Thor's Hammer

by Dan Yaeger

  “Great idea. Let’s get it all locked-down and keep this breach as our only way in or out. OK Leon?” He nodded his head side to side and said “Yes, yes.” Everyone cracked a smile and felt warmth for someone who had been part of the problem up until then.

  Then I realised we needed communications to expand on the plan. “Leon: before you do that, can you get radios, y’know walky-talkies? Can you please give one to Angela with me here at the breach, one to Elsom and one to Rob?” he looked blankly at me first but realised what we needed. “Yes, yes. They are in Barlow’s.” Done: we would have communications.

  There was no time to waste and I thought any further delays would make things worse; “OK people! Action stations!”

  “Radio operators: check–in at quarter hour intervals from now on. That’s at a quarter past, half past, quarter to and on the hour people! Go!”

  Without much fuss or complaining people went off as they had been instructed. They were a good bunch or perhaps I was a better leader than I gave credit. Everyone was with their chosen or appointed group and they were off. Rob and his people ran off at a good pace and Elsom’s crew did the same. “Order before total chaos,” I thought.

  I set about building a barricade we could fight from. There was no time for sentimentality and an antique wardrobe, over 200 years old, was pushed onto its side to cover the hole in the Rock. There was a crashing sound and some wood splintered on its ornate design. This was about to get brutal and the finery in life meant nothing if your life was forfeit.

  With the exposed opening and window fortified with furniture, I backed into the room, considering vulnerabilities and my next move. The ladies of the Pen, Wayan and Shiva were talking amongst themselves, asking questions and reminding each other that zombies are attracted to noise. This comment revealed that they were out of touch when it came to zombie hunting and fighting against the zombie threat.

  Through the bared windows, the night was far from silent and dark. A full-moon rose before us and the sounds of thousands of muttering, murmuring and groaning zombies came with it. It was a horrible sound. Lakshmi, one of the ladies from the Pen, asked “why don’t you plug the other holes?” I smiled at her, knowing this situation all-too well. “We shouldn’t do that,” I said.

  She looked at me quizzically until I continued, “We will need to get out of those holes and we want them to plug the holes.” I pointed out to the silhouettes of at least thirty figures lurching toward the breech. There were shrieks of fear and terror and I said, “It’s OK, it’s OK!” Everyone gave their full attention, being shocked back into reality at the horrors we saw before us. I knew I had to rally them and they needed me to rise to the occasion.

  Above the groans and moans and the oppressive cries and fear, I shouted loud and clear.

  “I killed Xavier and his squads and have killed hundreds of zombies at Tantangara. Just trust me, get back and behind me. We will win!” I held myself with enough confidence that the situation diffused.

  “Angela: cover me from the Doc’s desk. Everyone else, tip over that dining table and take cover until further notice.” I was trying to remain calm even though I was beginning to flashback to the Waystation, Svetlana’s Farm, New Bolaro and other confined fights for my life since the Great Change.

  “I will give it everything and never give up. They need me.” I strode forward, with a little swagger and got ready to shoot like I was at the OK-Corral. Behind me the people of the Rock bustled about and into position.

  The ladies were flawless in their execution; as I asked. A backward glance and a smile, genuine but nervous, was repaid with nods of encouragement and weak, fearful smiles that showed their hope and trust was with me. Those eyes, the eyes of people who need hope; I could not let them down.

  I stood at the window and prepared to take shots to thin out the ranks. I was to be at the forefront of the battle and loaded Old Man like I had so many times before. I was nervous and only shook a little, some sweat dropping from my brow onto the parquetry floor.

  The smooth bolt-action of Old Man reassured me, his magazine crisp and firm; he would save many lives that night. I took aim, looking through Austrian glass onto a night scene from hell. There was a strange silence at times and then moaning and groaning. The waves of faint zombie calls, like an ocean lapping in the distance. But they were closer than that.

  I put my head into the small part of the window frame that still yielded an opening, what little was open after being barricaded. I was about to raise my binoculars but realised, to my shock and horror, that I didn’t need them. “Oh my god! It’s just like a sea!” I whispered for fear of the others hearing or realising what we faced.

