A Shrouded World 6

by Mark Tufo

  They were like ghoulish parishioners receiving their unholy communion, and I was all too happy to dole out the deadly Eucharist. I don’t know how many I’d sent to a watery grave. A dozen, two dozen, a hundred? My arms hurt, but the anger still burned hot. Then, what I would have thought was unthinkable happened: the truck pulled away. Not far, but ten feet was enough to keep the zombies from reaching the summit.

  “Pussies!” I shouted. “I can do this all day!” The words had force and I meant them, but it was as if I had cut my hair off by saying them, using Samson as an example here. My arms felt weak; I was exhausted and just standing became a chore. I wisely backed up from the lip of the bluff and sat down heavily in a puddle. Had it not been pouring, I would have still been drenched from the exertion. I sat with my head back, wiping the debris of my foes from my visage so that I could try and get a drink without it being fouled. When I figured I’d done a good enough job of cleaning up, I stuck my tongue out.

  “Here,” Trip said. I looked over to see a plastic collapsible cup, like those used for camping. It was full to the brim. I gulped it down so fast I began to cough and choke. Half came back up and was wasted; the half I drank was about as orgasmic experience as I have ever had while consuming anything.

  “Thank you,” I managed to get out with a rasp as I handed the cup back.

  “Smart, right? Much better than hiding behind chain saws in a horror movie.” And with that, he left.

  “What?” I asked, but he was long gone; my question and questioning stare went unanswered.

  The rain didn’t look like it was ever going to stop. It was coming down so hard I figured the whistlers were waiting for erosion to do their job for them. It wasn’t particularly cold, but when you’ve been exerting yourself heavily and were now soaking wet, it doesn’t have to be cold for you to be miserable, and your body just shuts down. It started with a firing of muscles in my right thigh, then spread from there rather quickly. I was shivering so violently I did not think I could have answered the bell for round two. When I awoke, it was to Jack blocking the sun from my face.

  “I appreciate you trying to save me from getting a sunburn, but I’m still thawing out.” My soaked uniform was giving off waves of steam in the morning sun.

  “I’m out of ammunition,” he said as he sat.

  “You can have mine. I’m just going to stay here until the end.” At that very moment in time, that was the truth of how I felt.

  “I feel like we’re close,” Jack said without any context or additional information. I had no idea what he was talking about. Close to death was all I could come up with on my own. “There’s a reason they’re pushing so hard to kill us.”

  Maybe Jack was onto something, maybe he wasn’t. I was too hungry, too tired, and too full of I don’t give a fuck. There’s only so far you can be pushed before you’ve had enough, and I’d come to that point. If he didn’t give me something tangible to hold onto, I was perfectly content to wait out whatever happened. Jack got up; he had something going on in that noodle of his. That was fine; I wasn’t much in the conversing mood. So, of course, that meant BT and Trip had to come over.

  “Remember that movie with all the lights?” Trip asked. “There was music…big alien ship?”

  “Close Encounters,” an exhausted-looking BT answered.

  “Right, right, they were on that funky hill.”

  “Devil’s Tower.” BT seemed to be answering from rote, like he’d been to too many trivia nights.

  It was slightly interesting, but not enough to make me sit up.

  “We’re on a mini Devil’s Tower,” Trip said excitedly.

  I didn’t see a reason to be so excited; if we were on a small mountain, we could say we were on a mini-Everest, big deal. Another storm that had been encroaching hit fully, the rain pelting us and lightning flashing all around.

  “We’re supposed to be here. Don’t you see it?” There was an unnatural gleam in his eye.

  “I think he done lost his mind,” BT said. I put my fist up, which he bumped.

  Trip jumped up. “Yack! Yack!”

  9

  Jack Walker — Chapter Six

  The storm had let up, sunshine replacing the torrential downpour. Pools of water glisten across the plateau with the sound of a hundred tiny waterfalls trickling down the slopes. I walk over near the edge of the mesa. The two firetrucks in sight are poised below, the tops of the extended ladders waving slightly just ten or so feet from the bluff. I’m not sure why the whistlers decided to pull them back, especially when they nearly had us. I’m out of ammo, and Mike nearly so. Any further assault would see us overrun.

  I glance upward. The dark menacing clouds of the storm are moving past. Flashes of lightning outline towering pillars with more striking the ground. Our little reprieve from the weather will be short-lived as another massive storm system is powering toward us. Below are the two trucks; hordes of zombies are gathered near them and also at the base of the cliff.

  The whistlers pushed us hard, and there has to be a reason. But then, inexplicably, they pulled back. Perhaps they were losing too many of their cannon fodder and think we have limitless ammo, not even close to true. I watch below as the two missing firetrucks round a corner of the mesa and join their brothers. Ladders extend upward, four of them wavering just scant feet away.

  Storm clouds race across the desert we passed through, drenching the land. Lighting streaks down in jagged lines of silver, branches arcing off into the air. With the rain falling from the clouds, the entire mass looks as if an impenetrable gray wall is rushing our way. With the number of zombies gathered near the trucks, I’m guessing that the perimeter they had staged around the ridge has been emptied. They might be getting ready for their final push, which will be over within minutes once they reach the top.

