Z-Level 10: A Zombie Apocalypse Novel

by Cole, Michael

  “They won’t listen to you,” Dunn said. “Nor will these guys. At least, not Ford. He’ll think you’re betraying him. He won’t respond well. Whatever he does, the others will support him.”

  “No, man, we’re here to save people,” Gordon said.

  “At what cost?” Dunn asked. “Six of them? We already lost seven people.” The opening of the door made all three of them jump. Ford entered the shack, his breathing heavy from all the fighting.

  “You guys cozy in here?” he said, panting with each word.

  “We got the transmission through,” Reimer said. “Chopper is en-route now.”

  “Thank God,” Ford said. “Then let’s get the hell out of here, because we’ve got a whole circus out here.” He moved back outside and started calling for the other survivors, rounding them up to leave.

  Gordon and Dunn both looked to the Corporal, both wondering what he was planning on doing.

  “Let’s get to the boat, first,” he said. “I’ll have a talk with Ford alone once we’re there.” He looked at both his men, both of them standing quietly. Gordon clearly agreed with the decision, while Dunn’s concern was obvious. With no more time to waste, they exited through the door.

  Dunn was the last to step out. He watched the survivors’ interaction as Reimer and Ford started to lead them back up the asphalt trail. As he walked, he watched the mindless bodies swaying deep within the woods. Despite being on the brink of rescue, he felt more fretful than he had ever felt. He looked at the guns in the hands of the survivors as they trotted up a hill. His concerns generated a squeezing sensation in his chest. His heart was fluttering, adding to the sensation of doom.

  He trailed at the back of the group, his eyes now watching each of them with caution.

  CHAPTER 24

  “How far is it?” Michele asked.

  “You’re like a kid in the back seat,” 57 whispered.

  “I wish! At least I’d be in a damn car,” Michele retorted.

  “Keep it quiet,” Ford hissed at them. He kept his shotgun ready at his shoulder. He felt himself growing edgy along with the others. The path seemed darker than before. It was late afternoon thus the sun had lowered into the horizon, its rays lost in the trees and fog.

  They had been walking back for over thirty minutes. What would normally be a fifteen-minute walk was consistently slowed down as they stopped to study movements within the forest. It seemed their diversion had backfired on them. The horde had branched out far, with many ghouls migrating toward the lake instead of steadily moving west.

  It shouldn’t be long now. Ford recognized the bend in the path. They were getting close to the cookout area near the shore. Even he was feeling the urge to chance a mad dash for the boats. His foot rolled as he stepped on a narrow object, nearly causing him to trip.

  “Fuck,” he muttered. He looked down at the walkway. Rope-like vines stretched out from the woods, intersecting over the asphalt like highway lanes. They were over an inch thick, their exterior like bark. Tiny little stubs protruded from the side like broken tree branches.

  “Were these here before?” Reimer asked.

  “Don’t know. Don’t care,” Dunn said. “Let’s just get out of here.” Ford looked ahead, seeing several more rows of these strange vines. He carefully stepped between each one. They were stationary and stiff as tree roots. Whatever they were, they didn’t seem to be a threat.

  The group stepped over the vines as they continued along the trail. They moved around the bend, listening to the growls of distant ghouls. Movement could be heard from feet scraping against the asphalt. Reimer lifted a fist, alerting everyone to halt.

  “Crouch low,” he instructed. Everyone moved to the side of the sidewalk and hunched down. They could see several corpses stumbling across the path ahead. There were at least a half dozen or so in the open, with no way to tell how many were among the trees.

  “Shit,” Ford muttered. “What do you suggest we do?”

  “Let’s wait a sec, maybe they’ll pass,” Reimer said.

  “We can take ‘em,” 57 said.

  “There’s probably more than we can see,” Reimer said. “We don’t want to go toe-to-toe against a blockade of those things.”

  “We’ll wait,” Ford said. “Give it a few minutes. If no more show up, then maybe we can chance it. Everyone monitor your surroundings in the meantime.”

  The group spaced out, while those in front kept their eyes on the corpses. Reimer looked over his shoulder at Dunn and reached a hand out.

