Ferocious

by Jeff Strand

  A squirrel leapt onto his pants. Mia made a move with the axe but Rusty waved her away. It took a few tries, but he finally got it with the chainsaw. The two halves of its body fell, spilling innards but no blood.

  Unfortunately, the fire was simply getting too intense. They weren't going to be able to stay on the porch much longer, and though they'd dismembered plenty of wildlife, there were still four wolves and a bobcat left in the immediate area. They could definitely finish them off one-by-one, but five of them pouncing at once was going to be a real problem.

  Mia wiped some perspiration off her forehead and said something that Rusty couldn't hear. He pointed to his ear. She mouthed her words carefully: I need to go.

  Rusty nodded. Shit. Five more minutes and it would be safe. But he was pretty close to having to jump off the porch himself—five more minutes simply was not going to happen.

  He mouthed back: Okay.

  Then he let out a yelp as blistering pain shot through his legs.

  Though the fire had been painful throughout the front porch wolf massacre, this was infinitely worse. He'd occasionally glanced behind him, but all of the danger was in front, and the chainsaw was masking all other noises. So he hadn't noticed that the headless burning wolf had somehow dragged itself directly behind him, and then right into the back of his legs.

  The sudden pain caused him to lose his balance.

  Rusty fell on his ass. The chainsaw, fortunately, landed right next to him and not on his groin. The motor shut off.

  Normally this would simply be embarrassing, something where he'd sheepishly get back to his feet and hope that Mia showed some mercy when she made fun of him. In this case, there was a burning wolf directly underneath his ass. Any sense of embarrassment was far outweighed by landing on a soft but flaming object.

  He screamed.

  He frantically rolled over, and an exposed rib bone jabbed against his leg. Thank God for the wood taped there—otherwise it would've broken the skin for sure and possibly plunged in deep. That was only a minor solace. He rolled completely off the wolf, landing on the porch floor. Rusty was still on fire.

  He couldn't be sure how expansive the flames were, but the pain was unreal. Stop, drop, and roll immediately popped into his mind in the voice of his second-grade teacher, Mrs. Janzing, who was a fire safety enthusiast to the point where, in retrospect, she might have been over-compensating for pyromania. He'd already stopped, the dropping was involuntary, and he was in the midst of the rolling process. Unfortunately, there were fires all over the porch. Almost nowhere to roll.

  Mia screamed and knelt down next to him. "Roll over!" she shouted. "Roll over!"

  Rusty rolled onto his stomach. Mia began to frantically smack at the flames. He had no idea what she was using, hopefully not her bare hands.

  "Roll back! Roll back!"

  She shoved Rusty onto his back. Then she pulled him onto his stomach again.

  "Keep doing that!"

  Rusty obliged while Mia hurriedly removed her backpack and dropped it onto the deck. She rifled through the contents and pulled out a bottle of water. Rusty kept rolling back and forth as she unscrewed the cap. He could tell that he was still on fire. How badly? Third-degree burns? Would he ever walk again?

  "Okay, now stop!" she said.

  She poured the water onto his legs. Rusty heard the hiss of the water instantly turning to vapor. She poured out the complete contents of the bottle, shook out the last few drops, and tossed the bottle aside. "You're out," she informed him.

  He didn't feel like the flames were out—it felt like a hot iron was pressed tightly against his legs and buttocks—but he'd trust her. If it only took one bottle of water to extinguish the fire, maybe it hadn't been that bad. Touching your finger to a hot stove for half a second caused excruciating pain, so perhaps his legs weren't burnt down to the charred bone.

  At some point in the extremely near future he'd probably have to tell Mia to leave him behind and save herself. He'd give it another thirty seconds or so. He didn't want to jump straight to that conversation.

  Rusty sat up. The front of his pants was intact. He bent his knees; it was nice to discover that he could still bend his knees. He reached underneath his leg and touched wood.

  He'd caught on fire and it had hurt like hell, but the wood had more or less protected him. Taping those boards all over him had seemed kind of dumb when they were doing it, but right now he was confident that it was the best idea his niece had ever come up with in the entirety of her nearly eighteen years of life.

