by M. D. Massey
All three of us checked our weapons one last time.
The glass shattered.
Clutch yelled, “Run!”
And we did.
24
We bolted out the back door. Tack fired the first shots, clearing the patio. Clutch took the lead from there. I gripped my rifle as I sprinted behind him, with Tack at my side. It was still dark, but the coming dawn shed enough light to reveal outlines of zeds waiting in the shadows.
We ran in the opposite direction than we’d come. We ran through backyards, turning at fences and dodging zeds, shooting open escape routes. Once we broke from the herd near the house, Clutch set the pace at a quick jog, faster than any zed but slow enough that we could keep this pace for some time, if we had to.
And we had to. My clothes were soaked and my muscles burned by the time the sun reached into the sky. It was already easily eighty degrees and it was still morning. Body armor held the heat against my skin.
We could outrun any zed easily enough. But more just kept showing up. Around every corner, out of every alley. As soon as we got away from one herd, we’d find ourselves smack dab in the middle of another, and we’d have to zig and zag around houses and cars.
Tack ran out of ammo first. I was out eight rounds later. When Clutch’s rifle clicked empty, I think we all sucked in a collective breath. With nothing but pistols and knives, we kept running. The sun baked my head under the helmet, and I had to drop my rifle and backpack to keep up with the guys’ longer strides. My lungs couldn’t suck enough air by the time the zeds’ numbers dwindled and we reached an industrial park. Clutch slowed to a stop, bent over with his hands braced on his legs, and panted. I fell back against a wall, sucking air. Tack walked slowly, his hands on his hips, while he caught his breath.
Tack huffed, pointed to the north, his finger shaky. “There’s an old bridge that leads out of town just beyond these buildings.”
Clutch reported our status to Tyler, and then faced us. “They got the trucks back to Camp Fox okay.”
“Thank God,” I panted out.
Clutch did a slow three-sixty. Sweat dripped from his brow. “We have to keep moving. Too much open space. We’re easy targets out here.”
As though on cue, two zeds stumbled around the corner. The first, a farmer in jeans and cowboy boots, lumbered forward. At its side came a heavily tattooed biker zed with an intricate dragon climbing its sunbaked arm.
Two shots and the zeds fell. I turned to find Tack with his pistol still leveled where the zeds had been standing a second earlier.
Clutch sucked in another breath. “Let’s move out. It won’t take long for these guys’ pals to catch up.”
It took all my strength to push off from the wall and propel myself forward. Every boot step pounded the pavement. Every building seemed a mile long. We wheezed air. I stumbled over a curb.
At the end of an old warehouse, a bridge waited, its iron trusses reaching upward like welcoming arms. Several cars were smashed on it, preventing any vehicles from crossing.
Bodies rotted on the ground, but surprisingly, there were no zeds walking around.
I came to a stop at the same time Clutch and Tack must’ve seen it. A truck was parked not far from the bridge. The machine gun mounted on back was pointed right at us.
The Dogs were waiting for us.
25
“Shit!” I flattened myself against the wall, and Clutch and Tack did the same. “Think they saw us?” I asked.
“Maybe. Maybe not. But they had to hear Tack’s shots,” Clutch replied. “They’re probably stationed there to hold us back until the herd gets here. They’ve got front row seats for watching us get shredded.”
“There’s no way we can cross that bridge without getting gunned down,” Tack said.
“And there’s bound to be zeds in the river,” I added.
A zed came around the far corner of the building. It moaned and kept walking toward us, followed by at a least a hundred more, and more kept showing up. My heart lurched. “Looks like the party is about to start.”
“Time’s up,” Clutch said. “We have to take our chances at the bridge.”
“Wait,” I said, and I examined the iron bridge. “What if we go under the bridge?”
Both men looked at me.
“The undersides of some of these bridges are just big I-beams. We might be able to shimmy across.”
Clutch’s brow furrowed. “It could work. If we stay low and behind the roadblock, the Dogs might not be able to hit us.”
