by Mark Tufo
“Steve Rogers! It is now your turn!” the lieutenant commanded.
I don’t know what it was—a sixth sense, an innate feeling, gut reaction—but I would have bet money the moment my silhouette was framed in the doorway, I would be aerated.
“Be right out!” I shouted. I grabbed Trip and headed for the back door. That had about as much chance of working as not cutting an entire pizza into slices so you could call it one piece to stick to your diet. I could see shadows moving across the window in the back door. I had about thirty seconds before they rushed the house. Then what? Did I start murdering cops? How in the fuck would I justify that?
“They’re here,” Trip said. I thought he was referring to the cops. If I wasn’t scared shitless, I would have given him shit about stating the obvious. Then I heard the shriek—the night runners had found us, and if hell hadn’t already broken loose, it sure was about to. There were screams and there was gunfire, none of it from inside or directed at the house—both good signs. But it was close and getting closer. I saw the cop by the back door turn toward the sound of the shrieks. Heard him say “What the fuck?” plain as day, then fire four shots from his pistol, and then I watched blood spray over the window. The door bounced as his body fell into it. Took my mind a few seconds to catch up with what was actually happening. I was frozen, not so much in shock as in indecision; unfortunately, I had seen far too much blood spilled to be shocked by it.
I headed back to the front door, as the back avenue was closed. I had a few minutes while that poor soul out there was devoured. The front sounded very much like an active war zone as at least eight policemen were trying to keep the beasts at bay. Didn’t need to be a tactician to see how this was going to play out. The cops were too few, the weapons not big enough, the night runners had the numbers, and some were circling around to get position. A loping night runner sprang up onto the middle cruiser and then onto the back of the nearest cop, dragging him down and tearing into his neck as he did so. The cop’s head was beaten against the ground mercilessly as the night runner fought to get a chunk of meat into his mouth while subduing his pray. The cop next to the event put as many hastily shot rounds into his partner as he did into the offender; in the end, they were both extremely dead.
The eight had dwindled to five, and they were moments away from becoming none. All of their attention was on the encroaching horde. I could not take my eyes away from the furthest cruiser, where Lynn and Bill now resided, looking around wildly. I could see them both trying to open the back doors, but anyone who, like myself, has had some experience in the backseat of a cruiser realizes there is no exit by way of door handle. You thought child locks were bad, criminal locks are much worse. I had to get Trip and myself to that car while not only not getting eaten, but not shot as well. I knew the keys were in it because the lights were still on, giving the entire scene a very surreal, staccato Christmas nightmare effect. If my world ever got back on track—and if I ever got back there—I would never again be able to associate the traditional green and red with anything but this killing field.
I thought about the stealth approach, right up until I brought my rifle to my shoulder and I got to the doorway. My rifle was much louder than anything the police were shooting; they would have been hard-pressed to miss the sound of it. Got to admit, I was pretty damn happy when they only spared a second to look and not shoot. Would not have been the smartest thing they’d done, because my shots were effectively keeping the night runners at bay—not my ultimate goal, though. If we did somehow hold them, the cops would still take me into custody and odds were I’d even get blamed for the invasion. No, my objective was that Walker-filled cruiser and then stepping on the gas to get us the hell out of here.
“Trip, we have to go; stay close.” The problem with him was that he could take things too literally. I could have worn him as a jacket if I’d so desired. His footfalls were less than an inch from my own. He was like a damn ninja as he did it, too, mirroring everything I did. It was uncanny and irritating.
“Get in your cars!” I shouted to the police.
“Ooh,” Trip whispered in my ear. “It’s best not to garner their attention.”
One thing about police, they’re not usually too keen on taking orders from civilians, even ones dressed in military garb. They didn’t even acknowledge that I’d spoken. I was making decent time to the cruiser, which was only fifty feet away—but across a battlefield, well, that’s a different fifty feet. Just ask an English soldier during World War One what hell fifty feet of open space could entail. A house off to the right was in the initial throes of flame, didn’t think the fire department was going to make it to squash that one.
