by Tony Urban
"But--"
"No buts. Let's finish this shite."
Saw turned away from him and returned to fighting. Mitch didn't see the point. He stood in the water, chaos reigning all around him, and wished it was all over.
Chapter Fifty-Four
I think Saw just got bit," Wim said. He only saw the tail end of it through the scope, but he saw the small, bleeding, oval wound and couldn't imagine anything else.
"Goddamn. I thought that fucker was too mean to die."
The zombies were gaining momentum and fast. Wim counted only nine people alive. Even if he missed a few of them, there were several dozen of the undead. Many of the zombies had continued past the people and were climbing out of the river, onto the other side of the banks.
Wim turned to Mead. "Grab a couple of those extra buckets."
Mead did without question. While he was gone, Wim used the rifle to fall five zombies, their bodies dropping into the river and floating away in the current.
When Mead returned, waddling back and forth with two buckets in each hand, Wim set the rifle aside and grabbed two from him. "Roll them down the hill."
They did, the buckets gaining speed as they careened down the embankment. One hit a large rock and the pop topped free, making its contents useless, A second ended up in the river, bobbing along and drifting out of range but the other two came to rest before the waters.
Several zombies were within the blast range of one of the pails. Wim waited until they were closer, counting to pass the time. There were eighteen of them, or was it seventeen, or nineteen? He counted three times but got different results with every effort and gave up, instead deciding to shoot.
The bullet hit the bucket dead on and it blew. The roar was much louder on that side of the river and Wim felt his ears ring. A woosh of air rushed past him and there was so much dust and smoke that he couldn't see anything for a full thirty seconds. When it finally settled, he saw a hole in the ground and scattered bits of zombies.
The second bucket was further away from the undead and Wim saw little sense in using it just yet. He returned to using his rifle to shoot zombies, getting kills with most shots, but it wasn't long before he realized his ammo was running low. He checked, then looked to Mead.
"I'm down to two shots."
Mead had no gun and, until this point, had been taking it all in from afar. But Wim knew the man was no coward and when he heard this news, he was on his feet. "We're going down, then?"
Wim nodded. "I am. Whether or not you do is your call. No judgement from me either way."
Mead pulled on his helmet. "I just wanted to be fashionably late."
Wim was surprised he wasn't more scared. It wasn't that he thought he was impervious, or incapable of dying. In fact, as they started down the embankment, he thought that the most likely result. But he was tired. He was ready for this to end one way or another.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Mitch was still in a fog when he found Juli at the far end of the river. She sat on the shore, staring down at the water like she'd never seen anything wet before. And like there weren't hundreds of people and zombies dying all around her.
He splashed through the current, skirting the violence around him. When he reached her, his shadow fell over her body and that finally drew her attention up.
"Mitch," she said, stating the obvious. Like they were meeting at the mall on a Sunday afternoon and not in the middle of a war.
"You could have stopped this," he said to her.
She shook her head slowly. "No. That was impossible. All of this was predestined."
"Fuck that bullshit!" She flinched at his tone.
An explosion down river rocked the ground. Mitch didn't bother to look. The longer he stared at this woman, the woman who helped Grady take his craziness to whole new levels, the more he hated her. "Aren’t you even a little ashamed of what you played a part in?"
He stepped aside so she could see the carnage around her but she either didn't look or didn't care and her expression remained blank.
"Saw's gonna die. Aben's dead. All because of you."
He thought he saw some comprehension through her fog, but that might have been wishful thinking.
"Aben died?" She asked. "How?"
"Does it matter?"
"I guess not."
Juli looked at him, her eyes squinting in the bright, midday sun. "I don't expect you to understand belief, Mitch. Not with your rich parents and spoiled upbringing. Did you ever have a trying incident in your life before this? Something worse than having your allowance withheld for a week?"
Mitch wanted to slap her face but held back.
"When everything is handed to you on a gold plate, you don't need to believe in anything. But some of us, we experienced life. We know it isn't all Bentley's and Rolex's. We need to know there's someone above us to get us through the hard times. But you wouldn't know that."
"You're just trying to make yourself feel better. At least I cop to my actions. I don't blame all this shit on some made up man in the sky to avoid responsibility."
"You know, Mitch, when I first met you I thought you might be able to replace my son. Not really, of course, but in a way. Give me a second chance at being a mother. Boy, was I mistaken. You were an entitled asshole then and you're a mean-spirited son of a bitch now. Nothing at all like my son. " She smiled a little. "See, I can admit when I'm wrong."
"Can I ask you something?" Mitch twirled his fingers around the handle of the war club.
"You don't need my permission."
Mitch slammed the metal end of the club into her mouth. Her bottom lip was torn in half, two ragged flaps of skin that sagged almost down to her chin. Most of her nicotine-stained teeth shattered and went flying through the air, accompanied by a spray of red saliva. Blood seeped from her gums and drained onto the ground.
She turned her face up to him. He loved the pained look in her eyes, the destruction that marred the bottom half of her face. He knew she deserved that and so much more. He'd make this last days if he had the time, but he'd caught sight of a half dozen zombies coming up behind him. His gun was out of bullets and his only option was to run.
