by M. D. Massey
Gabby soon walked in, whistling some tune that she’d likely picked up since arriving here. Captain Perez had quite the collection of 80s and 90s CDs, and she’d been introducing Gabby to hair band music and grunge of late. The kid seemed to like it, but no amount of explaining could satisfy her on the issue of why some of the bands dressed the way they had on the album covers. The Doc had finally given up, and told her to just enjoy the music and not think so hard about things that were inexplicable.
Bobby, on the other hand, had found a CD by some sitar player, and had spent the last day and a half trying to convince Gabby that it was far superior to the hard rock and metal that she’d been listening to. I honestly sort of liked the faster sitar music he’d been playing, but the slow stuff just made me want to fall asleep. Gabby agreed with me, and we had both voted down the Indian artist in favor of The Foo Fighters’ and KISS’s greatest hits. Long live rock and roll.
Gabby jumped up on the table next to where I was working, lightly enough so that nothing I was doing was disturbed. “So, how you feeling?”
She was referring to the treatments. I shrugged. “So far I haven’t gained much of any benefit, except the ability to smell Bobby from all the way down the hall and hear the roaches in the walls. I never realized how much he smells like a wet dog.”
She laughed and held her stomach. “Oh, wait until I tell him that. He says that it’s not a good idea to use the soap here to bathe, because the smell will stay on us and make it easier for the werewolves to track us when we leave.”
I nodded. “He’s right, you know. But that’s nothing that a little animal urine won’t fix.” She made a face at me as I snapped the pistol I was working on back together, grabbing another matching weapon from the bench beside me and handing both to her, grip-first. “Here, see how these feel in your hands.”
They were a pair of Glock 19s, which were probably the perfect pistol for her at the moment. The grips were larger than the .22 she’d been shooting, but they had great ergonomics and the recoil was minimal. I’d also rustled up some MOLLE gear for her, along with some holsters for the Glocks and magazine pouches to match. I’d found similar gear for myself, but at the moment I was lamenting the loss of my battle-hatchet and my combat Bowie. I decided it’d be too much of an insult not to go back to the militia compound and get my shit, and also figured it’d be a good trial run to see how I’d fare with the minor upgrades the Doc’s treatments had provided me.
I looked at Gabby, who was sighting down the barrel of her new pistols. “So, whaddya think?”
She nodded enthusiastically. “Oh yeah, these’ll do.”
“Hang one to that little .22 though; I intend to machine a silencer for it at some point. Besides, your uncle gave it to you.”
She nodded again, more thoughtfully this time, and looked at me. “You look like you’re up to something.”
“I am. You up for a night mission?” She gave me a thumbs up, an anachronism she’d picked up from hanging out with Bobby. “Good. Then go get the mutt and let’s see about getting some payback.”
I’d decided against an all-out assault, not only because we were out-manned and out-gunned, but also because there were some good people in the compound and I didn’t want them to get hurt. It wasn’t their fault that they’d fallen in under a loony commander; people did what they had to do to survive after They came, and I understood that as well as any. The plan was simply that we’d infiltrate the compound silently at night, grab my gear, and leave a present for the colonel. If everything went as planned, they’d never know we were there until we were long gone.
It took us no more than an hour to jog to from the Facility to the compound. I had to admit, the increased endurance I’d developed was a welcome benefit. I stopped Bobby and Gabby about a half-mile from the compound. “Wait here, I’ll be back within the hour.” They nodded, and I slinked off into the darkness, my night vision accommodating to the lack of moonlight. I was still conflicted about the long-term effects that these treatments might have on the gene pool of the remaining human race, but what was done was done. And while I might eventually decide that it was too much risk to bring anyone else on board, so far I couldn’t help but to think that my fears were unfounded.
I took off at a sprint for the pit where they’d left me to die, arriving beside the ramp within minutes, barely winded at all. I climbed the wall and peered over it, careful not to let the deaders down there notice me. All I needed was one. I waited until a loner separated itself from the rest. It was a long-haired woman of indeterminate age, perfect for what I had in mind. I secured the rope I’d brought to the top of the wall and used a dulfersitz rappel to quickly get down the wall, landing within a few feet of my target.
Strangely, when I arrived at the bottom of the pit she turned at the movement, sniffed, then ignored me completely. I was baffled at this and noticed that the other deaders were likewise ignoring my presence. Curiouser and curiouser, I thought. I stayed up against the pool wall, close to the rope should I have the need to get out quickly, but the deadheads continued to completely ignore me.
I noticed how they tended to bump into and ignore one another as well. Could it be the infection that causes them to mistake me for a deader? I wondered. Deciding to put my hypothesis to the test, I moved with caution toward the female deader I’d targeted when I dropped in. As I closed the distance she continued to ignore my presence. I walked around her in circles, and while her eyes may have followed me once or twice, she made no attempt to attack. Well, this could prove handy at some point.
