Downfall

by Michael S. Gardner

  “They’re the type to shoot an unarmed man,” Jeff said with disdain. “Nothing more.”

  Matt thought back to Bruce, but quickly shrugged it away. These people, they were the savages of the day, the scab on the heel of a fallen civilization. Maybe even a wart.

  “Plus,” Jeff continued. “We have the element of surprise.”

  “True,” Angela groaned. “I guess I’ll be the bait, then.” She turned to Cole. “You best be makin’ sure you don’t hit me.”

  “Haven’t yet, have I?” he said.

  All eyes were on Matt. “Fine,” he said with a sigh. “Let’s just get this done as quickly as possible. As soon as we start firing, all ears’ll be on us, both the living and the dead.”

  ***

  Cole was to take the first shot, and after that, it would be game on. Matt waited, perched behind a towering oak which gave him the perfect view. The church was about thirty yards away, down a small slope, affording him the high ground. He would have clear shots at most of the windows on the side and on the rear. He was the support, the cover fire that would help save Angela’s hide. His shots had to count, and with less than a full mag, he didn’t have that many rounds to work with. On top of that, Matt had to keep a constant eye out for any wandering creepers, which could literally pop up out of nowhere.

  He waited, the levity of situation raising his heart rate. Sweat dropped down the side of his face despite the cold weather. The snow had relented for the moment, but still stuck enough to give most untrodden grass a smooth, full coat.

  Angela came jogging into sight.

  Won’t be long now… Matt took aim at a window on the first floor.

  ***

  “Can I help you, sweetheart?” A middle-aged white man stepped outside, face full of stubble. He walked with a limp and carried a fancy assault rifle like you’d see in the armed service recruitment commercials. “You look lost.”

  Two men stepped out behind him.

  Angela slowed to a walk, pretending to be out of breath, heart racing in anticipation. “My car,” she pointed behind her, “it stalled a few miles back. I’m looking for a safe zone. They said there was one around these parts.”

  The man laughed and glared at her. “Lady, there ain’t no safe zone ‘round here that I can recall.”

  A loud crack split the air and he fell lifeless, a wash of blood bathing his two dumbfounded cohorts.

  Before his body touched the ground, Angela had the Beretta drawn and was firing hastily at the front door as she ran for the bank.

  ***

  “Got the son of a bitch.” Cole readied another round and waited.

  Tim said something behind him, but Cole wasn’t paying enough attention to make it out.

  The two remaining men near the entry opened fire as the glass windows on the side of the church shattered. Cole drew a bead on the first one, a middle-aged man shouldering an assault rifle, and put a bullet above his left eye. His comrade took heed and made for the door, taking a shot to the back for his efforts. The bastard doubled over the porch and out of sight.

  Cole watched as Angela made for the bank. She tossed the pistol, a perfectly fine and still useful pistol, and hauled ass to the front, snatching her AK-47. He would have to reclaim the Beretta before the day was over—no sense in wasting such a beautiful thing. Just as she got to the back of the bank, another thug stepped out with a rifle similar to Cole’s. Matt laid suppressive fire from the left, drawing his attention. Jeff was making his approach from the other side of the bank. But the thug had his sights set on Angela. Cole waited until the man’s mole-riddled face was in the crosshairs and fired.

  ***

  Matt had taken out all the windows on his side by the time his magazine ran dry. He waited, watching to see what was going on inside. Gunfire filled the air as Jeff, Angela, and Cole continued their assault. Peeking around, he saw at least four people, one firing from a window on the second floor. He knew that rat-fuck Clarence had lied to them.

  The moment came when all the focus was on Jeff. Matt saw he was hiding behind the cemetery’s brick wall in front of the building. He ran as fast as he could up to the side wall of the church, making sure to approach wide so his footprints in the snow couldn’t easily give him away. When he reached the building, he leaned the assault rifle against it, along with his backpack and sword, and unslung the shotgun. There were six rounds in it. The first was a slug, the second buckshot; a pattern that would last until it ran dry.

