by Kody Boye
Rose nodded. There was little need to question the lieutenant’s point. The facts were simple: they still knew as much as they had when it begun, and for that there was no point in making assumptions.
The arrival of Colonel Armstrong, fully-suited in tactical bulletproof gear, ushered the full attention of everyone around them. “Lieutenant,” he said, turning his eyes on Ashley.
“Sir,” she replied.
“Get Miss Daniels in some tactical gear. And give her a gun. She knows how to use it.” He straightened his posture, then raised his voice and said, “We’re moving out in five, people! Hustle!”
The stomp of feet was the only reply.
“Come on,” Ashley said, gesturing her toward an armored vehicle. “I’ll get you fitted. You’re coming with me.”
“Secure enough?” the lieutenant asked.
“It’s tight,” Rose replied as the woman finished strapping the vest across her torso.
“Good. That means it’s on.” She turned and pulled a standard police-procedural pistol from a series of metal holsters. It was the type with which Rose had familiarized herself after picking it off the unfortunate man’s corpse. “I take it you know how to work this one?”
“Somewhat,” Rose said.
Ashley nodded, slapping a clip into the gun. “Only if necessary, or to defend others. Hand-to-hand comes first.” To this, she pushed a machete into Rose’s hand. “Go for the head, if you’re able, or aim for the neck if they’re too tall; break ankles or knees to get them on the ground, crush the skull first and foremost. If you get overwhelmed, call out for—”
“Can I use that?” Rose asked.
“What?” Ashley replied.
Her gaze was transfixed on the wall, set firmly on an ebony baseball bat that caught the light streaming from the window strips and reflected it like cool crystal. The lieutenant turned her head to look. “You mean the bat?”
“I played baseball for years. I know my way around one.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“I have a better chance using my momentum to break a skull than having to rely on my strength to split one with a blade.”
“Can’t argue with you there,” Ashley said. “Go on. It’s yours.”
Rose returned the bladed weapon and stepped forward. The weight of the bat was second nature—a sixth sense that enveloped her immediately upon lifting it from the wall.
“All right then,” Ashley said. “Looks like you’re set. Strap yourself in and get ready for the long haul.”
The makeshift seatbelts did little to provide security for a vehicle whose every move tossed them to and fro. The lurching stops, the gradual turns, the sharp maneuvers required to move around tightly-bunched cars that could not be removed by force with the larger vehicles—eventually, she caved to her lesser inhibitions and splayed her bat across her lap, bowing her head and taking deep breaths to keep from throwing up.
“We’re almost there,” Lieutenant Ashley said.
“How do you know?” Rose managed.
“The worse it gets, the closer we are.”
God have mercy.
Bile rose in her throat.
She only just managed to swallow it.
It was over almost as soon as it begun. A grinding halt, a dying engine, the shuffle of footsteps as men and women in tactical armor surveyed the area… the van’s back door slid open, and in spilled light so blinding Rose thought she was in a dream.
“Here we are,” the lieutenant said. “Checkpoint.”
No time was wasted.
After regaining her bearings and checking to ensure that everything was in place, Rose stepped into the desolate wasteland.
She’d expected an image to trigger a visceral response, for memory to fill in the isolated cracks where consciousness could not remember particular sights or sounds or smells.
No.
It was the exact opposite.
It was nothing like what she’d expected.
It was everything she could not deny.
For before her, in the midst of everything—in wreckage, carnage, the faces of the living and the faces of death—she saw a pale horse.
“Rose?” Lieutenant Ashley asked.
She blinked.
So far removed was she from the time in which she’d huddled here within the shadow of the hurricane that when she heard the soldier’s voice, she thought it was nothing more than a dream. “Is it real?” she asked.
“What?” Ashley replied.
The crunch of earth beneath boots filled her ears.
So—it was true. This was real.
She shook her head to clear her consciousness and tightened her grip on the bat, the sweet sound of her knuckles popping like candy to her unsettled mind. Now that she was fully aware, she could make sense of her surroundings—of the convenience store she had found her first meal in, and the nail salon whose display windows were completely blown out.
Just like I said they were, she thought.
Just as she remembered.
Beside her, Ashley fingered the handle of a police-issue baton and whipped it to full length. The other men’s orders appeared to be divided amongst several lower-ranking officers, but they conferred with Ashley upon particular points. They nodded at the lieutenant when they were ready, and waited for further instruction.
“All right,” she said. “You know the drill. Four people to a building—two in, two out. Clear an area, call it out; advance inside, then repeat. Keep your eyes where your partner’s aren’t and open doors in pairs. We don’t want anyone getting chomped on account of stupidity. Clear?”
“Yes sir!” the men called.
“Move out!”
They proceeded with the skinny man Rose had come to know as Kotter and the squirrel named Ben who had pulled her into the van that fateful first day. Civilian in respect, like Rose, and wearing non-identifying tactical armor, he edged forward with a cleaver in one hand and a Polaroid camera in the other, and began to document the area.
“Are you sure that’s not going to attract anything?” Rose asked.
