by Jones, K. J.
Problem: Matt had no weapons.
A young soldier stood paralyzed in fear on the road. Matt hit him in the head with his cast. With the guy down, Matt took the M4 and extra mag clips and moved out on his mission. His first shots at zoms told him the ammo was not hollow point or explosive. This would make life even more interesting. It took a lot of bullets to take zoms down. The M4 was semi-automatic with a max of three bullet burst at one trigger pull. Not something conducive to combat with a fast-moving horde. Better than just a cast, though.
Matt kept close to the walls as he moved. The panicking soldiers ran past him, making a lot of movement and sounds. The zoms followed them. The attacks, all things he had seen before. The shooting. The screaming. He remembered Peter’s saying about this, “When the running, the shooting, and the screaming starts.” Right again, Matt thought.
Something new exploded. He had heard the planes, but this came as a new explosion from another direction.
Entering the building that contained the stockade, Matt found it empty and dimly lit from emergency lighting. The zoms had gotten in. He stepped over dead bodies and blood. Adult males had been in here.
Matt knew how to reach the stockade from his earlier trip there, having made sure to memorize the corridors and stairs, just in case.
From a side hall, he saw a flash and heard a snarl. The adult male zom tackled him hard. Matt’s back slammed into the opposing wall. The rifle dropped to the floor. Matt’s only defense against the slobbering mouth: the cast. He punched at the snarling face with his other fist.
Several shots hit the side of the zom’s head. It took several, and nothing came out the other side of the skull.
“Sonofabitch bullets,” a male voice said from further down the corridor.
Matt shoved the zom off of him. “Pell?”
“Matt?”
“Should’ve known.”
“What? That I won’t leave my wife and child behind.”
Brandon reached down his hand to help Matt up.
“You get married without inviting me?” Matt asked.
“No. But, just saying. It’s this way, right? I was only here once. And in cuffs. So…”
Matt scooped up his rifle. “Have you been wandering around lost?”
“A little.”
“I know the way.”
“Lead, Sergeant. Nice cast.”
“Turns out to be helpful.”
Matt found the stockade section and entered the cell area. He laughed.
Phebe and Emily had ripped apart their mattresses to make ZBDUs and busted up the cot frames to make weapons.
Brandon rushed to the cell bars, too love-struck to find it funny.
“Are damsels in distress here?” Matt asked.
“Yeah,” said Phebe. “Are you the knights in shining armor? Hope you’re packing a SAW.”
“Trying to be. And no SAW. Got crappy bullets.”
“I have a weapon.” Phebe raised a piece of metal that had a jagged end. Mattress canvas wrapped around the end for a handle.
“That and my cast could work.”
Matt searched the desk and the floor. “Where the fuck are keys? Don’t tell me there aren’t keys.”
“The dead guy that way.” Phebe stuck her hand through the bars and pointed down the hall. “That’s the guard. Things didn’t work out so well for his first time with a zom.”
“Is the zom still here?”
“No. It chased the other guard out.”
Inmates called to him, but all the Zoners did so quietly, using their hands to wave at him and whispering. Most of them had torn up their cots as the women had done.
“Shut up,” one inmate hissed at a non-Zoner soldier who was loudly calling at Matt. “Shh, the Zs, asshole.”
Matt stood up with the keys from the dead MP’s body.
“Don’t leave us, brother,” an inmate whispered.
“I ain’t gonna leave Zoner brothers,” Matt said. “Hold tight.”
Returning to the cell door, he unlocked it and hugged Phebe.
“Gotta release the rest. Want the gun? Gimme that.” Matt took Phebe’s cot piece weapon. “On me.”
“I’m on you.” Phebe slipped on the floor in the knockoff Croc rubber mules, catching her balance at the last moment. “Fuck. What size boot does that MP have?”
“Big.”
“Shit. Gotta get us some real shoes.”
Matt unlocked every occupied cell and received thanks. Where they all thought they were going, he didn’t ask. Their problem.
