Jeff’s eyes widened. He glanced over at Megan and George, who looked as surprised as he did.
“Excuse me, Michael.” He raised his hand as if in a classroom. “Does that mean we plan on staying? We’re going to fight those things?”
Before Michael could respond, Megan chimed in. “We have to leave! Don’t you understand? We have to get out of here before they surround us!” She was not speaking directly to Michael, but to everyone else, who looked as stunned at Michael’s proclamation as she did. The pleading in her eyes matched the tone in her voice. Suddenly, several people were talking all at once, to Michael and to each other. Panic was starting to set in.
“We are NOT leaving, people. LISTEN TO ME!” Michael raised his voice and startled the other survivors into silence. Glancing around, he made sure to catch everyone’s eye. “I am NOT giving up our home that easily. AND NEITHER ARE YOU! We made this fortress to withstand an attack, and WE’RE GONNA DO JUST THAT!”
Michael’s eyes stopped on Jeff. He jabbed his finger at his nemesis and growled. “You coward. You want to run? Well YOU didn’t put this place together, and YOU haven’t busted your ass to make sure it’s safe.” He shook his head in contempt and looked around at the others. “We’ve all run before. But I’m tired of running!” Michael did his best to stare down the entire group. “So we’re going to stay put and deal with this shit.” He pointed at the ground for emphasis. “Right here and right now.”
Michael intended his speech to be a rousing battle cry, but it was clear that very few of the people listening to him were buying into what he was trying to sell. As he stood looking out at the doubt and fear smeared across the faces all around him, he grew even angrier.
“It doesn’t matter that those things are out there. It doesn’t matter how afraid of them you are. What does matter is that We. Are. Not. Leaving!” Michael spat out the words through clenched teeth. “We’re staying put and fighting, people. Get that through your thick skulls!”
“How in the hell do you plan on holding those things off, Michael? And for how long? Have you seen how many of them are out there? Have you been listening?” Jeff paused, letting the moans, which had been background noise for some time now, take center stage. “I saw them, Michael. I saw how many there are. Ben did too! There are hundreds, maybe thousands of them!” He paused again, letting the comment sink in before looking into Michael’s eyes, which were full of hate. “I’m no goddamned coward, but I’m not interested in some sort of last stand either. No one, and I mean NO ONE, is going to remember this Alamo.”
Even with the rage in Michael’s eyes and the tension in his body, Jeff was caught off guard by the fist that came crashing down on his chin. He fell to the ground, his head bouncing off the turf as stars exploded before his eyes.
The M16 was off Michael’s back and pointed at Jeff’s face before he could blink. Any idea that George had of stepping in disappeared as Michael swung the weapon toward him then back at Jeff. The middle-aged man raised his hands, surprised to see the rifle aimed his way. He had barely moved after watching Jeff crumple to the ground, yet Michael seemed prepared for anything. At the same time, Megan screamed and knelt at Jeff’s side while Jason and everyone else looked on in stunned silence.
“Say one more word. Please. Just one.”
Jeff, who had not gotten used to being punched and kicked, despite the events of the past few days, felt dizzy. Michael’s words sounded funny inside his head, as if they were being edited in some sound studio, sliced up and stuttered. When he'd landed, his head had bounced hard. The soil was soft, but the contact was abrupt and made his vision fade for a moment. Even with all the pain and blurriness, he had a good idea of what was happening. He tried to focus as he raised a hand and lip-synced the word “okay.”
Megan looked up at Michael but did not speak as George stepped closer to the two of them. Ben inched forward, and Michael spun around to point the rifle in his direction. Ben slowed to a stop.
“It’s cool, Michael. Relax. We’re all friends here.” Ben had his hands up in a placating gesture. “You’re right, anyhow. We can’t leave.” Michael’s rage was still boiling over, and the words didn’t sink in right away, until he seemed to go blank for a second and blinked. When his eyes fixed back on Ben, they were clearer, more cognizant of what the big man had said.
