Beyond the Barriers

by Timothy W. Long

  They had their backs turned to me, so I slowed down and approached at a creep, giving them time to hear me coming. I didn’t want to scare some recruit into filling my car with .50 caliber rounds from the big gun on the Hummer. I rolled down the window and called out.

  “Am I ever glad to see you guys! I’ve been hiding out up in the mountains and missed out on the last few months. Anyone want to give me the ten-second run down?”

  I was holding out my ID when the first soldier turned toward my voice. He moved fast, but in an odd, uncoordinated way. I saw his eyes first, and almost dropped my identification card as I recoiled in horror. His face was slack, like he had had a stroke. His eyes were dilated, the pupils almost the size of his irises, and they were blood red. His skin color was just wrong. A dull greenish color clung to it like he was illuminated by a Christmas tree light. He didn’t exactly glow; it was more of a tint that emanated from every inch of exposed skin.

  He snarled at me; his lips drew back, and his teeth were jagged points. I reached for my shotgun, knowing there was no way to get it up in time before the freak shot me with the M-16 he was carrying.

  His partner raised his hand and hooted into the air, then stumbled toward me. A cry to my left pulled my attention to the tree line surrounding the roadblock. From out of the thick trees and shrubs, a veritable army of demons poured forth. They had the same greenish tinge to the skin and were in a mish mash of clothes. There were more soldiers but also civilians—both men and women. Had the virus turned them into this monstrous form? If so, it was a far cry from the zombies I saw four months ago.

  One raised his gun, but it was unsteady in his hand, as if he were not familiar with the weapon. He aimed it toward me, but his shaky grip almost blew it out of his hand when he pulled the trigger. He staggered back, and bullets stitched the air over my head. I hauled the shotgun up into my lap, chambered a round by pumping the action, and aimed it at the guy. I started to back away, but he didn’t seem to get the message that I was planning to put a hole in him if he didn’t stop aiming the gun at me.

  I slammed the car into reverse and hit the gas, but a flood of them were on the way and didn’t look too interested in talking about the plague.

  “Ah fuck it!” I yelled, extended the gun barrel, and blew the first soldier back into the barricade. It was flimsy and reminded me of the one I put up at the cabin. Dear God, why did I leave the cabin? I could have made it at least a few more months if I stuck with the hunting.

  I jacked the pump and grimaced when my hearing went away. The noise of the shot had been like a cannon in the small space, but I shoved aside the instinct to worry about it and aimed for the barrier as I put the car into drive. The things were an army behind me. I didn’t stand a chance of plowing through them, because they were six or seven deep, and they looked like hell itself had opened up and spit them out.

  I fired again, and the gun leapt in my hand. I missed the wooden slats by a mile. Just plowed through them and the other soldier who was standing in front trying to bring his gun up. His mouth opened up in a big O that might have been a scream when my bumper slammed into his midsection, tossing him face first onto the hood of my little SUV. His body made a pretty good cushion as I barreled through the barrier. When I hit it, the thing splintered like balsa wood. The guy clutched at the hood, so I hit my brakes, and his forward momentum kept him going right on over the car and onto the ground. Then a bump as I passed over him.

  Gunfire behind me, and I hit the gas to get away. I had to swerve to avoid a pair of gutted cars that lay rusting in the road behind the tiny barricade. Then I was past, and the army of howling creatures was behind me. I kept my focus pinned to the rearview mirror as I accelerated away, which almost cost me my car. I was so fixated on the ones behind me that I missed out on the ones ahead. They were also pouring out of storefronts on either side, flooding the street with fresh bodies. Some howled when they saw me, while other shambled aimlessly.

  I had to slam on my brakes or risk barreling into them. I rolled up my window and hit my horn over and over, hand pressing hard against the plastic device. Sweat made me slip off it, but not for long. They crowded in, and I had to drive into the mass. I pushed them aside with the car, but a couple climbed onto the top. I wanted to punch the gas, but I could tell these weren’t the same things I had seen before making my escape from the city.