  “Pass me the binoculars, will ya?” he asked. Keeping low, Dunn moved up to the front past Han, Jones, and Michele and handed the binoculars to the Corporal.

  Gordon, now at the back of the group, inched back to keep from bunching up against 57. He tapped his finger against his Carbine, eagerly awaiting the order to move. In a place like this, nothing felt worse than sitting still. A minute of empty silence passed.

  Gordon’s knees felt like they were about to cramp, adding to his restlessness. He looked to the forest, drawn to a strange scraping sound in the brush. Whatever it was, it sounded like something was being dragged along the ground. Yet, there didn’t appear to be any corpses nearby.

  He felt a tightening around his ankle. He whipped his gaze down to his left foot. Like a python, the vine had come to life. Fibers protruded from the stubs, wrapping around his ankle.

  “Corporal!” he yelled. The vine slid back into the woods like a fishing line, yanking his foot from under him. The marine yelled as his back hit the asphalt, the yells echoing into the woods as the vine dragged him away.

  The group jumped in surprise, seeing Gordon disappear behind the trees.

  “What the—” 57 gasped.

  “Get after him!” Reimer yelled. All seven of them dashed after him, following his screams and the sound of dragging.

  “Hang on, kid!” Reimer yelled.

  Dirt, twigs, and pine cones bunched under his back like tire treads as the vine pulled him further into the woods. He leaned his head up, trying to see where it led. He threw his hands over his face as the vine scraped him against the trunk of a tree.

  Looking back, he could see the others running to catch up with him. He lunged for the vine, his fingers attempting to untangle its grasp. But the fibers were too tight.

  Looking ahead, he saw a dip in the ground. He could see the vine spiraling, leading down into a strange formation that almost looked like a firepit. In a last, ditch effort, Gordon threw his hands out. He needed to grab ahold of something, ANYTHING to keep from getting reeled into whatever destination this was.

  His hands found the trunk of a small tree. Both hands clasped as he hugged the bark. He let out a painful cry as his body went taut. The vine tugged, stretching his leg to the max.

  “Gordon, hang on!” Reimer yelled to him. Their footsteps grew louder as they neared. Han and Jones broke from the group, smashing their crowbars into a nearby corpse that approached.

  Reimer and Dunn pulled at the vine. It was as tight as rebar. The coil tightened its hold, causing Gordon to yell again.

  “The hell is this?” 57 said. His eyes followed the vine to the strange circular formation in the ground. It was like a rounding pit that spiraled into the ground, the center covered by some type of barrier. The vine, along with many others, protruded from a pore in this barrier. It rippled like a tarp in the wind. Triangular slits began to widen as the pit came to life. Like a blooming flower, the barrier folded outward into four flaps.

  “Jesus, Mary!” 57 shouted.

  The flaps waved freely above the ugly pit they covered, as if each had a mind of its own. Beneath them was an abyss of yellow digestive liquid. Swirling within it were the bones of other creatures unlucky enough to have stumbled into the trap of its vines.

  Gordon was losing his grip as the plant tugged harder. Reimer cursed as he tried to untangle its grip, but the vine wouldn’t give way.

  “Look out!” Michele yelled. She swung her machete into the face of
another corpse. Looking about, the group could see several figures converging on their location, attracted by the commotion.

  “Holy shit, they’re everywhere!” 57 said. He started moving ahead, only for another ghoul to lash out as it emerged from behind a tree. 57 pointed his shotgun and fired, exploding the ghoul’s head into unrecognizable bits of meat.

  There was no use for stealth at this point. The horde knew where they were. Han and Michele picked up their M16s and started shooting into the crowd. Bodies jolted as bullets pierced their targets. Brains exploded into muck and bodies collapsed onto the dirt.

  Dunn aimed to the right, seeing several more ghouls moving in from the opposite direction. He turned, succumbing to the temptation to run back to the trail. He stopped, only to realize several more coming from the direction they came.

  “Figure something out! They’ve got us surrounded!” he yelled.

  Jones grabbed ahold of Gordon’s vest as he began to lose his grip. The Marine’s hands peeled apart from each other as the vine overpowered him. He clawed at the ground, grabbing at anything. Reimer and Ford ran after him, the former jumping down on his fellow marine and pulled back as though in a tug-o-war.