  Oh, his legs still hurt, and he was positive that they were covered in blisters, but he didn't think he'd have to order her to abandon him to be eaten by the zombie wolves. This came as a relief.

  The sense of relief was short-lived. Right before his fall, his attention had been occupied by the fact that they were trapped on a burning front porch with four wolves and a bobcat still wanting to prey upon them. This situation hadn't changed. They were in exactly the same predicament as before, except that the fires had more time to grow, he'd have even more difficulty running, and he might not be able to get the chainsaw started again.

  Mia helped him to his feet. He wobbled a bit but remained upright.

  Mia put her backpack on and handed him the axe. "I'll trade you," she said.

  Rusty took it from her. Then he bent down, picked up the chainsaw, and stood back up again. It wasn't comfortable to do so, but again, it was a relief to know that he could still bend down, pick up something, and stand back up again. He gave the chainsaw to Mia.

  The wolves snarled.

  Rusty and Mia were going to have to jump right into the fray, axe and chainsaw swinging. There was an excellent chance that this was going to be the demise of at least one of them. The way things had been going, it would probably be Rusty who didn't survive, so while it wasn't an ideal overall outcome, he'd prefer it to watching Mia die.

  She tugged on the chainsaw cord. There was nothing left of Rusty's pride by now, so he wouldn't have given a shit if it had effortlessly roared to life. But it took her seven or eight tugs to get it going.

  They gave each other a solemn look.

  There was a lot to be said, but no time to say it.

  They looked down at the creatures.

  The moment had arrived.

  They continued to stand there, waiting for a different moment.

  Rusty was one hundred percent positive that the current moment was just as good as the prior one, but they continued to just stand there. They knew it had to be done, but it just seemed so fucking stupid to leave the porch when there were four wolves and a bobcat right there.

  Mia, apparently having decided she could tough it out for a few more seconds at least, slashed at the wolf closest to her. Though there was chainsaw/fur contact, the blade only barely grazed the wolf's shoulder and caused no injury that Rusty could see.

  There was a thunderous crash behind them as the side of the cabin collapsed.

  This should not have been a positive development. It should have made Rusty and Mia even more screwed than they were before. But it frightened the wolves.

  The wolves fled from the noise and the spewing flames.

  Only the bobcat stayed where it was. Three swings of the chainsaw and two swings of the axe reduced its threat level.

  Mia handed Rusty the chainsaw, then scooped up the two boards. One of them was on fire, but she swished it back and forth a few times and the flame went out. Rusty took his own burning strips of wood.

  They hurried down the steps as the other side of the cabin crashed to the ground.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Though Rusty was overwhelmingly focused on survival and not property, it was still heartbreaking to see their home transform into a burning wreck. He'd had a pretty great life in that place. Even if they lived through this nightmare, it was entirely possible that his cherished, peaceful existence deep in the woods was over.

  But that was a problem for later.

 
Rusty turned off the chainsaw and shoved it into the backpack. It slid right in, even though he couldn't see what he was doing behind him, and he vowed that there wouldn't be a repeat of the previous ineptitude.

  The wolves were still staying away. This surely wasn't going to last.

  A ball of flame scurried toward the woods. Rusty's best guess was that it was a squirrel that had been on top of the cabin when it collapsed. It didn't quite make it to the trees, instead stopping only about ten feet away from the cabin.

  As Rusty and Mia began to walk down the driveway, he let out a wince of pain.

  "Are you going to be able to do this?" Mia asked.

  Rusty nodded as he kept walking. "Yeah, yeah. That was a wince of embarrassment. You know, because my pants are so burnt up. I look ridiculous."

  "Seriously, how bad does it hurt?"

  "I'm not gonna lie. It does sting quite a bit." Rusty was lying. The pain was excruciating. The wood hadn't protected him as much as he thought.

  "We can hide you somewhere. Build you a fort. I promise I'll come back for you."

