“You know it. Hey,” he says, tapping me on the arm as he hurries after us, “we can’t really be taking orders from Neil’s bitch ass, can we? Plus, I still don’t get what happened back there. Why’d he shoot his dad and not you? What the hell’s going on?”
“It’s a long story we don’t have time for right now, but just, do what Neil says. His orders are coming from me. Whatever we decide to do, that’s what he’s telling them, so, you know, act surprised.”
“So he wasn’t really gonna shoot you?”
“No, he was trying to lure his dad out.”
“Hold up, you’re telling me, we’re actually on the same side as Neil Buckley? After all he’s done? Are you serious?”
“I know it sounds crazy Tyrone, just go with it and trust me. It’ll all be over soon.” I squat down beside Marty. “How you holding up?”
“Well, I’m scared I’m gonna shit my pants when you start branding me, and you ass monkeys will never let me live it down.”
“I’ll tell you what, you get us to that evacuation center, you can poop in your pants day in and day out like you got an invisible diaper and no one will say a word, Doug here will even wipe you.”
“What, why me?”
“Because your name’s Doug,” I say as if that’s reason enough. “It just sounds like the name of a dude who works at a nursing home, wiping asses all day.”
“It kinda does,” he shrugs. “Okay, I get it, but I don’t need to like it.”
“I think it’s hot enough,” Shane shouts, running back with a sizzling sword.
“I love my life,” Marty grunts, closing his eyes tightly. “Somebody get me something to bite down on, I’d prefer a titty, if anyone’s offering.”
“Pretty sure Darius dropped his balls on the bus,” Tyrone snorts, “I can see if I can find those for you.”
“Well, if I ain’t got a boob I guess those’ll have to do.”
Felecia rips off a piece of her torn muumuu and rolls it up. She squats down and puts it in Marty’s mouth, kissing him softly on the cheek. She holds his head while the others grab a limb. Paul cleans the wound. After a few quick inhales, Marty holds his breath and nods.
I press the sword down on his shoulder. Steam rises from his skin within seconds as his body thrashes. I can’t help but cry as I hold the scalding piece of metal to his flesh. It doesn’t get any easier when he passes out from the pain.
“Oh dear god please tell me I don’t need to do that,” Kristen cries. Luckily it looks like the pressure they applied stopped the blood from gushing out of her arm.
“Oh you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Felecia growls under her breath.
Why is she grabbing her sword?
Oh you’ve got to be fucking kidding me. They must have heard the gunshots. We’re not alone.
CHAPTER 26
A small swarm of the undead militia are making their slow approach from the battlefield by the fountain. They must not smell us yet, if they did, they’d be running. So many easy targets waiting to be devoured. There’s only five or six of them, nothing alarming considering what we’ve already faced, but the handful coming from the other direction has me on edge. Once they know we’re here, more will inevitably show up, they always do. I don’t know how they know, it must be some kind of telepathic form of communication. Or maybe they’re just drawn to the noise and the smell of human blood.
“What do we do?” Paul asks in a panic, never having encountered them like this before. I’m sure when they faced them yesterday they were able to evade them and escape without having to fight.
“I only sharpened this one,” Felecia says, gripping her sword tightly. “It took like ten minutes. They’ll be here in two. Noah, we gotta get outta here. Try to get that bus going.”
“Or,” Tyrone interrupts, “we could say fuck them, find a van or something, leave the bus behind. I don’t even see how that thing can run anymore.”
“What are the odds we’re going to find a vehicle big enough with the keys in it?” Doug asks, tapping his foot wildly, looking back and forth between the incoming groups of hungry corpses.
“First things first,” I shout loud enough for everyone to hear me, “we gotta get Marty on the bus. Caylee and Kristen too. Paul you need to check them out, anyone else on there you can help, do it. We’re gonna need all hands on deck. Tyrone, you’re right, we gotta find another ride just in case this bus can’t make it. But that means someone’s gotta be out there with those things, trying to find a car with keys. The rest of us are gonna have to guard the bus.”
