by Michael Carr
Back at the parked weapons, Malcolm and Jordan get into a personnel carrier to gather their forces. Malcolm confirms their plan, “Once we gain the troops, we will do a drop-off around the Colony. We will attack from all sides... success was found with that maneuver at the crater.” Jordan nods confirming that he understands. They pull away leaving Thomas' body on the ground. There will be no ceremonial burial for their fallen leader; he is left behind like the rest of Corey’s victims.
The nail that made Thomas fall was still in his head...just off center. It has produced a slow leak of dark fluid...unoxygenated blood. Blood also drips from the expired leader’s nose and onto the sand. The granules act like a sponge, building small mounds of dark coarse ooze. Leaving behind queer mound formations…awkwardly placed piles, ending under his chin. Then, movement…Thomas’ eyes open but remain fixed…air escapes his nostrils, flattening the last of the blood filled stacks. As he slowly rises to his feet, he methodically observes his surroundings. He rips the beret from his head as a menacing smirk moves across his face. Thomas angrily throws the beret to the ground as he begins his walk...his walk into the city.
Still hiding, Corey is sweaty and nervous between needing to see what is coming towards him and taking the risk of being detected. He is hoping whatever it is will just pass by and never notice him. His attention turns back to the inflamed lesion on his chest, it is swollen and red…”Damn this shit hurts!“ Clear voices are heard along with footsteps on the pavement. As they come closer, he hears conversations…several conversations…one about a food truck back home that sold the best grilled-cheese sandwiches they ever tasted…but most were concerning loved ones, dead or lost. Regardless, their stories ricochet in Corey’s head. They are human. He is connected. Daring to lean out, he sees several humans walking…armed.
Corey lays his gun down and decides to be bold, “Hello…Hello?” The eldest of the group was a native American-Latino-looking dude...probably in his mid-fifties. He has shoulder length gray hair, a red bandanna around his forehead and wears a sleeveless denim jacket. “Beat it! We have enough mouths to feed.”
Corey’s relief is quickly dashed and he now looks at the group with uncertainty. A girl...close to Corey's age...short in height, with shoulder length brown hair, goggles and a light beige scarf dangling from her neck steps forward. Her black boots and vest remind Corey of Han Solo. Corey has no interest in introducing his sarcasm by relaying his thoughts. He would rather make allies, than plant life more enemies.
“We were all like this at one time…alone, until we found each other.” She looks back at Corey, “What’s your name?”
“Corey,” he replies.
She turns back to the group, “Guys this is Corey...say hello.”
With the exception of Chief, they all reply unenthusiastically and in unison, “Hello.”
Not your warmest welcome, but better than Corey initially thought it was going to be. He hopes to build some quick integrity by offering what he has, “Look, I have weapons…more than you can imagine and if we don’t move quickly they are going to be taken.”
Shaking his head, irritated, Chief replies, “This is rich! A lone gringo in the middle of nowhere has more weapons than we can imagine. What else do you have…steak? lobster? Maybe some nice scented soap? Bath salts, perhaps?” Corey does not like the old man’s tone, but he tries not to let it show on his face.
Tonya, adjusting her goggles and scarf, steps between Chief and Corey with her hands out...just in case, “Chief, you are being rude! Corey, I will go with you and see what you have. How far are they?”
Chief interjects, “I can’t let you do that!”
Tonya, not typically one to take instructions, rolls her eyes, “NOW he decides to tell me what to do... Typical! Corey, let’s go. Chief, relax! I'll radio you when we are there.”
Chief stares Corey down, “I think you're just wasting your time Tonya.”
The two leave without saying more to Chief. The elder holds one hand up, motioning to the rest to stay alert. His eyes never leave Corey and Tonya as they depart. He does not trust the newly found human and wonders how one could survive alone. Under his breath he mumbles, “Just not possible.”
“How long have you been alone?” Tonya asks as she examines Corey from the corner of her eye.
“A couple of days…a couple of very long days,” Corey says as if he just relived it in his mind.
