves held as the thing's teeth broke off during the throw. Kell watched it tumble into the crowd, knocking over three of its fellows in the process.
Kell didn't have to raise his hand for the third spear. He spied Laura in the distance, watching him as he moved around the edge of the horde, picking his targets.
Three zombies fell in thirty seconds as he thrust the tip of his weapon into the bottom of their jaws, hitting the sweet spot he had spent so much time learning to aim for. The tip broke off on the third, but the stakes were sharpened at both ends, so he almost casually impaled two more of the undead.
As he freed himself from the swarm once again, Kell realized he'd swung farther from Laura than intended. The nearest spear was a dozen feet away, and the group had noticed him. Seven of them stood between, and they moved with unusual coordination, their limbs not jerky or clumsy. Kell dashed forward into the group, grabbing the nearest of them bodily and hefting him from the ground. With a grunt, Kell chucked the zombie into two others and immediately spun to attack the one he was sure had moved in behind him.
What followed was nothing short of a brawl.
He lost all sense of time and effort. The world faded away, a bundle of details and complications best forgotten. The only thing that mattered was survival; Kell's mind took in every detail and reacted without conscious thought. The location and speed of the undead in his peripheral vision became instantaneous awareness of where they would be in a few seconds, and he moved to intercept. There was no retreat. The idea was totally alien.
He stomped one zombie's knee in backwards, following through until the joint was at a right angle. That one was still falling as Kell turned to break the jaw of a second with a tight, arcing punch. Bone splintered beneath his knuckles and Kell reached into the thing's mouth with his other hand, wrenching its body out of the way by the mass of broken bone and teeth. Another moved in to attack, and Kell sidestepped, snagging its head in his hands and cranking it around until the zombie's neck popped like firecrackers. Kell continued to twist even then, until the filaments connecting Chimera to the rest of the body shredded from the torque.
A fourth he simply knocked over before jetting to the side to bring the steel toe of his boot against its head in two heavy kicks. Then he stood next to the spear, snatching it up from the ground in time to swing it like a baseball bat against the head of a fifth attacker.
The wood shattered, which surprised him considering the stake was as thick as his wrist. The zombie's head deformed under the blow, and it fell to the earth as he danced backward again, looking for another enemy.
It was only then he realized the gunfire had ceased nearly a minute earlier. The herd had thinned enough that the humans could go in hand-to-hand, and most of the swarm was down. The dozen or so remaining were being cleaned up by half the defenders; the other half stared at Kell in naked amazement.
Johnson was one of them. Seeing Kell relax into stillness, the man shook off his surprise and walked up to him. Laura was moving their direction as well.
“Jesus Christ, man,” Johnson said, all trace of his previous dislike gone. “I've never seen anyone just wade out into them like that before. It was...”
Laura broke in, then, panting and furious. “That was fucking crazy, you idiot! What the hell were you thinking?”
“I don't understand,” Kell said, confused. “Weren't you the one who told me you did supply runs? Surely you've had to fight a bunch of these things at once.”
It was Johnson's turn to look confused. He turned to Laura, aghast. “Is he serious? Does he think...?”
Laura shook her head in irritation. “K, no one does that. It's rule number one. You can't fight a swarm by yourself. You'll get a bite or knocked over. They can smell you. When we went out on our supply runs, we always cased the places we were going to hit. We always waited until there were minimal enemies. What you just did is suicide. You have no idea how lucky you are.”
Kell laughed. It just bubbled up out of him.
“Okay, sorry,” he said after regaining some of his composure. “But seriously. How on earth do you ever get to the good stuff if you don't clear out places? You're telling me you never do that?”
Johnson shook his head. “God, no. You only get lucky so many times.”
“Well,” Kell said, “I did it twice a week at least, for five months straight. And I'm fine.”
“No way,” Johnson said.
“That's impossible,” Laura said at the same time.
“No, it isn't. Look, guys, I worked in an office my entire life. I never did sports, martial arts, or anything like that. I'm not special. I just pay attention.” He swept an arm out over the bodies of the zombies he had killed or disabled. “Anyone can do this. All it takes is practice.”
“Yeah,” Johnson said. “That and not being afraid to die.”