Trip was so fucking close that when I fired my rifle and my shoulder absorbed the recoil, my shoulder blade would gently tap him. His hot sour-cream-smelling breath was going down my neck; it was worse than having a squadron of sand fleas nesting there and not being able to swat them away. Anyone who’s ever spent any time at Parris Island will get the reference. Listen, there’s not a one of us who has not been bitten by an insect at one time or another, just a fact of life, but to be actively told that you could not move as the little fuckers had their way with you, well, that’s its own special kind of hell. Welcome to the Marine Corps!
The night runners were pressing the attack; it was all I could do to keep them away. At the midway mark, I thought about turning around; the cruiser seemed out of reach. Would have, too, if Trip hadn’t whispered in my ear like a lover might. I mean, he did so in a soft, intimate type of way; the words, however, could never be construed as anything even remotely romantic, I guess, you decide.
“We’re about to be eaten,” he cooed.
I blasted a burst of rounds into the trio of runners ahead of me, foregoing the ones behind. I didn’t have the time to protect us in a 360-degree arc. Our only option was forward, and in a fucking hurry. Two shots took the first runner center mass, blowing through his heart and lungs, stopping him almost immediately. The female to his side was faster, or smarter; as she was attempting to move away, I swiveled my sights on to her. The first bullet tore into the left side of her ribcage, blowing a few of her ribs out to the side, making it look like she had just sprouted a set of gills. It had to hurt like hell, but it wasn’t enough to stop her. I tracked her movements until I put a round square in her mouth, breaking out the lower half of her jaw; a mouthful of teeth fell to the ground just a second or two before she did.
The third was almost my undoing; he had climbed onto the cruiser and had launched directly at me, mouth first. I put four bullets into him, one in each shoulder and two in the crown of his head. The problem was his momentum—he was still going to hit me and I wasn’t sure I could take the hit and recover before I was pounced on from the sides or the back. Trip, like a magician, with incredible sleight of hand, somehow reached around me, over my right shoulder, snatching that runner out of midair and using the beast’s momentum to edge him off just enough to the side to keep us from colliding. Caught the toe of a boot on the side of my head, but not enough to divert me off course.
“Thanks!” I yelled to Trip as I reached for the passenger door handle. I wrenched the door open and immediately scooted across the seat so that Trip could get in. Somehow, without explanation, he had already shut the door behind him before I got over to the other side, and I’m telling you right now, I think I set a land speed record.
“I’d like two chalupas, seven soft tacos, and a Mexican pizza,” Trip said as I was putting the car in drive.
“What the hell are those things!?” Bill yelled from the backseat.
“We need to get to the school!” Lynn yelled.
“Night runners, and how do I get there?” I asked.
“Take a right up here.” Lynn was pointing; the car bounced as I nailed a runner in the hip with the bumper. I heard the satisfying crunch of a bone breaking as I did so. Two more slammed into the driver’s side; my window splintered as a large male attempted to put his sku
ll through the thick glass, leaving behind a heavy smear of blood, gristle, and hair.
“What the hell is going on!?” Bill was losing his shit, it was more a shriek than a question. The Jack I knew was not truly a brother to this one, but if he was, it was safe to say who was the more high-strung of the two. “I need to get out of here!” He was smacking the window while also pulling on the handle. Lynn was attempting to calm him down. He was hitting it harder and harder to the point he was pissing me off. If he had been one of my kids, I would have threatened to turn the car around.
“Fucking stop!” I yelled instead. Thankfully, he did. We were hauling ass through town; it seemed that the invasion had not spread too far away from where we had been. That was good because it meant we could move pretty quickly, almost unimpeded. Cars were pulling out of the way as I was coming, which was a little bad too, because they didn’t know what was coming and I didn’t really have a way to warn them—and then it could maybe become really bad, if the invasion was that localized because they were honing in on me. Though it was more likely it had been Jack they were tracking—he had a much deeper and more meaningful relationship with them.
