Season of the Dead

by Adams, Lucia

  Again, we ran, but this time I didn’t fall, and nothing followed us. My squirrel head was in one hand, my gun in the other. “Thank you,” I breathed with each stride.

  CHAPTER 44

  Paul

  “Paul?”

  “Hi, Kitty. How’s it goin’?”

  She stood at the door to the kitchen. Somewhere in the background I could hear Parker making ‘truck noises’ and then bashing something off the furniture. It occurred to me I should probably tell him to stop. I had, after all, been left in charge while Sharon, Gerry, and Lucia took the quad and trailer to try and find the plane. I warned them there were likely to be some scientists and heavily armed soldiers looking to snack on them. At least the soldiers wouldn’t use the weapons, just their hands and teeth. The horrors I’d witnessed in the past days made me shudder, as well as wonder how the fuck I was still alive.

  So here I was: Mister Sensible Adult, the responsible one. Mister Banjaxed more like, left in charge of one small boy and a teenage girl, neither of which I had any experience of nor knew what I was supposed to do or say to. At least there would be no nappies involved, thank God for small mercies.

  “What was it like?” she asked sheepishly.

  “Eh… what was what like?” I had been savouring a cup of freshly brewed coffee. I put the mug down and raised an eyebrow at the petite girl.Please don’t let this be an awkward teenage question. I so was not equipped for that sort of shit.

  “Falling out of the plane,” she said.

  “Ohhhh,” I doubt I hid the sigh of relief that came out. “Well, it was a bit like being a bird, but one who can’t remember how to fly no matter how hard he flaps his wings, and then realises the ground is coming his way realllly fast.”

  She laughed. I wasn’t joking.

  “Wanna sit down?” I asked, not knowing what else to say. “Do you drink coffee?”

  “Actually, I was wondering… could I bring Parker outside? There’s still some snow on the ground; I thought it might be fun to build a snowman.”

  Normally that would be a perfectly reasonable request, only ‘normal’ was a word that no longer existed in the apocalypse dictionary. My hand strayed to the gun sitting snugly in a holster on my shoulder; it felt weird. Sharon had given me a shitload of shells; I think she thought I needed the practise.

  “Sure, why not.” I drained the mug and grabbed a heavy fleece lined jacket hanging on the back of the door. I had no idea whose it was, but I was pretty sure they would not be coming looking for it anytime soon.

  I stepped outside gingerly; a thin coating of snow crunched under my boots. My back hurt, my legs hurt—in fact, everywhere hurt. I walked with a limp, rubbing an aching shoulder. I could almost taste the cold on my tongue. It wasn’t like at home where the dampness hung in the air, chilling you to the bone; it was a cleaner, fresher kind of cold. Still bloody cold, mind.

  It felt surreal to me, especially as I gazed at the rugged beauty of the park. Back home, a park was a small manicured green area. Here it was an untamed wilderness, a forest of towering trees that went on forever, and once upon a time even contained animals I would only ever see in a zoo. It was only days since I was sitting in my apartment, hoping to wait out the epidemic. In Ireland we called World War II ‘the Emergency’; we have a funny way of understating things.

  I heard Parker squeal with delight as Kitty flung a snowball at him. Who wouldn’t smile at that?

  “Don’t stray anywhere you can’t see the lodge,” I yelled over. Kitty gave me the thumbs up as she ran in a circle around her smaller playmate. She was good with him. He was good for her, I supposed.

  I slid the Glock from its holster and clicked a magazine home. Something made me think of Ciara then. I don’t know if it was holding the gun in my hand or the noise of a child’s laughter. She just wanted life to be normal, even if it was a shit life on the game with a drug dealing boyfriend. I pushed the memory aside and took aim at a tree.

  I fired a few rounds, putting dents in the bark; I was getting better. At least the tree wasn’t trying to eat me. I wondered if I would still hit it if it was moving towards me. I caught sight of a woodpile outside the door; I could see the handle of an axe with the head embedded in a log. It was still really hard to get my head around what had happened in the last few days… how immune I had become to death… to inflicting it so brutally. Okay, so the infected are already dead; there is nothing left of the person, just a reanimated body being controlled by a virus. Even so.

