by Dan Yaeger
A voice, educated and “normal”, called out: “We’re going in! Rickard on me! Siro: cover me!” The voice sounded exasperated. He continued “He’s standing up! Waste him!”
In the fog of war they thought my battle cry and blade in the air was the end for Xavier. Just as they had been wrong about Xavier finishing me, they never anticipated Xavier would turn. That thing, which had once been the sickest of men, was targeted by Xavier’s own team. Shrouded in the shadows of the bush, the zombie Xavier was seen as me, their enemy. It was confusion all around and it was Xavier’s last hurrah, perhaps his redemption for all crimes against humanity. He was to play a vital role in humanity’s survival.
There was small arms fire on a scale I had never seen or encountered. Xavier was riddled with bullets, most were on target but could not kill what he had become so easily. The off-shots plucked at the cover around me and threatened to take my life. I was pinned down as my enemies flanked their target and ran from the Waystation. They approached my position in an arc, dealing out hundreds of rounds of ammunition. Death would not visit me that day, however, despite the hail of bullets that stabbed, plucked and whizzed about. Luck was on my side, simple as that. I figured I deserved a little of that.
The covering fire had made way for two men who raced into the woodland scene we found ourselves in. They came toward me and ran headlong into Karnovic’s zombie form instead. The two men were shocked and staggered back, somewhat tactically, into fighting stances.
They were big men, strong and fighters. One was in an army or air force flight suit stepped behind a tree: “Flyboy”. He offloaded a number of well-placed body shots with his pistol, into the zombie Karnovic without too much effect. He clearly wasn’t well experienced in zombie killing, but more human killing. “A solider of some sort,” I surmised. I noticed a fear and franticness in the way they operated. I lay still, a silent killer in-waiting. My camouflage and position kept me hidden and I took a moment to think and work them out. “How can I deal with him and his mate?” my mind raced as I calmed my breathing and focused. Xavier was a good decoy but he would be done soon enough. I would need to move quickly and capitalise on the opportunity. It was one of those moments when things could go either way, I knew it, but with my predicament and Jen separated from me, I felt I had nothing to lose.
Fly Boy’s mate, the second man tried to engage Xavier in a hand to hand combat. It was a strange choice but he seemed more comfortable with his fists than the weapons he had strapped to him. I would use this to my advantage. He engaged the zombie Xavier and ignored the irregular shape, lying on his back nearby; me.
I slowly reached for Manila while the tall, out-of-shape assailant, “Fly Boy”, reloaded frantically. He then froze behind a tree for a moment and watched his friend. He still hadn’t seen me and I could see him freaking out and breathing hard. I reminded myself that it was time to act and to take the advantage in the chaos that Karnovic had brought.
I fired and reloaded in quick succession. The .22 rounds peppered his position and a few rounds hit true; in the thigh and abdomen. “I’m hit Siro! I’m fuckin’ hit!” I knew I had a moment as this big, dangerous man looked down on his leg and Karnovic faced off with a man who moved and hit like a pugilist: “the Pugilist.” The Pugilist looked away for a moment, toward Fly Boy and it left an opening for him to be mauled. I couldn’t have planned things better.
In some bizarre way, Karnovic, who I had thought was the spectre of my death, was in fact my saviour. “Let that be your one positive contribution to humanity, you fuckin’ animal.” I thought.
With Manila out of ammo and Old Man out of reach, I had to make something of the moment. I got to my feet and charged without warning and with abandon. It was death or glory.
I found Ebony on my belt and I swung my machete down as Fly Boy looked on in disbelief; the bush had come alive and attacked him. My machete blow was retarded by the man’s big hand which was used to fend the blow. His big paw was split down to the wrist between thumb and pointer; blood and screams. He bellowed in agony and my machete was stuck, essentially immobilising that hand. I grappled with him. I put in knees to his thigh and ribs, an elbow to the skull was a sickening blow that rocked him and put him on the back-foot up against the tree. I pushed my forearm into his neck to keep him from getting his wind back and did some heavy, dirty boxing that smashed his face, no doubt breaking bone, but I was fighting for my life. This knuckle-busting combat had knocked this man on his arse up against the tree that had once provided him cover. He was there, legs spread, semi-conscious and with blood pouring from mouth nose and eyes. He was finished.