  They looked like regular people, more or less, just hungry. I pushed forward with the car, punching the gas as I tried to swerve through the mass. A pair of them came out with bars, and one smashed my rear door window and started to climb in. They both had glowing green eyes that made me want to bite my tongue in half.

  That was the last straw. I tried to play nice and treat the people with some respect regardless of the fact that they were screaming for my blood, but that was obviously the wrong tactic. So I floored it and grimaced as the car thumped over several of them. The guy who was trying to get in had on an old helmet that looked like it was straight out of World War II. He howled, and when I turned to look at him, his mouth was a jagged horror of broken teeth. His parched tongue hung out, but no words came out of his mouth. I maneuvered the gun around the front seat, leveled it at the guy, and pulled the trigger. One-handed, the shotgun was heavy, and it was a struggle to raise it while steering the car to level it at the crazy man. My hearing had been coming back, but was still a dull buzz that made my teeth ache. The gunshot was so loud in the car that it took it away again before I could hear the end of the retort.

  The smaller load was great at a distance, but up close it turned the guy’s head inside out. He flopped out of the car, and the pursuers fell on the body like scavenging birds coming across a fresh kill in the desert. That gave me an idea. I rolled the car forward and avoided a stuck car that was completely stripped. I rolled down the window on my side and smashed one of the followers in the face. This time, an overweight woman in a faded sundress that looked like she should be freezing in it. She fell back, so I hit the gas a little more to get some momentum, then stood up in the car and fired a shot at one of the things.

  Then I dropped another after pumping a round in. They fell on the fresh kills like they were starving. This gave me some room, so I floored it and leapt away from the pursuers.

  My hands were shaking on the steering wheel like I’d just bench pressed a couple of hundred pounds. I couldn’t control them. My breath was fast and ragged, and it took an effort to slow it down. I didn’t want to hyperventilate; I was already feeling lightheaded from the fight.

  I needed to find a way back to the main street and get back to the cabin. I’d be damned if I was going to stay stuck in this town with those howling things. I could always hit the convenience store I passed earlier and raid whatever was left of their food.

  I started to take a left onto a side street that would lead back to my house. I was here, and it seemed worthwhile to retrieve all of the things I had hidden in the space under the house. I could also gather up any canned goods and add those to my hoard.

  I also wanted to check on my neighbors, particularly Devon and his wife. Maybe they were okay and holed up. Maybe they had banded together with some of the others on my block. Maybe they were with the screaming horde I had just fled.

  It was looking like I had lost them when they poured into the street again. There were hundreds this time, and they were coming from the trees along the secondary road. I hit the brakes and spun around in a circle then zipped back to highway 322. I could always find another way to get to the old house later on.

  * * *

  When I came up on the main drag, a group of them was busy pushing cars into my path. I spun the wheel to the left, hard, and took to the sidewalk, mowing down several in the process. They thumped off the hood of the car, and one left a trail of blood on the already red hood. Crimson waves of it seemed to smash down on me, as I thought of the end I was facing. I couldn’t imagine what these people wanted, nor did I care to stick around and find out.

&nbs
p; I left the sidewalk and there were more of them. I was within sight of the Walmart I had raided a few months ago, what seemed like a lifetime ago. They were everywhere. I honked at them to get out of the way, but they just snarled at me as I bumped into them. Without risking serious damage to the car, there was no way to push through them.

  Not all of them moved fast. Some were slack jawed, empty eyed, hands raised as if in supplication. They were not frenzied as the green ones.

  One threw something under the car, and I felt it give way and collapse to the side with an audible pop. They had flattened the tire with some sort of spike. The thing had been flat, with nails driven into it, and looked like a club one would see in medieval times. If I could get my hand on it, I was going to make the fuckers pay dearly before they took me down.

  I drove as hard as I could, but it was soon on a metal rim. Another pop forced me to slow down. One of them darted forward and slashed the rear tire on that side.

