Knight of the Dead (Book 3): Fortress

by Ron Smorynski

  Dad stopped and stared at Lena...

  Dad burst out of that small gate. There was enough time for Lena and Lisa to close it and lock it. His wife waved goodbye. He didn't see it. The mass of zombies were up and around the corner from them and only a few were straggling by. He used his sword as he rode. But he had to swing with his left hand. It wasn't like there was any swordplay, any finesse required, it was just swinging and he had it down already. It was odd, but on this bike, his bike, he felt like he could handle the bike while swinging his sword better than before. His stiffness suddenly left him. A breeze whistled into his helm cooling him. He throttled and handled the bike with his right hand while swinging with his left. But only enough, always bringing the hand down to correct or reconnect with the handle bars, to swivel or realign the bars and start anew.

  It was as if he went up a level in skill. His muscles and mind found a new course of coordination in some sort of evolving like way. And no, he did not believe in macro evolution! Micro evolution? Variation in kinds... sure... that was Genesis 30... when Jacob bred different sheep. But they were still sheep! Course he didn't believe in evolution, well, not like mud to human kind done in a non-God way. Of course, God created everything. And he created us with this amazing ability to evolve with the situation, the environment. It was obvious and already hypothesized in the Bible. Jacob bred sheep and saw, literally in real time their variations, weeding out the strong from the weak.

  More importantly, God created us to learn and self-correct, with a purpose. Even our bodies would adjust to the conditions, to the temperature, the temperament, the temperance. Dad felt his body suddenly acclimate to this kind of world, this kind of living and struggle.

  He found a new purpose in his mind and psyche. It kind of fascinated him while this massive terror of zombies collected around the school. He drove along the fringes with one hand, his other momentarily slapping against the handlebar to help correct then coming out swinging lightning fast. He sliced and diced zombies as he drove around them.

  He was sort of like a cowboy herding cattle. He wasn't afraid of this massive churning buzzing zombie frenzy just to his left. Even cattle could be deadly to a cowboy who did the wrong thing. He had evolved to the next level of understanding. It didn't exhaust or strain him. He didn’t feel mental fatigue like the other survivors during and after a battle. They'd get used to it eventually, if they survive these first few rounds of fighting. He literally yelped, "Heeyawh!"

  A few fast ones were there, but not many. Most of them were stuck in the masses banging on the fences. At this point, on the outside, the vast majority were the slow, stiff and limping ones. He easily cut through them. It was like herding, in some sense, herding evil cannibal cows that sensed him and slowly maneuvered the herd toward him.

  The school was quiet with the people hidden within. Charlotte and Nick were atop the roof with Maggy, Carl, and Sofia. They kept low and watched from Charlotte's various cluttered watch posts. Both kept their rifles ready. She knew to hunt and look for any bigger zombies, the lumbering big ones.

  Dad just... felt... good. He felt weird and limber on his bike. He weaved it in and out of the few cars and trash bins and on sidewalks and bumpy driveways, back and forth. He dropped a dozen zombies to clear a path. Then the massive horde, like a vast lazy herd, rambled toward him. He rode up along, passing one massive crowd, slicing through the front row to get through, and then the next bulbous attachment to the horde would move his way. He was now running along the perimeter outside the parking lot where they had crowded against the fencing.

  He got trapped by them so he leaned his helm down. He quickly sheathed his sword, held the handlebars with both gauntlets and pushed through the weak grabbing zombies. Many flailed as they held on to him but he kept his weight even and heavy against the bike, searching through the crowd for flat open terrain. As long as the wheels met road, he could keep pushing through the grasping claws.

  Once semi-clear, he gunned the gas and yanked any clinging zombies along. It was like a slow massive cloud of buzzing bees following the Pied Piper. And that leader was a knight mounted on his motorcycle.

  In parts, he saw a rising mass of their flailing body parts, a fluttering reveal of The Horde forming.