His tone implied the statement was a joke, but Kell only nodded sadly. “Yes, that's part of it.” Then he gave the pair a smile. “But you can make up for wanting to live by havi
ng good armor and knowing where they like to bite.”
“How do you know all this?” Laura asked.
Kell shrugged. “I pay attention. If you want I'll be happy to explain it to you,” he said, then shifted his gaze to Johnson. “You too, man. Anyone who wants to learn. I'm not an expert, but I spent a ton of time watching these things. I have it all written down, too. I can teach people where to hit, if you want.”
For the first time in the three weeks Kell had known him, Johnson smiled.
Chapter Fifteen
Two weeks later Kell was a full citizen of the Complex. The meeting with Phillip and the board had been mostly a formality; by that time most of the population had seen him defending their home, and working with guards in training. It was politics, of course, and Kell knew public sentiment was behind him. Phillip had no choice, but the man stared daggers at him every time they passed each other.
After being granted full citizenship he was forced to vacate his little room. That was the moment Kell discovered that most of the people in the complex lived in much worse conditions. Laura helped him move, and she led him through areas he had yet to see. Darkened sections of factory floor covered with makeshift homes, all plywood and scraps. Some people hauled in the empty shells of vehicles to serve the purpose, and it was to one of these Laura had taken him.
As it turned out, it was the home she now shared with Kate. The place had begun as the passenger section of a school bus but had been added to and built up until only the occasional flash of yellow could be seen. At first Kell tried to refuse the offer, saying it was too much, but oddly enough it was Kate who convinced him.
He hadn't seen the thin woman much since his arrival, and when he and Laura began to argue about him staying with them, Kate set aside the knife she was sharpening and sat him down, hard. Physically she was half his size and strength, but she moved like water. One foot planted behind his and a practiced twist of her body against him, and Kell found himself sitting on a ratty but amazingly comfortable couch.
Kate stood before him, slim arms crossed over her slim frame. “We owe you a debt,” she said.
Kell opened his mouth to tell her it wasn’t true, but she held up a hand.
“We do. We wouldn't have gotten free on our own. It's as simple as that.”
“You might have found a way. You don't owe me anything.”
Kate shook her head. “Do you know why those men spent so much time with me?” she asked. “It's not because they preferred me over Laura. It wasn't about looks.”
A feral light bloomed in her eyes as she pulled up a stool and sat across from Kell. “They did it because the first time one of them came for me, I kicked him in the throat so hard it broke his neck. I spent hours working my foot out of the rope. My skin was rubbed away, I was bloody and in pain. I didn't care that I might have permanently damaged myself. All I could think about was watching my husband die. Of being taken.
“Those men raped me, K. They chose to focus on me because I fought back first and hardest. I fought them every time, because I didn't care if they killed me. I hurt some of them, but after that first time they were more careful.”
Kell sat in silence as she gathered her thoughts. It was at the same time the emptiest quiet he had ever felt, and the most loaded.
“I'm telling you this because you need to understand we were ready to die. We tried and tried to escape, but sometimes there isn't a way out. Sometimes you need help. You gave us that chance, and the only way we can even the score is by giving you a place to live. So you're going to stay here.”
Kell stayed there.
On the couch.
Which, while comfortable, was also only five feet long. He didn't complain, having seen the conditions some people in the Complex had to endure, four or five people to a tiny shack, sharing heat. It wasn't a matter of the leadership not caring, but there was so much work to do that moving the citizenship beyond basic shelter, especially inside a larger shelter already, was not a priority.
In the weeks following his move into Laura and Kate's place, Kell began to understand how divorced from people he had become. Bare as the world might be of most social structures, even the simple things came back to him slowly. Saying hello to someone because they were there, or smiling because the day was nice. Isolation had put him in a sort of personal free fall, losing all reference to the world he had lived in. Loved in.
Living with two women, one almost a stranger, was far from domestic bliss. Kell slept on the couch, curled up and at best only comfortable for a few minutes at a time. He had a private space where all his gear was stored and where he could change clothes, but it was an area defined by sheets hanging from the ceiling and was three by four feet. Life with Kate and Laura was cramped, alternately freezing cold and sweltering hot, and often required one or more of them to move into an uncomfortable position just to let the other pass by.
After the first day, Kell grew to love it.
