Books of the Dead | Book 9 | Dead of Winter

by Spears, R. J.

  I digress. My dilemma was whether I was best positioned to make my distraction from where I was or whether I should get closer. Closer was probably better, but that meant me getting out in the open. That meant taking a bigger risk. The other element was that I needed a line of sight to the other members of this rescue party to cue them. Between us, we only had one walkie-talkie, but using one of those now would only give up my position anyway.

  I took a look down the street away from the loading dock and saw a smattering of zombies ambling about for about a hundred yards. Past them at the west intersection was a whole mess of deaders, looking as if they were a churning pile of arms, backs, and legs. In a way, they came across as benign, reminding me of holiday shoppers ready to make their way into the mall.

  So, whatever I did, I had to make a hard left turn before I got into that huge mass of deaders when I finally made a run for it.

  In the end, I decided that getting closer was better for the kid. That way, I could draw more away, making the path for Alex, Richard, and Brother Ed safer. Besides, I couldn’t see them at all. Getting closer was the only way I could cue them to start in motion.

  There was really only one way to play it, and that was to act like a zombie. I had been able to pull that off on our way into the hospital a few months ago. Maybe it would work again?

  Boy, do I hate maybies when my life is on the line.

  I took in a deep cleansing breath and stepped out from behind the bushes, and began my best impression of a zombie, shambling toward the center of the street. My head was down, my gait jerky, and my balance unsteady. To add to the whole effect, I did even moan a little, although I don’t think I would ever get any Oscar buzz for my performance.

  I made it about ten steps when I looked up and spotted Alex poking her head around the corner of a building that we had pre-determined would be their starting point. She cautiously stuck out her hand and gave me a thumbs up. I wasn’t sure if it was for my performance or telling me that they were ready.

  To acknowledge them, I jerked up an arm and stuck my thumb in the air to let them know I saw them. Hopefully, it didn’t cue the zombies that a juicy human was in their midst.

  The deaders didn’t seem to notice, so I must have pulled it off.

  My next challenge was finding the perfect spot to start my distraction and still have an exit strategy. I determined a spot off to my right where there seemed to be a wide westward path for me to escape through once I started firing. Yes, my distraction method was quite basic. Zombies loved big sounds, and my rifle was good at making boom-booms.

  I cut to the right and zig-zagged around a pair of rough-looking zombies. They both looked like a giant had gnawed on their heads, exposing bits of skull. Not a good look, but I wasn’t there to judge, just avoid them.

  One of them looked up at me, and I honestly thought the jig was up, but as quickly as he eyed me, he looked away. With that glance away, I let out a long exhalation of relief. I had ten more steps until I made it to my escape lane.

  I was on the final glide path when a rotund zombie wearing a blood-stained parka and torn jeans ambled in my way. There was a dark desire in his eyes that alarmed me. My body tensed up, and I gripped my rifle tighter, readying myself to bring it into a shooting position. We were on a direct collision course, but for some unknown reason, the big guy veered off with five steps to go.

  Zombies are that way. They don’t make much sense. It was just one of those moments where it came down to, why ask why?

  My goal was within reach. Five steps later, I was in position with only a ten-foot-wide avenue running westward to complete my journey. My ultimate plan was to head for the break between two of the buildings where I would cut north, then circle my way back to the research building. Of course, I had no idea what was between those two buildings, so this scheme was hanging on by a hope and a prayer.

  I hit my mark and stopped dead. (Forgive the bad pun.) That’s when I brought my rifle and aimed at the back of the big parka zombie’s head. My sights lined up, and I was about to pull the trigger when gunshots exploded in the quiet.

  I jerked my head to look in that direction to see Brother Ed running into the center of the street, spraying bullets into the zombies as fast as he could pull the trigger. To make matters worse, I could swear he was hollering out a loud and prolonged war-whoop.

  The only thing I could say was, “What the actual fuck?”

  Chapter 25

  Radical Change of Plans

  Every zombie in the vicinity locked in on Brother Ed as he shot into their midst. Of course, there was nothing new about that. Zombies had always been into big noises.

  While he wasn’t totally indiscriminate with his shots, he wasn’t doing all that much aiming. I’m sure Brother Ed knew what he was doing to the extent that he knew blasting away was the best way to get their attention. While I didn’t like second-guessing Brother Ed, I felt he could at least be making more headshots.

  Where this drastic change of plans left me was totally in question. I was supposed to be blasting zombies, then running west to draw them away from the loading dock. Now, with all the zombies headed east toward Brother Ed, I was on the hot seat to rescue the kid.

  The other complicating factor was that I didn’t have oodles of time. There was a whole shitload of zombies down in that intersection to the west, and they sure as hell weren’t going to ignore the commotion coming from Brother Ed’s direction.

  When I looked over my shoulder to the west, I saw that they had taken notice. A few had already started in my direction, which meant I was about to be stuck in a giant pincer maneuver of the dead.

  No matter how surprising and stupid Brother Ed’s move was, I had no choice but to get into motion. I pivoted and started toward the loading dock, which was easier said than done.

  While Brother Ed was doing his best to be the center of attention, some of the deaders were slow on the uptake. With those, once I started moving, they would notice me. I would suddenly move to the top of their menu. Oh, goodie.