  He didn't care so long as he could lead them away. He drove around the large school bus still sitting in the front, off to one side. He remembered the ladies getting killed in there on his first rescue mission where less than half made it, that half being Steve, Randall, Sean, Tom, Katrina, Sofia and Nick. He passed the front of the school, causing the entire length of zombies to begin their slow massive turn.

  As they did, he felt relaxed and his mind wondered. He thought then of the various rescues he had completed. Beth and her kids Carl and Maggy were first. Then that rescue mission where the crazy yelling from the balcony ruined it, but he still managed to get them, Steve and the rest. Then they rescued Jerry and Julianne as he searched out the house with the garden. Then little Amy appeared, very sad but also very cute. Then there was this latest, rescuing the old lady and the eight or ten folks from the third floor. He only recalled forlorn ragged looks of people. Except for the old lady and guy, the rest appeared younger. He wasn't sure. Then there was Amador, his wife and only two of the three children. Dad could not recall what the third child looked like.

  He thought sadly of his children, all their pictures, all his family pictures burned in their home when he destroyed that first Horde. A sadness flashed through his thoughts realizing this. The only back up of the digital photos was far away, at his mother's home up in San Jose. He'd never make it there. He thought of his sister and remembered her last text, saying they heard them outside but were hiding and praying for him.

  He took a deep sobbing breath and blinked out of it. The sounds of his motorcycle and of zombies returned in an instant. He realized it was getting very crowded.

  He drove a block away knowing the routine. He drove down as zombies poured through the yards and over shoddy fences. He drove further and came back around to the other end, returning to the school to gather any still banging on the fence.

  He drew them away, two or three blocks length of zombies flooding the area. It wasn't Horde size yet and he felt he was going to lead it away, spreading it out before it formed too quickly. Yet he could see beyond them, along Sunset Boulevard and other streets, the myriad of spread out zombies congregating, coming to this area.

  It was perhaps the maximum reached apex of zombies, in the greater Los Angeles region. It was a pinnacle, a culmination, an epic configuration. Not that this area was holding the maximum, but that the pinnacle of zombie infestation gathering was happening. Where humanity was pretty much turned, and there wasn't anybody left for the zombies to hunt. The noises across the city were gone. The distant explosions of military incursions were gone. They weren't distracted by survivors desperate in their various holdouts. The zombies spread out across the city were now fully attentive to this one knight and his fortress.

  That is what Dad felt, riding along as the zombie crowds followed him, and more and more were coming from all sides. He weaved in and out of cars and zombies. He easily killed small packs of them, but saw hundreds more appear all along the streets. They were all bored, with no one left to hunt, in a city of millions and a greater valley of tens of millions.

  Dad growled as he gunned his motorcycle. He could sense he had them all hooked to him, following after him. He had to keep driving, further and further away from his family. He could see now why Sean had not returned. They must have finally attracted all the zombies for miles around, seeing how there were less and less survivors. It was only going to get worse and their fortress could not withstand or fight this massive spread of zombies, congregating, migrating slowly and constricting around them, coming in from miles around.

  He rode all the way down Fairfax Avenue, leading this rising horde. He kept close to the mass as best he could with more zombies filling the widening area. He began speeding
up as the mass was forming The Horde. It was strange to see it 'evolve', he thought. It seemed to get faster and more virulent as zombies collected. The edges were slow with the zombies lumbering along, but they seemed to get more excited, more aggressive as it amassed to The Horde.

  And he saw it finally form as such, pushing away cars and opening the streets up. Even as other zombies crashed into him, trying to pull down his weighted armored mass, he looked back at The Horde as it reared like crashing ocean waves flooding the street behind him. It felt more massive than before, more coming in from all directions.

  He quickly dispensed with several zombies, biting and gnashing against his clanking armor, then sheathed his sword for good. For he felt he would be riding his mount surely now. He raced along as The Horde poured around him. He made sure to rev the motorcycle, making as much noise as possible to lead The Horde on.