Moans and shuffling steps grew closer. The herd was halfway down the building now.
“Give it a shot?” Tack asked.
“Why not.” Clutch took off in a hunched-over run.
I followed and Tack hung back to cover our flank. It was hard to run bent over, weighted down by what remained of my gear and exhausted from nearly four hours of running through half the alleys and backstreets of Chow Town. I stumbled and Tack helped me back to my feet. My legs were jelly, but from somewhere deep inside, fresh adrenaline numbed my body and senses, and I kept moving behind Clutch toward the bridge.
Two zeds emerged from the bridge and came at us, but they were easy enough to maneuver around. I dove to the edge of the embankment. Clutch already had a leg over the embankment. He held out a hand. “Grab on to me,” he ordered. I reached out, and he snatched me against him and took a step down the embankment. He lost his footing and slid onto his back, pulling me against his chest. We slid several feet down before Clutch found traction again.
One of the zeds rolled past us and into the river below. The second followed a second later, grabbing Clutch’s arm on its way down. We were dragged several feet before I was able to kick it loose, and it tumbled away.
Clutch held me tight. I lay against him, panting. I looked down, and swallowed. If we’d slid another fifteen feet, we would’ve landed right on top of a couple dozen hungry zeds hungrily trapped at the edge of the river. They couldn’t climb the steep incline, and they couldn’t enter the river without being swept away (which I suspected was what had happened to quite a few zeds already).
“Don’t do that again,” I muttered against Clutch’s chest.
“Yeah,” he replied breathlessly. Then he pressed a couple fingers to his headset. “Bravo needs pickup now. We’ve got half of Chow Town waiting for us on one side of the bridge, and Dogs set up to chase us down on the other.”
Silence except for the growing hum of moans and shuffling feet.
Clutch scowled. “Copy that. Three hours. Over and out.”
I pulled out a flask and took a quick drink. It was still half full, but no telling how long we’d be out here. There was no sound of engines, which meant the Dogs were still there but hopefully still oblivious to us. “Did you see how many Dogs were in that truck?”
Clutch shook his head.
I continued. “Once we get across we might be close enough to get clear shots.”
“That’s assuming they don’t take us out while we’re climbing across,” Clutch replied.
“I guess we’ll find out soon enough,” I whispered and glanced back to find Tack climbing up onto an I-beam under the bridge.
I pulled away from Clutch but kept close by his side as I crawled toward Tack. The underside of the bridge was a zigzag of iron. After cracking my knuckles, I grabbed onto an I-beam. The beams were large, so there was plenty to grab on to, but I wasn’t convinced I had the strength in my fingers and arms to get all the way across. I slid my legs around an I-beam and shimmied toward Tack.
He was already several feet ahead and putting more distance between us. I followed, with Clutch behind me. It wasn’t a long bridge by bridge standards, but the arm strength it took for pulling myself across, it could’ve been the Golden Gate. Every time a gunshot rang out, I froze, waiting to feel horrible piercing pain. But none ever came. At only about a third of the way across, my arms shook, as much from my fear of heights as from my own body weight.
At the half
way point, two I-beams intersected and I was able to lean on one to catch my breath, though the humid air did nothing to help my breathing. Afraid if I stopped too long, I’d never get across, and so I continued. Minute by minute, putting one hand before the other, I made it to the three-quarters point, then only ten feet left. Eight, six, four.
By the time I reached the end, I had nothing left. I literally dropped off the bridge and collapsed onto the ground next to Tack. I rolled onto my back and grasped long grass with both hands.
Clutch dropped next to me, and we all lay there for several moments. When Tack moved, I stayed put, watching him Army crawl up the hill and scout the scene. This side wasn’t quite as steep and—thankfully—zed-free. He backed himself down to us.
“SITREP?” Clutch asked.
“I see only two Dogs,” Tack replied in a hoarse whisper. “One driver and one gunner. The driver looks like he’s taking a lunch break. The gunner is busy watching the herd behind us. I think they’ve got him spooked. I count three zeds at the tree line. A few more dead on the ground.”