“Let’s roll,” he said to his tribe.
“We gotta get them some real shoes,” Brandon said.
“Yeah, I got the memo. Try the dead soldiers on the way.”
3.
Since they had changed into street clothes, Peter and the boys had their shoes on. Good thing. Unable to pull himself away from Miss Glenda as she decreed her sacrifice, Peter had missed the moment. The zoms had encircled the building. They heard the sounds and running feet passing the aluminum sidewalls.
A bunch of remaining people piled cots in front of the front doors. Hair Eater hid under her cot. Another crazy jumped up and down on his cot, imitating the young zoms, giving off a lunatic laugh. The cot broke and he fell. Normally, something Peter would laugh at, but no time.
Reaching the emergency door, the boys right behind him, other people at the back of his row were already there.
“Wait up,” Peter told the boys. “Pick up this cot.”
He had a hunch about what would happen from the sounds outside.
The civilians pushed open the emergency door. The alarm went off as if more noises were needed. They rushed out and they were attacked instantly.
Peter looked back at Miss Glenda one last time. She nodded. Her Bible held tightly to her chest as she closed her eyes and prayed.
Peter and the boys used a cot as a ram-head, knocking zoms out of their way to exit through the door.
“Keep going!” Peter had to yell at the top of his lungs to be heard.
Sirens rang out and a piercing alarm through the PA speakers.
Out behind Building B, across a street, and onto a solid, cement-block building. They used the cot to bust open the door. Inside, the cot pinned the door closed.
At least it was quieter inside. A man could think.
“Wow,” Peter said. Chest moving up and down fast. “That happened.”
“Where are we?” Jayce asked.
“Beats the shit outta me. But at least it’s not aluminum.”
The lights stayed on. Peter took out the map and smiled. The stockade was marked on it.
“We go that way.” He pointed in the direction, giving it a guess.
“Let’s go.” Tyler ran down the corridor first.
“Together, Ty,” Peter yelled after him.
As soon as they made it through the exiting double doors, Jayce veered off.
The noises bombarded them. Helicopters flew overhead. Gunboats turned in circles and aimed their titled downward noses to let loose their chain guns.
“What the fuck? Jayce! Shit. Ty, we gotta follow that idiot.”
“With you, Staff,” Tyler said, armed with pieces of a metal cot frame.
Peter grasped his cane with both hands and pulled it apart.
“Whoa. It’s not a sword.”
Peter had two long daggers. “What am I going to do with a sword? Duel somebody? Move out to Jayce.”
Jayce stopped at seeing the sight ahead. The massive chain-link fence to the detainee area was mangled. Dead bodies everywhere. Some severely injured people moved around on the ground or on top of others. A zom kid jumped up and down on a pile of dead civilians. The trail from the fence breach laden with dead soldiers, and a German shepherd.
“Brings back memories.” Peter came up behind Jayce. “We gotta save our own asses now.”
“What if –”
“Angela would kick my ass forever if I let you go into that.”
“T
hey’re dead. Aren’t they?”
Tyler yelled, “We are if we don’t go now, brother.”
“Jay,” said Peter. “Let’s go. Don’t mourn when you could be dead soon too.”
Jayce scowled.
Peter grabbed him into a run. “Onward. We’re in the base part now.”
4.
“All targets open,” the voice said in the N-ears.
“What the fuck is this, 28 Weeks Later?” Pez yelled.
“They nuked that base in that movie,” responded Darsi without taking his face away from firing at targets inside the base.
Their shots hit zoms, blowing out their throats and heads. But the non-Zoner snipers made chest shots. Some snipers now shot the healthy, too, which was what all targets open meant.
“Fuck,” said Pez. “They gonna nuke us?”
“Or something equally fucked up.”
“We gotta get the fuck outta here, man.”
“Ya think?”
5.
“Oh, this is so unpleasant,” Peter said.
They ducked to a wall, dripping with zom blood from all those they stabbed.
“I can crawl to that M4,” said Tyler.