  "No. I'm going to slow us down and I apologize for that, but I can also swing an axe and a chainsaw just fine. If I feel like I'm going to get you killed, I swear I'll go hide somewhere, but for now I think we'll die if we split up."

  "All right," said Mia. "Just making the offer."

  "And I appreciate it." Yes, each step hurt, but it wasn't as if Rusty was hobbling around like a ninety-year-old. The wood was slowing him down more than the pain. He still deeply regretted that they hadn't done Mia first; sadly, the roll of duct tape would be a melted pile of silver goo by now.

  No wolves had come for them. They'd scattered into the forest, and maybe they weren't coming back.

  Rusty and Mia stepped off the dirt driveway into the thin forest in front of the cabin. The driveway wound around so much that it would be stupid not to take this shortcut. This did increase the odds of Rusty taking a bad step and falling, but the sun was shining and he could see where he was going and as long as he didn't get overconfident and stop paying attention, he'd be fine.

  Just thinking I'll be fine made Rusty suspect that he'd step into a hole hidden by some leaves, pitch forward, and have a leg bone explode through the skin.

  They walked through the forest without speaking. Mia switched the two boards she was carrying from under her left arm to under her right arm. She was breathing heavily—from their prior exertion, not just from carrying a couple of boards—but Rusty knew he'd be the one to call for a rest break when it was time. Of course, if the boards became too cumbersome, they'd toss them aside and collect some sticks when they reached the truck.

  "I'm going to ask one more time, and then I'll shut up," said Mia. "Because I'm serious, you look like you're dying."

  "I promise you I'm not dying. If the pain becomes more than I can handle, you have my word that I will turn into a complete baby and refuse to go any further. For now, I'm fine. If I sit somewhere and hide, there's more of a chance that my burns will get dirty and infected."

  "All right. I'm trusting you to say when."

  "I will."

  They continued walking. Rusty was confident that he'd make it. It was only three miles. No big deal. Three measly little miles. It could've been so much worse.

  Okay, maybe not. If the truck had gotten stuck further from the cabin, they would've made much more of an effort to get it out of the mud. And then the truck would've been conveniently located right in front of the cabin when the zombie animals began to attack. At this very moment they'd be in town, insisting to the police that they weren't insane, instead of walking through the Forest of Doom on burnt-up legs. So it could've been so much better.

  There was a steady breeze. Normally Rusty enjoyed cool breezes, but this breeze seemed purposely designed by a vengeful God to blow out his fires. When one stick went out, Rusty frantically tried to relight it with the other, but that one went out, too. They weren't going to run back to the cabin to get more fire, so they'd just have to do without.

  Rusty noticed something crawling on Mia's shoulder. He swatted it off.

  "What was that?" she asked.

  "Spider."

  "Zombie spider?"

  "Dunno."

  "Do you think it even matters?"

  Rusty shrugged. "I guess they'd be more aggressive. Maybe they'd work with the flies instead of trying to eat them."

  "So, yes, it does matter."

  "I'm going to say that no, that wasn't a zombie spider. It wasn't even a very big spider. I just didn't think you'd want it crawling on your shoulder."

  "And you were right."

  "Cool."

  "I don't have a bug phobia," said Mia, "but suddenly I do have an undead bug phobia. So I'd like us to change the subject, if that's okay."

  "I'm more than happy to talk about something else, if you—"

  "Wolf."

  Rusty glanced to the side. A wolf was running through the forest toward them. It was definitely one that had fled from the collapsing cabin, because thick strips of flesh were hanging off its side where Mia had blasted it with the shotgun. Rusty took a deep breath and braced himself. If he timed the swing properly and stepped out of the way at just the right moment, he might be able to incapacitate the wolf without even being knocked to the ground.

  The wolf was only a few seconds away. He could do this.

  Five...four...three...

  The wolf leapt into the air, which quite honestly was something Rusty should have anticipated. He adjusted his swing.

  The axe struck the wolf directly beneath its neck. The force of the collision knocked Rusty to the ground, and he let out a cry as he landed on something sharp. He lost his grip on the weapon.