The younger Mitch, the spoiled son of Senator SOB (Juli wasn't far off the mark on that) would have ran. He would have done anything to save his own ass. But time had changed him. He didn't care about getting away any more. All he cared about was teaching this bitch a lesson.
"Do you still believe in God?" Mitch asked.
Juli spit out a mouthful of blood and a few more chunks of teeth came with it. "Yes," she said.
Mitch reared back with the club. "I don't."
He swung again. Her skull went to pieces as the zombies grabbed him from behind and dragged him down. He could feel their teeth ripping into him, chunks of flesh being excised from his body.
One got a hold of his ear and took it off in a single chomp. Another bit into his neck and Mitch could feel his hot blood coursing down his body. As far as ends went, he thought that was about as good as it got.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Mead didn't like the numbers, but he was clad from head to toe in denim and armor and thought he'd be able to make it through all but the worst of attacks. The key, he believed, was not letting the motherfuckers surround him.
Using his conduit spear, he was able to kill the zombies from a distance. Over and over again he jabbed the ends into their eyes and mouths and ears, destroying their brains with relative ease.
He'd put down all the ones in his immediate vicinity and looked around to see who else, if anyone, was still standing. He first saw Juli dead on the ground, Mitch beside her as zombies gnawed away at him. Then, he found Saw in the river, fighting with his blades and destroying anything in his path.
Further down, Wim used a machete to chop off the head of one zombie, then the upraised arm of another. He finished the maimed one off a moment later.
There have to be more of us, Mead thought, but as he surveyed the area aga
in he couldn't find any survivors on their feet. Only him, Wim, and Saw. The only good thing about that was that there were less than twenty zombies up and moving. The majority of them had grouped together in the center of the river, with only a couple stragglers in Wim's and Saw's vicinities.
Mead thought, with more than a little surprise, they were going to win this after all. When Wim killed the two zombies remaining near him, and Saw dropped the four closest his position, all that remained was that huddled mass. And Mead had the perfect idea how to finish them.
He splashed through the water until he reached the last bucket, picking it up, holding it above him to keep it dry.
"Wim!" He called out. "You still have any bullets?"
Wim looked to him. "Two."
"Well, that's one more than we need."
The men came together in the river and Mead held up the bucket. It was heavy, and his arms were getting tired. "These buckets are waterproof, right?"
Wim shrugged his shoulders. "I reckon it'll stay dry for as long as we need."
"Good. Then I'll chuck it over and you plunk it?"
Wim nodded, but Saw reached out with his hand. "Give it to me, lads."
"You want to throw it?" Mead asked. He was looking forward to that part, but he also realized Saw was stronger and probably had better aim.
The excitement and jubilation he felt faded when Saw turned sideways and lifted his shirt.
"I'm fooked," he said. "One of the little ones got me too. Never did much like kids. Maybe that was me penance."
Mead handed him the bucket. "You don't have to..."
"I know it. I want to." Saw looked at Wim. "Always did want to go out with a bang. Figure you can take care of that part, big boy."
"If that's what you want."
"Want's a little strong, but it'll do." Saw took a few steps away from them. A few steps closer to the zombies. "Let me ask you though, if you head back to Shard End, do me a favor and tell Mina I really did love her."
"Tell that to her head, you mean?" Mead asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Sure. That'll do. Daft old cow, she was. Don't think she ever realized how much I cared."
Mead doubted a man who could put his lover's head on a spike was capable of genuine love, but then again, the world had gone hard and traditional niceties had changed. "Okay then, we will."
"Thanks, for that." Saw moved another two yards closer to the zombies, but slower now. Like he wasn't quite ready for it all to end. "That was some hella good fighting today. One of you oughta write it down case there's a future after this. Hells bells, this was better than the Alamo. All of those fookers died, didn't they?"
"I believe so," Mead said.
"Aw, good then. We bested 'em in triplicate. Just be sure and get it right though. My name's Solomon Baldwin, but all me friends called me Saw."
Saw was just a few feet from the zombies and they now moved toward him, closing the distance quickly.
"It was good knowing you, boys!" He called out, then clutched the bucket against his chest, embracing it.
Mead and Wim rushed to the side of the river, getting as far as possible from the blast radius, but as soon as the zombies were on Saw, they stopped.
Wim raised the rifle, aimed, and pulled the trigger.
Saw went boom, and so did the last of Grady's zombie army.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Wim was so exhausted he barely made it back up the embankment. They'd checked all the bodies making sure no one who should have been alive wasn't somehow still clinging to life and ensuring that everything that should have been dead was. That took over an hour, slopping back and forth through the river, and it had sapped him of all his energy.
The day's events replayed over and over again through his mind, like a TV station stuck on the same program. In many ways it was worse than his most dire predictions, but in others, he still couldn't believe they'd emerged victorious, even if it was just the two of them. Stopping Grady's mad march was worth all the death. At least, that's what he kept telling himself.