  My eyes adjusted to the night sky and I could see the full extent of our predicament. The 30-odd zombies I estimated was actually a sea of them like those encountered at Tanny Hill. I needed to act.

  A zombie came close and I placed the reticule of my scope over his head. Before I could fire, there was the repeat of an automatic rifle and the thunder of a machine gun fire. I took cover as dirt fountained, the sound thundered and zombies were eviscerated and rendered into oblivion. The people cheered. If I had had my radio, I would have thanked Elsom and his crew. “Hurry up Leon,” I thought as I was reminded that we were blind without those radios and precious communications.

  When I peeked over the window frame the sea for walking corpses had been thinned and the heavy weapons fire seemed to be diverted to another side of the building. We would have to fight for ourselves until Elsom could cover us once more.

  I returned my rifle-scope reticule over head of a zombie just 20 meters away, revisiting what I had just a moment ago, and loosed a shot. It hits its mark and took the head of a very fast shuffler; “Night Train”. I had to amuse myself with naming them again: a long night was ahead.

  The click-clack of Old Man’s action was soothing and reassuring as I prepared to fire again. I looked back and the women watched me, almost paralysed. One of the strongest women, a really tough personality, lifted her fist and tipped her head in acknowledgement. They had my back and turned around in time for further excitement.

  They kept coming. Another zombie was in my sights and I shot it; truly dead and headless at 50 meters. I reloaded and took another few out of play. To my surprise, Angela arrived at my side. Given the machine-gun fire and support from on high, she had adapted to the change in conditions. She would help me hold them for a while. “I need to practice with this rifle,” she said. Angela fired then I fired in a good cadence. She wasn’t bad; in fact she was pretty good. While not dead-on every time, she covered me with more than I could have asked for in the situation. Before long, I emptied a box of ammo and Angela kept firing, thinning the ranks even more. “Woohoo”, came a yell from one of the women. “Get them you guys!” they yelled. We were a team that night. Others could see it, we could all feel it.

  Like clockwork, Leon arrived with a radio and offered it to Angela. “They are everywhere!” he said in a panic, he sweated and I could smell fear in his body odour. “Calm down now,” I said to him, firing off another round which made him flinch and jump in one motion. Our ears rung from the shot and I whispered words that must have barely been audible after the gunshot “Stay calm for them,” I turned, not looking at him but the women barricaded in the room. He looked to Angela who gave him an intense, resolute stare as if to reinforce the need to stay in control. He nodded, side to side, and left us in a bewildered, scared muddle. Angela made a sort of “Bah!” about Leon and his weakness and got about checking the radio worked and got us in contact with the others. Busy with the radio, Angela gave me the .22 rifle as if she knew I wanted to conserve precious .308 rounds. I kept firing, Angela helping to reload, busting out boxes of ammo. The zombies thinned but kept coming. The night sky was like a night where fireworks once cracked; the muzzle flashes on the roof and what must have been grenades kept thinning the numbers of undead horrors. The horrors thinned and, before I knew it, there was squawking on t
he radio from Rob.

  “Breaker, breaker. Rob here.” There was silence from everyone. “The vans are overrun; courtyard where the squads lived must have smelt too good. They’re all in there. Elsom’s now taking it to them. Siro’s got a bike and is headed for the breach.” That last part didn’t make sense and Angela asked the obvious question “Repeat please?”

  Before she could receive the answer, the loud roaring of a trail-bike ripped through the Rock. Sirocco drove right through into the Doc’s chambers with Dimi on the back. The smell of fuel was awful. The Brazilian cage fighter Siro rode up and saw the breach was barricaded. “Hey my friend,” he shouted. “Open up man!” I hesitated, looking at him for a moment, puzzled. Thinking quickly, Siro did me the courtesy of answering the obvious question. “We got a bike for us man! Let us out. All I need is her,” he looked at Dimi, like I had looked at Jen, and I was convinced it was right, no matter what.

