Buried.2015.03.04

by Michaelbrent Collings

  Then suddenly they were no longer dancing around mounds but around bodies. Because the things were out. Writhing over the crops –

  (GIVE UP GIVE IN)

  – like sightless worms searching out food. Only they avoided the greenery in search of fleshier sustenance. Arms reaching for them, flesh spitting and spinning.

  Amulek was better than Christopher was. He had to admit it. The teen never seemed to fall, always appeared to know where the next hole would open up in the twisting forms. Christopher felt weirdly jealous of that fact, as though he had staked an inordinate amount of his self-esteem in his ability to outrun and outbalance anyone else still alive.

  Not that that's a high bar to set. Not many of us left.

  He tripped again. Again Amulek's strong hand kept him from pitching over. Again he hated the kid just a little for that.

  Pay attention, Chris.

  The only saving grace was that the burrowers all had arms and legs partially fused by the yellow substance, the ooze that both healed and welded objects together. They couldn't move as fast on the land as they did beneath.

  Then Christopher saw something that changed the game.

  "We're boned," he whispered, and felt his stomach plummet.

  46

  Christopher had consciously avoided thinking about what else might lay below the ground. What might be hidden in those deep holes that went to some unknown place.

  Now he knew.

  It was the zombies. Not the slow-moving slugs that writhed to the surface – dangerous if they caught you from below but avoidable when completely aboveground. Those were just the diggers, he realized. Like the engineers in a war, the ones who created roads into enemy territory and then retreated or were killed. Their jobs done.

  Then the soldiers took over.

  A hand curled over the side of a vacated hole. Fingers cracked and bleeding black, thick ichor. Some of them ended in gleaming bone, no doubt rubbed raw by crawling through the holes behind the tunnelers.

  The zombie lifted itself out. Stood. Oriented on Christopher and Amulek.

  Ran.

  "GO!" screamed Christopher.

  47

  Two of the things rose out of the ground. Like Lazarus of old, who had died and been reborn. Only these creatures were not meant to teach any spiritual lesson. They were here to kill, to maim, to Change.

  Christopher and Amulek ran. Full speed, straight at them. Still jumping – not over humping mounds of soil, but over writhing tunnelers, over empty holes that were no longer empty but now held half-hidden things and fingers that gripped edges and pulled fast bodies free.

  They couldn't stop. To stop would be to die.

  Christopher screamed. Sped up.

  Thok!

  One of the things' heads jerked back, an arrow sprouting like magic from its eye. Then the head snapped forward again. Its mouth screamed silent screams to some dark god.

  It turned on its brother.

  Both went down. Biting, clawing at one another.

  Christopher jumped over them. Amulek followed. Both running faster. Faster.

  Faster.

  Faster.

  Give up. GIVE IN.

  Faster.

  Faster.

  They couldn't stop.

  He was vaguely aware of Amulek slinging his bow over his shoulder. No more arrows.

  No more arrows.

  More things rose up before them.

  Three.

  Four.

  Six.

  No stopping. Christopher and Amulek couldn't stop, they couldn't. More behind. More and more in front.

  GIVE UP. GIVE IN.

  To stop would be to die.

  To run would be to die.

  I'll go out running, thank you.

  Christopher sped up.

  He gritted his teeth. Forced his legs to pump faster.

  Faster.

  Faster.

  GIVE UP. GIVE IN.

  Faster.

  Faster.

  And then he was at the line of undead.

  They reached for him.

  They would have him.

  48

  What I wouldn't give for Sally right now.

  The thought flitted in and out like a bird in a tree, passing through while looking for somewhere safe to nest. Not finding safety here. Come and gone in an instant.

  But fast on the trail of the first flitting thought came another: the realization that Sally had never attacked anything but the undead. Never.

  Not until Buck.

  What did that mean?

  He didn't know.

  The second bird flitted away. All thought fled.

  He ran at the zombies – now ten strong – that had pulled free of their holes in front of him. They ran, too. Ran to greet him and Amulek like lovers in a movie. Only the kisses they brought would not be those of pleasure, but of greatest pain. Not Heaven, but damnation.

  He leaped over a last writhing tunneler.

  Faster.

  Faster.

  Lowered his shoulder. Hoping to hit the closest zombie. To make it through.

  Another flitting bird-thought: when he was five, still a child and not the Son of Power. Playing a game with the kids at kindergarten. Two lines of children facing one another. Each line linking hands. Taking turns calling over a kid from the opposing line. That kid had to run at the "enemy" line and try to break through. If he did he brought one of the enemy line over to be a part of his line. If not, he became the enemy.

  Just like now. Get through or become the enemy.

  "Red Rover, Red Rover, send Christopher over," he said. Lowered shoulder. Hoping to break through. Knowing he couldn't.

  But maybe he could clear the way for Amulek.

  "Fine, then send Amulek over," he said.

  That would be all right.

  That would be the right thing, as Dorcas would have said. Clearing the way for a friend.

  That would be a good death.

  49

  The first zombie touched him. Its finger was hot, so hot it burned even in that single instant.