“Noah,” Caylee shouts over her shoulder as Felecia helps her up the steps, “if I can’t be out there fighting, I’ll be on here sharpening blades, as fast as I possibly can.”
“Damn it,” Tyrone grumbles, “it was my stupid idea, I’ll go find us something to drive.”
“If we get the bus started,” I say, making eye contact with him as we carry Marty up the steps, “we’ll blow the horn three times. That means get back now. Take the hatchet and one of the morningstars, they’re the sharpest things we’ve got right now, the axe will break windshields if you need.”
“Okay cool, sounds good but what in the hell is a morningstar?”
“The stick with a spiked ball at the end. That thing I gave you back at the medieval shop. Hit their jaw with it, it’ll stop them from biting. Then use the axe to decapitate ’em,” I say as we slide Marty onto the seat behind his cockpit. “You sure you wanna do this?”
“If there is one thing I’m sure I don’t want to do, it’s this. But someone’s gotta.” He takes a jittery breath while grabbing one of the two morningstars. “If I don’t make it back, thank you for getting me this far. Without you, I never would have made it out of that school. I owe you Noah.”
“No you don’t. Every time I’ve stepped off that bus, so have you. And we always get back on. This time, no different.” We bump fists and he takes off, a weapon in each hand. “Doug, you know cars, you think you can get this thing going?”
“I’ve never done anything with a bus before but I’ll see what I can do. Engine’s an engine.”
“Noah, what the hell is going on?” Neil calls from the back, helping to remove another body, some kid I don’t really recognize, probably lost in the crossfire.
“Get ready to fight,” I shoot over my shoulder, grabbing my morningstar. “They’re coming from both directions.”
“No no no, this can’t be happening,” he mumbles, clawing at his hair.
“See what you’ve gotten us into now?” Mr. Buckley growls. “This is what you do as a leader Neil? Get us in shit you can’t get us out of? Way to take control of the situation son. If I should even call you that anymore.”
“Someone tie up his mouth,” Neil yells. “Shut him up. Shut him up!”
“Neil, focus,” I say, drawing his attention back to me. “Only me, Felecia and Shane are gonna be out there fighting them off, that’s not enough. You gotta get some of your people out there. We need to hold these bastards off while Doug tries to get the bus going.”
“We don’t even have weapons that’ll work.”
“Caylee’s sharpening swords as we speak. But for now, yeah, we gotta go out there with dull blades and garden tools. It sucks, yes, but we have no other choice.”
“I’ll go,” Scott says while tying a shirt around his father’s mouth. Mr. Buckley looks like he strongly objects but his grumbling fades into the background.
“Scott, I can’t let you out there.” Neil practically winces at the thought of it. “You don’t know what it’s like. They’re not like they are in the movies. They’re fast, and shooting them in the head doesn’t do a damn thing. You have to literally chop their heads off.”
“Fuck it, if the kid’s going, I’ll go too.” Blake steps forward and reaches out his hand for a weapon. “If it’s gotta be done, it’s gotta be done.”
“Is six enough?” Neil asks begrudgingly, searching through our pathetic cache of weapons. Fele
cia hands him the axe we grabbed from the barn, the slightest of smiles exchanged between them.
“A hundred isn’t enough,” I say with a shake of my head, “but six is better than three.”
“Hansen,” Neil calls over his shoulder, “you work on classics with your dad, right? Go see if you can help the Asian kid get this thing going. How many of those gray stones do we have for sharpening?”
“Three,” Felecia answers. “I think they’re different grits, like sandpaper. But I managed to get three of them.”
“Anyone not getting off the bus to help us fight,” Neil’s voice carries through the beat up bunker that I fear will no longer keep us safe, “either sharpen weapons, or help the injured. If we’re gonna get out of this alive, we need to work together. O’Connor, keep an eye on them,” he commands with force, pointing at our injured fathers and their half dead sidekick.
“Not bad,” I whisper, “way to take charge.”