  Mike and I have very little to combat any attack. BT is next to useless—unless we roll him down one of the ladders, but that would be a onetime deal anyway. And, I doubt Mike would go for that plan. Trip is pretty damned efficient with that slingshot of his, but against what I’m seeing, it won’t be enough.

  Mike speculates that the zombies might be controlled by some sort of box and that it would have to be nearby. If we could somehow scale down from the mount unseen and find it, then we could do away with the horde rushing us because they’d then turn on the whistlers. We might be able to escape in the ensuing chaos. Of course, the best scenario would be that each side destroys the other, and we can stroll away from this mess.

  I glance into the distance in the direction we fled from. There’s the attack helo two or three miles away. It doesn’t have much fuel remaining, but there might be enough for a few runs against those gathered below. Or, I could land atop the mesa and lift us off of here. With the low fuel weight and having expended the rockets, I might be able to get airborne with the four of us. We could get a few miles away, but it wouldn’t be stealthy, and that would involve another chase like the one before. With BT unable to move very fast or far, we’d be stuck in the same situation before long. Mike won’t leave him behind, so moving on with just the three of us isn’t an option.

  The wind picks up as the storm descends on us. The tops of the ladders sway even more with creaks and moans and the first drops of rain begin splattering on the ground. Then, as the storm takes a giant leap forward, it’s upon us. Buckets of rain falls straight down, pounding onto the surface, my shoulders, and my head. Visibility is cut, but I’m able to make out zombies climbing the ladders. I see the plan will be similar to assaulting the walls of a castle. They’ll fill the ladders and drive forward. That way, they’ll be on top as soon as the ladders come to rest atop the rim, and all I can do is wave at them. Still sitting, I pull my knives out.

  “Yack! Yack!” I hear Trip shouting above the rumbles of the drenching storm. I look back toward the group to see the stoner running in my direction.

  Oh God! What does crazy man want? He’s probably wondering if I have a bag of Phritos or something equ
ally inane. I don’t have time for this.

  Trip slides to stop and stands over me. “Yack, this is great! We’re supposed to be here!”

  I thought the buckets falling on us was bad enough, but the rain truly begins in earnest as if a faucet were turned on.

  “You’re going to have to elaborate a little more,” I reply.

  “We’re on a mini Devil’s Tower!” he shouts, a flash of lightning etching his face in sharp relief of light and shadow.

  “That doesn’t sound like a good place to me,” I respond.

  Trip’s face is animated with a gleam in his eye. I’m not sure if it’s from his excitement or because he’s just nuts, but either one is cause for worry. An echoing boom rolls over the plateau, vibrating my bones.

  Still sitting, I examine the man standing over me, his face earnest. Another flash illuminates his figure. “Trip, you do realize that you’re now the tallest thing around, right? And, you’re standing next to me.”

  “Yack, just because I know we’re where we’re supposed to be doesn’t make me that grand.”

  “No, you idiot. Not that. The lightning,” I state.

  Trip opens his jacket, searches the inside, and then checks his pants pockets. “I don’t have an umbrella. Everyone knows you don’t get hit unless you’re carrying one.”

  “Do me a favor and crouch down,” I respond.

  “Sure, sure. We can whisper better that way. We wouldn’t want them to overhear us,” he says, pointing at the zombies climbing up the ladders.

  I ponder a moment that zombies are climbing ladders and have chased us nearly step for step for miles across the desert. They must be the smarter version, from Mike’s world. The only other ones I’ve run into that could match this are the few we encountered in Atlantis.

  “Besides, we’re no longer the tallest things,” Trip says, pointing again toward the ladders.

  I turn to see that they’re extended higher and starting to move forward, covered with zombies clinging to rungs and the outside rails. I turn back to Trip, starting to rise to go get Mike so we can at least die together. Trips is rambling on about aliens and musical lights or something, but I’m not paying much attention to him at the moment. I know that may be to my detriment; you have to take the time to decipher between the lines with him, but with zombies about to land, any decoding will have to come later, if there is one.

  A searing bright flash of light and heat comes from behind. I see Trip’s face starkly outlined and my shadow stretches momentarily, long across the rain-soaked surface. Accompanying the light is a crack of thunder that nearly pulverizes my organs and seems to crush my bones, leaving behind a high-pitched ringing in my ear. Steam rushes over me, quickly dissipating. Fuck, have I been hit?

  I turn quickly, expecting to see a billowing cloud from a nuclear explosion. Instead, I see the twisted and partially melted remains of two ladders, the bodies of smoking zombies in a slow tumble earthward after being shocked from their perches. The close bolt of lightning leaves me stunned, and I put a hand to my neck where it was flash-burned. I turn back to Trip; his face is red and he’s opening and closing his eyes. I can’t hear him due to the ringing, but he’s mouthing that he’s blind. I don’t doubt that, as he was looking directly at the lightning when it struck.

  Mike runs up and is shouting something, but I can’t hear shit. I hold my hands over my ears and shake my head. Slowly, my hearing returns, but there’s still a ringing in my ears. Trip is still shouting and blinking and Mike is staring off, open mouthed, at the ruined mass of two ladders. The other two are pulling away and lowering. Rain is pouring off the side of the mesa in rivers as the unrelenting deluge continues.