  I killed the tree again… twice. And then I heard something in the air. Very faint, but growing gradually louder. At first I thought it was an insect buzzing, but it didn’t quite fit. I realised then there were no other sounds.

  “Kitty? Parker?” I limped over to where they had been playing snowballs. I could see a trail in the snow coming from the trees. I stood over a mound of tightly packed white snow.

  “Kitty?”

  The noise got louder, and in the distance I could see a black dot against a blue sky. My mouth dropped in disbelief. The way it was moving there was no way it was a bird.

  Bloody hell, kids! I told her not to stray out of sight of the lodge; collecting snow in the darkened woods was not part of those instructions.

  The dot got bigger really quickly, and it soon became apparent what it was. The swaying trees, the roar of the engines… it was a helicopter. Not just a helicopter, a flying bloody fortress. I could see machine guns bristling, and rockets attached to the underside. It hovered just over the tree line, bending them towards me. The din of whining rotary blades drowned out my shouts and yells. I could see the white helmets of the pilots; surely to God they could see me in the open space behind the lodge. It passed overhead; I could see a manned machine gun sticking out of an open door at the side.

  Why the fuck weren’t they stopping? Maybe they would radio for help. It drifted away into the distance, gone as quickly as it had come.Well bugger that! I thought.

  Then I heard a scream.

  Oh fuck!

  “Kitty?” I yelled, and looked into a dark forest; how many secrets would those trees tell if they could speak?

  Then she burst from the darkness, half running, half stumbling with Parker in her arms. I could see tears streaming down her cheeks as she gulped down air. Then she tripped and fell.

  A huge bastard of a zombie lurched out after her. I raised the gun and aimed—what if I missed? I could imagine the scene when the others got back. ‘So how are the kids?’ Oh fine, I shot Kitty and a zombie got Parker. Not good.

  I took a deep breath; Kitty was scrambling to her feet and dragging Parker by the hand.I can’t do this, I thought, but fired anyway. Bullseye! Well, under normal circumstances it would have been—I hit it in the chest.

  “Fuck!”

  I fired again and hit it between the eyes. Both kids ran to me. Kitty was sobbing, Parker was crying too, but I wasn’t sure if it was because he had been chased from the woods by a zombie or because his teenage friend was, and he was just joining in.

  “Okay, it’s okay, I got him. Are you alright?” It only just occurred to me then what I might have to do. Oh dear God. “You weren’t bitten, either of you?” Kitty shook her head vigorously.

  “That’s good,” I said.No shit. “Let’s get back up to the lodge and stay there for the rest of the day.”With all the doors and windows locked, I silently added.

  I put Parker down and realised Kitty had gone rigid and was staring over my shoulder.

  “O…o…o…o…over…” She pointed with a shaking hand. “Over there!”

  I turned around and followed her gaze. Melting from the trees, a line of zombies emerged from the darkness. And behind them, more, and behind them still more.

  “Oh bollocks!”

  I raised the gun and fired. Bam! Bam! Bam! Two of them crumpled to the floor; a third one spun around when I winged it.

  Click… click… click. Fuck, I hadn’t counted the rounds down.

  “Run to the house!” I
roared at the kids. Kitty grabbed Parker by the arm and dragged him towards the back door of the lodge. I rumbled about in my pocket for another clip, and it slid through my fingers.

  It was cold, and the zombies moved slower when the temperature dropped, which was just as well, because I was an idiot. I bent down to pick up the fallen magazine and then heard Kitty scream. She was at the back door with Parker, but a zombie dressed in mechanic’s overalls was shambling around the corner. There was no time to retrieve the clip, load it, and then take aim. I didn’t trust myself to just fire wildly. I scooped up the ammunition and ran.

  The kids were backing along the wall away from the mechanic, Kitty holding Parker defensively behind her. She had guts, that girl. As I ran past the woodpile, I yanked out the woodsman’s axe.

  “Hey, fuck face! Over here!” The mechanic turned and lost half his face.

  A woman lurched around the corner after him, grinning evilly. A flap of her cheek hung loose, exposing her teeth. I swung the axe. The balance was off; the handle was longer than both the fireman’s axe and the replica battle axe. Even so, it bit into her neck and only took two hacks to take off her head.