Tonya cuts to the chase, “I have to ask. How did you get all the weapons?”
Corey puts one hand to his forehead...does he dare tell her the truth? There were so many feelings running through his mind…mostly bittersweet mixed with confusion...leaving the problems of the city, finding out there is organized factions of the undead, defeating an entire zombie army…would she believe this or question his sanity, “You are not going to believe me.”
Tonya smiles and chuckles as she replies, “It seems everything that happens now was once unbelievable… you know, before the outbreak.”
Normally, the introverted Corey would not care what anyone thought. This is the confusing part…he realizes he likes this person…she is tough, independent like him, but unlike him, is very accepting of others. She seems genuine. He is surprised that he feels grateful…grateful for her acceptance and concern. Maybe he was wrong…maybe he will need others if he was truly to survive this mess. If so, he was also going to need her trust. Corey, wondering if she would stick around once he finished, took a deep breath and said, “Ok...Here we go. I left a gated and protected city. I couldn’t take it there anymore…the constant noise of crying, asking God why this happened. No one was trustworthy any longer. It seemed that people were always trying to outwit others for their possessions…not to mention the outright theft. The thieves didn’t care how it hurt others. I had to get out of there.”
Tonya looks on as if she knew what he was feeling...but added, “Sounds like life. Well, life as we know it now.”
Current state of events casts life since the outbreak as a new existence, but certainly not a better one. Corey is young but over the last year has learned that life is cruel, no matter how you dress it up or down. He continues, “So it was time to make a change, look for some place away from the misery…away from the gated city's population that naturally attracted harassment from the undead. The moaning and groaning of the lifeless at the fences would keep you awake at night. I left not sure where I was ultimately going; only hoping to make my own refuge and possibly find my family.”
Tonya does not find this odd, “I think that’s why we are a group. Our previous situations caused us anxiety...life is not better but we found each other. Now we have found you.” Corey does not know what to say...she knew what he was feeling on all levels. Complicated layers, yet she explained it in a few words.
Tonya still wants to know about the weapons, “Soooo, about the arms you have…”
Corey laughs for the first time in a long time, “They are not all arms, there are real weapons...you know like tanks. I defeated the leader of a Zombie guild. Actually, we were best friends before the infection. Anyway, his army disbanded and retreated leaving them behind.”
No response…Corey looks at Tonya as they continue walking and then looks down, watching his black canvas skater shoes take turns moving him forward. He thinks, “She is still here, guess she doesn't really care how I got them.” At that moment the sound of clips being injected into guns are heard. Corey looks at Tonya who is holding two handguns of some type. She asks, “Is that them ahead?”
Corey looks away from her in the direction of her glaze. He realizes she is referring to a band of zombies, about 20, helping themselves to the parked vehicles.
“Nope, that is another faction of some sort.” Corey digs for his gun.
“How do you know who they are?” she asks, quickly ducking behind an abandon car and pulling Corey with her.
Looking over his gun, “Because they don't bare the mark... (shows her the gun) look at this, is the safety on?”
Tonya, realizing Corey has not handled guns often, leans forward, “The safety is off. What mark are you referring to?”
Corey just smiles and winks at her, “I’ll explain later, ready to have some fun? You go right, I’ll go left!”
The two jump up and Tonya, without thinking, actually follows Corey’s instructions. She yells across to Corey as she blows away the lifeless, “Impressive stash! Chief is going to eat some serious crow!”
Corey yells back as he does his share of disassembling the walkers, “I don't think he likes me!”
Tonya stops to reload. A walker comes up to her from behind and without hesitation or looking back, Tonya manages to deliver a swift elbow to the zombie’s chest. She turns and fires into the aggressor’s forehead to assure it is done. “Eh, Chief? He’s a wuss…a big dog with a little bite!” Her answers are direct and leave little room for rebuttal…just the right attitude needed to survive. Tonya is dynamite in a small package.