Which explained the random gunshots.
“Can we get close enough to take them out without being seen?” Clutch asked.
“Maybe,” Tack replied. “It looks like the gunner is still watching the other side of the bridge for us.”
Clutch nodded and pulled out his pistol. “We head for the tree line. That way, if we’re seen, we can still find cover. Cash, you take the driver. I’ll take the gunny. Tack, make sure we’re covered.” He didn’t wait for a response.
“There’s no telling how many zeds are in those trees,” Tack warned.
I shot him a quick glance, grabbed my pistol and crawled up the hill, and stopped next to Clutch while he scanned the area. The truck sat less than a hundred yards off. Easy shot with a rifle any day of the week, except I no longer had my rifle. The driver’s side window was open, and he was taking a bite out of an MRE. The gunner in the back of the truck was leaning on the cab, still intently watching the bridge.
Clutch took off at a run toward the trees, and I dragged myself behind him. No shots fired from the truck. Clutch slid behind a wide tree, and I slammed into him, unable to stop my forward momentum. He caught me before I knocked us both down. Tack grabbed the tree next to us. A shadow moved several feet away, and Clutch took off, weaving around trees for the truck. A skinny zed emerged from a tree to our right, and Tack shoved a blade through its head.
When we reached the trees closest to the truck, we were no more than ten feet away from the zeds making their way to the truck.
“Ready?” Clutch asked.
“Ready,” I whispered.
He motioned. “Now.”
We ran out and started firing. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the gunner spin the .30 cal toward us. Machine gun fire drowned out the pops of our pistols. My first shot planted harmlessly into the truck door, but as I closed the distance, my aim improved. The driver snapped back, and red splattered the passenger window. The .30 cal died soon after, leaving behind silence.
“Clear,” I said.
“Clear,” Clutch echoed before turning around. “How many zeds now?”
“Five,” Tack replied, coming up from behind.
I sighed, and Clutch rubbed my shoulder. “Just a bit longer,” he murmured.
The five zeds had broken from their way to the truck and reached out toward us. That zeds always seemed to prefer their prey living over the freshly deceased had never made any sense to me. I would’ve thought they’d go for the easy meal, but it seemed like they were predators at heart.
Tack took down the nearest zed. I fired a single shot at the zed on the left, and Clutch fired several shots to take out the cluster of three. No one bothered to make sure they were down for good. Seemed like we all had the same idea: get away from Chow Town as quickly as possible.
Tack jumped in the back of the four-by-four and threw the dead gunner off. I opened the door and found the driver still sputtering blood. Air hissed through the hole in his cheek. He wasn’t moving, just in the final death throes. I grabbed his shirt and pulled him out the truck, let him collapse onto the ground at Clutch’s feet.
Clutch rifled through the man’s pockets. Movement caught the corner of my eye, and I noticed another zed emerging from the tree line. “There are more headed our way,” I said.
Clutch climbed behind the wheel, and pressed his headset. “Bravo is Oscar Mike in a Dog truck. Repeat, Bravo is Oscar Mike. ETA is one hour, over and out.”
I sat down on the leather seat and sighed. Every muscle in my body was exhausted. After two long breaths with my eyes closed, I grabbed bottles of water and protein bars off the floor and tossed them to the guys. Between bites, I sifted through the glove box, finding a box of condoms, a flashlight, and a six-shooter. I grabbed everything.
I checked out the handheld radio on the seat. “I wonder when these guys were supposed to check in.”
“Fingers crossed, they just did,” Clutch said. “We could use extra time to put some distance between their last location and us.”
If Clutch had said anything else, I missed it. I fell asleep somewhere between ten and twenty seconds into the drive.
I awoke with Clutch nudging me, and I grumbled. “Lemme sleep.”
“We’re at Camp Fox.”
I may have snarled at him, but I opened the door, climbed out, and grunted at my quickly stiffening muscles. I wasn’t going to be able to move tomorrow.