  Then the heat traveled to his upper arm. Burned and burned with white-hot pain. A sound pounded at his ears.

  The zombie spun around.

  Then the next one.

  The third.

  They fell. They all fell.

  A sound accompanied each fall. Two sounds.

  BOOM-zip.

  BOOM-zip.

  The sound of gunfire, a high caliber weapon. And then, so close it was almost on top of the noise, the bee-buzz of a bullet passing through the air beside him.

  Christopher realized he hadn't been burnt by the zombie's touch. The creature had been shot, and the bullet, after passing through the creature, had skated across his upper arm. The zombie had fallen, gunned down with a shot placed so perfectly it had knocked the thing off its feet and then missed – or near enough – the person behind it.

  Christopher knew only one person, other than Aaron, who could make that shot.

  He burst through the line of zombies. The three-zombie gap was enough for him and Amulek to break through the line, even though it was close – so close that he felt the fetid breeze of the other ones' hands snapping for him.

  Christopher looked back and saw Amulek grinning. He knew. Knew who had saved them.

  Mo. The Māori was covering them.

  Another shot. Another zombie fell to earth.

  But then, of course, it rose up again. That was what they did.

  The smile disappeared from Amulek's lips. And Christopher felt a similar expression fall away from his own face.

  They weren't safe. Not yet.

  50

  A hundred yards. The length of a football field.

  Only there was no football. And the opposing team wanted to kill him. Change him. Destroy him.

  Christopher had stood against the things before. Once, in a plane, he had even offered himself so that the others could escape.

  And they passed m
e by, just passed me by. Why then but not now? What's going on?

  But this was the most frightening of any of those events. In the dark, with things in front, behind, beside. Things below.

  They ran at him and for the first time in his life he found not just one but many things that were faster than him.

  And through it all: the noise.

  Groans. Give up. Give in.

  The sounds of crumbling dirt, of earth giving way to void. Give up. Give in.

  Sounds of explosions and bee stings. Give up. Give in.

  Of bodies spinning and hitting ground and then rising again.

  GIVE UP.

  GIVE IN.

  The voices in his head were familiar. Not exactly the same, but weak echoes of the voice in his waking dream. The one that had invited him to be one with it forever. These voices sounded like that thing's weaker cousins, or children.

  Or perhaps just its fingers, its toes. Body and blood to an unseen god.

  One hundred yards to outrun a god.

  Bangs and buzzes. Bee stings chipping away at tiny pieces of deity.

  Ahead of him, Christopher saw the false rock that marked the shelter. Saw Mo propped up on some kind of stool, the long rifle he used swiveling back and forth as he pulled the trigger. Brass casings glinted in the dirt beside him. Bangs and buzzes.

  Amulek ran ahead. Disappeared down the hole.

  Mo stopped firing. Something dark fell into the dirt: a magazine. He slapped a new one in.

  Two more shots.

  Christopher felt something yank the neck of his shirt. It turned him around.

  Another bang, another buzz.

  The thing stopped pulling. Something still tugged at his shirt, though. He reached back as he ran, pulling off the three dismembered fingers that still clutched the fabric. They writhed in his hand, blind worms that wanted his death. As he watched, the yellow discharge oozed from the stumps. Sealing them off.

  He threw the fingers away with a shout. It was wrong. All wrong. Ken, the best of them, the one with a family, gone. The little girls, the innocents, infected with some unseen demons.

  Buck and Sally attacking each other.

  Maggie, stunning everyone unconscious with a scream.

  All wrong.

  "Move!" shouted Mo. He punched off three more shots. Then moved aside.

  Christopher didn't bother ducking so he could run in the way Amulek had. He went into a full baseball slide, gliding into the entry ramp with a panache that Amulek hadn't managed. That made him ridiculously happy, all things considered.

  One more bang. An unheard buzz.

  Groans could be heard inside the shelter.

  Then darkness as Mo hit the button to seal the shelter and the outer hatch swung shut.

  The groans were cut off instantly.

  But not the other noises.

  "What is that?" said Mo. And Christopher realized what they were, and realized that Mo wouldn't know. Wouldn't understand. Maybe wouldn't believe.

  "It's trouble," he said.

  51

  "What's this place made of?"

  "Made of?" Mo didn't seem to understand Christopher's question. Amulek remained silent as always.

  "The outside!" Christopher was shouting now, terror bleeding any semblance of control dry. At any moment, panic was going to conquer him completely. "What are the walls of this place made of?"

  "They are steel, one-eighth inch thick, lined with another four inches of lead, and the entire thing is set in a box of concrete and rebar."

  Christopher thought. Kept coming up against –

  (what if it's her what if it's her what if they send her again

  the axe the axe in her head the skull splitting open

  did I get her brain is she crazy or is she one of the sane ones

  there are no sane ones not them not us nothing sane is left)

  – a blank wall.

  One-eighth inch of steel. Four inches of lead, which Christopher seemed to remember was good for stopping radiation, but fairly soft. Concrete and steel rebar – hard but brittle.

  Would it be enough? Would it hold?

  It was the kind of thing designed to resist radiation, direct missile strikes.

  But this?