  He nodded, seeing my recognition “I swear, man! You’ll never see me again. I need this bro. Get some people outta here, man! You’re good for it,” Siro was solemn and honest and I respected that. He wanted to survive with his love and I wouldn’t take that from him. I turned and flexed and moved the barricade while we had a brief break in the zombies. “I hope it isn’t the last time I see you, friend.” I yelled over the engine noise, smiling at him for the first time. He smiled back with a warmth and personality that I had never encountered before; a human connection. “Good luck and make a good life and lots of babies!” I waved them through like a traffic cop. He looked at me with fear and trepidation, almost frozen as he looked out on what could have been salvation or oblivion. It would be his toughest fight outside the ring. The engine revved as precious time was passing like sand through an hourglass.

  I knew I had to do something to get him back to his brave and solid self, a symbolic gesture while the break in the zombie hordes was thin enough for him and Dimi to have a chance. I drew my machete “Ebony” and handed it to him. He would need more than an assault rifle in his quest for freedom. He gave me that nod, that salute warriors give each other. He was back and yelled with his machete-come-sword aloft; “Liberdade!”

  In true superstar style, Sirocco “Quicksilver” Silva popped a mono like some knight or cavalier and sped off with his fair maiden on the back. “Rock on Siro, rock on!” I raised my hand in the air in defiance and the mark of freedom.

  Dimi waved at her friends as they ripped through the breach and out into the moonlight. “There were shouts of support and voices cracking under the obvious fear that their friends would be killed in a few moments. Then two sounds shocked me – crack…crack. “Elsom!” I gritted my teeth as I realised he had loosed two shots at Sirocco and Dimi. Sirocco, the boy from the streets of Sao Paolo had suspected Elsom for what he was and that street cunning had kept him alive once more. Fiddling the sights of Elsom’s assault rifle had meant that precision shooting was off the cards for the stone-cold soldier.

  “Elsom!” Angela yelled what we were all thinking. “It’s Sirocco and Dimi; let them go! Cover them, please! ” Angela was a good tactical thinker and wasn’t afraid to act. “Machine-gun is jammed anyway, over,” Elsom said. “No cover available. For them it’s over, over.” He said coldly. We all knew he was lying as the room looked at each other. Angela looked to me, our eyes both showing disappointment: we knew what was going on. Elsom was not our friend after all. He was loyal to the Doc, to the end, and had plans for himself. The question was: was he acting on the Doc’s old plans or new ones of his own. It was hard to tell.

  I grabbed the radio from Angela and yelled “No, not over, over!” angrily and with some irony. I moved to reload and get ready to open-fire on anything I could see was in their way.

  The bike ripped and roared as it zagged left and right, heading away from captivity and the hell that was engulfing the Rock. I covered them with Old Man, my best shooting with the most decisive, quality rounds. When the chips were down, I didn’t fail. Round after round dropped and spun enemies away. A small group of the Rock’s people were huddled around me, wishing them success, hoping Siro and Dimi could find the love and the romance they all hoped for. With their fingers in their ears to stop the sounds of ringing gunfire they looked on in hope the two brave souls would make it. Like a puppet-master, I willed it so. The enemy fell around them, stopped by hot brass. I stopped shooting; I couldn’t see any zombies or the bike.

  I brought my binoculars up to see if they made it. The others came close and asked “Did they make it?”

  Siro’s dust and dirty fuel exhaust was a trail I followed as he dodged and weaved away from the zombies, off into the night. “I think they made it! They made it!” everyone made a cheer.

  Siro was right. If even two survivors made it out on that lone bike; it was a good night. Survivors two; people that could have love, a life, a family. The world was owed that hope. For a moment everyone forgot about the 360-degree wave of undead that swarmed us and felt hope again.

  As if to remind us of Elsom’s treachery, wanting to take out any competition for leadership, the noise of the machinegun thumped around our side again. Elsom, treacherous Elsom, was playing his own game but he was playing friends again for a while. He assumed we were stupid and I would play on that.