Ben continued after seeing the rational look return to Michael’s eyes. “There’s too many of them to drive through. Not with one of these huge beasts.” He pointed toward the RVs. “We couldn’t pick up enough speed to plow through rows and rows of them. We’d get stuck.” Ben looked around at everyone. “We’re going to have to hold them off for as long as we can and wait for the right moment to bug out.”
Michael shook his head in frustration. “Don’t you get it? Don’t any of you get it? We can hold these bastards off and kill them all! We have the weapons to do it! We take them out, one by one, two by two, and soon we’ll have every last one of these infected mother fuckers taken care of. Don’t you understand? We’ll be free then! We’ll be able to retake the town!” He was shaking his head and smiling. “Maybe what happened out there was fucked up, but perhaps it was a blessing in disguise! Think about it: we can keep on running, forever, or until we all die because someone slips up even worse than this. Or we can take a stand. Fight for what’s ours. I know we can do this!”
“It’s a good idea, Michael.”
Everyone swung around when they heard the quiet voice. Jeff looked over at Megan and grabbed at her hand, trying to pull her back down next to him. She slipped through his fingers and stood up. Michael was already looming over her. “I’m not messing with you. I mean it. Jeff and I …” She pointed down at the man who was trying to get to his feet, but whose legs felt like Jell-o. “We took a stand, and it worked like a charm.”
Michael’s eyes narrowed as he waited for her to explain.
“We cleared out every last one of those things in our neighborhood. Just a few days ago.” Megan motioned to Jeff again as he finally got to his feet. “It was Jeff’s idea, but I saw the results.” Jeff stood next to Megan as she continued. “We lured them over a steep embankment at the back of our subdivision. Every single one of them.”
They were all staring at her now. Frank, who had a lost and frightened look on his face, was the most enraptured. He was mesmerized by what Megan was saying. She told the story in bits and pieces. How Jeff had rescued her and how his crazy plan had worked. When she was done, the tension in the camp lessened significantly, and even Michael looked impressed. He glanced at Jeff a few times, but his eyes mostly remained on Megan. He still looked skeptical, but the rifle was pointed toward the ground, and he was in control of his emotions again.
“So why didn’t you stay there?”
“Because more kept coming.” It was Jeff who chimed in. His voice was quiet and his eyes distant. “By the next day, the street was filled with them again.” He shook his head. “I don’t know where they came from, but they certainly showed up.” A dark grin crept onto his face. “But it sure as shit felt good taking as many of them out as we did before we left.” He glanced over at Megan and held out his hand. She hesitated for a moment and then reached out to clasp it. Jeff squeezed her hand tight and smiled at her.
“Well, we’re going to take them all out and make sure they never come back.” Everyone was looking at Michael again. His jaw was firm as he slung his rifle. “Okay. Enough of this bullshit! Let’s get ready for those fuckers!”
Jeff and Megan stepped back to listen as Michael rattled off everyone’s responsibilities during the attack. The words sounded tinny in Jeff’s ears as his heart pounded heavily in his chest and his breathing grew shallow. He’d managed to survive Michael’s enraged outburst, but as the volume of howls and cries of agony increased outside the walls of the camp, Jeff wondered if he’d have been better off if he’d let Michael shoot him.
Chapter 20
They waited.
Jeff lay flat on the roof of t
he RV next to Teddy, who had to be dragged away from Ray to take his post up top. Lydia stayed below with the injured teen and the children, but everyone else was stationed above, each armed with makeshift weapons. Several had been created for the men who stood watch at night in the camp: long and spear-like, they were made from common farming implements like hoes and pitchforks.
They could hear the rustling of leaves and underbrush being pushed aside in the dense woods. The shadowy movement of the monsters forcing their way through the thickly clotted trees made it clear what the little group of survivors were up against.
Michael had refused to redistribute the guns and had already confiscated Teddy’s rifle. Jeff knew they needed to preserve their meager ammo, but didn’t like the idea of some jury-rigged pitchfork being the only thing that stood between him and an agonizing death.