  It wouldn’t be long now. I took my hands off the wheel and jammed as many shells as I could into the shotgun. I lost count of how many rounds I had fired, and just filled until no more would go in. They surrounded the car, and I tried to keep my foot on the gas, but the weight of them combined with the flat tires slowed me to a stop. I guessed the rear window would be my undoing.

  I opened the sunroof and slithered up onto the seat. One of them was climbing onto the top of the car, so I blew a hole in his midsection first. I planted my hands on the side of the car, so I would have a chance to run and not get stuck inside when they took me down. I lifted up and sat on the edge of the roof and shot another one. The blast took her in the shoulder, spinning her into the crowd with a massive spray of blood. I swung my leg up and stood on the top of the car so I had a full view of the area around me. The metal underneath me was flimsy and buckled as I jockeyed for position.

  I kicked another one with my size twelve boot, and then shot another in the face.

  There were too many of them—a veritable ocean of the things. I wondered if I should just put the barrel under my chin and do myself in. I didn’t want to be eaten by these things. So let them feast on my corpse and choke on it.

  I swung the gun up and braced it against my body as a pair climbed onto the blood- and brain-splattered hood. I smiled at one—a big, full-mouthed grin—and then pulled the trigger.

  Click.

  Not good!

  I fumbled for a shell. It fell out of my pocket and rolled down the side of the car. I bashed the first freak over the head with the stock of the shotgun. Big hollow thunk as he went down. I lashed out behind with one foot and caught a tall, skinny kid in the gut. He fell on his face, so I smashed his head into the roof with my foot.

  Went for another shell, got it, slid it home. Now I was surrounded on every side, and I would never get the damn thing up to blow my own brains out. One of them rose in front of me with a howl. His mouth was wide open, but my ringing ears didn’t hear him. I whipped my hand up to slash at his throat, but he teetered on unsure feet, and I ended up slashing him across the chin with the edge of my hand. I had planned to smash his throat. Another scrambled up behind me. Well, here we go.

  A shot rang out, and I half-expected to feel a punch as it struck my body. The one in front of me dropped, then another shot sounded in the distance, and one dropped onto the hood of the car.

  I spun around and punched the guy behind me. A full blow with the shoulder behind it that rocked my wrist, even though I stiffened it just before impact. He flew back, and then there were gunshots all around.

  “Get the fuck down!” someone called out , and I didn’t look around to see if the guy was serious. Instead I dropped to the hood of my car and started popping shells into the shotgun.

  Blasts bounced off the SUV or settled in the metal. There was screaming, which came through loud and clear as my hearing returned. Bodies dropped on either side, heads exploded, chunks flew, blood misted; it was like a warzone. I slithered onto the car via the sunroof, banging both elbows and my left knee in the process. I ended up with my ass in the air, staring at the gas pedal as I tried to right myself.

  The things outside the car were no longer interested in me, having discovered the much more accessible flesh of their fallen comrades. What sort of creatures were these? Since I rolled into my old town, I had no time to stop and consider the things. More shots broke up the mob, and they soon got the message and cleared the street. I forgot to turn the engine off in my haste, so all I had to do was pop the car in drive and hit the gas. The SUV squealed as two metal rims skittered over the ground, but it did move.

  There was a group of men on the little ridge that lined the road leading up the rise to the big Walmart. Ironically, they were in the same spot that I had been in when I shot the attacking zombie in the face a few months ago. That fateful day I had made my run to the store to collect supplies to hole up and wait it out.

  As I squealed up the small road, I noticed that a giant metal fence surrounded the place. They stood before it, five or six of them, and laid down fire, gesturing for me to hurry up. I must have looked pretty ridiculous in my car, rubbing metal on the road, sparks flying as I tried to outrun a bunch of bloodthirsty demons.

  I made it to the little road leading up the hill, and then pulled up and into a giant metal gate that they were opening for me. The men—well, men and women. I saw it was an even mix—shot as they ran, three dropping to their knees and shooting at any of the things that still followed me. The other three ran a few feet, and then laid down covering fire for the others. They moved with a military precision that impressed the hell out of me.