  The sounds of that ripping motorcycle engine and its herald of freedom had attracted the zombies from the area. In an almost orderly, military manner, the zombies emerged around the corner and toward the light, smells and sights of the breech. They were onto us.

  “What do we do now?” Angela was beginning to panic a little. I waved Lakshmi, Steph, Wayan and Shiva over to us. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you have a baby,” I said. “Jokes aside, we need to keep you and the baby alive. If all else fails, I need a secondary line of defence.” While disappointed, Steph knew I was right; they all agreed.

  Steph’s baby, through all the noise and horror, was still happily sleeping with her tummy full of milk. An old pair of high-end, noise cancelling headphones were over the baby’s ears. I wanted to keep it that way; her continued peace and quiet from what we faced.

  “OK-um-names?” I didn’t know their names. Lakshmi, Wayan and Shiva all said their names like it was a regimental role-call. Their faces were fearful and nervous but seemed to be focused. “Good,” I thought to myself.

  I needed to be quick before the next zombies were clambering through the windows or the breach. “Shiva and Lakshmi: we need a couple of extra lines of defence. Set up a barricade at the far end of the room, shoulder-height if you can. Also, can you please build a chest-height barricade in the doorway? Only humans get through there. OK?” They nodded. “Wayan, take Steph and the others and I want you behind the doorway barricade and into the hallway. Anyone know how to use the shotgun?”

  Lakshmi indicated she could use it with an almost-mime of how to use a breach-loader.

  “OK, Lakshmi, you start at the barricade in the room and fall-back to the doorway if you need to yeah? Keep Steph and the baby out of harm’s way.”

  “Let me see the shotgun,” I checked the firearm quickly and it was ready to fire; under over, boom-boom. Stephanie’s obvious disappointment led me to say: “Steph’s brave but we don’t want to endanger our future,” I winked friendly at her and Angela and they both smiled. He had a long way to go yet.

  There was a loud noise from outside and the survivors in that room ducked with me, out of view from the window. More grenades, small arms and machine-gun fire raked the area and rendered zombies limb from limb.

  I peeked over the window-frame again and things were getting out of hand. “Ange: you go back to the Doc’s desk and cover from there, if we get overrun; you retreat back past the Doc’s door with the rest of them. Bottleneck them there and fight them, even with this-“I handed over my nasty and very sharp machete, “Pig Iron Bob”, to Angela.

  She looked at me, as if to ask how I was ever to survive, like I didn’t have a chance.

  “What about you?”, “Ye
ah, what about you?” they asked. I needed to get them moving and didn’t have any time so I said a single phrase to get them moving. “Forget me. Do it now or we all die.” They got the message and raced to their cover. It worked. They were off and onto the objective without question. All the layers of security were quickly setup as I fought off the horde.

  I fired and reloaded and fired and reloaded with Old Man. I ripped the high-powered rounds into undead until 3 boxes of ammunition and countless zombies had fallen. All the zombies had once been human, all were ticking time-bombs that had to be stopped. I shot and shot until the barrel was so hot, I could see the glow.

  But still they came; closer, ever closer. It was the horrible gift that kept giving. Elsom was giving sporadic fire to this side from the .50 Cal but it wasn’t enough, we were being overrun. The Rock had been cracked and now it was falling. I cocked the bolt, ejecting the last cartridge of that magazine and stepped back, slinging my rifle. The first arms appeared at the window and the hole in the Rock. Drawing my Bowie knives made of German steel; Panther and Orion, I prepared for up-close and personal contact with the zombies of Cooleman. Human to zombie; man against beast. A close encounter of the worst kind that haunts me some nights.

  But I was not alone this time. Rob appeared at my side with a rifle of his own. He rained fire through that window with a fearlessness and resolve I had not seen in the man. He managed the window and I managed the small exposure of the breach. I hacked and chopped with blades and smashed the pommels of my knives into the mess of bodies, teeth and intent that preyed upon our border. I was making a huge mess of them and causing a blockage. Severed heads, arms, hands, digits and legs clattered and writhed on the floor. It was getting slippery and oily with all of that dark blood.