“It practically shoots pellets.”
“I’ll clear the way.” Jayce charged out with his metal weapon and a belly full of rage.
“Holy shit,” Peter muttered from the bravery of the teen fighters.
Without Peter’s okay, Tyler scooted out and snatched the M4 from a dead soldier. He searched for more mags and got out of there three seconds before more zoms arrived with soldiers shooting everywhere at them.
“Holy crap.” Tyler panted, pressed against the wall. “I almost got shot. I could hear the bullets go past my head. You see that?”
“I worry about you,” Peter heard machine gunfire closing in. “Follow, boys.”
“Go faster, cripple guy,” said Tyler.
“Remind me to take my belt to you later.”
“As if, old man.”
6.
Phebe and Emily finished tying up dead men’s boots. Now, they could run properly. Now, they needed to run. Sounds told fighting grew closer.
“This way,” said Brandon.
“You sure?” asked Matt.
“How are we gonna get outta here?” asked Emily. “The base, I mean?”
“Um.”
“Matt?”
“I’m thinking.”
“Think fast,” said Phebe. “They’re coming this way. I’m going for cripple and crown.”
Phebe aimed the M4 at the double doors which someone had previously barricaded with furniture.
“Helicopters or Humvees,” Matt said. “Those are the only two options to self-exfil.” Ex-fil, short for exfiltration, the opposite of infiltration.
“I know where the Humvee lot is,” said Brandon.
“Chris got the helos on his map. They’re both in the same direction.”
“Isn’t it through that door?” Brandon pointed to the furniture barricaded doors.
“The closet route, yeah.”
“Oh, we’re having some endless fun now,” said Brandon.
Emily began yanking furniture out of the barricade.
“Then we gotta hoof it fast beyond those doors.” Matt joined in.
“Thinking there’s a lot of zoms that way.” Brandon pulled a desk away.
“Sounds like it,” said Matt. “Ready, ladies?”
“As much as we’ll ever be,” said Emily.
“Stay close to me, honey.” Brandon aimed his M4.
“I’ll take your back if that’s what you’re saying.” Emily raised her dead man’s weapon.
“Ready?”
7.
Chris and Kevin found a Humvee ambulance with a dead soldier hanging out of it. It stood on the street. The driver had virtually no throat left.
“What the fuck dumbass shit happened here?” Chris asked.
“Incoming, five o’clock.”
Chris turned and opened fire at the zom, riddling it with the rapid-fire of the SAW. Afterward, he looked wryly at the butcher job he had done.
“I really should go for crippling. Save some bullets.”
“No fun that way.” Kevin yanked the dead soldier’s body free and let it drop onto the pavement. “Ew. We got a towel or something?”
“I’ll drive.”
“Who says you drive?”
“I’m bigger than you.”
“Oh, I see how it is. Fine. You sit in dead man’s shit.”
“It ain’t shit for real, is it?” Chris looked inside.
Kevin fired moderately at an incoming, swiping its legs to cripple it, then not bothering with the crowning part.
“Just mostly blood,” Kevin answered.
The zom crawled towards him.
“Yuck,” said Chris. “Okay, whatever. Get in and get to that fifty-cal.”
Kevin smiled. “Now we’re talking.”
8.
Peter would not recommend using blades against adult male zoms. The effort was tiresome.
“We can’t keep doing it this way,” he said.
“This gun sucks,” Tyler exclaimed.
They had ducked into another building.
“I told you. It’s regular bullets.”
“We need something better.”
“Yeah, your wish is my command.”
They had teeth scratches on their ZBDU leather. So far, no penetrating bites. But for how long would that luck hold out? Or a nice punch to the side of the head or neck break? Their throats were unprotected.
Since Peter never had a good relationship with Lady Luck, he needed to think of a plan to get the boys out of here fast. His instinct screamed to go after Phebe, but that mission promised harm to the boys. He felt torn in two directions.
“I hear a voice,” said Jayce. “You hear that?”