“Can’t,” Ashley replied. “Military model. Doesn’t flash.”
“Oh,” Rose said. She’d wondered why she hadn’t seen any sharp bursts of light, but had marked it down to the grey day. It was no wonder someone like Ben could go out in the field and be completely invisible.
Almost, she thought.
Though she’d not been conscious for the ordeal, she’d caught wind of the hell they’d endured to get her back to Fort Hope.
The vacant cars, the deserted streets, the dust and brambles and whirlwinds of trash—considering this place resembled a graveyard, it was hard to believe it had once been filled with zombies.
Ben approached a nondescript building whose windows were boarded from the inside and took point on the far right side.
The glass door had been blown out.
Inside, little could be seen, save shadows.
The scavenger adjusted a nodule along his Polaroid and nodded as the lieutenant guided Rose to the position opposite him.
“You take point,” Ashley said.
Rose traced her trajectory with her bat and tapped the ground to ensure the length of her swing before guiding the weapon over her shoulder.
Ashley nodded.
Ben flattened himself to the wall and craned an arm around the corner.
A flash—so brief Rose almost didn’t register it—bloomed from the Polaroid before the world went dark.
Quiet as a mouse, the shot developed.
Ben lifted the photo.
Nothing was displayed inside the building.
“All right,” Ashley said, glancing back at Rose. “Ladies first?”
Rose stepped forward.
Glass crunched beneath her boots.
A sting rang across her consciousness.
Ashley nodded and gestured her forward. “We got you,” she said.
Rose swallowed.
It wasn’t he
r she was worried about; it was anything that might be hiding around the corners.
With nothing to lose other than her dignity, she cleared the last few inches before the door, then stepped inside.
She spun—bat whirling, eyes searching. Dust and woodchips filled her nostrils and she fought to keep from coughing.
When deemed safe by Rose’s presence, Ashley stepped inside and flipped the strobe light strapped across one shoulder.
The desecrated remains of what had once been a coffee shop came into view.
“It looks like people were staying here,” Ben noted, nodding toward the far corner, where through the gaps between carefully-arranged tables, bedding could be seen.
“How?” Rose frowned. “There’s not even a door.”
Ashley pointed.
What memory of the blockade existed lay toppled to the side—splintered, likely by a fall, then torn apart during a siege.
Dried blood and broken armchairs scattered the floor.
Ashley sighed. “Mark it,” she said.
Shots of the scene were taken in quick succession.
A flash here, a quick burst there—by the time they stepped back into the open, Ben had already pulled a can of spray paint from his belt and was marking the clearest section of the wall with a giant red X.
“One down,” Ashley said.
“And a world more to go,” Ben replied.
They stepped away without another look back.
The perimeter was defined by two city blocks. In constant commune with the other five squads, they divided the sector by bridging out at oblique angles and marking properties as they went. Most were deemed unnecessary. A few were flat-out avoided simply because of chains rigged through metal door handles, the common warning being: DEAD INSIDE.
When they came upon the most daunting prospect of all—a series of condominiums that appeared to connect to a much larger structure—Ashley expelled a long sigh. “This might be where we stop,” she said.
“Why?” Rose asked.
Ashley pointed. “See the two big windows up there? Those are apartments—that much is already obvious. But these—” she lowered her finger to ground level “—I can’t be so sure of.”
With only two slatted windows, which offered an insubstantial view, it left literally everything to the imagination. The press of teeth against Ashley’s lip and her stranded focus did little to ease Rose’s already-shaky nerves.
“We could always just try,” Ben offered, taking a step forward. “You never know if we might—”
“Stop!” Ashley said. “Get back here right now!”
The man froze, then spun, lifting his hands as if caught and raising them to the sides of his head. “Sorry, officer,” he said with a cheeky grin, resorting to a low drawl that sounded much like a stereotypical Texan. “Didn’t know I was breakin’ the law.”
“You might be able to weasel your way out of sticky situations, but not everyone’s that fortunate. We have to think of the group here, Ben—not just ourselves.”
“All right, all right. Sheesh. I was just tryin’ to be—”
A flicker of a shadow passed along the sitting area.
“Did you see that?” Rose said.
“What?” Ashley asked. “Did I see what?”
“In the sitting area.”
“Knock it off,” Ben laughed. “You’re starting to scare me.”
Rose centered her attention on the corner where she’d seen the shadow.
It was only there briefly—just long enough for a shifting cloud to offer a trick of light.
“Shit,” Ben managed when Rose didn’t reply. “You’re not fucking kidding, are you?”
“Just hold still,” Ashley said. “Everything’s going to be fine.”
Peripherally, Rose saw the lieutenant reaching for the gun strapped to her thigh.
Ben paled.
The skinny Latino soldier—whose hands had returned to his rifle—gripped the stock and strummed his finger along the safety.
The apparition came into view—its build waifish, and so emaciated it appeared nothing more than twisted skin and sinews.
Its head had not yet revolved to look at them.
If they just remained still—if they didn’t move one single inch—
Cloud cover shadowed them.