  As he drove down, he saw the crowded intersection near Lena's old high school at Fairfax, where he remembered his first foray, with just a shotgun, a sword, and two arm greaves. The intersection was jammed with cars, ambulances, and a firetruck. He remembered the center of the road being open, when the cops and firemen tried to save others, only to be bitten and turning amidst others. He remembered it when he rescued Lena from the high school adjacent.

  He drove through, having to slow down and scrape through cars, to get to the opening. The front tendrils of The Horde leapt and careened upon him but he burst through and raced down the street.

  To his left, he somehow saw them, a few guys atop the gym of the high school. They were a distance away, wearing football gear. They tried to wave but kept low. They were all black. He noticed that.

  Oddly, he waved back. They waved again but hid from the massive Horde crashing down all around. They had some sort of strange rooftop hideout and boxes of stuff. It was just three guys, high school boys most likely from that high school. He couldn't discern too much as he raced along sensing The Horde quaking the ground about.

  He bent low like a surfer caught in the tunnel of a wave and raced down the street. It was a fast furious harrowing propulsion through jammed cars. Rear view mirrors burst apart as he drove by. Several times he nearly lost control of the handles bars as he was forced to scrape between vehicles too close to each other. Even along the scratches and sparks and crackle of metal, he raced.

  The sounds were muted as The Horde crashed in massive folds behind him. He cackled with maniacal joy as the wind whistled in his helm. It was odd, but he could hear the whistle quite clearly and joyously.

  His thought now, was the sports store down this way? Why yes it was. He'd go get more guns.

  12. Gun Trip

  Dad drove far enough away from his family at the school. Actually, he was miles away. This should at least draw millions away from that area. He knew they were safe as long as they remained hidden and quiet. It wasn't that he cleared the area out forever, he knew that and sighed. Zombies were like mud. You can dig a hole to clear out the mud, but the mud around it just seeps in. And shortly thereafter, water quickly fills the hole. That's the fast ones. It's a bad analogy but all Dad could think of. It's not like he was a creative writer.

  He had redirected the hordes swarming, their focus and their alarm, hopefully to the area he was in now. He kept revving the bike, slowing, disengaging with the clutch and revving, wondering if he was in an impasse. He would have to slowly crawl through some tight areas, bash a zombie or two off, then rev some more, reverse quickly, get back, gun it, and find another length to race off to. He'd scowl in his helm. Only he knew he was scowling but it felt good, psychotic and fun.

  A zombie ran up to him. It grabbed at his arm to bite it. He jerked the arm violently, turning the zombie. It fell to one knee, reaching up to grab him as he hammer-fisted it with his metal gauntlet, crushing in its rotting skull. Another came and he swung at the right moment, back handing it with the steel gauntlet. It's face was crushed into its skull, dropping it. He growled in his helm. At that moment, he had to back up one car length realizing he couldn't get through. The zombies sensed he was trapped. What they did not sense was his armor, his gauntlets, and his skill.

  He drove on in a clearing and pulled out his sword. He swung at zombies left and right. It became second nature on the bike now. His swerves and momentary loses of control became part of the rhythm and drive. When his front wheel seemed almost ready to lock from being turned too quickly, his armored body knew to lean back and lesson its maximized turning restraint. Then his left arm would suddenly know to yank it back and straighten it out, and onward he drove, without missing a heartbeat.

  He could almost hear the prideful neigh and gallop of his mount.

  He parked behind the old sports store he had looted before, early on. He left plenty of ammo and rifles since the last time he came. Zombies across the area began to migrate, not sensing their prey. He stood a moment to surmise what to do, hiding around the corner but standing tall nonetheless. A few came quickly sensing him entering the area. They turned the corner. He dispensed with them.

  Many more were slower, rambling toward the parking lot. Further out, some quick ones ran along, but were unsure exactly which way to go. They hunted for sensory alerts around the slow ones, trying to see what attracted them.