It was the little things that made it worth the discomfort. A week after he settled in, Laura began going out on scavenger missions again. She brought two jars of pickles back to their home, giving one to Kell.
Pickles, his all-time favorite food.
Kate warmed to him as September changed into October, speaking freely and treating him much as Laura did—like a dumb younger brother who couldn't keep himself out of trouble. He thought the attitude was just them being overprotective, but in October he learned their constant warnings to behave himself, that he was still seen as a newcomer, were completely valid.
That was when Phillip tried to kill him.
There were many hundreds of people in the Complex, and October had barely started when every one of them was called to fight. A swarm of zombies thousands strong came at them, and Kell found himself fighting beside people he had never even met before. It was hard to judge the number of people on the field, and Kell spent most of his time away from the general population, but an hour into that first, furious defense, he found himself spearing the undead with Phillip at his side.
It wasn't a question of whether they could fight at the wall; they could. But the first blush of the attack was vicious and unexpected. A great deal of equipment and personnel needed to be brought behind the wall. Kell saw lines of people standing atop it, fighting the undead that managed to make it past the stakes. At one point he commented about the huge number of strangers, and he was told a friendly community that had sent visitors before came to help with the battle.
Kell stood at the far end of a gap in the wall, one of ten defenders working behind low barriers with shield and spear. More than sixty minutes of continuous butchering left him off his guard, and though he had spent a few tense seconds worrying when he saw Phillip next to him, his partner, the man's businesslike attitude soothed Kell's natural suspicion.
When a particularly dense rush of undead hit his end of the line, Kell was pushed into Phillip. As he struggled to push back on the teeming swarm in front of him, there was a peculiar pressure over his kidney. The strike plate there, which was pushing against Phillip, jammed into his lower back sharply, then again, then a third time. Kell heard the older man swear and he risked a glance down, throwing the shield up and forward as he did so.
In that split second he saw Phillip withdrawing his knife, the tip broken and discolored. It took him a moment to process the event, but it came to him.
Phillip had tried to stab him, and hit the plate designed to stop a rifle round. The rest of his torso armor would easily have allowed the man to stab him. It was just dumb luck the other man had chosen one of the few spots not vulnerable to a bladed weapon.
The attack was so stunning in its stupidity and timing that Kell couldn't respond. He continued to fight, unsure if Phillip would try again, but angling his body so he could keep the other man in sight the entire time.
Kell stole glances at him between attacks. Phillip had been cool enough about attempted murder that he hadn't a problem waiting until Kell was totally distrac
ted to do it, or to hit the one spot on the human body guaranteed to be instantly crippling but not immediately fatal. The older man certainly wasn't so cavalier as the undead slowed their assault; the implications of his failed attempt seemed to be catching up with him.
They were all sweating, of course, but Phillip began to drip with it. His chin quivered slightly until he managed to get control of it, gritting his teeth with the effort. Kell saw his hands tremble, and in a moment of peace even caught the jackhammer of Phillip's pulse as it beat through his carotid artery, starkly visible against his ashen skin.
By the time the assault waned into cleanup, Phillip was a nervous wreck. The other people around them didn't take it as out of place. They were fighting the undead, after all, and the man was used to sitting in an office. Why wouldn't he be a pile of raw nerves?
But Kell knew better. Enough time had passed that he had control over himself, and the constant warnings by Laura and Kate not to rock the boat resonated in him. The line disengaged and moved behind the barrier. Men who had fought and bled for each other slaked their thirst with ladles of water drawn from buckets, exchanged hearty slaps on the back, and generally exalted in being alive.
Most of them kept their distance from Kell. Not through malice, but most of the people he trained with—every person holding the gate, except for Phillip—knew he didn't do much socializing. They kept a respectful distance from him, though many gave him a nod or a wave as they passed.
He stood a few feet from one of the water buckets, watching Phillip receive surprised praise from the other men in the line. Kell kept his mask of impassivity firmly in place, letting nothing show on his face or in his body language. If the man was insane enough with hate to risk his own life by attacking during a defensive maneuver, then he was too unpredictable to confront in the open. God only knew how he would react.
Besides which, Kell's relaxed but unrelenting gaze seemed to be causing Phillip no end of discomfort. Furtive glances in Kell's direction and jerky movements gave it away; the guy had no idea what to do next. He hadn't expected to fail.