“Shit,” Rose hissed.
She saw it before the clouds even had a chance to move: a figure rushing out from the darkness.
The sound of its skull hitting the window reverberated into the street.
Its eyes—milky, pale, yellowing at the edges and laced with veins branching from the irises—darted back and forth between the people in the street before its mouth opened in a snarl and an ungodly screech ripped free of its throat.
“Run,” Ashley said. “Run.”
They bolted.
There was no question. Given the creature’s state, there was no way it would be able to break through the window on its own, but that was the least of their worries. Their worst nightmare was realized when a series of guttural cries went out—lifting with the pitch of screaming lambs and the force of a freight train.
It shook the fabric of Rose’s person, made the hairs on her arms rise and her flesh crawl as though adorned with bugs. She ran as fast as she could, pumping her legs and arms. Ben tripped and went flying, the Polaroid camera sailing from his grasp and bouncing into an alleyway, while Ashley and the other soldier kept running—positioning themselves to safeguard against possible ambush.
Rose had just pulled Ben to his feet when she heard the sound of glass shattering.
Even from such a distance, she could see their bodies spilling out onto the street. It was so mesmerizing it was almost impossible to look away. Bodies vaulting from a second-story window into the streets below—it resembled a car crash or suicide: an act as impossible to stop as it was to look away from.
She had two choices: run or be eaten.
After Ben’s frantic gaze met hers, Rose turned and started after the others.
In an instant, the world regained clarity.
“Alpha, Beta, Cameron, Delta,” the lieutenant barked into the radio on her shoulder. “This is Lieutenant Farrah Ashley of Echo Team. The infected have caught sight of our location and are in quick pursuit. Numbers undeterminable but growing. I repeat: We are being pursued. Fall back. Retreat.”
A figure launched itself from a nearby alley.
Rose fired.
Blood and brain matter splattered along the wall.
“Shots fired! Shots fired!” returned from Ashley’s radio.
“Requesting immediate backup!” the lieutenant cried.
Rose huffed at the strain imposed upon her legs and chastised herself for not taking better care of herself during those weeks at sea. Already her body threatened to give in. Muscles screaming, bones aching, spine an accordion whose bellows no longer wished to maintain their shape—
Taking in a quick breath, Rose forced herself to remain as calm as possible and began the breathing technique universal to all runners.
The road leading to the plaza was just around the corner.
If they could only reach it before—
Something screeched, and launched itself from an open doorway.
The Latino soldier screamed.
Rose had no time to react before he was thrown to the ground.
“Christian!” Ashley screamed.
The man fought to keep hold of his weapon as the zombie struggled to overpower him, but it was no use. Easily a foot taller and twice his weight, it ripped his weapon from his hands with enough force to break his fingers before sinking its teeth into his cheek.
“GO!” Christian yowled.
He kicked his rifle toward the group and pulled his pistol from its holster.
The first shot killed the zombie.
The second--which Rose and the others didn’t see--was the one that ended his life.
The resulting gunburst sent a chorus of screeches, wails an
d roars into the air.
They hit the corner just as their backup appeared.
“Go go go!” one of heavily-armored tactical men cried, holding his riot shield steady as he waited for Rose and Ben to pass before following them toward the vehicles.
“One down,” Ashley gasped. “Christian Mills. Private.”
The tactical officer nodded as they loaded into one of the jeeps.
Rose bowed forward and held on for dear life as the driver peeled out.
“This is Echo Team,” Ashley said. “Report status. Over.”
“Alpha,” one said.
“Beta.”
“Cameron.”
“Delta.”
We’re all safe, Rose thought, closing her eyes.
The impact of a body striking, then vaulting over the jeep’s heavily-armored hood jarred her in her seat.
“Shit!” the driver screeched.
“Shut up and get us the hell out of here!” Ashley screamed back.
The man whirled around a corner and just narrowly avoided colliding with a flipped SUV. Their only saving grace was that before they hit it, he slammed on the brakes and careened toward the curb.
The squeal of tires and roar of the engine sent the vehicle through the median and toward a long stretch of congested road.
“Just stay calm,” the lieutenant said, speaking in a tone that was nothing like the frantic panic that came before. “You know how to do this. You’ve done this dozens of times.”
“I know, but not with—”
Ashley shook her head.
Though unable to determine what had passed between them, Rose saw in the lieutenant eyes a sense of justice that could not be shaken.
Duty, Rose thought. Service. Honor.
The shaken man offered a humble nod before he began to ease the military vehicle forward.
“You sure we’ll be all right?” Ben asked shortly after they started navigating the labyrinth of vehicles.
“We’ll be fine,” Ashley said. “Just shut up and be quiet.”
They returned to Fort Hope shaken, but otherwise safe. Having lost one of their own, a great mourning began to spread throughout the camp at an astounding rate—threaded by their arrival, woven by the sorrows of those present. One man—who Rose thought was either brother or lover—simply fell to the ground in hysterics, while others merely lowered their heads, a somber declaration for the tragedy in the open world.