Some might find the next act callous but I had just witnessed a heavily wounded man turn; it was not going to happen again. Ebony was unsheathed and unleashed; the jagged blade smashed through flesh, bone nerve and into the tree. The weapon’s blade smashed off a large piece and made a dramatic metallic sound that was halfway between breaking glass and a clarion. While I lamented the damage to one of my favourite machetes, others would lament the man I had destroyed.
He was the “Flyboy”, who I would later learn was Price. One man in particular would want me to pay for his best mate’s life.
I turned my attention to the melee which had kept the second attacker at bay. Karnovic had now mauled and made a meal of the Pugilist. He turned to me, launching forward with amazing force. He took me off guard and my balance was lost. I felt myself fall backward and Karnovic’s zombie form stood over me like his true self had.
An accented voice called “Yo Elsom! I see sumthin’- shoot brother, shoot my man!”
“Elsom” whoever he was, was a good shot but had the wrong target again and hit Karnovic in the head. Expecting to see more blood and gore I saw a feathered dart imbed in the skull. “They want to take me alive?” In a moment, I realised what their mission was: capture. Despite fighting like I had abandoned all hope, I knew there was an option to live. I would put a plan in motion to maximise my chances.
“Price? Price?! What tha fuck man?!” Came the accented voice again when he realised Price was not answering and the worst was likely. It became clear to my remaining attackers that their attack had fallen apart. Xavier stumbled forward toward me; the nightmare continued.
As he stumbled, almost in slow motion, I decided not to get up. My instincts were that more enemy fire was coming. I was better off on my back. “Besides, what was the worst that could happen? The fucker couldn’t infect me!” I thought to myself.
The man behind the accented voice still hadn’t gotten the picture; they were confused and scattered.
“Yo’ fuckin’ useless Xavier! Yo’ fucked da whole thing man!” Unaware that Xavier could no longer understand any words, just the instincts to feed and spread the Divine virus, the rant continued.
The Latin-accented enemy was losing it. “Yo’ goddamn Survivor! You and Xavier can go to hell! Take this motherfuckers!” He couldn’t see me as he lost control and threw something.
My world erupted in a hail of flying debris, hot air, dazzling light and numbness all over. The throw was reasonably good for the range and the grenade landed behind Xavier. The still-standing zombie corpse that I thought had given its last indeed gave me yet another gift. It was almost a present for not fearing him but understanding what he was. His body was obliterated in a vision of hellfire, taking the brunt of the blast and shielding me from it. I was peppered with a rain of blood, slivers of wood, debris and shrapnel, but I lived. My ears felt like they were bleeding and my senses were screwed. I suspected that they had me; this could have been the end of my stand.
As if by some sort of miracle, my ears calmed, senses returned and my fog cleared enough for me to function. I saw two people emerge from the trees, almost right on top of me. The attack was somewhat halted as a realisation was made: “Price! No fuckin’ way! Noooooo!” a lean, heavily muscled warrior with a bald head and tattoos regarded his beheaded friend at the base of the tree.
His gaze turned to me as
did his buddy. “Elsom” the shooter with the tranquiliser gun stood there looking at me as if he had seen a Tasmanian Tiger. Before he could compose himself, the brute who must have been “Siro”, by process of elimination, was onto me. He gave me an evil look and it was on. “No, Elsom, hold yo fire man! First is some payback!” I had gotten to my feet and copped punches in bunches. He hit like a pro and I tasted my own blood and was knocked about as I counter-punched as best I could and busted him up a little. I was tired, covered in sweat and blood; but no excuses, he was damn good.