They followed a calm female voice speaking in an office. A handheld radio stood on the desk of a dead officer.
“He shot himself,” muttered Jayce. “So not cool.”
“The fucking coward,” Tyler said.
Peter took the handheld. A calm female voice spoke something he distinctly disliked.
“T-minus thirty-five minutes.”
“Oh...shit.”
Nothing good ever followed a countdown like that in any movie. No one did that and a stripper popped out of a cake.
The boys looked at Peter’s blanched face.
“What does that mean?” asked Jayce. “A countdown?”
“To what?” asked Tyler.
“To, ah, I’m guessing to be being nuked,” said Peter. “That’s what happens in the movies.”
“What?” Jayce’s voice shrieked.
“We’re gonna get nuked, for real?” asked Tyler, without the appropriate level of alarm.
“Probably nuclear warhead cruise missiles. Guessing. But we have gotta go.”
“What about Pheebs?”
“Shit.”
A review of the map, now crumpled and damp with his sweat and zom blood.
“The Humvee lot is beyond the building containing the stockade. We hit both. But we gotta move a fuck load faster.”
“You tell the zoms that,” said Jayce. “You see how many are wearing fatigues?”
But none wore ZBDUs. They were soldiers and Marines among the left-behind. Maybe they followed the sounds and sights of all the aircraft coming in with detainees during the rescues.
Peter leaned over the desk and took the suicide’s pistol from his dead hand. “Got any more bullets, buddy.” He came around the desk and searched.
“We need shotguns,” said Jayce. “Or a SAW or something.”
“Would totally help. Keep eyes out for any. Boys, look at the map. Memorize fast. I may not be able to direct you once we’re out there. Prepare for all contingencies in battle.”
The boys studied the crumpled map. Their gazes moved up to Peter’s face and they nodded.
“Let’s roll.”
&
nbsp; Peter opted for the handgun in one hand, dagger in the other. Jayce took his other dagger. Tyler kept the M4.
9.
A zom chomped down onto Matt’s cast. He rammed the metal cot frame into its eye and kept pushing until important parts of the brain were hit. It kind of felt good. A little cathartic.
Phebe fired at the legs of the incoming, causing them to fall and crawl, but requiring a lot of bullets to reach the desired effect. Brandon and Emily, both with acquired M4s, sprayed the legs of incoming from behind the group.
They would run out of bullets soon.
10.
“We just drive outta here.” Kevin took the N-ear piece, throat mic, and radio he found in the Humvee. “Fuck.” He listened to the chorus of various voices. “The north gate is breached, too.”
“Explains why they’re so dang many of ‘em,” said Chris.
“But there’s nothing about the south gate. We head there. Just drive outta here and haul ass as many miles as we can get.”
“Dang. Sully’s over yonder there.”
“Well, he’s probably dead,” said Kevin. “He could’ve been on that plane.”
Chris thought this through. “Though I reckon you said that outta being a prick and all, but you may have stumbled onto some logic there, Nazi. But I know somebody who ain’t over there. The Girl still locked up. Bet they ain’t released prisoners for this shit fest. The other one there too. She a pain in the ass liberal, but she alright. Let’s go get ‘em.”
“No. I got a little brother out there.”
Chris turned the lever on the Humvee and pushed the ignition button. He smiled at the engine engaging. Things went well.
“He here, your little brother?”
“No. They drafted him.”
“Then we ain’t gotta rescue him now.”
Chris rotated the manual transmission stick and reversed the Humvee ambulance, having to use the side mirrors to see behind. He turned the wheel and geared into drive. He didn’t care who he hit. Turned out part of the hillybilly rigging soldiers had done to the ambulance included a big steel bumper, even better than the old Black Beast’s.
“Why am I risking my ass for these girls?” asked Kevin. “You call one of ‘em the Beheader?”
“The one you assholes tried to kidnap.”
“She killed my men.”
“Y’all started it.”
“And the other is a Jew?”
“Don’t you start your shit, asshole.”