He nods but I can see the fear in his posture. He’s not ready to go back to the battlefield. None of us are. Pop culture has prepared us for this moment. We’ve seen this war countless times on TV, in the movies, the books, the graphic novels, the video games, it’s like we’ve been training for it all our lives. Only, we were trained incorrectly. It’s like learning to play football, you watch it on TV, you join peewee league, you get Madden every year the day it comes out, hit the high school field, go varsity, make it to college and hope to get drafted only to find out you were supposed to be playing fotbal. You learned American football, and that means nothing to the rest of the world. You learned the wrong game.
We learned to shoot them in the head. It’s been ingrained in us. Neil knew a bullet to the brain would do nothing but when he panicked, he fired shot after shot into the decrepit woman’s skull. It’s a learned reaction. We were taught football and got dropped in the middle of a soccer field.
“It’s time,” Felecia says calmly. “They’re here.”
“You get it running,” I yell to Doug on my way down the steps, “honk three times and get this beast rolling whether Marty’s awake or not.”
The engine sputters and stops. This is not going to end well. Let’s just pray Tyrone can find a vehicle. But even if he does, what are the chances it’ll fit us all? There’s nine of us just on this side of the bus, that is one tightly packed minivan. Add Scott and as weird as it sounds, Neil. If Blake’s out there with us, I can’t in good conscience leave him behind. That puts us at twelve. What are we going to do, strap people onto the roof? Then there’s supplies, our weapons, our food, we can’t leave all that behind, can we? I mean, if we’re just racing to the evacuation center I guess we won’t need it. But there’s always that tiny what-if in the back of my mind that I can’t seem to shake.
Can we really leave people behind? Can I leave my dad? He needs medical attention, more than what Paul in his limited skill set can perform with nothing but some first aid supplies from Cold Plus. I know what he’s done but he’s my dad. He warned me there was only one bullet left in his gun, I think that was his way of helping. Trying to make up for the wrong he’d done. He’s a coward, yes, a follower who follows blindly because it’s easier to help others do wrong than it is to stand alone and do what’s right. He never talked about his childhood but I always got the impression he was a nerd. I understand his need to fit in and hang with the cool kids, it’s got to be easier than getting picked on. But at what cost? To sacrifice your own son? Is he a weak, pathetic, coward or is he a monster?
The others, the ones who follow Neil, I’d have to leave them as well. I’m sure they’re not bad people, they’re normal people placed in a bad situation. The circumstances surrounding it force them to make bad decisions but no worse than the ones I’ve made myself. They’re scared and weak, and I get that. The things I want them to do take strength and courage, but they’ve been traumatized and sit frozen in fear. Why would they want to follow my lead? Not when Neil and his father were offering them the opportunity to sit there and do nothing while the others fight for them. It was a deal too good to pass up. If our roles were reversed, I can’t say I would turn it down.
In fact, I’m not turning it down. I’m doing everything in my power to get us there. What I’m doing by taking us to that evacuation center is no different than what Mr. Buckley was offering them. We get to live, safe and out of harm’s way while soldiers with weapons fight for us. Me, Felecia, Caylee, Tyrone, even Neil, we were their soldiers. We were the ones risking our lives while they sat here and reaped the rewards. I resent them for it but when we board that convoy of armored buses and get herded into some government facility under a mountain, I become what I resent. I sit safe and sound with Felecia in one arm and Caylee in the other. Leave me alone, it’s my fantasy. I sit there reaping the benefits, letting someone else fight this battle, anyone other than me. Just like all of them. Are we all that different? How can I leave them behind for doing exactly what I’d be leaving them for?
We need this bus. Windshield missing, holes in the roof, windows shot out, blood everywhere you turn. This is the glue that binds us. We need this. Doug has to get it running, there’s no way around it. I can’t leave the others behind. I can’t do it.
When this bus doesn’t start, what do we do then? Who goes? Who stays? What if it’s not a van, what if it’s a car? What if there’s only room for five? How do you measure human life?
CHAPTER 27
The spikes of my morningstar burst through an incoming jaw, sending a horrific explosion of blood and teeth bursting into the air. It’s not enough to knock her off her feet. She stumbles to the side but remains vertical. She doesn’t have to collect herself or shake it off, as soon as she regains her balance, she pounces from a crouched position.