  Shooting was out of the question. Brother Ed’s shots were the main attraction for the vast majority of the zombies. If I shot, there was no doubt that I could gain some unwanted attention.

  The big guy I had targeted earlier was still in the street, but he started toward Brother Ed. As I ran toward the big dead one, I drew back my rifle. Just as I was about upon him, I whipped the butt of my rifle forward in a whiplash motion. The butt slammed into the back of the zombie’s head and jack-knifed his body forward. I felt the crunching bone through the rifle, and the big one was no more as he pitched forward onto the asphalt.

  Fortunately, the sounds of Brother Ed’s shots covered the sound of the zombie hitting the pavement. I continued moving, picking up speed, splitting my attention between spotting the boy and assessing which zombies would be a threat to me.

  The boy must have sensed an opportunity to make a run for it because he had stepped out onto the loading dock. I could see him craning his head, looking for an opening. I’m not sure he saw me. I was just another body in motion in the street.

  Another zombie veered into my path, and I dispatched it with the butt of my rifle. Like the big dead one, this one face-planted onto the street, dead forever.

  I could see that the boy was about to make the leap from the loading dock, but he must have caught me moving out of the corner of his eye because he stopped. I guessed that I must have stood out since zombies never run. Still, I could tell that he didn’t know what to make of me.

  To assure him, I put up a hand and waved it in his direction. To be sort of honest, it felt kind of lame, but he didn’t jump to make a run for it.

  Brother Ed continued blasting away, but when I glanced his direction, I couldn’t see him. There were just too many zombies between him and me, and they were a large mass, pressing toward him. I heard other shots coming from further away, and I had to assume that was Alex and Richard.

  I hated that I couldn’t see them, but the
y, like me, were on their own, so I stuck to my new mission of rescuing the boy.

  A crawler must have spotted me and decided that Brother Ed was just too far away. This crawling menace was doing his best to power toward me with his arms. From my vantage point as I ran toward him, he reminded me of a crab. An undead human crab and one that was making decent progress for having a set of badly mangled legs.

  I didn’t like the idea of doing a golf club maneuver with my rifle as the club, so I took inspiration from the Olympic hurdlers I had seen on television. I doubt I had their practiced skill, but I leapt like my life depended on it -- because it did.

  The poor dead thing shot out an arm, and I felt its hand graze along the heel of my boot. My lead foot hit down in an oily puddle of cold slush, and I nearly went down as my foot slid forward, but I recovered. It wasn’t very graceful, but I managed to stay on my feet and still make forward momentum.

  I’m not sure it was amazement at my feat of balance or just plain fear, but the boy stood frozen at the edge of the dock. The problem was that while his attention was locked on me, a zombie must have seen him move and headed his way.

  I shot out an arm and pointed at the oncoming zombies, then brought my hand to my mouth with my index finger extended in the universal gesture of ‘be quiet.’ The kid must have understood because he looked down at the approaching zombies and took two steps back.

  I pulled back my rifle again, holding it by the barrel. The zombie was so fixated on the boy, he didn’t see me coming. I held my rifle over my shoulder, holding it like a baseball bat. I timed my swing as I ran forward. Two steps away from the zombie, I uncoiled all my muscles and let loose. It was not a textbook swing, but it was effective.

  The butt of my rifle caught the dead thing in the mouth, breaking its jaw and shattering all its teeth into its brain cavity. It flopped backward onto the concrete pad at the dock and didn’t move again.

  I looked to the boy and said, “My name is Joel, and I came to rescue you.”

  It was direct and to the point, but I could see that the boy was still in a slight state of shock. He stepped back, not sure what to do.

  Up close, the kid looked smaller than I expected. He was rail-thin, and his eyes were sunken with a haunted look. Then again, who could blame him after what he had gone through? Plus, I had no idea what had happened to him before his group made it to the hospital. They had to be desperate to travel into the city.

  “What’s your name?” I asked, trying to make an abnormal situation seem somewhat normal. Although, there was nothing ordinary about it. I could see the uncertainty in his eyes and knew there was a decent chance he could bolt at any moment. I didn’t like his options on his own, and I knew I wouldn’t have a chance to catch him if he did bolt. If I chased him, there was no doubt we would both probably die.

  The boy’s mouth opened and closed twice, then he was able to speak. “Nathan. My name is Nathan.”

  I looked over my shoulder and saw that the zombies coming from the west were making steady progress toward us.

  “Well, Nathan, we need to get the hell out of here, or else we’re both dead,” I said.

  In an unsteady voice, he said, “Okay.”

  The big problem was that the pincer I had talked about earlier was closing much faster than I thought. Any chance of heading west on my originally planned escape path was completely closed off by a slew of zombies marching up the street toward us from the west.

  The only thing we had going for us was that my three comrades still held the market on the zombie’s attention to the east. Their gunshots had almost all the deaders to the east and most to the north heading their way, but that wouldn’t last forever. They would soon be swarmed over in a matter of minutes, if not seconds. That meant they’d have to make a run for it.