They were heading to the camp where their supplies and animals had been left before the fighting, still a hundred feet away when Wim saw movement.
He stopped in his tracks so abruptly that Mead almost plowed him over from behind.
"What the hell?"
"Someone's there."
Mead moved to his side and followed his gaze. He saw it too. Someone sat on the ground, rocking back and forth in a way that made Wim think of the way of monks doing chants.
He raised his rifle and peered through the scope to get a better look, but Mead had already taken out binoculars and beat him to it. "Fuck me sideways!" Mead said.
Grady O'Baker sat at their camp, swaying like tall grass in the breeze. He was unarmed and appeared uninjured.
"Just shoot the fucker," Mead said.
Wim thought the idea wasn't half bad, but first he wanted to talk to the man whose actions had brought them to this point.
They continued and when they were close enough, Wim could hear Grady saying something. Repeating it over and over again. A little further and he realized the man wasn't speaking, he was singing.
"I see a Crimson stream of blood. It flows from Calvary. Its waves reach the throne of God, are sweeping over me. Today no condemnation, abides to turn away. My soul from His Salvation. He's in my heart to--"
Their coming footsteps interrupted the hymn and Grady looked their way.
"Is everyone dead?"
Wim nodded. "All except us."
Grady rose to his feet, his face peaceful or blank, Wim couldn't tell which. "As it was prophesized and shown to me."
"You fucknugget!" Mead shouted. "You're happy about this? About everyone dying?"
Wim held up his hand for silence and Mead reluctantly relented.
"I need a minute. Do you got this?"
Wim nodded again, and Mead grabbed the reigns for the donkey and led it away, leaving just the two of them.
"You're Wim, aren't you?"
"I am."
"A farmer. A good man. Throughout these trials, you've saved many people."
"Not nearly enough."
"There's never enough, are there?"
Wim wasn't sure what the little man expected, but his very presence unnerved him. "You ran while your people died?"
Grady took a step toward him. "They didn't die. Their bodies may have, but today their sins were washed away and their spirits, their souls, have been called home."
The man moved closer to him and Wim took an instinctive step back. He dwarfed the short, slight supposed preacher, but he didn't trust anything about this situation.
"And now it's your turn," Grady said.
Wim's hand tightened around the stock of his rifle. "You want to kill me now? Kill me to save me?"
Grady tilted his head. Something close to a smile crossed his mouth. "Oh no. No, Wim. Not that at all."
"Then what are you going on about my 'turn'?
"It's your turn to send me home." Grady held his arms out at his side as if he were strung up on an imaginary cross. "Now, you must kill me, Wim."
Wim let go of the rifle. All of this was crazy but this was the cherry on the sundae. "I'm not gonna kill you."
"You are. Just as God showed me."
Wim turned away from him, leaving him and instead going to Gypsy who grazed on the dry grass, uninterested in the goings on.
He heard Grady's footsteps behind him. He was running. "Stop, Wim! Stop right now!"
Wim didn't stop. A moment later Grady was on his heels. The little man grabbed his shirt, trying to pull him away from the horse, with no success.
"It was in the vision!"
Wim spun around, raising his elbow and catching Grady in the face. The man fell to the ground, a small trickle of blood seeping from his left nostril. "Keep away from me," Wim said.
Grady climbed to his knees and started to his feet when Wim raised his hand which was balled into a fist.
"I me
an it now. Keep away or I'll knock you silly."
Grady sagged back, his face full of panic, fear. "You have to kill me!"
"I don't got to do anything for you."
"Not for me, Wim. For God! This is his plan. It was all his plan. I was doing what he commanded of me. Now you have to do the same." Grady clasped his hands together, pleading.
Wim had never been so disgusted in another human being. "If God wants you dead, then let him do it himself."
Without another word, Wim hopped on Gypsy and gave her reigns a curt shake. He didn't care about taking any of the other provisions. He wanted away from Grady. Away from it all.
As he rode off, he could hear the man screaming, wailing. And Wim didn't feel the slightest bit guilty.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Wim rode back to Shard End with Mead. He told the man about Aben's dog and, when they reached town, Mead raced to Saw's house and thrust open the door and Wim thought he looked about as excited as a kid on Christmas morning. The dog ran straight past him, looking for his owner, and seemed disappointed when he was nowhere to be found. It took a couple days, but Prince eventually seemed to realize that his old buddy wasn't coming back, and he made up with Mead. Wim enjoyed seeing how much the man cared about the dog. He thought they both deserved someone to love them.
It seemed like the smart thing would have been to stay in Shard End with Mead, at least for the winter, but Wim couldn't bear to spend another week in the West, let alone a season. Mead helped him fill a wagon with food and assorted tools, and a couple days later they said their goodbyes. Wim knew he'd miss the man who had initially seemed to be such an odd duck but turned out to be one of the best men he'd ever known. And maybe the best friend he'd ever had. But home - his real home - in Pennsylvania, was calling. It wasn't God's voice, it was the sounds of his past. And even if nothing but memories remained, Wim needed to be with them.