I loosed a good solid kick into his ribs which would have hurt but this guy knew how to take a hit and capitalise on the opening. I was tackled to the ground and Siro began to rain elbows and fists down on me. These brutal hammer-like blows were taking away my consciousness and I was going hazy. I fought back and protected myself in a guard position. One elbow from my position on the bottom opened up his forehead and blood poured over me as he worked me over. This guy was handing me my arse. I managed to flex my hips and get him off me a bit. It was as though he let me up like you would in a cage match. It dawned on me; this was MMA superstar Sirocco “Quicksilver” Silva. He had come to Australia for an MMA series and had had his knee destroyed in a fight, just before the Great Change. That split-second moment was all I needed for a new plan. As I enacted it, I muttered these words again: “Die so she can live,” I thought. But die meant being taken and risk dying later.
I knew they wanted me for the cure, I didn’t know what would happen after that. Elsom held the answer for me and Siro was in my way. I knew he was handing me my arse and I couldn’t beat this guy at his own game, so I wouldn’t. I needed to cheat and be punished by his buddy.
I kicked Siro in his lead knee with everything I had; his bad knee. It wasn’t to drop him; I knew he was too hard for that, it was to get his attention for just one second. In that moment he would take the pain and refocus, like any pro fighter. All I needed was that moment and he gave me the opportunity that probably saved me from being beaten to death in revenge. Panther was quickly whipped out and stabbed into Sirocco’s side. I pulled it out again quickly, before he knew what had hit him. He wasn’t expecting that. His hand went down instinctively and returned with the crimson signal that he was hurt with something serious. Siro was a cage fighter, not a knife fighter, brawler or gunman like I had become. The wound was meant to somewhat reduce his capacity to fight so he didn’t beat me to death.
He stumbled backward in disbelief, but not agony like most would have. I put my hands up to Elsom and gave him a nod. I banked on him being a good foot-soldier and taking orders. To my surprise he did; he was taking no chances. An ex commando: he did not disappoint.
I felt a sharp pain in my neck and numbness took effect; a mirror image of Sirocco stumbling back in that moment. I looked to the direction of the unknown pain and Elsom stood there, his young but hard, acne-scarred face looked sad or fearful as I lost myself.
As that awful feeling of tranquilisers took effect I knew they knew I was subdued and they might listen. “Now I would tell them about Jen, save her life”.
I tried to speak and I thought I was talking but clearly wasn’t. “Jen, Jennifer Jensen yes? You must know her, she is one of you,” I tried to say, thought I had said but didn’t. Almost in slow-motion, I could see myself falling to the ground and continuing my monologue “She is out of milk and needs to get back to “the Doc”. She is up at a cabin just 15 kilometres from here…” But no words came out. It was a disaster for me and, moreover, Jen.
All hope was lost. A terrible feeling when you think it is your last or could be your last. Certainly not something you want to accept as you go into a temporary or permanent sleep “I lost my other half today…”
I fell into a dream-state. I have some memories of what happened afterwards but it is incomplete.
There was a memory of Siro and Elsom having a conversation. They cursed me for killing Price, spat on me for it and gave me a right kick in the guts. Elsom was emotionally detached and went off to get a vehicle. With Price gone, no-one could fly the bird but Siro’s reaction went far beyond just being stranded. I realised in retrospect that Siro must have loved Price like a brother; he lovingly placed the severed head on his body and sat next to him. I have memories of a conversation between Siro and the dead Price who didn’t participate but listened like a good friend. It could have been a few hours or a few minutes. I was semi-conscious; at times only seeing, at times only hearing but I could piece it together when I had time to think about it all later. And boy did I get that time.
Siro was out, he had had enough. He was going to leave “the Rock”, a place I would come to know a little later and take someone called Dimi with him. This warrior was accustomed to a short war, not a long one and he had fought for too long. I was a survivor and would never tire of my mission.
Elsom did return and loaded us into a white van. I was dealt with roughly but not brutally and thrown in the back of the old vehicle and covered with a blanket. Strangely, they covered my face with the blanket like you would a dead man. I had one of those strange but indelible experiences as light came through windows, there was motion and my mind, in its medicated state, began to wander and wonder. I had the words on the blanket dance around in my memory as though it were alive, with personality and character. “Cooleman Medical” had taken on a life all of its own and was entertaining me, a little dragon that flew around, breathing fire and circling with derring-do. Those damn tranquilisers! They kept me amused and laughing on the inside until I arrived at my destination.