She grabs a walkie-talkie that was clipped on her belt, “Chief, we are at the weapons. We need you to come here and give us a hand.”
There is a pause...then Chief says, “I guess he wasn't lying?”
Tonya looks at Corey and smirks in an ‘I-told-you-so’ kind of way. “Nope!”
The communicator comes back. “We are on our way. Leave your tracker on.”
At the same time, Malcolm and Jordan with their re-employed troops appear at the Capitol building that they refer to as the Colony. A group of three Zlys stands guard at the front entrance of the building holding a staff-like weapon. The Zlys are a strange looking creature...this thought is shared by the zombie officers as they approach the building. Zlys are tall beasts with a ‘horn-shaped-mass’ protruding from the back of their skulls, curving over the top of their heads, and coming to a point some six inches from the bridge of their nose. A bumpy cyst-like pattern runs over their bodies, as they appear more reptilian than anything else. Their backs host a single set of small wings, only capable of short flights due to the creature’s size. On occasion, the small wings buzz in a sporadic fashion as if it was a nervous habit. Instead of a left hand, they have a claw with a stinger object in the middle…an additional weapon genetically developed to handle their enemies.
Malcolm and Jordan attempt to walk past these creatures to make their way into the Colony. The two stop in their tracks as they hear, “You left me! You took the coat off my back and thought nothing of it! Without hesitation, you showed me no respect and left me looking like a ‘bag of smashed asshole’! Let me show you just how lifeless I really am!”
Malcolm looks around trying to determine the direction from which the voice is coming. He does not question who it is and states, “We are finishing what you wanted…you wanted us to take the Colony. I felt I needed to look respectable. I, in fact, am representing you.”
Thomas appears in the entranceway…his face is dark from the inside shadow, but a long black trench coat, divided in the back is easily seen. A draft moves the coat and it swings behind him reminiscent of a character from a dark twisted Anime movie. “You treated me as a commoner. I provided you weapons, food and troops for you to control. This is how you thank me?”
Jordan becomes nervous, “You appeared expired. We could only think of moving the mission forward, as we were ordered.”
Thomas comes fully out of the building, coattails flowing more prominently than before in the desert breeze, “I stayed still for a reason…I was not going to give Corey another opportunity to stop me…finish me! And as you can see, I succeeded in gaining the Zlys without you…without any of you.”
Malcolm, refusing to be intimidated by Thomas, immediately exclaims, “You are surrounded by my troops! This area is now under my command!”
Thomas, enraged by Malcolm’s insubordination, returns to the inside of the Colony and orders the Zlys, “Destroy them!”
The Zlys perform as commanded. They attack and slaughter Jordan and the zombie army without issue, almost effortlessly. But for Malcolm, it is different…one of the Zlys senses his master’s overwhelming anger with this particular one, grasps Malcolm by the neck and raises him off the ground. The mutant mocks his prey by using the center needle of its claw to slowly caress the zombie’s face and asks, “Where are your subordinates now...officer?”
Malcolm, still clinched at the throat by the Zly's right hand, screams with torment as the spike from the left claw shoves into his forehead. The needle crushes inward until the point pierces through the back of Malcolm’s cranium. The zombie is released and his lifeless body drops to the ground…his fate ending as he believed Thomas’ had hours before.
The survivors come closer to where they track Tonya's beeper. Chief signals to the others to spread out as they cautiously approach Corey and Tonya's position. The survivors separate and take cover behind whatever is close. Chief waits and listens…no sound…’no sound’ is not always a good thing. He radios Tonya, “The tracker says we are almost on top of you. It’s awfully quiet, everything ok there? Shall we move in?”
Tonya comes back, “We are ok…come on in.”
Motioning the group to follow him, Chief is still uncertain. The survivors proceed forward, but in a crouched position and guns drawn. As they reach the recovered weapons, Chief observes the area, scrutinizing the perimeter. His eyes quickly identify a mound of zombie bodies. Looking further, he sees Corey from the waist up. He is in the top opening of the tank leaning forward with his chin on his hand. Tonya is simply leaning against the tank. Chief relieved, but confused announces to the other survivors, “All clear!”