The radio crackled to life, “Car AC7, come in car AC7, we have reports of multiple shots fired, officers down and humans attacking.”
Trip looked over to me. “That doesn’t sound like the Taco Bell drive-thru,” he said.
“Very astute.” I grabbed the microphone and brought it up to my lips, completely unsure of what to say.
“Ponch, I’d really like some Taco Bell,” Trip beseeched.
“Base, this is car AC7, reports are true, officers are down, they need help immediately. There is an invasion of infected people.” I hoped that didn’t sound as insane to them as it sounded to me.
“Left, up here!” Lynn said. I screeched the tires as I made the turn.
“Car AC7, identify yourself.”
“Shit,” I muttered before depressing the send button. “This is Steve Rogers, I took…”
That was all I got out before the car stalled and the locks in the front activated. They sent a signal to kill the car and trap us inside.
“Son of a bitch,” I said as we came to a slow rolling stop.
“Steve Rogers, do not attempt to leave the scene, officers have been dispatched to detain you.”
“Uh, okay,” Trip said into the mic I’d discarded.
Luckily, the night runner had done most of the hard work: two hard hits with my elbow into the spider-webbed glass and I was able to break the window out, reach outside, and open the door with the handle. Trip had turned his body so he could start kicking out his window. I ducked back down so I could see him.
“I can’t go to solitary confinement again! Attica, Attica, Attica!” he started yelling as he kicked.
“Trip, just come out this way,” I said gently.
He tilted his head back to look at me. “Oh yeah, that makes more sense.”
I’d no sooner opened the door to let Bill and Lynn out when the car’s siren and lights began to sound and flash. Everybody from the tri-state area was either looking out their window or standing on their porch watching us now.
“You there, what is going on?” a concerned citizen yelled out.
“I suggest you get back in your house, get a gun, and lock all your doors and windows!” I yelled back to him.
“Guns? Guns aren’t allowed,” he replied.
I looked over to Bill and Lynn for confirmation; she nodded. “Lock the damn doors then, find a safe place! We gotta go. I don’t think this car is a high priority right now but someone will be along and I don’t want to be here no matter who it is. How far is the school?”
“What the fuck are we going to do?” Bill was still kind of losing it, he had balled up his fists by the side of his head as he looked around wildly.
“A mile, maybe,” Lynn replied.
“All right, first order of business: get the kids,” I said.
“Ponch, Ponch, Ponch, Ponch.” Trip was pulling on my pants like a kid in a toy store who wants to show his mother a particularly neat toy he may need to have.
“Yeah, Trip?” I asked when I turned to him.
“You know that dog, Spot?”
“What?”
“In the kid’s book, the dog Spot, you know him?”
“I guess.”
“I can’t remember, what is he always doing?” he asked.
“Trip, man, I don’t know, is that important right now?” I was helping Lynn gather up Bill’s psyche and get him moving.
“Run!” Trip shouted. “Run! That’s what Spot does!”
Trip is a screwed up person, no two ways about it, but it’s still amazing how much of what he says is very relevant, in a very roundabout way. I looked the way we had come and sure enough, a platoon’s worth of night runners were headed our way.
“Get going!” I shouted. I grabbed one of Bill’s arms and began pulling him toward the school, Lynn on his other side. The first couple of steps were slow going, but maybe he had more of Jack in him than I’d initially given him credit for, because he began to run on his own, even helping Lynn along.
Trip was holding his own, somehow even having the time to take a few hits off a bone. Don’t ask me why. We were building a lead on the night runners, not because of how fast we were going but because not as many people heeded my advice as should have. The runners were going to feast well tonight.
