by Jeff Strand
He shook away the thought. He'd worry about that if they emerged into a zombie-plagued hellscape. For now, they just needed to focus on the simple, straightforward task of getting to the truck.
The flames from the cabin were no longer visible behind them, though the smoke still billowed into the air. On a day with fewer problems, Rusty would worry that the burning cabin would start a forest fire. Though for all he knew, the government might have to burn the whole thing down anyway, and he was giving them a head start.
Stop it, he told himself. The scope of this plague, or curse, or whatever was unknown. No need to stress out over a worst-case scenario. He should be thinking happy thoughts, like about how there weren't thousands of undead animals pouring out of the woods onto the dirt road. He and Mia could easily be skeletonized right now. A few minutes into their journey, things were proceeding relatively smoothly.
"Do you hear something?" Mia asked.
Rusty listened carefully but didn't stop moving. "Like what?"
"A knocking."
"From where?"
Mia gestured with the boards. "Those trees over there. Probably a woodpecker."
Now Rusty did hear it. Tap, tap, tap. She was right: probably a woodpecker. He could narrow the source of the sound to a couple of large trees, but he couldn't see the actual bird. "Yeah, that's probably what it is."
"Zombie woodpecker?"
"I hope not."
"That would be a humiliating way to die."
"Not as bad as being killed by a zombie squirrel," said Rusty.
"We need another pact. If one of us gets killed by a zombie woodpecker, we tell people that they were killed by something else, like a zombie rhinoceros."
"I don't think the coroner would buy it."
"We don't have to lie to the coroner. I just mean the general public. I don't want my legacy to be death by zombie woodpecker. I don't want people to pretend that it was a horrible tragedy but not be able to control their snickering."
"Or doing a Woody Woodpecker laugh."
"What's that?"
Rusty didn't think he could accurately mimic a Woody Woodpecker laugh. "I'll play it for you when we get to town. He's a cartoon character."
"Do the laugh."
"No."
"Do it. We have time. Entertain me. Take my mind off my troubles."
"No."
"You shouldn't have brought it up if you weren't willing to do the laugh."
"Oh, hey, we were right," said Rusty, pointing at the red bird that came into view from the back of one of the trees.
The woodpecker tapped on the tree a few more times, then flew off the branch.
Rusty realized that it was flying toward them.
Dive-bombing them.
In about two seconds, the idea of being murdered by a woodpecker went from amusing conversation fodder to almost bladder-releasing terror.
"Watch out!" Rusty said.
He was pretty good with the axe, but he wasn't confident that he was "whack a bird in mid-air" good with it. Their best bet was to go defensive; crouch down, drop their weapons, and cover their faces.
Rusty dropped to his knees, which hurt like hell. Mia did the same thing. He covered his face with both hands. There was a swish as the bird sailed right past them.
He removed his hands and glanced to the side. The bird flew in an arc, like a boomerang, and came back toward them again.
This time it came so close to the back of Rusty's neck that he could feel the breeze as it shot past him. He looked over and saw it turning around once more. On its third pass, it came so close that a feather brushed against his skin.
Was this fucking bird trying to mess with them?
He still didn't think he could get it with the axe, but the planks had a lot more surface area, and if he and Mia both took a swing maybe they could knock Woody out of the air. He told Mia his plan, speaking very quickly because the bird was making its fourth swoop at them.
She handed him one of the boards. They stood up.
They moved far enough from each other that their boards wouldn't collide (and that one of them wouldn't accidentally knock the other unconscious), then prepared themselves for the bird's next attack. At least it was only one bird. For now. There were a lot of frickin' birds in the forest.
The bird flew at them.
Rusty and Mia both swung and missed.
This was really bad. Rusty wasn't filled with unimaginable horror at the thought of a zombie woodpecker, but they were wasting a lot of time. They couldn't afford to be standing around swinging boards at a bird. Who knew what other dangers were moving through the forest toward them?