  I swung around. The back yard was now full of zombies staggering towards us, driven by a burning desire to feed—their only instinct. All other forms of self-preservation were out the window. I wasn’t mad keen on the idea, but the possibility of me becoming dinner was getting stronger.

  “Quick! Inside,” I yelled at the kids. I dropped the axe and slammed home the magazine. I let them run behind me and scramble in the backdoor, then I walked out to meet the undead host.

  I stood my ground, legs apart, taking aim. “Bastards!”

  At close range they were easy enough shots. Thankfully the icy conditions had them moving slower; even so there were enough to overwhelm me quickly enough. And the fuckers were relentless. I fired the last bullet from the clip, taking a grim satisfaction in the number of bodies lying in the mud and snow.

  Still they came, hundreds. They poured from between the trees as if they were part of the forest. I thought this was meant to be a safe haven, for fuck sake. I couldn’t help notice how fresh they all were, as if they had only just turned. What the hell was going on?

  For some reason, an image of a sheep dog sprang to mind: a big fat, flying sheep dog with a fuckload of guns sticking out of it. Was the helicopter herding the zombies? And if so, why towards us? They probably didn’t realise there was anyone here, I supposed.

  I needed to get inside the lodge; there seemed to be no end to the walking dead shambling from the trees. It occurred to me then that maybe we should have run for a vehicle and just got the hell away. Too late.

  They were coming up the other side of the yard now. I half limped, half shuffled in the back door… talk about a slow race. Kitty was there, sitting on a chair with Parker in her lap; I’m not sure who was clinging to whom. I rifled through a box of shells I’d left on the kitchen table and quickly reloaded the magazine. They were at the door now, their grotesque faces pushed up against the windows. Then we heard the sound of smashing glass.

  “Upstairs! Go!” I shouted. They didn’t have to be told twice.

  We ran to the front of the house into the reception area. Three of the walking dead were shuffling through the main door. Shit! Had I left it open? It took six shots to put the three of them down, and then I flung myself at the door, slamming it shut. I felt something give in my back. Praying it wasn’t something I’d done falling from the plane and now made much worse, I dragged myself towards the stairs.

  “Come on! Please hurry,” Kitty encouraged.

  I half staggered, half crawled up onto the landing. Kitty was crying. This time though, I think they were tears of joy, or at least relief.

  “I’m still alive, I’m still alive,” I said. I didn’t believe me.

  Parker ran out from one of the rooms, grinning and pointing. I dragged myself up to the window. Coming up the trail on a quad was a giant squirrel, a redhead, and a bearded man, armed to the teeth.

  CHAPTER 45

  Gerry

  At hearing the distinct, hollow pop-pop of a Glock, we took off in the direction of the camp. Soon enough we saw what Paul must have been firing at. Before us, all around us, and moving in on the lodge were dozens upon dozens of the walking dead. The entire mountainside was teeming with them. So far, none turned to face us as we bullied past on the quad.

  The closer we came to the lodge, the thicker they crowded. After nearly striking three, and kicking two close enough to reach with an extended leg, I glanced over my shoulder to see if there might be an easier way to circle back around.

  There wasn’t. Our passage had been blocked by the dead, and they swarmed forward, filling the gaps between trees and all along the trail.

  We’d spent a lot of ammo back at the wreckage, and had no more than thirty or forty shots between us. I yelled for Lucia to take over steering, and she clumsily edged forward and took over. I had to get to the weapons we’d taken from the plane. Their Army had some bad ass weapons, and we sure needed them right then. No sooner did I hand over the wheel, Lucia struck a zombie, jarring me enough that I nearly fell over the side.

  “Fuck! Be careful,” I said.

  “Sorry,” was her muffled reply. “It’s tough as fuck to see. My eye holes are crooked.”

  “Just keep it straight for a minute,” I said. “I gotta get to the back.”

  I ducked as a zombie hit the front left quarter panel of the quad, then skidded along the side. If I didn’t know better, I’d have sworn she was aiming for them.