  He moved along to the middle of this side, back against the wall, keeping an eye out for any undead that could be creeping around. He stopped beside a window at chest level, the lobby, from the looks of it. Matt didn’t search for targets; he blindly emptied the shotgun as fast as he could while his friends kept up their own fire.

  Empty, he dropped the firearm, crouched, and made for the rear of the building. Pulling out his pistol, Matt approached the corner. Flanking his enemies would cause them some disorientation.

  Rounding the corner, Matt fired before he understood what he was looking at. His nerves were in overdrive, and that worked in his favor. A man, probably the same age as he, fell against the building, snapping his neck as his head caught the brick in a bad way. His newly dead eyes turned up to the bullet hole in the center of his forehead. The man’s chest was painted with entry wounds. He’d probably been hit by the buckshot and jumped out one of the windows in an attempt to escape. On the bright side, he had an AR-15 strapped on his shoulder.

  “Thanks.” Matt holstered his pistol, grabbed the assault rifle, and kicked the leaning cadaver off the wall, which left a smear of blood in the shape of a sideways smile.

  More gunfire came from inside the building. Matt’s fellow attackers were dry, and Cole probably had no shot.

  He took stock of the mag in his rifle. There was a little under half left, but it would have to be enough. Slamming it back in place, he took the corner, bringing him to an open door. The echoes of those firing inside rang loud and clear. Telling exactly where each target was positioned was next to impossible. Maybe there were a few on the first floor and one in the attic space above. The thugs were merely firing for effect now. Whatever cover they had, especially the brick wall behind which Jeff was hiding, wouldn’t last forever. From the sounds of things, the denizens of the church were heavily armed and could go at this all day, which would eventually attract the rotting ranks of undead. The odds would quickly shift in favor of the defenders when the dead began to arrive.

  Matt took a quick look around, following his gut, but still saw no signs of any moving corpses. He reached for his radio, but found himself cursing at the memory of stashing it in his bag. Why did he take that damn thing off?

  “Fuck it,” Matt racked the AR-15, expelling an unused round to ensure the thing was loaded, and flipped off the safety.

  He entered with relative ease, darting past another open doorway. He was in a storage room. All sorts of gowns, robes, and other attire were against every wall. Each step was chosen carefully, as if the thugs could hear the sounds of footsteps over the shooting, until Matt reached the open doorway. A thin brown door hung on the uppermost hinges. The rest had been torn from the wall.

  The open door on Matt’s right revealed the area of worship. He eyed the stage where the preacher once held his or her sermon, spreading the word of love and joy and everything else that helped to fill the collection plate. There was even a drum set next to the altar. A keyboard, too. On the far end of the room, past the rows and rows of seating, a set of stairs led to a shut door—the attic space. This was where one of Persius’s goons was shooting at his friends, he was sure. The double doors leading to the lobby were shut as well.

  There was no way in hell Matt was going to let Cole shoot him, and that was exactly what his friend would do if Matt allowed himself to be seen through the windows. There was a chance that Cole may have already left the dump truck for a better shot. The way Matt was dressed, he was sure it would be hard to differentiate foe
from friend—especially if no one knew he was in here. That damned radio. He cursed himself again for not bringing that infernal device instead of sticking it in his back pocket just in case he found himself in a situation like this.

  Crouching, he made his way past countless rows of uncomfortable seating until he finally reached the stairwell. When he glanced to the windows, something caught his attention. A crucifix hung behind the altar. Below it, the wall was stained with dried blood.

  The sound of shooting faded slightly while the crucifixion transfixed his gaze. The blood came from true flesh.

  Matt’s mind had to adjust to the truth he was taking in. Hanging from the symbol was a young woman; she’d been tied to the iron cross, stripped naked, and shot. Bullet holes corrupted this poor soul’s former shell from chest to toe. Her face had been the only thing untouched, and with the scope’s aid he could see that she’d been nothing short of beautiful. They’d probably raped her before they killed her, just like they had Angela’s friend. There was writing on the wall, just under this dead woman’s hanging corpse: GOD IS DEAD! A smiley face followed the exclamation point.