  Dad stood and watched for a while. A few slow ones were entering, just continuing the path they started sensing. It was a wide open multi-pronged intersection. It had two perpendicular streets and one diagonal, which gave it a wide, open crossing. And the diagonal street had an additional smaller side street, which made it even more odd and open.

  The intersection was filled with cars and buses. All signs of blood and gore were long gone by the days, weeks, and weather that had occurred on that fateful day of Armageddon.

  Dad slowly stepped in a stiff gait. He watched to see if the zombies would react. They kind of moved toward him but not really. They were meandering around, remembering something brought them here, but not what.

  He found the rear entrance away from the front lot and intersection. It was locked. There was a car parked in the back. He went over to it. The door window was bashed, the car door open, and the keys were in the ignition. The store manager got to his car but was ripped out before he could start it. Dad yanked the keys and opened the rear door. He walked into the stock room and out to the front of the store. He watched from the shadows of the store, looking out to the front. Nothing came at him. The area was filling with zombies, but none came to him.

  He turned back into the darkness.

  Within moments he was out again, with two sports bags full of rifles, ammo, and sports pads. He got the baseball and hockey ones, the hardened stuff. He had two football helms tied on. He moved fast to the bike, being impatient. This immediately awoke the zombies to his presence.

  But he knew the routine, quickly using Velcro and resistance bands to secure the heavy bags. During the securing, he had to bash several fast zombies, leaping and scratching at his steel armor. He punched and kicked them down. Before they could get up, he had his sword drawn, splitting their heads.

  He jumped on his bike as hundreds were coming, a vast spread of slow ones and a few fast were coming through alerting the rest.

  He shook off the zombies by the store, driving quickly around neighborhood streets. Then he drove back up to Hollywood, as quietly as he could this time. He was trying to attract less of the scattered zombies and especially The Horde. But that wasn't easy. There were no other sounds across the city to divert their attention. He knew he was attracting them from the blocks nearby, and those would draw in more that were further out. He would have to figure out some sort of decoy, an alternative source of noises.

  He realized that that was the new thing they'd have to work on, some sort of sound decoy, to throw them off. There was a famous music store connected to the southward fence of the school. It was the famous Rock and Roll Hall of Fame guitar shop. He realized they could easily break in, get some speakers set up in different locati
ons, and get those things blaring out whenever they needed to go out. Something like that.

  Sounded a little more complicated than what he wanted. They'd need some kind of audio engineer and cables and some amazing tower like location just to do it, just to make something effective. And of course, they’d need to find ways to power it all.

  He then stopped at a big pick-up souped up like some metro monster truck.

  13. Hardcore Heavy Metal

  He wondered about starting the truck up, having its engine running and music playing, leaving it as a loud distraction. He parked ahead in a clearing so he knew he could get to his bike and take off. He walked back. The driver's door was open and a zombie was strapped in. He killed the weak hissing zombie driver. It had dreadlocks and piercings all along its face. It was once some cool punk dude or something. He tried the truck. It started. Nice.

  The audio suddenly blurted some hardcore music. He hadn't listened to music like this, so loud and crazy for so long. It was some hardcore industrial tune, if one could call it that. It was loud but he knew he wanted it even louder, so he stepped up, reached in there with his gauntlet, and turned the dial. IT BLASTED!

  Wow, it had some sound system. He bobbed and jerked to the pounding guttural music as he pushed out.

  He landed to realize a zombie was chewing on his leg. It was eating at his armor and padding. He yanked his leg, grabbing at it. He slammed its head into the truck.

  He reached back up and used the dead zombie driver. He kept the truck in park with the break on and put the zombie leg on the gas. It wasn't enough, so he cut the head off and stuck it against the knee to jam it against the pedal and seat. It worked. The truck was revving, roaring and smoking out the exhaust.

  Sitting there so long, the engine oil and gas were probably leaking into each other which created a dense smoke. Dad stepped out of the truck and heard the blasting music and roaring engine. He didn't have much time to enjoy it as zombies rushed in from the jammed cars and through the oily white smoke.