The bird, clearly not tired of the game, swooped at them yet again.
Rusty swung and missed, and then the woodpecker landed in his hair.
It wasted no time in slamming its beak against the top of his head. He cried out; it felt like somebody hammering a nail into his skull. The woodpecker jabbed him three more times before he could frantically brush it off.
The bird flew into the air, circled them a few times, then attacked Rusty again. This time it only got in one peck before he brushed it away. He lunged at it, trying to snatch the bird out of the air so he could squash it in his hands, but didn't come close.
He could feel a trickle of blood running down his forehead. Mia's eyes widened at the sight of it.
"Don't worry," he told her. "Head wounds bleed a lot."
At least it hadn't pierced his skull, to the best of his knowledge.
Mia swung at the woodpecker and came so close that a tail feather drifted to the ground.
The bird landed on Rusty's shoulder and pecked at his neck, three times in rapid succession, not far from where the squirrel had bit him. He tried unsuccessfully to grab it again. Its beak hadn't gone deep, but it had definitely broken the skin.
Now he sort of agreed with Mia: having fended off grizzly bears, wolves, and bobcats, he did not want to be murdered by a woodpecker. Its beak really hurt, and he didn't want people to giggle about his demise.
The bird flew off his shoulder. Rusty and Mia both swung at it at the same time, their boards smacking into each other so hard that Rusty dropped his. This was really becoming ridiculous.
The woodpecker flew straight at Mia's face.
She put up her hand to protect herself. It pecked at her palm. Mia squeezed her hand into a fist, trying to grab the rotten fucking bastard's neck, but wasn't able to catch it.
It flew at her face again.
Its beak plunged deep into her left eye.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Mia shrieked.
She grabbed the bird, broke its neck, and flung its dead body to the ground. She continued shrieking as she stomped on it, over and over, her left hand pressed tightly over her eye.
"Let me see it," Rusty said, trying to pretend that he was calm.
Mia wouldn't move her hand.
"Mia, please, I need to see how bad it is."
She continued to stomp on the flattened, bloodless bird. Rusty placed his hands on her shoulders. She stepped away from him. "Just leave me alone!"
He'd give her ten seconds to stop freaking out. They simply could not afford to lose any time due to this injury. It was suddenly even more important that they get to the truck as soon as possible. In her situation, he'd stand there screaming, too, but he had to be an unsympathetic asshole or they were both dead.
But she could have the ten seconds. Ten...nine...eight...
Mia fell to her knees. Rusty tried another comforting hand on her shoulder and she shook it off. Her whole body trembled as she sobbed.
Rusty's heart raced and his stomach churned. He glanced around to see if any predators had emerged from the woods. For the moment, they were okay. That wouldn't last many more moments.
Before the ten seconds was over, Mia stood back up. She was still crying and she still had her hand pressed tightly over her eye, but she'd regained a bit of her composure. Rusty gently placed his hand on hers, an
d she didn't resist when he moved it away.
Her left eye was closed. However, any magical fantasy that Rusty had simply imagined the bird slamming its sharp beak into the orb was erased by the amount of blood around her eye and on her palm.
"Can you open it?" Rusty asked.
Mia shook her head.
"We need to see how bad..."
Rusty trailed off. Why did he need to see how bad it was? What was he going to do, make a medical diagnosis and come up with a treatment plan? He knew how bad it was: really fucking horrifically bad. He didn't need to gaze upon that grisly sight to acquire further information.
"It's going to be okay," he told her. "Just keep it closed. We'll be at the truck in an hour, and we'll be in town right after that, and we'll get you fixed up."
"They're going to have to cut out my eye."
"You're not a doctor and I'm not a doctor, so we don't know that."
"Don't bullshit me, Uncle Rusty."