Fascinated but short on time, I decided to take care of business and do what I had come to do. I pulled out a burlap potato sack I’d found in the mess earlier and drew the kukri from the sheath at my belt. I’d spent a considerable amount of time cleaning and sharpening it while I was convalescing in the sick bay at the Facility, and it was sharp enough to shave hair. I separated the deader’s head from her shoulders with two clean swipes of the blade. I wiped the blade on her clothing, popping her head in the bag. With a quick look around, I began to climb back up the wall.
FOUR
YELLOW
AS I GRABBED THE ROPE, I heard the moaning increase behind me and turned to see that I’d finally drawn the attention of the remaining deaders in the pit. They looked around, increasingly agitated, and at least one of them had zeroed in on me. I saw that one break away and begin to shuffle in my direction.
Looking up the rope, I realized I’d never make it up in time. I dropped the burlap bag and drew the kukri in one hand and a Glock 19 in the other. As the deadhead closed in on me, I parried a lunging grab while V-stepping to my left, hacking at the hamstrings on the front of the thing’s near leg as I allowed it to lunge past me. Immediately I brought the blade back around and buried it in the deader’s spine at the base of the skull.
Kicking the creature’s back off my blade as it fell, I turned to see the remaining three deaders coming at me in a rush. I fired off two shots, hitting one of them in the forehead and the other just below the nose in the center of the face. Both shots stopped them, but the third deader was already on me by the time those two began to fall. I backed up at an angle, not wanting to trip on the corpse behind me, and brought the kukri around in a circular flourish that took off one of the deader’s hands in a single swipe. I checked that arm at the elbow with the pistol, keeping the deader from turning to face me fully, bringing the blade back around for an overhand cut. I sunk the blade into the thing’s temple a good six inches, and lost my grip as the creature dropped.
On instinct, I looked around for more threats, but I was now the only thing moving in the pool. I stepped back and leaned against the wall, then did a quick head to toe assessment for injuries. Not a scratch. I did a quick replay of the encounter I’d just had in my mind’s eye, knowing that knowledge gleaned from the previous events could be crucial to my survival in the future.
I could only surmise that the deaders could somehow sense that I was carrying
Z venom in my veins, and while that made me less of a target to them, it didn’t make me completely “invisible,” if that were the right word. For the most part, they’d been happy to ignore me until I started attacking them. This pointed to at least a rudimentary reasoning ability on the part of the deaders, as they modified their attitude toward me based on my aggression toward them. Getting ignored by deaders could come in handy, but I’d have to be careful not to rouse them from a holding pattern, especially in large groups.
Another thing I realized in breaking down the fight was that everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Rather, I had been picking up on movement faster, staying two and three steps ahead of the deaders during the whole fight. I’d never experienced anything like it. Typically you get tunnel vision immediately following an adrenaline dump, but instead my senses had opened up to take in everything around me.
That being said, I knew that I wasn’t physically faster than I was before the treatments. I just reacted faster, and the only thing I could come up with was that my perception speed had increased. These were all things I could discuss with the Doc when we got back to the Facility. But for now, I had a mission to accomplish and I was wasting time thinking about insignificant details when I should have been heading back to the wonder twins. Those two knuckleheads were sure to get into trouble without me, so I picked up the burlap sack and sprinted back to where I’d left them.
About halfway there, I ran into them both running almost full-tilt in my direction. I whistled a bird call and caught their attention. They pulled up short as I jogged over to them.
Bobby was the first one to speak, gesticulating excitedly with his surfer boy mannerisms. “What happened? We heard gunshots and came running.”
“How loud were they? Do you think they heard the shots back at the camp?”
Gabby shook her head. “We could hear it, but it sounded like it was further off in the distance. I doubt that the guards at the compound would’ve thought much of it.”
I nodded. “Alright then, the party’s still on. You know what to do.”
Since there were always three wall sentries and a gate guard on night watch, there would be one too many of them for us to take out in a coordinated attack. So I decided that a little stealth and deception were in order.
As we approached the compound, Gabby hid in the treeline about 50 feet from Bobby and I, and we waited on her to initiate the action. Her job was simply to distract the guard so we could sneak up behind him. She did an admirable job by imitating the sounds of a coyote taking a baby cottontail in its nest, making some rustling noises in the brush and then letting out a few distress calls that would’ve been sufficient to call in a live coyote. It was more than enough to distract the guard for the few moments we needed. Bobby closed the distance and mounted the wall quickly and silently, choking the guard out like I had shown him earlier and dropping the body off the wall. I moved to gag and tie up the unconscious guard with nylon cuffs after removing his jacket and cap. I threw these up to Bobby, and he quickly put them on and continued walking the wall as if nothing was out of place.
Based on the guards’ movements that I recalled from my time in the compound, I knew the other guards would expect Bobby to check in with them shortly. Knowing that the clock was ticking, I vaulted the wall and ducked under a CHU just in time to avoid the interior patrol guards who walked the compound at night.
One benefit to having better hearing, eyesight, and smell was that it was easy to sense when something was coming my way. Several times during the run over I’d noted animal life in the brush and trees around us that would have easily escaped my attention just a few short days ago. It was a little unnerving, but it sure made it a hell of a lot easier to evade the guards inside the compound as I closed in on the Colonel’s quarters.