  Christopher remembered how fast the things had burrowed through the earth. And then remembered the other things. The ones that had buzzed right through the steel of a moving school bus like it was so much tissue.

  The shelter was a bunker. It could resist almost anything.

  But not this.

  "We have to get out of here," he said.

  52

  Mo visibly restrained laughter. "I do not think they can get in," he said. He looked at his shoulder, which was still bandaged, the once-white gauze wraps now bright red again. "And I do not feel much like traveling, e kare." He smiled. "We are safe." Turned to Amulek, "Is that not right, my –"

  And the smile died. Amulek didn't look firm. Didn't look sure. He looked scared.

  Christopher seized the chance to change Mo's mind – a task which he suspected might be difficult at the best of times.

  "Did you see what was happening out there?"

  "Of course, e kare." Mo's smile returned. Though now it seemed strained. The smile itself no less a mask than the tattoos that covered his skin. "I saw you and my grandson in danger. I helped. It is what we do for family, yes?"

  Christopher shook his head. "No, not that. Did you see what they were doing?"

  "They were trying to catch hold –"

  "Not them. The other ones."

  "The fallen ones?" Mo's smile dropped away. "I did not understand them. I have not seen this before. Why were they laying down before you?"

  "They weren't laying down, Mo," said Christopher. "They were coming up."

  "Up?" Mo looked at Amulek again. The teen nodded. "What does this mean?"

  "These things don't stay the same, Mo. You may not have seen it because you and Amulek have been down here all this time. But they change. They change to fit their needs. And the things on the ground dug their way to us. Either as an ambush or because they knew somehow that we were underground." Christopher thought of Lizzy and Hope. Knew that the second idea was the right one. "They know we're down here, Mo. They're coming for us."

  "But the walls…."

  This time Christopher didn't just shake his head; the negative gesture seemed to envelope his entire body. "Didn't you hear what I said? They change. I saw them turn into living buzzsaws, Mo. They –"

  (turned my baby into one of them one of them one of them)

  He gulped. "They cut their way through a moving bus, Mo. A moving bus. Didn't bother with the windows or the door, they…." He searched for a word that would communicate what he was trying to say. "They evolved. Right there, right then. Cut their way through steel." He looked at the walls to the downward-sloping pipe they stood in. Smacked one of them. It didn't bong, didn't make a hollow sound. Just a wet slap that was swallowed in the near-dark of the tunnel.

  It was solid.

  It was secure.

  It was nothing.

  "We have to leave," he said again. "Now."

  And a sound rolled through the air. A thing part bass beat, part earthquake. The sound of a heavy drill or a jackhammer – maybe both.

  The sound of my girl, coming home.

  Coming for daddy.

  53

  "We have to leave," he said. Pleading now.

  Mo shook his head. "I do not know how that is possible." He closed his eyes as though praying. Maybe he was. Then opened them. "Things have changed while you were gone, e kare." He sighed. "They have gotten worse."

  Christopher couldn't understand how that was possible. His brain balked at the proposition, all thought stopping just as completely as a horse confronted with a thirty-foot wall.

  Finally he managed, "How worse?" And as he said it the horse apparently found a doorway to squeeze through, because the answer came. He didn't wait for Mo's answer, but sai
d, "The girls. Maggie."

  Mo nodded. Another one of those strange, pummeling vibrations roared through the floor. It traveled up Christopher's legs and suddenly he knew what it was like not to be in an earthquake, but to be the earthquake itself. His teeth chattered, vision jittered. Every bone in his body felt like it was trying to vibrate its way to freedom.

  The sound/sensation faded. His vision returned and he saw Mo leaning on Amulek. The boy was holding his grandfather up, but even as he did the big man waved him away. "Come," he said.

  Back down the pipe. Yet another descent with no apparent escape. Christopher felt terror recede for a moment, replaced by an anger that bordered on the ridiculous.

  When are these bastards going to give us a fair fight?

  But of course that wasn't going to happen. If Aaron was right, it couldn't. The zombies were soldiers, an occupying force. And soldiers didn't win fair fights – or didn't do so when they had the choice. Overwhelming force, easy wins. Those were best.

  The sound/feeling rattled a bit more of Christopher's brain free when he, Mo, and Amulek entered the decoy area, the "man cave." He noted that the game table had been cleaned off. Mo was a tidy soul.

  He didn't think Mo was going to do well in the long run. Not in this messy, chaotic world.

  Or maybe he will. Maybe he'll bring a bit of order to it.

  Fat chance.

  The rattle/roar came again. Here, though, it wasn't as strong. So the things were burrowing through the front area. The entry pipe.

  Mo opened the hatch at the back of the room, then the false wall that allowed access to the main shelter. He caught Christopher's eye as the sound rolled through again. Closer this time. Harder.

  They heard something crack back in the entrance.

  "Already?" said Mo. His voice was hushed. Not with terror, but awe. The look on his face was that of a man who has made peace with his death before a coming tidal wave and now can simply revel in its overwhelming power.

  Christopher didn't need him doing that. None of them did. "Snap out of it, dumbass," he said. "Get a move on!"