"You might lose the eye. You might not. We don't know what kind of surgery they can do when something like this happens." That was the truth. However, the trickle of blood actively leaking from between her eyelids made it clear that, yes, the doctors would almost certainly have to remove her eye. But why not give her some hope? They had plenty of harsh reality to deal with right now. "They've got lasers and stuff. I'm not promising you that they can fix it; I'm just saying that they might be able to fix it."
"Okay."
"How bad does it hurt?"
"More than I can even describe."
"Keep your hand away from it. Other than that, we'll just fight through this."
"Oh, shit, I shouldn't have put my hand over it," said Mia. "It's going to get infected!"
"We can't worry about that right now. And you didn't actually touch it, right? You just covered it."
"Right."
"So you're fine. Keep your hand away from it. We're in a race against time, but not because of possible infection. We'll get it cleaned out long before that's an issue. You're being very brave, Mia."
"I appreciate that, but I'm not six."
"Sorry. I think you were just trying to upstage my burnt legs."
"Let's not talk unless we need to." Mia sniffled and wiped her nose on her sleeve. "Can you hand me the boards?"
"Do you still want to carry them?"
"It didn't peck off my fingers."
Rusty picked up the boards and gave them to her. Though he felt positively sick to his stomach, he forced himself not to vomit. It would've been from the stress, but he didn't want Mia to think he'd puked because of her eye.
"You're bleeding pretty bad," Mia informed him.
Rusty blinked and realized that blood was running down his own face. He wiped it away. "It looks worse than it is."
"Does it hurt?"
"Not as bad as my legs and not as bad as your eye. My head is a low priority." He picked up the axe. "Let's get moving."
It was difficult to have an optimistic mindset right now. Still, he couldn't deny that while his niece was being stabbed in the eye by a woodpecker, no other attacks had happened. The idea of this being a leisurely stroll down a scenic path was outside of the realm of possibility, but it also might not be a constant battle for survival.
They resumed their walk. Mia sniffled frequently, and red tears trickled down her left cheek, but she was no longer in a panic. Rusty didn't speak to her. He was awful at offering comforting words and decided to respect her "let's not talk unless we need to" request.
He cringed as another bird flew overhead. He and Mia continued walking, watching it carefully. The bird continued on its way. Whether it was a normal bird, or an undead bird that simply hadn't seen the easy prey beneath it, they didn't know.
Up ahead, something rustled in the bushes.
It was not something small.
Rusty and Mia continued to walk. Maybe whatever it was would stay in the forest.
The bushes rustled again. They were too thick to get a clear look at what was moving through them, but Rusty was ninety-nine percent sure it was another bear. The one percent of uncertainty was due to the possibility that the holes in his head from the woodpecker were causing him to hallucinate.
Yes, he'd killed two bears today. Both of them were stuck at the time. Slaying a bear that was wedged in a window frame was a significantly different task than doing battle with a bear on its own terms.
Maybe they'd get lucky and the hallucination theory was correct.
About a hundred feet ahead of them, a grizzly bear emerged from the forest. It was smaller than the first bear, but bigger than the second one.
Maybe it wasn't an undead bear. Maybe it was just a regular old normal standard bear. In which case, it would realize its mistake and quickly go back the way it came.
Rusty couldn't see if it had bloodshot eyes, and there were no visible bones, at least not that he could see from his current vantage point. That said, the bear was walking right toward them, successfully conveying great menace.
"Go away!" Rusty shouted.
The bear did not go away.
Rusty tried to keep his fear hidden. He could deal with this situation in a rational manner. Yes, a giant grizzly bear was lumbering toward them, and there were no cabin walls to protect them, and he could no longer trust Mia to accurately aim a firearm, and he hadn't fought the previous two bears with blister-covered legs that hurt to move, but...
There was no "but." Those were all simply facts.
Mia dropped the boards onto the ground again. "I'll take the axe back," she said, reaching for it. Her trembling voice belied the badass tone of her words.
Rusty gave her the axe and took out the chainsaw.