My mocs made moving silently a breeze, and I snuck into the quarters without anyone raising an alarm. I drew my kukri and stalked over to his bunk, placing my hand over his mouth and nose and sticking the point of the kukri under his left eye.
He came to in a confused, panicked state. I whispered a warning. “Don’t make a single sound, or I’ll take the top of your head off before anyone can hear you scream. Do you understand?”
He nodded, and a tear fell from the corner of his eye. Whether from fear or his old injury, I couldn’t be certain, but I smelled piss on him as I pulled my hand away from his mouth.
“Let me see your hands.” He complied, so I zip-tied his hands together and then to the metal bunk frame. I duct taped his mouth shut, and tied his feet up with paracord, securing them to the bunk as well. Finally I pulled the female deader’s head from the burlap sack, and left it in the bed next to him.
“Something to keep you company, Colonel, at least until your men find you in the morning.” He visibly cringed away from the severed head, obviously fearful of being infected. I doubted that he’d ever had to kill a deader up close. Shocker.
I crouched down next to his bunk, and he turned his head to look at me in the dark. I knew he couldn’t see me, but I could clearly see the fear in his eyes and could smell it seeping from his pores. “Now, Leakey, I don’t think I need to tell you that you have some good men and women under your command. I’d hate to have to kill any of them just because of your stupid half-cocked mission to blow up the Corridor. And I think you know now that I can get to you, anytime I want.
“My strong suggestion to you is to deliver command over to someone who has an IQ over seventy and let them figure out how this unit can do some good in the post-War world. That’s option one. I’d prefer for you to take that option, but I know what a stupid and arrogant piece of shit you are, and I personally doubt that you have the moral aptitude to redeem yourself with such an act.
“Now, option two is for you to recognize that everything north of State Highway 90 on the west side of San Antonio and Interstate 10 on the east side is mine. I want you to move out of here ASAFP, head south, and don’t let me see your sad sorry face north of that line again. If I do, I’ll kill you and that shitbag Marsh on sight. Am I clear?”
The Colonel nodded his head with a defeated look in his eye. I drew my sidearm and tapped him between the eyes with the barrel as I stood up, eliciting a noticeable wince. “Then don’t forget it. Because I certainly won’t.”
I turned and grabbed my battlehawk from his desk, and rustled around the room until I located my Glocks and my Bowie knife from his footlocker. I’d figured he’d kept my sidearms for personal use and my tomahawk as a trophy. Even so, I’d chalked up my rifle as a loss, knowing that it probably went straight into the armory as soon as they had dumped me into the pit. Despite the loss of the rifle, finding the Bowie was a nice unexpected surprise.
I attached all the gear to my MOLLE harness and ensured that it wouldn’t make any noise during my escape. I left the Colonel in a puddle of his own piss and sweat and headed out to fetch Bobby before someone figured out what had happened to the wall sentry.
On the way out, we tossed the trussed up wall sentry on top of the wall. Just in case a deader happened by, I didn’t want him to end up on the menu. Bobby discarded the BDU hat and jacket he’d borrowed as we entered the tree line, and after signaling Gabby to follow we headed back to the Facility, using blacktop roads so we wouldn’t leave a recognizable trail.
After we’d made it a safe distance from the militia compound, Gabby whispered to me. “I take it everything went okay in there?”
I nodded, and was about to reply when my arm spasmed in pain and my side cramped up as if I had a Charley horse from my wrist to my other shoulder. I immediately dropped to the ground, heaving short breaths since it was difficult to breathe properly. The sensation in my arm was similar to the experience I’d had when Bobby had first opened my wound and poured it full of his blood. It was like liquid fire was spreading through my veins, starting at the site of the bite and moving up my arm to my shoulder and chest.
Gabby gasped and pulled up short, dropping down to my side. �
�Scratch, are you okay?” She turned to Bobby with concern in her eyes. “What’s wrong with him?”
Bobby knelt on my other side and shook his head. “I don’t know.” He shook my shoulder, which just made the fire in my arm and side worse. “Scratch, buddy, are you alright?”
I clenched my teeth and waited a few seconds, and soon the pain began to subside and breathing became easier. Seeing the change come over my face, they both relaxed a bit and gave me some room. I rolled over on my back and looked up at the stars, cradling my arm to my side.
Gabby took the hand that wasn’t still clenched in a fist in hers. “Can you walk?” I nodded, and she pulled me up as Bobby assisted from the side. I waved them off after standing up, feeling my strength coming back as the pain subsided.
“I’ll be fine. Must be some residual effects from that deader bite.”
Gabby cocked an eye at me. “‘Ya think? This ain’t cool, Scratch. We need to get you back to La Araña and have her look you over.”
I simply nodded and started walking back to the Facility. I noticed Bobby and Gabby exchanging a concerned look, but I ignored it and focused on getting back to safety before the others discovered the Colonel and sent patrols looking for us.
FIVE
FIGHTING