  My bet was that most of the zombies would follow them, but that would still leave a lot of deaders in the street. I scanned any possible escape paths to our north and saw the narrowest of routes. It was a jagged one, but it was our only chance.

  I put out a hand to Nathan and said, “Jump down. We’re going to make a run for it.”

  Without a word, Nathan hopped down from the loading dock and took my hand like any trusting child would. My only thought was that I would never trust an idiot like me. I’m the fool who made up this crazy rescue scheme.

  I looked down to him, and he looked up to me with trusting eyes, and I said, “Let’s go.”

  Chapter 26

  A Desperate Run For It

  We were barely ten steps into our escape when the shooting to the east ceased. I glanced that way but only saw zombies flooding the streets from one side to the other. The only explanation was that Alex, Richard, and Brother Ed had decided it was their time to run.

  There was another short burst of gunfire, but that was it. Nathan and I had no time to waste as we rushed across the street.

  Of course, our quick motion caught the eyes of the few deaders scattered around our area. A couple just a few feet from our escape path made a course correction and ambled toward us. That left me with a big decision. Continue our attempt to run silent, run deep, or start blasting away with my rifle.

  I felt Nathan tug at my hand. When I looked back at him, I saw the fear in his eyes.

  “We need to keep going,” I said, “but we need to try to do it quietly.”

  I let go of Nathan’s hand and slipped my baseball bat out of the sling that hung over my back. It felt good as I gripped it in my hands as we closed on the two approaching zombies. My baseball bat always made me feel that way.

  “Give me some space,” I said, not looking back at Nathan. I sensed that he did heed my warning, giving me the room I needed to wind up with my bat.

  One of the zombies had been a nurse and was still in her uniform. Granted, it was mostly in tatters and badly stained in blood. She was in the lead, therefore she took my attention.

  Since I wasn’t one hundred percent certain that Nathan was out of my swinging radius, I decided to go with a tomahawk chop approach, bringing the bat over my head.

  The nurse zombie couldn’t care less about my bat and just came straight at me. I slowed, timing my swing as she reached out for me with her blackened and blood-stained fingers. Since I had a lot of experience killing zombies, I made the most of my swing, whipping the bat from over my head in a deadly arc. It swung fast and true, slicing between her outreached hands and smashing in her forehead with a sickening crunch. The blow drove her to the street at light-speed. Needless to say, she did not get back up.

  Everything about my move was nearly perfect, but there was a small patch of ice under the foot I planted to steady myself. I held steady for the swing, but my foot slipped forward, and I nearly ended up doing a split. Splits are bad things to do when zombies are coming at you, and I still had a second one headed my way.

  It was a slight asexual-looking dead thing with moderately long hair and a face made for a mortuary. That didn’t make it any less dangerous. It shot out a hand in my direction and let out a growl.

  There was a flash of motion, and I saw Nathan rush at the zombie. He held what looked like a 16-ounce hammer in his hand, and I wondered how the hell I had missed that. Whatever, he swung it like a professional carpenter and planted the head of the hammer right between the zombie’s eyes. The blow took it to the ground, where it ceased all movement.

  I was able to get myself upright again and said, “Nice job.”

  He didn’t say anything but looked a little winded.

  Around us, more zombies took notice of all the quick actions we were making. That put them in motion as it was time to investigate. Once they saw us, the investigation was over. It was time to eat.

  I pointed at the corner of a building in the distance and said, “See that corner? We need to get around that and head east. Then we pass another building and then work our way around the next one to a loading dock. That’s where we go inside.”

  I’m not sure why I took the time to tell him all
that. Maybe I thought it was best that he knew the lay of the land in case anything happened to me.

  I said, “We have another one in our way. I’ll take it out.”

  We revved back up to full speed, and I led the charge toward the new zombie, who was tall and rangy with one good arm. The other one was broken and looked to be dangling on with a few threads of tendons. It was not a good look, but I don’t think he cared.

  As we moved toward it, I glanced back and saw that Nathan was about ten feet behind me, gripping his hammer with a determined look.

  I decided to go with a different tactic with this deader. Sometimes you go high, and sometimes you go low. This was one of those times to go low.

  Just as I got to within five feet of the deader, I ducked down, took a side-step, and whipped the bat across the thing’s legs in a hard sweeping motion. The impact knocked the thing’s legs sideways, and it collapsed onto the hard ground with a grunt, stunned by the impact.

  As gracefully as I could, I vaulted over it and looked back to see Nathan take an arcing path around its body. In fifteen more steps, we were at the corner and home free.

  At least I hoped so, but as it turned out, there was a narrow corridor that led between the two buildings. It wasn’t packed with zombies, but there were way too many to bash our way through.

  I slid to a stop and felt Nathan collide with my back.

  “We’re not making it through here with hand weapons,” I said.

  The lead zombie of this little mob let out a guttural sound and seemed to speed up as he headed for us. I picked up my bat and pulled out my rifle, clicking off the safety. (Safety first here, you know.)

  I turned toward Nathan and asked, “You know how to shoot a gun?”

  “Yes,” was all he said.

  “I mean, really shoot?” I asked.

  “Yes, my mom taught me,” he said.

  “Have you killed deaders before?”