  Gordon’s feet were now inches from the edge of the pit. Fumes radiated upward from the digestive fluids like breath. Mounds of dirt scraped from under his boots as the vine inched him closer.

  Ford ran to Gordon’s feet, his hatchet raised high above his head. He hammered the blade down hard, splintering the skin of the vine. Repeatedly, he hacked the limb.

  Reimer positioned himself behind Gordon, his arms now wrapped under the Private’s armpits. He watched the blade gradually cut the vine, spewing a sap-like fluid from tiny veins under the skin.

  The view between the trees was now gone, hidden behind a horde of the undead. They closed in, dripping saliva and other fluids as they approached.

  “Look out!” Reimer shouted. Ford leaned up and spun to the right, just in time to avoid the reach of a skeletal corpse. Its jaws extended and a horrid retching sound vibrated from its throat. Ford struck it in the face with the hatchet. As he did, another one stumbled from around the pit. He pulled the hatchet, but the blade was lodged in the forehead of the other ghoul. Cursing, Ford abandoned the hatchet and faced the threat. He thrust a hard kick into its abdomen, the force driving the ghoul backward. It stumbled back, snarling at Ford as it unwittingly slipped down into the pit. The flaps closed, the gnarling sounds still reverberating from underneath.

  Putting his boot down against the dead body, Ford yanked on the hatchet with all of his might, freeing the blade from its head.

  “Shit! We’ve gotta go!” 57 yelled. Ford whipped around, seeing dozens of ghouls bearing down on them like an invading army. Summoning every ounce of strength in his body, he brought the hatchet down on the vine. The blade broke through, the handle snapping as the vine whipped back through the pore.

  Gordon sprung to his feet, his eyes wide with shock. Reimer and Jones stumbled backward, gathering their weapons as several corpses closed in on them. The group scattered. It was every person for themselves. Through the chaos, Reimer and Ford yelled directions, directing everybody to a certain point.

  Whatever that point was, Dunn couldn’t figure it out. He ran to the right, unable to see the others or where they went. Dodging trees and other obstacles, the marine fired off random shots. Some struck their mark, killing the brain function of their targets. Others struck chest tissue, providing nothing other than a momentary jolt before the undead continued its chase. Some shots missed completely.

  Dunn passed several trees, yelling as he came to a dead stop, just beyond the grasp of a wall of undead. He twisted to the right and continued running uphill. He slowed to fire at a group ahead of him, this time keeping enough control to place each bullet carefully. Matter exploded from their heads, bringing them to a permanent end. With the path ahead somewhat clear, Dunn sprinted as fast as he could. His eyes swept through the forest in search of the others. But there was nothing to be seen but trees and an ever-increasing swarm of rotting bodies, all eager to take a bite out of him.

  Cracks of gunfire streaked the air ahead of him, prompting Dunn to alter his direction slightly further to the right. Dirt and pines kicked from under his boots as he weaved around corpses. They were slower than he, but their numbers were gradually boxing him in. He had to find the group member. Whatever gun that was, it was a military style weapon. He wondered if it was Reimer or Gordon discharging their M4s.

  He continued along the hill, rolling down the next slope as he moved over the top. Thirty yards away, he saw one of the group running through the horde. It was Jones. Like Dunn, he had been driven apart from the others, now alone. He squeezed the trigger of his M16, placing shots into the horde, mostly striking low.

  “Dunn!” he yelled. “This way!” Jones was pointing out behind him. Dunn looked ahead, seeing a break in the trees past the insane number of ghouls. Beyond that point was the trail. The marine started another dash, spit and dirt spewing between his teeth. He shot another ghoul, kicking it in the groin as he ran over it.

  Now fifteen yards away, Jones struggled to reload the M16. The exhaustion and adrenaline proved too much for him to execute a fast reload. The full mag slipped from his fingers, forcing him to drop to his knees.

  Dunn aimed his M4 and fired repeatedly, killing numerous ghouls between him and Jones. As their bodies collapsed, he aimed his scope further up, focusing on several corpses that approached Jones. The intern successfully reloaded the rifle. Firing from his crouched position, he put down the closest ghouls. He stood and swung his body to the left, firing into a few other ghouls that stood between him and the trail. His knees were bent, his weight on the balls of his feet, ready to take off in a sprint.