They were all bunched up on the top of Ben’s RV. This was where they would make their stand and deal with the brunt of the attack, keeping the crowd of infected focused on one area. Ben had reinforced his windows with wooden slats, though they were too high to be reached by scratching hands. Jeff wondered how tough the metal skin of the RV was and how much pounding it would be able to take.
As the moans and sounds of excitement increased beyond the trees, Michael walked behind the group, exhorting them to remain calm. His rifle was slung on his back, and he had something that resembled a spear in his hands.
He paired them off, putting Jeff with Teddy, George with Jason, Megan with Ben, and Cindy with Frank (mainly because no one else wanted to work with either of them). They were spaced out across the top of the RV, and Michael would step in to help, but the partners would rely mostly on each other to get the job done.
Frank brought out what looked like a whole medieval arsenal from inside his RV. There were about twenty spikes, pikes, and long-handled machetes to choose from. Most of the wooden shafts had been replaced with longer, bulky pieces of oak or metal held in place by thick screws.
“Lydia will take good care of Ray. You need to focus on what’s happening up here.”
Teddy looked at Jeff and nodded. The boy was nervous, but as he gazed out at the trees, Jeff knew the kid was as ready as any of them.
He looked over to Megan and caught her eye. She gave him a brave smile, and he mouthed the words “everything is going to be okay.” She just shook her head, not sure what he was trying to say, so he shrugged and returned her smile.
As they lay there, waiting for the impending doom, Jeff glanced down past the walls of the fortress and admired his old van. It was banged up and had seen far better days, but was still drivable and had plenty of gas. If he only knew how to hotwire a car, or could snag one of the keys Michael had taken off of him … it was madness to think of such things, but Jeff couldn’t stop the thoughts from invading his mind as the sounds of the dead grew in pitch and volume from beyond the tree line.
“Here they come.”
Michael’s terse words made Jeff’s heart skip a beat. Several haggard shapes fought free of the woods and the group got their first clear view of what they dealing with. The emaciated creatures spotted them, and their blood-crazed eyes widened in excitement. As one, they marched toward the survivors, their moans echoing off the side of the RV. Others appeared behind the first wave, bodies moving from the shadows as they raised their arms toward the people high above them.
They trickled through the gaps in the trees like drips from a leaky faucet. They came, one after another, in inconsistent lines of attack. The way they looked reminded Jeff of rotten apples with soft and mushy skin. They came in all forms and shapes: short and tall, punctured and bloated. Some were dismembered while others had no visible wounds.
They kept coming. By the time the first slammed its hand against the side of the RV, there were already a hundred in the clearing.
Ben got the first kill. With a rapid thrust, he impaled the first pus bag on the end of his giant, metal-hafted pitchfork. He drove the tines through its eyes, and when he pulled the pitchfork back, one of the orbs remained on his weapon while the rest of the ghoul slumped to the ground. Another moved into the spot it had occupied, disinterested in the body on which it was stepping.
For a time after that, things were a blur. Michael worked behind them, stepping up and jamming his spear-like weapon down at an attacker here and there. Megan relied heavily on Ben, though she did jab at a few of the monsters arrayed before her. It was not clear if she did any damage, since faces swam in and out of her vision as they smashed against the RV. One grabbed at her weapon, a hoe with a sharpened blade, and she nearly toppled over the side of the RV. Ben pulled her back as she relinquished the weapon to the ghoul below.
“Be careful. There’re more weapons, but only one of you.”
He smiled and turned back to stab at another contorted creature. Megan slumped to her ass and sat looking out at the trees. More infected were coming. She had maybe killed a couple, but saw the others killing many more—dozens, perhaps. There were plenty of targets for everyone. She glanced at Jason and George and watched them for a moment before her eyes gradually slid over to Jeff. Everyone was standing, so she barely caught a glimpse of him as he thrust his weapon into the crowd below.
“Pick up another weapon! Move it!”
Megan swiveled her head to the right and saw Cindy glaring at her. The tattooed girl grinned maniacally as she raised her own bloody pike, pointing it in Megan’s direction. Megan inched backwards, and Cindy laughed.