  Mia smacked the wolf with the boards. It flopped onto its side, the axe still imbedded in its body. It quickly began to get back to its feet.

  Rusty grabbed the axe handle and wrenched it free.

  Mia bashed the wolf directly on top of the head. One of the boards cracked.

  Rusty slammed the axe into the side of the wolf's neck. He was still on the ground and not able to swing the axe very well, so it didn't go in deep. He pulled the blade free and did it again, with a bit more success.

  Mia, apparently realizing that it would not do to break their boards, kicked the wolf in the side, hard enough to fracture one of its visible ribs.

  The wolf's jaws snapped in the air, only inches away from taking a bite out of Mia's belly.

  Rusty sat up and brought the axe blade down upon the wolf's neck. This time it sunk in deep. Not deep enough to sever its head, but deep enough that the next blow did the trick. The wolf's jaws clamped down upon Mia's foot. She screamed and kicked its head away.

  The rest of the wolf's body ran at Rusty, missed him, and kept running until it struck a tree. It kept running and smacking into trees, almost as if it was inside a pinball machine. After the fifth or sixth hit, it dropped to the ground and lay there, twitching.

  Rusty tried to stand up. Couldn't. He reached out and let Mia help him to his feet.

  "Good kick," he said, with a slight wheeze.

  "Thank you."

  "I'm okay."

  "You look bright and healthy. You're almost glowing."

  "Has it been three miles yet?" Rusty asked.

  "Wolf."

  "Aw, fuck me."

  This one went a little better. Rusty still got knocked to the ground, but he didn't land on anything pointy, and Mia didn't have to risk breaking her boards. He was also able to get up by himself. He did have to slam the axe into the prone wolf over and over, like he was chopping wood, but by the time he was done it could only come after them if somebody carried it.

  They resumed their walk. Both of them were too exhausted to resume their conversation.

  A couple of minutes later, they emerged from the forest onto the road. They'd now follow it all the way to the truck. There were currently no zombie animals that they could see.

  Okay, Rusty wo
uld normally walk a mile in about twenty minutes. So an hour to the truck under standard conditions. He wasn't walking that much slower than usual; his seared legs and the desperate need for haste mostly balanced each other out. An hour and ten minutes. Maybe an hour and fifteen. Plus however much time they spent battling the wilderness creatures.

  They could make it. People had made it longer distances through more treacherous conditions, presumably.

  "Do you think we should be quiet or loud?" Mia asked.

  Rusty wasn't sure. Normally you'd be loud—bears and other dangerous animals would keep away if they heard you approaching. Was that true now? Would the sound of their voices attract danger?

  "I'd say to just stick to normal speaking voices," said Rusty. "For now."

  "Okay."

  "And there's something I have to tell you."

  "Is it bad?"

  "Probably not."

  "Your tone makes it sound really bad."

  "I'm sure it's nothing," said Rusty. "It would just be irresponsible not to tell you. The squirrel bit me on the neck."

  "The squirrel we put in the pot?"

  Rusty shook his head. "The latest one."

  "Oh."

  "I don't feel weird. I don't feel dizzy. I can't even feel the bite anymore. But since we don't know exactly what we're dealing with, I couldn't keep that information from you."

  "Let me see," said Mia. "Where is it?"

  "On the back."

  Mia let him move one step ahead of her. A moment later, she returned to her spot by his side. "It's not a very big bite."

  "No."

  "And it's not swollen or anything."

  "That's good."

  "It's not pulsating or leaking."

  "Enough."

  "I'm glad you told me. We'll keep an eye on it. Right now it doesn't look like it's anything to worry about. As soon as we get to town we'll drench it in antiseptic and get you to a doctor. I mean, we'd get you to a doctor anyway because of your legs, but we'll disinfect it before we get there."

  "Yeah," said Rusty, who was briefly troubled by the thought of hospitals packed to capacity, turning away patients, infected people on gurneys filling the hallways.