  The parking lot was a mess of cars, trucks, and even a couple of semi trucks. They were scattered all over the place, and most looked to be in good condition. The heavy metal fence slammed shut behind me. I pulled over, but a man gestured me forward, so I steered the squealing car along a road that ran up toward the big store. When I reached the front of the store, I pulled into a parking spot.

  I fell out of the car more exhausted than I had been since Special Forces school. I left the guns in the SUV and stood up to greet my rescuers. One of them, a tall man with gaunt features and a long, straggly beard of brown and gray, walked toward me. He slung his assault rifle over his shoulder—M-16 or AR-15 from my very brief glance. He had a big smile on his face, as if we were old friends. Then he tugged a handgun from a holster at his waist and pointed it at my head. He stopped a good five feet away, too far for me to try any heroics like a grab and sweep. Professional all the way, or he had learned a lot over the last few months.

  “Tell me who you are, how you got here, and, more importantly, why I shouldn’t blow your brains out.”

  Things were just getting better and better.

  “Name’s Erik Tragger. I been holed up in a cabin for the last four or five months. I bugged out when the shit went down.” I tried to keep my voice neutral, but having a gun pointed at my face wasn’t making me a happy camper.

  “That’s a great story, Tragger. Only the goddamn ghouls have gotten better and better at sending in people closer to being, well, people.” On the outside, he was all polite, but there was a sense of tension that told me I didn’t have much time to convince him my story was true.

  “I wish I knew what you were talking about. Look, man, I been out in the woods for months. Living on MREs and what little I could hunt or fish. I have been out of the mix. I don’t have the slightest fucking clue what’s going on, except some crazy guys that don’t look much like the zombies I gunned down months ago just tried to take me apart.”

  The truth in my words seemed to be getting through. He lowered the gun just enough so I could see his eyes and not the eye of the gun barrel. He was younger than me, but not by much. His eyes were a gray color that was hard around the edges. He had seen some crazy shit, and I knew he would just as soon shoot me in the head as have to worry about me turning on them. They must have needed me for something, because they helped me get in the compoun
d.

  “When did you escape?”

  “A couple of days after it started. I was busy watching the news, just sitting around not sure what to do, when I decided to head to an old cabin my friend has up on Mount Arrow. I took all I could safely carry, stopped at this very store and grabbed a couple guns, ammo, and some supplies and left. I haven’t heard anything since then. Radios are dead, and I couldn’t get a signal on my cell. Besides, man, you must need me or you wouldn’t have helped back there.” I looked at the street, where a small mob of ghouls was creeping up on the fence.

  “Only saved you for your car. We need more transportation. You? I say we just kill you and be done with it. No offense, but we’ve survived this long by not trusting anyone. Besides, we don’t usually let creepers in.”

  Creeper? Was that another version of the monstrosities I had just fought?

  “Oh come on. Just keep a guard on me or something. I can help you out. I have a lot of training.” I couldn’t believe how badly this was going. What happened to returning to civilization? Coming back to a world that worked the old way—buy, sell, stay at home and stay out of the limelight. Right now, I felt like every cold eye in the world was on me.

  “What kind of training?”

  “Hey, I think I know this guy,” someone spoke up. One of the men moved behind the leader and squinted at me. I didn’t know the guy. Never seen him before in my life. He was stocky, dressed in black, and had a long dark beard. His eyes were hollow, lined with circles like he didn’t sleep.

  “You do?”

  “Yeah, guy saved my life when I worked here. He came in when the shit was going down. Just walked in with this no-nonsense attitude. Smashed a couple of displays and took knives and a pair of guns. Then he handed me the shotgun that saved my life, and told me to go and protect my family. It was like a wakeup call. I went home less than an hour later, and we hid up until the enforcers got started. I shot ten or fifteen zombies with that gun, man. Saved my life.”