“It’s up ahead,” Lynn said breathlessly. We’d been running hard; I was amazed she could say anything. Not sure she needed to say anything, though; the sheer number of kids milling about would have been a decent indicator. We were a hundred yards away when what sounded like a mid-western tornado alarm broke. The sound was deafening; it had shattered the relative quiet of the night. Amazing how noiseless an apocalyptic event is without gunshots; screams just don’t carry as far.
Lynn was looking through the confused throng of students. “Callis, Callis!”
“Oh hey, Mrs. Walker!” Callis shouted. “This a drill or something?” The teenager had that self-assured swagger they all do, but there was a hint of fear in her eyes.
“It’s not a drill, Callis, you need to find someplace safe to hide; get your friends, get everybody!”
“What?” Callis caught sight of me, replete in bloodied camis, carrying a rifle.
“Where’re Robert and Nicole?” Lynn asked.
“I…I think they’re in the gym,” she replied, not able to take her eyes off of me.
“Everybody back in the school!” I shouted, trying to be heard over the incessant alarm.
“Shut up old man!”
“Who died and made you the top dick?” another shouted.
“Go fuck yourself.” That was not the extent of the colorful language offered to me, but you get the idea. Teenagers are assholes. Sorry, there’s no politically correct way to say it, they just are. They think they know everything with absolutely no foundation for their beliefs. Want to know what scared the crap out of them and got them moving? I shot two rounds into the air. Yeah, that was all the incentive they needed to get moving, and at a pretty impressive clip if I’m being honest. We followed them in; I let Lynn lead.
Whoever was the custodial manager at this facility was an ass wipe and most definitely not a fan of kids. The floor was waxed to a high polish and this was not of the anti-slip variety. Keeping decent footing on this sheet of ice was damn near impossible. I slid well past the gym door entrance, Lynn was able to twist her lithe form in, Bill went sprawling down the hallway, and Trip had grabbed on to the door bar and swung himself in beside Lynn. I helped Bill up and we cautiously walked in this time. Had to have been a couple of hundred kids in there; a few teachers were trying to get them seated so they could find out why the alarms were going off and what they needed to do about it.
“Mom?” a young girl stood and shouted from the stands.
Lynn ran to Nicole. Robert, as it turned out, was right by the door.
; “Dad, you all right? You look like shit,” he said.
“I’m fine, you?” Bill had tears of relief leaking from his eyes.
“Better than you I think, Dad. What’s going on?”
“It’s horrible out there! People are getting murdered, being eaten!” Bill had a wild look in his eyes.
“Not helping,” I said, placing a hand on his shoulder. He’d garnered an audience. Maybe they didn’t believe the words that were coming out of his mouth, but it would be hard to doubt the sincerity with which he delivered them. Then there was me, covered in a fair amount of blood, hard to deny that little fact.
“What is this!?” A thin man with a balding head and glasses much too big for his head was coming toward us.
“You a teacher?” I asked.
“I’m the principal here.” He had come with a tone of authority I was sure worked extremely well on those under his charge, but he was losing some of that confidence with every step he took toward me.
“You need to get all of the kids in here, there’s a war going on out there!” I had to shout to be heard.
I could see the doubt in his features—here I was, a stranger in military garb holding a high-powered rifle, plus a variety of accessories.
“Help me out, Bill.” Bill was busy in the middle of a group huddle. “Bill! Lynn!” I got their attention.
It was Lynn who peeled herself away. “He’s right, Joe.” She wiped some tears from her face. “It’s horrible out there, you need to get them all in here.”
“We’ll just wait for the police.” Joe was taking a shaky stand.
“The police are dead!” she shrieked. “I watched them get dragged down! Get the fucking kids in here!” she yelled.
“Whoa,” I murmured, stepping back. “Is the janitor still here?”
Joe was still reeling from Lynn’s words, but he called out, “Mrs. Jackson, get on the P.A. and demand all the students come back to the gym for a special assembly. Move!” he shouted when she looked at him questioningly.