The bear was not running toward them, which was good, but nor was it pausing to reflect upon the proper course of action. Its mindset seemed to be: I'm going to devour these two humans, who pose no danger to me, and because they cannot escape, there's no reason to rush and overly exert myself.
"Are you sure we shouldn't run?" Mia asked.
"I don't think we'd be successful. And you know the rule for outrunning a bear."
"What's that?"
"You don't have to outrun the bear. You just have to outrun me."
Mia nodded as though she got the joke, though she didn't smile. "I love you too much for that."
"By the way, if it does take me down, run. If killing me distracts the bear and you squander the opportunity to get away, I'll haunt you, big-time. Steal my chainsaw and go. Got it?"
"Not gonna leave you to die, but I appreciate the offer."
Rusty didn't like that answer, but he needed to cut this conversation short. He pulled the cord of the chainsaw, praying it would start.
It almost started. Not quite.
He tugged on the cord again, pulling so hard that it felt like he practically wrenched his arm out of its socket. The chainsaw roared to life. But the pain in his arm didn't immediately fade, because that's exactly what he needed right now: another part of his body that hurt.
The bear, not intimidated, continued to walk toward them.
Mia raised the axe. She was going to be swinging a heavy bladed weapon around without the benefit of depth perception, but Rusty was sure nothing bad would happen with that.
Rusty raised the chainsaw. They hadn't discussed whether they should run toward the bear, or just wait for it to reach them. Rusty decided to wait. If they charged at the bear, it might do the same to them, and he preferred a scenario where the bear just calmly strolled right into the whirring chainsaw.
It was only about twenty feet away. It looked very, very, very large. Bears seemed quite a bit bigger when they weren't stuck in a window frame.
He and Mia were dead. Humans didn't defeat bears in up-close combat. It just didn't happen. They should have fled and taken their chances climbing up a tree, even though there was no way in hell Rusty could scale a tree in his current condition. This was insane. This was suicide.
The bear kept walking to
ward them. It was looking directly at Rusty with its bloodshot eyes. It didn't roar, but it showed off its teeth in what Rusty swore was a sadistic grin.
Rusty waved the chainsaw around in the air, hoping that the bear would get the hint that he was wielding a dangerous weapon. Mia swung her axe around to send the same message. Several streaks of blood ran all the way down her left cheek, and she actually looked pretty frightening, but the bear did not slow its gait.
What should he aim for? Its head? Chest? One of its front legs? Slicing off one of its legs could conceivably cause it to fall over and not be able to get back up, after which they could casually stroll off into the distance.
Rusty's arms were shaking badly and his palms were so drenched in sweat that he could barely sustain his grip on the chainsaw. The way things were going, he figured there was a fifty-fifty chance that he'd drop the weapon and slice off his own foot instead of the bear's.
With only about five feet separating them, the bear stopped moving.
It stood up to its full height, which was extremely tall, raised its arms in the air, and let out a roar. Could Rusty hear it over the chainsaw? No. Was it still positively terrifying? Yes. He wanted to run away screaming, and he also wanted to drop into the fetal position and just hope for the best. Instead, he stood his ground.
The bear dropped back to all fours. It roared, giving Rusty and Mia a blast of its hot breath. Rusty had no basis for comparison on how a bear's breath should smell, but had the reek of something that was rotting inside. Then it resumed walking toward them.
Rusty tensed up, ready to slash at its shoulder. Could he saw through its entire front leg before the bear tore a twelve-pound chunk of flesh out of Rusty's body? He was about to find out...
The bear stood up again, as if trying to accentuate their size difference even more clearly now that it was a couple of feet closer. It seemed like overkill, though Rusty had to admit that he did receive the message.
He lunged forward with the chainsaw.
The bear swiveled. Not enough to make Rusty miss completely, but enough that he thrust the chainsaw blade into the center of its chest instead of its shoulder. The blade sunk in deep, completely disappearing into the bear, going all the way to the chainsaw's hand guard. Then the weapon popped out of Rusty's grasp.