  This enraged Matt. Never had he been a religious man, but his next kill was definitely going to be dedicated to God.

  Matt turned back to the attic door and grabbed the handle. He opened it in the midst of a barrage and found a young Latino man behind the scope of an AR-15. Beside the man was a foldout plastic table, two more assault weapons—an AK-47 and another Matt recognized as a Sig Sauer 556—laying prone and ready to be fired. There were stacks upon stacks of ammunition and extra magazines, so many that it was a wonder the table hadn’t collapsed.

  Matt waited until the man reached for a fresh mag to say something. The thug saw him and made to speak, but he didn’t get the chance.

  “I have a message from God,” Matt said.

  The man’s eyes went wide. He dropped the firearm and began raising his hands.

  “Fuck you.” Matt fired two rounds into the prick’s chest, killing him instantly. He shut the door, locked it, and pushed the man’s corpse out the window. The body plummeted until it smacked on the snow-covered grass. Thankfully, none of his friends had taken a shot at him.

  The falling body would have undoubtedly grabbed the attention of the person below. And on cue, bullet after bullet came up from the floor; one nearly grazed Matt’s left foot.

  He ran for the door, and the bullets conveniently managed to follow. There was a brief pause as he reached it, the shooter ostensibly having to reload. Matt unlocked the door, swung through, and took the stairs two at a time. He reached the bottom only to be greeted by two runners who had made it in through the same opening he’d used.

  “Well that’s just fucking great!” he yelled, only realizing after the fact that the shooter hadn’t fired for a few seconds.

  The first runner, a man dressed in fatigues, bolted through the doorway, its arms flailing. One shot to the left eye ended its quest. The other, a kid of no more than five or six, came running toward him in the same manner as its brethren. Its glazed eyes were sharp and piercing, battle worn. Matt hesitated. He’d never seen a zombie child show these attributes. When he went to fire, the thing went airborne, driven by the bullet Jeff had just shot.

  “How many?” the soldier asked, coming up from behind the runners.

  “I think there’s only—”

  Everything became slow-motion. So much had happened in the time it took Matt to get those four words out that his brain seemed to speed up and slow down at the same time in order to process what he’d just seen.

  To the left something small dropped on the floor, in front of a bench.

  I…

  He watched as Jeff’s face slid into a grimace.

  …think…

  The zombie child was still flailing as it flew through the air. Jeff’s shots had only put it down, possibly disabling the use of its legs, but not killing it.

  …there’s…

  Jeff jumped behind a row of seats, screaming something.

  …only…

  A blinding white flash and a burst of searing heat filled Matt’s body through his eyes. The next thing Matt knew, he was buried in debris, fighting to stay conscious.

  ***

  Alex was the first to notice, as it was his turn to keep watch—something the kid didn’t mind doing. It was right around three o’clock, when he was perched by the window in Cole and Mary’s room, when he saw a zombie at the edge of the driveway. He didn’t fire until it was well on its way to the house. If it reached the pit, it would be out of his line of sight, and the pit wasn’t deep enough to hold the zombie for too long if it was as determined as it appeared. Thank God it was one of those slow-moving ones.

  Anna entered the room. Her face was stricken with anguish, and it wasn’t the first time Alex had seen her this way. Losing Barry, combined with everything else, was breaking her down, though whenever she came around, she did her best to hide it.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  Mary and Kristin were right behind her. They both eyed Anna oddly.

  “Are you okay?” Kristin asked.

  “I’m—I’m fine. I just heard a gunshot.”

  Mary walked past Alex. “We’ve got a problem.” She turned and ran downstairs.

  Alex moved back to his original position to see that several creepers were emerging from the woods in front of the house beside the driveway.