The survivors relax. Patrick, one of the youngest is amazed, “You guys laid them OUT…freaking AWESOME!”
Chief approaches the tank and looks up at Corey, “Hey amigo! Let me speak with you, alone.”
Corey looks at Tonya. Tonya nods, encouraging him to follow Chief’s request. As Corey comes off the tank, Chief wraps his arm around him, “Let’s take a walk.” As they get out of earshot of the others, Chief opens up, “I must admit you have my full attention. So how does one young man gain weapons like these?”
Corey somewhat relieved because he starts to feel accepted and states the obvious, “Very long story…I told Tonya…still not sure she believes me.”
Chief with his hand on Corey’s shoulder looks at him and smiles. “I guess it really doesn’t matter now...does it?”
As the survivors look over the mobile weapons and start putting their gear into the vehicles, Chief walks further away with Corey, consulting him, “Look hermano, I don’t know what all you have been through. We all have our stories...none good, as you know. However, together with these weapons, we should be able to distance ourselves from the shit that is going on. I am curious, what were your plans? Being a young man and all... alone with this impressive stash…”
Corey looks away...thinking. He honestly left the city in hopes of finding what Chief just described…distance. Distance from the stress and the unending questions that skip in his mind like a badly scratched vinyl record.
“I don't know...I just want normal back.” Corey’s lip curls, attempting to avoid a dark place with his thoughts. They are more like feelings than thoughts. He would best explain them as a mixture of alienation, depression, and anxiety…feelings that he would try to hold back. Throughout his life these emotions presented as frustration. Unfortunately those nearby would be spectators or possibly victims of his outbursts. The action was never intentional, but always an issue. Exhaustion and confusion were side effects of the flared behavior and prevented discovery of the real triggers.
Chief realizes that Corey is lost in thought. The rugged elder is a man who has little practice with showing emotion, including empathy, but he gives it a go, “Look...I am sorry I doubted you earlier. I guess everyone is having trouble coping with this new world. It is a lot to absorb, a situation none us wanted. Know that you are among friends now…let’s get our stuff together.”
Corey nods and mutter
s, “Plans keep changing…”
They return to the group to find the team of five survivors surrounded by three armed creatures...creatures they had never seen. Corey and Chief are not sure what to do. While pausing to try and understand what they see, approaching footsteps are heard behind them. Rocks are kicked across the ground, passing their feet and stopping just in front of them. Corey is afraid to look back...but must. Progressing towards the humans, Thomas appears still clad in black. Corey is drawn instantly to the nail still sticking out of Thomas' forehead. He just doesn't understand how he didn't kill him…and who is he kidding with that coat?
“Unfortunately Malcolm and Jordan weren’t capable of finishing their mission. A small victory for you but I can assure you that there will not be another. The Zlys surrounding your team are my ultimate force of warriors. I am sure you remember me talking about them Corey since I had brought you here to help me gain their allegiance. Sadly, you thought killing me was a better option…but you couldn’t even do that!”
“You had the same plan for me and I'm still breathing ASSHOLE! Let’s go Thomas, let’s finish this shit!”
Thomas wants to put Corey on tilt, “So, still bitter that you didn’t finish me? Your aim was off…even at close range…VERY sad.” He nods to a Zly who then throws a sword to Corey who catches it, although somewhat bewildered.
Thomas pulls a sword from his coat and lunges. In a defensive, but novice move, Corey holds his sword with both hands, the hilt in his right hand, the blade in his left. The pressure from holding back Thomas’ sword, results in Corey’s own blade beginning to slice into his hand. Being at the receiving end of the zombie’s obviously advanced fencing technique, the young survivor recalls Thomas’ days on the school’s fencing team. The intimidation is not welcome but its presence is felt. He shoves Thomas away causing him to stumble backwards a bit, but is able to regain his stance.