  Dunn watched through the scope, firing a bullet passed Jones through the eye socket of another corpse. Dunn’s breathing intensified. Sweat accumulated on his forehead. His vision felt blurry from the rush of anxiety. Suddenly, everything he feared was back at the forefront of his mind.

  He aimed lower. His fingers twitched as he contemplated every possible outcome for the near future.

  With teeth bared, he squeezed the trigger.

  Jones staggered forward, hit with an invisible force that ripped out his abdomen. He looked down at his waistline. His shirt and pants were soaked in his own blood, which spilled freely from his body. With the blood loss came sudden weakness and shock.

  He fell to his knees unable to hold the M16. Mouth agape from pain and astonishment, he looked back over his shoulder. Dunn still had his gun aimed on him, the muzzle rising and falling with his breathing. The marine watched as several ghouls closed in on Jones, spurred further by the sight and smell of fresh blood. With the little energy he had left, he punched his fists into the horde, only for hands and teeth to come down on his arms.

  Dunn rocked back on his feet, his mind spinning like a tornado. Jones’ screams pierced his eardrums as the horde tore entrails from his belly. With several approaching his location, the marine ran for the trail. The ghouls pursued for several yards, only to divert their attention to the feeding frenzy taking place nearby.

  Multiple gunshots echoed behind the obstruction of trees. As Dunn continued on, he could hear indistinct shouting from numerous voices. His feet hit the asphalt. Numerous ghouls turned to look at the Marine, immediately lashing out as they recognized him as food.

  Dunn thrust his rifle out, knocking several of them backward. With the camp area in sight, he took off running. Countless ghouls emerged from the trees. They moved at a sluggish pace, which then turned into a slow run as they spotted Dunn. He ignored each one and focused all energy on his retreat. After ten long seconds, he ran past the edge of the trail.

  Another gunshot rang out from the shore. The others had run out from the tree line to the boats. Reimer and Gordon provided suppressive fire, dropping one ghoul after the other while Ford and the others pushed the boats out.

  “DU
NN!” Reimer yelled. He rotated his stance and fired again. Dunn flinched, throwing his arms over his face in pure instinct. He felt the whistle of the bullet speed past his ear. In that same second, brain residue from a ghoul splatted on the back of his pantleg. He glanced back, seeing the body collapsing a mere twelve inches from him.

  “You staying or what?!” Reimer yelled at him. His voice was muffled by the thoughts and feelings that swirled in Dunn’s mind. He felt in a daze as he ran across the campground. Reimer ran out to get him, emptying his magazine into numerous other corpses. No matter how many he put down, they just kept coming. He grabbed Dunn by the shoulders and dragged him several feet into the water. Both men climbed into the boat, while Ford, Han, 57, and Michele got in the other.

  “Kunihiko-san!” Han called out. He stood at the bow of the boat as Ford rowed it out.

  “Jones!” 57 called out. “Where’s Jones?” Everyone looked around, realizing they were one-short.

  “Dunn!” Reimer shouted. “Did you see Jones?”

  “We… we got—” Dunn gagged, suppressing the urge to vomit. “We got separated. They were all over him. I kept shooting but my mag ran dry.”

  “We need to go back!” Michele cried out.

  “I saw him go down,” Dunn said.

  “No!” Michele yelled.

  “57, take the oars, will ya?” Ford said. He watched the shore as an army of ghouls lumbered into the water after them. He moved from the center seat and grabbed his radio. “McCartney! Hill! This is Ford, you read?!”

  “We’re looking right at you!” Hill answered. Ford looked to the Gibson’s bow rail, where McCartney and Hill stood.

  “Good! Start the fucking engine right now!” he said. He watched McCartney turn back and hurry through the sliding doors. The engine came to life, the water shaking along the hull.

  “Swimmers!” Gordon yelled. He stood up and discharged his rifle into the forehead of a wrinkly corpse that reached up from the weeds. He crouched down, the rocking of the boat nearly tossing him into the water. Reimer thrust the oars through the surface, rippling thick strands of weeds.