“Damn, you’re a sight for sore eyes,” Tyler said walking toward us with a wide smile.
Jase ran out from behind his captain and pulled me into a hug. Mutt hopped around us. Jase stepped back and wrinkled his nose. “Jesus. You guys need showers.”
“Happy to see you, too,” I mumbled, and I really was. Seeing the kid alive and well made me feel like everything we’d gone through had been worth it.
“How many were lost?” Clutch asked.
“Three brave souls,” Tyler replied. “But we gained fuel trucks and cut into Doyle’s numbers.” Then his jaw tightened. “How’d Southpaw bite it?”
“It was the darndest thing,” Tack said. “He was shot. Then he turned.”
Tyler frowned. “Same thing happened to two of Alpha team. The only thing we can figure out is that the Dogs dipped their ammo in zed blood.”
I raised my brows. “Wow, that’s low.”
“But smart,” Clutch said. “They don’t have to be accurate, only good enough to nick one of us with a shot, and we’re no longer an issue.” Then he frowned. “I’d think the guns would jam from sticky bullets.”
Tyler grimaced. “It’s messed up, true enough. Let’s head to my office and debrief.”
“Later,” Clutch said. “Bravo team needs rest first.”
Tyler moved his gaze slowly over the three of us before nodding. “Understood. But we need to debrief as soon as you’re up. We have extra racks in the troops’ barracks if you want to stay. Tack can show you around.”
Clutch looked to me, and I shrugged. “Okay, for now at least.”
Tyler smiled. “You’ll find Camp Fox is more secure than ever. You’re safe here.”
“You haven’t seen our camp yet,” Clutch replied.
“No, I haven’t,” Tyler said. “Where are you at now?”
Clutch paused before speaking. “We’re at Fox Park. Cash and I thought it could be made into a solid fallback location for the Camp. It needs a lot of work, but we should always prepare for the worst.”
“Agreed. I’ll mention the park to Colonel Lendt. A fallback location doesn’t sound like a bad idea, though I doubt we’ll need it. We’ve got Doyle on the run and the zeds will be gone come winter.”
“What makes you so sure the zeds will die out when winter comes?” I asked.
“Their bodies are decaying, and they are running off the most basic of instincts,” he replied. “They’ll die from exposure because they’re not smart enough to seek shelter. That is, if their bodies don�
��t rot away by then.”
After watching a zed continue to function completely under water for days, I had my doubts. “And if they don’t die off or rot away?”
Tyler shrugged. “Then we keep killing them.”
26
Ten days later
* * *
“One vehicle coming in at our two o’clock,” Jase said while he adjusted his night-vision binoculars. “I can’t make out how many are inside yet, but Mutt doesn’t like this situation.”
I threw a quick glance at the fidgeting coyote at Jase’s ankles before returning focus to my rifle’s scope. “Does she like any situation?”
“Sure,” he replied. “Dinnertime, bedtime, walks, any time there’s a chance to steal someone’s food.”
I chuckled as I lay on my stomach, the approaching vehicle in my sights. I was here in case things went to shit.
Hmph.
I’d figured things had gone to shit the moment two Dogs called Tyler on the radio, asking for amnesty, especially with one of those Dogs being Sean. How many zeds had he personally dumped over the gate at the farm? I didn’t trust him. Not one bit.
Clutch had agreed. That’s why he took a second squad to come at the Dogs from behind in case this was an ambush. I wanted to be on his team, but unlike Clutch and even Jase, I wasn’t particularly strong in the field, making Clutch pleased since he preferred me to be as far from the action as possible. At least I was a good shot, and so I was made one of Camp Fox’s designated snipers.
The truck came to a stop at the prearranged intersection one hundred yards from our current position. Tyler might be an idealist but even he knew better than to allow Dogs to enter the Camp unescorted.
I adjusted my scope on the driver. Sean, what are you up to?
I moved a millimeter to the left to make out the passenger. Fucking Weasel. This situation just kept getting better and better.
“I only see two Dogs,” Jase said.