  Trip stands and starts walking around with his hands over his eyes. Fearful that he’s about to walk over the edge, Mike grabs hold of him and yells at him to sit down and keep his eyes closed for a couple of minutes. BT is curled up in the middle of the plateau. Mike and I crouch by a sitting Trip, trying to keep a low profile without actually lying down. With the amount of water pouring across the surface, I feel we could either drown or be carried away like a body surfer.

  “I’m not sure why they waited for the storm, but it worked to our advantage and gave us a little time,” I yell to Mike, my voice sounding muted.

  “They’ll be back,” Mike returns. “We need to get off this cliff.”

  “I see that we have two options. We can try to find a way down and take out the control box, if we can find it. Or I can go get the chopper when this storm passes—”

  Another bolt of lightning flashes nearby by with a mighty crack of thunder following immediately afterwards.

  “—to either attack the mass below or to lift us off of here,” I continue after the echoing rumble dissipates.

  “How much fuel is left?” Mike shouts.

  “Not much, but maybe enough to do one or the other.”

  The air is filled with flashes and rumbles of thunder. Rivers of water pour down the sides. It’s like we’re wading in a shallow stream with a strong current, and I’m worried that we’ll be swept off if it continues much longer.

  “Maybe?” he questions.

  I shrug.

  “Will it carry all four of us?”

  “With the fuel tanks nearly dry and the ammo expended, probably,” I yell.

  “That’s a lot of maybes and probablys,” Mike says.

  “It is what it is. Would you be able to identify the control box if we could get close? And more importantly, would you know what to do with it?”

  “Shoot it, I guess. If there is one…I haven’t the foggiest idea what it would look like.”

  “That’s not helpful, Mike,” I reply.

  “About as helpful as your maybes,” he counters.

  “Fair enough. We have to do something,” I shout amid the continuing crashes of thunder.

  “That’s the understatement of the year,” Mike rejoins.

  “We can’t leave,” Trip shouts with his hands over his eyes. “We’re at the demon mountain!”

  “Devil’s Tower,” Mike corrects.

  “Are there aliens yet? I can’t see a thing! I don’t want to miss seeing the flashing lights,” Trip screams.

  “There aren’t any aliens yet, Trip,” Mike states.

  “What in the fuck is he going on about?” I ask.

  “He seems to think we’re at some important place, like the Devil’s Tower in Close Encounters of the Third Kind,” Mike answers. “You had that movie, right?”

  “Yeah, we had it. Alien first contact and all that shit,” I reply.

  “That’s the one. Trip thinks this is like that mountain and that we’re supposed to be here. It may be why the whistlers are chasing us like they are.”

  Now, Trip has some crazy ass ideas, but I’ve learned to listen to them, even if it does mean needing an occasional interpreter. I’m not keen on aliens joining the fray, if that’s what he even means, but if Trip says we’re supposed to be here, then we are. I just hope it’s not because there are buried Twinkies in the vicinity.

  “I don’t see anything but dirt and rock. Is there something coming?” I inquire.

  “I have no fucking idea, man. There was that time warp thing that happened, so maybe. You yourself said you thought we were close,” Mike replies.

  “Yeah, and I still feel it. We’ve been pushed hard, although I don’t know why we haven’t been finished off. And why wait for the storm to resume their attack? It makes no sense,” I state.

  Mike goes quiet, thoughts obviously cycling through his mind. “Here’s a thought. What if they need us alive? Like they’re pushing us to do something and can’t kill us until we do,” he says.

  “No offense, but what’s so special about us that we can do something they can’t,” I respond.

  Then the lightbulb hits and Mike and I both turn our gazes to Trip.

  “So, he’s the one who can do something and that something has to do with this place. The chase was to funnel us here, and the su
bsequent attacks to drive him to do something. That said, I doubt they’d hesitate to kill the rest of us if they get the chance,” I say.

  “Or maybe they hoped to kill us and capture him,” Mike comments.

  “They had that chance when they surrounded us at this dead end mesa.”

  “Too risky. They might have been holding us until the whistlers arrived. Then they put Trip to sleep, kill us, and they have what they want,” Mike says.

  “Okay. So, we hold a gun to Trip’s head and walk out of here with him as hostage,” I suggest.

  “Won’t work,” Trip says.

  “Why not?” I question.

  “They know you won’t kill me. They’ll hit you with staples and finish you without hesitation,” Trip says, his voice sounding less like his crazy self and more like the sane version.

  “So, what’s here?” Mike asks.

  “I told you, Ponch. Aliens and light shows. Did you bring the mashed potatoes?” Mike smiled at him sadly.

  Yep, Trip was back to his usual self.

  A flash of light hits close. A wave of heat flows across us and there’s an immediate crack of thunder which threatens to blow my skull apart. A bolt hits near one end of the plateau, sending chunks of cliff flying outward; electricity traverses the rivers of water surging over the sides of the bluff and causes my limbs to spasm.

  “Are they here?” Trip yells, looking around excitedly with closed eyes.