I hold my weapon like a bat and swing again, sending her body spinning out of control on contact. She twists in the air and lands face down, completely snapping her arm out of its socket. Not that it matters, she jumps to her feet, arm dangling haphazardly in front of her, disconnected at the shoulder. It flaps about as she turns around, ready to attack again.
The flesh coated bone that should be guarding her face isn’t, what remains is clinging to her cheek, hanging on by a stubborn bridge of skin. A bloody mess of cartilage and muscle tissue stares back at me. Pus flows from her damaged eyes, a yellow stream dripping down her exposed face. She tries to snarl at me before striking again but without her mouth, a gurgled roar emanates from her throat. The yellow string of eyeball excretion mixed with a steady flow of blood flaps in the breeze from her attempted battle cry.
She charges me, her arm smacking off her drenched body. I pull back and swing again, destroying what’s left of her face. She’s nothing but a partially exposed brain with hair, dripping pinkish gray matter into the puddles below her. It slows her motor function but in choppy, convulsive movements, she continues to crawl towards me. It must be instinct by now. There’s nothing left. No eyes, no nose, no mouth to even bite me with, she must hear my racing heart and assume her meal is still waiting to be consumed. Every time her right hand hits the pavement, she falls face first, or faceless first in this case, whatever. Her disconnected shoulder can’t support her weight and she crashes but it still doesn’t stop her.
Her entire body is shaking, like her joints need to be oiled. But she just keeps crawling. I bring the spikes down across the back of her head, followed by another shot that knocks her brain loose. It dangles in front of her missing face as she lifts the remnants of her head. It’s just flopping there, connected only by her brainstem. I swear I can hear it tearing, scraping over jagged bone.
I bring the morningstar down once more, destroying what’s left of her head. With a gruesome slurping sound, her brain detaches, finally putting her to rest. Her hand reaches for me one last time before freezing in a claw-like position and slowly dropping to the pavement.
One. I killed one of them. In all that time, one down. We’re doomed.
I look over to see Felecia swingi
ng her sword, severing a head with one swipe. The body falls into the small pile that’s beginning to surround her. Okay, so maybe the rest of us weren’t needed. She’s like a medieval ninja warrior draped in chainmail and sex appeal. Don’t ask me how it’s possible but it is. How could I not be in love with her? She’s perfect. But so is Caylee. Can I just date both of them? Come on, the world is ending.
Unless it isn’t. If they’re coming to extract us, maybe life can go back to normal. Or as normal as life can be after a god damn zombie apocalypse.
I choose Felecia. In this world or the next.
Caylee is absolutely amazing, but Felecia is the one for me. Watching her out here, so fierce yet vulnerable, vicious and caring, equally as beautiful fighting the reanimated corpses of the world as she is in a dress with makeup on and her hair done. I love all versions of her, each one more than the last.
I bring the spiked ball across the face of a jogger sprinting towards me, gaping hole in the side of his stomach where he was feasted on before turning into one of them. I can still hear the screams from his previous life being ripped away from him, a life with substance and meaning. A life that was decidedly more than the all-consuming need to feed the overwhelming hunger that drives him now. Nothing matters to him, his sole purpose is to eat me.
I swear, they keep some of themselves, even in this new, grotesque form. He was a runner which makes his undead counterpart fast as hell, without the need to rest or drink or slow down to avoid fatigue. I don’t doubt that he will run until something physically stops him. He kept that attribute when he died.
The lazy ones are slower, less likely to run after you. They know gunshots mean humans, their preferred diet. They see a school bus and know it means many humans so they run faster and fight harder, desperate to collect their prize. Some part of them is still in there. I wonder if they can see what’s going on but can’t stop it, no matter how hard they try. Or if the hunger takes over and all they can do is watch as they do unspeakable things. Or see unspeakable things done to them. Is the person they once were still conscious in there, watching their actions through the eyes of a monster they don’t want to be?
Blood Type Infected (Book 2): Fallen To The Flame Page 16