The effects of my chemical dreamland began to diminish. The vehicle began to turn more often and with a slower speed; I got the sense we were off main roads and into an urban environment of intersecting streets. The fact that I had my brain ticking over like that, thinking about these things and recognising a pattern gave me comfort. I was back in the world of the lucid. Then back in the world of the physical; I could moan and wave my hand around a little. It was a movement that was a bit like the once-Queen of England at a welcome procession. Quite prophetic; I was in for a welcome alright. They had brought me to the mountain of hope, in the land of hell.
Chapter 4: A Rocky Welcome
The neo-zombies were going to give me a good ol’ zombie welcome! Siro tried to lift me out from the van by himself but I remember his face in agony as he clutched his wounded side. Someone else lent down and scooped me up and I was roughly flopped onto a medical trolley. The rest of the scene was a blur. The sky could have been yellow or purple. Siro’s face though, I remembered that.
My next sensation was a vibration from a rough path underneath the wheels of the trolley and vision coming in and out of absurdity and obfuscation. The rumbling sound on the path took me back into a dream world and I lost a few moments in time.
I remember seeing Siro looking outward, stern and resolute. He looked down at me, spitting on the ground and saying something harsh and unkind. I laughed; perhaps just on the inside. Elsom’s scarred face also looked down at me nervous and unsure. More faces appeared and I realised I was now inside some sort of building. Instead of focusing on the faces, I saw the ceiling tiles, fluorescent lights and emergency sprinkler systems. I started moving as more faces appeared, looking down at me and walking beside me. I saw ceiling light after ceiling light and felt the impact of door after door as we got into the depths of what felt like a mountain.
We entered a large room, I could tell because the walls opened up and I didn’t feel the sense of enclosure as I had in what must have been a corridor. As I was brought in on a stretcher, people peered and crowded to have a look at me, a curiosity, and a saviour perhaps. Their faces were becoming clearer.
What was clear, as I was coming to, was that there was jubilation in the air. I was a hope for these people that stared into my eyes and soul and asked, a bit like a zombie, for just a little more time. “Sustain us.”
While I thought I was lucid again, it was all a bit of a blur. If thing
s had moved slowly, perhaps I could tell more. But they had been waiting for me for a long time and their patience was gone. This was happening and it was happening fast.
“Where’s the Doc?” I could hear. “Get every millilitre of blood out of him!” Someone said quite cannibalistically. “Thank God! We are going to be alright!” one woman said. Another said “He looks dead! Are you sure this will work?” another responded with “he’s not dead and he’s no zombie. He’s actually quite hot.” To which Sirocco’s unmistakable voice cut in very quickly. “He aint hot, he’s stone cold baby. He killed everyone but me and Elsom. Even Xavier.” Then a young male’s voice asked “What? No?! It’s just Squad 4, you, me, Barlow, Elsom and the Doc?! There’s no-one else from the squads?” Sirocco or someone else must have provided confirmation as his next comment was telling “Shit man, this had better work!” On that note, I drifted off again.
I experienced a loss of time again. There was a sudden hush and quiet murmuring amongst the small crowd around me. “Out of the way damn you!” a pompous, rehearsed voice snapped. “This is him? Alive? You did it Sirocco! You damn well did it!” the voice continued and laughed awkwardly. I remember seeing an additional face above me now; toad-like, ugly, bespectacled and a very poor specimen of manhood. “This won’t hurt, much…” he said and I was slowly drifting off again. It did hurt. I had met the Doc and he had already lied to me. It wasn’t a good start and I decided I didn’t like him at all. That quick shot of pain was followed by a drifting numbness that took me from consciousness once more. As I drifted away, I realised I had not communicated about Jen; they needed to get to her and save her. I tried desperately, goddamn it I tried, with everything I had in me.