  It was bumpy going, so I had Sharon hold my belt as I leaned into the trailer. I’d opened each crate before stowing them on the quad, so I had a general idea what I was looking for. I shoved a heavy crate aside and it fell off the back, the contents spilling out onto the snow. Ammo clips. Hopefully none of them were the ones needed for the bad boy I was searching for—the M249 Saw. In the destructive world of assault rifles, its specs sheet said, the Saw was a spiked wrecking ball. A grin split my face as I popped a lid and found it, along with six humongous, pie-shaped ammo clips.

  I pulled it and a 3-pack of ammo clips from the box, then nodded at Sharon to pull me back. Before I had a chance to turn and face forward, a body flew up over the hood and knocked me backward onto the trailer. The body sailed past and disappeared into the snow kicked up in our wake. It was a good thing Sharon hadn’t let go of my belt after pulling me up or I’d have been back there, making snow angels with the deadies.

  Still holding my belt, Sharon crouched and shot at the closest of the dead. Three fell and five more crowded in. “I’m almost out,” she said as she slammed home a fresh clip.

  “Gerry!” Lucia yelled. “They’re getting harder to miss, and some of them are turning this way.”

  “Give me a minute. I just need to load this gun.”

  Sharon looked at the Saw, then holstered her gun and reached for the rifle and ammo. She quickly studied it, then rolled the clip into place.

  She shrugged and handed it back. “Beginner’s luck. That’s a powerful weapon. What size rounds does it use?”

  I found the safety, flipped it, then said, “I dunno—big, I imagine.” When my finger touched the trigger, a laser sight activated.

  “Cool,” I said, chambering a round. “You should probably keep holding onto me. This thing must kick like a fucking mule.”

  My first spray of bullets blew a zombie in half – lengthwise – and wiped out another seven or eight behind it. “Holy shit! Did you see that prick come apart?”

  “Sorry,” Sharon said, as she dropped two zombies that had turned toward the quad. “Little busy over here.”

  I flipped the gun on its side and found the switch to turn it from full auto to semi-automatic; no use wasting bullets. And there was no such thing as a bad shot from this gun. Whatever it hit vaporized, along with anything unlucky enough to be in its kill-zone.

  Twenty, thirty, fifty of them fell,
yet more and more stumbled out from between the trees. My heart sank as the lodge came into view. The building was surrounded, and a dozen or more lined the front porch.

  To myself more than either Sharon or Lucia, I said, “Where the hell are they coming from?” I hadn’t seen this many dead in the last three towns I passedcombined, let aloneonetown. Their presence here was impossible… yet here they were.

  Sharon dropped her Glock into the trailer, then reached out and stripped the pair of .45s from my shoulder rig. “I don’t know,” she said, “but they seem to be thinning out. There can’t be more than seventy or eighty left.”

  She fired off three shots at a passing group, then clicked empty. “I’m out. I hope you have more bullets for these.”

  “I do, in the front pocket of my jeans, under my snow pants. I’m sorry. If I’d known the entire population of Deadie, Canada was coming for a visit, I’d have planned things a little different.”

  “Keep shooting,” she said, then tugged up my coat and plunged her hand down my pants. “I’ll get them myself.”

  I found it tough to concentrate with a woman’s hand down my pants, but managed to keep it together long enough to cut the horde’s numbers by over half, leaving no more than thirty in the clearing, and possibly another twenty out in the woods, hung up on one or more of our booby traps. Sharon pocketed a handful of shells, reloaded my .45s and joined me in taking out the closest of them.

  Lucia struck one, then another, and then both her and Sharon ducked as a body bounced up and over the quad’s stubby hood and over our heads.

  Sharon checked to make sure it hadn’t landed in the quad or trailer, then leaned over and yelled at Lucia, “Can you try tonot hit every one?”

  Lucia jumped when Sharon spoke, then nodded quickly. “Yeah, got it—miss a few. Sure thing. Or maybe you could tell them to stop getting in the fucking way.”

  The quad rocked as a zombie fell under the tires.

  Over her shoulder, Lucia yelled, “That one wasn’t my fault. Gerry, why don’t you shoot some of these fuckers up here? I’ve already filled one pant leg with piss. I don’t wanna drown in my own urine.”