When a hand came down on her shoulder, Megan nearly jumped out of her skin. She yelped and spun around. Michael was standing behind her. Without a word, he thrust the pitchfork into her hands. Before she could react, he was gone, moving on down the line. Megan spared one last glance at Cindy, who displayed her teeth like a shark before returning to her gruesome task.
The stench drifting up from the mass of bodies was like syrup in Jeff’s mouth, it was so thick. He had ruptured countless bodies, and the toxic fumes that billowed up from them were overwhelming. He had seen several of the others vomit over the side, but had avoided following suit thus far. The heat was making everything worse as the sun beat down on the survivors, the infected, and the festering corpses beneath their feet.
As he looked out at the endless flow of bodies crashing through the woods, he heard more echoing howls of glee. The sound of weak limbs slapping against the side of the trailer made him nervous, but he could barely feel the vibration beneath his feet.
As he continued with his grim task, he could not help but wonder who were the monsters in this little game they played with the dead. Despite his morbid curiosity, Jeff thrust downward once again, this time striking a green-faced woman who looked like some sort of fungal growth had sprung up all over her face and shoulders. It was not much of a novelty; he had seen similar signs with other infected. As the mutated shovel he was wielding connected, there was a wet crunching sound, as if a giant crusty blister had popped. As a mixture of pus and blood gushed around the entry wound, Jeff wondered why the fluid was not green as well. He jolted the weapon, driving it farther into the new mouth that had formed only about an inch above the woman’s original one. The second thrust did it, and the top half of the head bobbed backward, separated enough from the rest of the skull that the dead eyes, which had been filled with so much pain and anger just a moment before, switched off like a plug had been pulled, and she sank beneath the waves of flesh that surrounded her.
The ground beneath the survivors was a blender of swirling activity as bodies pressed against the metal walls as if being sucked into a maelstrom, appearing and then disappearing, only to pop up elsewhere in the crowd a few moments later. Bodies twisted and contorted for the best position, but then a gore-slick stave from above would dive beneath the surface, spearing another prize. With a successful strike, a body would fall beneath the surface and the others around it would shift, squeezing into the small amount of space left open by the departure of another rotten meat bag. Jeff imagined he could
hear the crunch of infected bones being pummeled underfoot as more and more fell to the wrath of the living, but he knew it was impossible for him to hear such an insignificant sound.
Looking across the top of the RV, Jeff saw how the endless cycle of killing had taken its toll. Only Ben still seemed near full strength as he thrust his weapon into the crowd over and over. Frank looked terrified even though his partner, Cindy, seemed highly enthusiastic about what they were doing. The others were moving slower, stabbing and killing at a pace far slower than that at which they had started. They desperately needed to take a break. As he continued to scan the others, he noticed someone was missing from the group.
***
Michael was satisfied with how the battle was going and decided to make a circuit around the top of the RVs. He could see other shapes moving out in the distance, some from the east and west. Not a huge amount, at least not yet. But what he was curious about was to the south, on the opposite side of the camp from where they were fighting. He circled to the west, spot checking as he moved carefully across the roofs. When he stopped on top of his own RV, the outer wall of which faced southeast, he glanced down and did a double take.
“What the …?”
The dead were pouring out of the woods from all directions on the southern side of the camp—nearly as many as they were facing from the north. Michael’s heart raced, and he could hear the blood pounding in his ears as he saw them filing endlessly through the dense woodlands. There was more distance between the trees and the RVs back here than where the group was fighting to the north, and yet the flat, open area was already filling up. When the huge pack of ghouls saw him standing on top of the RV, they moaned in unison and shambled even faster toward him.
Michael shook his head. Where had these come from? There was nothing to the south of the camp on any maps, just a shitload of farmland and back roads. All the population of Manchester should be coming from the north and east. So what the hell was going on? As he looked down, one of the ghouls slapped the side of his RV, and he resisted the urge to pull the M16 off his back and put a hole in its skull. Instead, he ran back to the others.
The Dark Trilogy Page 34