  Kristin moved next to him and said, “Oh God.”

  “Get your gun,” Alex said and readied for another shot.

  Anna cupped her mouth and ran back to her room.

  There was no time to worry about her. Alex fired at a wobbly, naked old woman as Kristin left. Hopefully she was going to get a gun or two and help out. He emptied his magazine on the others. He slapped in a fresh one, chambered a round, and was stopped before he could drop someone that looked like the principal of his school.

  “I can see them through my window,” Anna yelled from the hall.

  “They’re in the back too!” he heard Mary scream.

  A deafening blast carried to his ears. Mary must have been shooting at the ones out back. Alex knew he had to make quick work of these creepers in the front before the girls were overwhelmed, and when he returned his attention to the growing horde he found even more approaching. They all appeared in attire that made him think they’d willingly died at a church, embracing God as the devil took them.

  The kid fired. The kid killed. The kid would have made his dad proud.

  CHAPTER 16

  Matt came to, not realizing he’d been unconscious. His eyes burned so much he dared not open them at first. Everything ached, and when he went to sit up he was greeted with a burst of pain in his left side and hardly moved at all. He tried breathing and ended up choking on dust.

  He fought to bring his mind back on track. He remembered how Jeff shot the zombie, yet hadn’t killed it. He remembered the bright light. The flash of the explosion was why his eyes felt like they were on fire.

  The debris on top of him began to shift. Matt fought against the pain and started to move his right arm. He freed it, but something snagged his forearm and began pulling. The grip grew tighter, nearly cutting off his circulation; some of the debris moved away.

  The image of the child runner came to mind. Shit! Matt pulled back and freed his left arm, pushing planks of splintered wood away to see Jeff looking down on him. Letting out a sigh of relief, he accepted the soldier’s assistance.

  His legs were like gelatin, and Jeff had Cole come and help set him on a bench after brushing Matt off. Up until this point, Matt hadn’t realized his ears were ringing. That intolerable ambience had made itself at home before he’d regained consciousness, he supposed.

  “You have a real knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Cole said, eyeing the two dead runners and then the attic space.

  “If you didn’t duck when you did…” Jeff didn’t need to finish the sentence.


  Matt couldn’t remember doing any such thing.

  “What the hell happened?” he said, favoring his left side.

  “That asshole,” Angela stepped into sight from the lobby and pointed to the cadaver of a young white man with a bloody buzzcut, “threw a grenade at you. I got ‘im just after he threw it.”

  “Why’d you come in here by yourself?” Cole said accusingly. “Were you trying to get killed, man?”

  “You see that dead prick in the back?” Matt answered between breaths. “He led me to an open door. Didn’t hear any of you shooting, so I figured I’d flank ‘em. I was gonna radio you—”

  Cole pulled out Matt’s radio from his backpack and shoved it into his chest. “Would it kill you to let someone know?”

  “What’s done is done.” Matt stood, finally able to keep himself up without any assistance. “Ah, damn.” He cracked his back with a grimace. “Take a look upstairs.”

  “Oh my God,” Angela said, eyeing what had to be the writing on the wall behind him. “Monsters!”

  The four took a moment to stare at the mock crucifixion.

  “Uh, guys,” Matt said, looking around. “Where’s Tim?”

  Jeff looked to Cole.

  “He’s still in the dump truck.” Cole hooked a finger over his shoulder. “Didn’t wanna come out yet.” He walked to one of the windows and stared outside for a moment. Turning around with a grin, he said, “Oh yeah, forgot to tell you.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. “Found these.”

  “Good,” Jeff said. “We’ve got the lead vehicle for a convoy, but we need to make sure Dr. Grant is all right. He’s got—”

  “He’s got what?” Cole inquired, approaching the soldier.

  “That’s a discussion better saved for when we’re all safe. There’s no telling how long we’ll have before more rotters show up.”

  “Rotters,” Matt said, retying his ponytail. “That’s a new one.”