Will To Live

by C. M. Wright

  I forget about the gun – little good it will do Nick now – and scoot on my ass toward him and the undead. I scream at Nick to get down, and as he lets himself drop to his back on the ground, I kick at the zombies' kneecaps – bringing some down to the ground, and knocking some back a few feet. Nick sees what I'm doing and starts kicking them, as well. One of the undead has come around from behind the others and is making his way to the side of Nick's head. But I see him and spin on my butt until my legs are over Nick's head.

  At first, Nick fights me, not knowing a zombie is about to latch onto his face. But when the rancid mouth comes down onto the walking cast instead of his nose, Nick stops fighting me. When the undead lifts its head just before coming back down for another try, I slam the bottom of my boot into its face and gag when its nose explodes. Greenish-red goo thick as jelly globs out of the hole in its face and onto my cast. Every instinct I have wants me to jerk away from the contact of the rank-smelling globs, but fortunately, my brain sees the danger of letting that crap fall straight onto Nick's bare face and I manage to keep my leg where it is.

  Taking my other foot, I push the zombie back with a forceful kick and Nick flings himself to the opposite side of me before the zombie comes back for more. When it does, I trap its neck between my cast-covered leg and my good leg, then snap its neck in one fast smooth move. While its neck may be broken, the zombie's still not truly dead. So I take my booted foot and slam the heel down repeatedly, until the brain matter inside its head is now a jellied mess covering the ground. Satisfied that this one's biting days are over, I spin back around to help Nick with the rest.

  Our legs and arms are tiring fast and I'm scared, really scared that we won't be able to kill them all. Destroying a brain isn't all that easy, with just your hands and feet. Nick and I are lying side-by-side on our backs, using the last strength of our legs just to keep them away, unable to do more than that at this point. I look at Nick just as he turns his head to me. Our eyes lock and we recognize the exhaustion, the fear, and the regret in each others eyes.

  His regrets are probably much different from mine, but they're just as important to him as mine is to me.

  I watch as a tear makes a trail from the corner of Nick's eye and down through the dust on his temple, before it sinks into his dirty, sweat-soaked hair. I reach out and grab his hand.

  As we hold on tightly to each other, we keep kicking, but the kicks are barely making the zombies take a step back. We're almost dead and there's nothing we can do about it.

  My legs are shaking from fatigue and pain, my back is scratched by the rough surface of the sidewalk where my shirt has ridden up. A rock has punctured through the skin in the middle of my back, digging deeper with each movement. I ignore all of that and close my eyes tight, terrified of that first bite I know is coming soon.

  But suddenly I hear a whoosh, then a sharp crack. I keep my eyes and mouth firmly closed because I have zombie bits raining down on me, but as soon as I can, I open my eyes to see a metal rod smash into the side of another zombie's head. I squeeze my eyes closed again as the rotten pieces of what I now know is from a zombie's skull fall onto me, but this one was directly over me so I also get the pleasure of feeling thick wet globs land on me too. It takes everything I have to keep from gasping, screaming, and gagging.

  I had almost forgotten about Eric and the girls – Ha, screw almost, I had forgotten about them! – and as relieved as I am, I'm also feeling a little pissed off that it took Eric so damn long to come and help us. But maybe he had a good reason. Maybe it wasn't as long as it seemed to me.

  Deciding it doesn't even matter, as long as Nick and I get out of this alive, we find the strength to renew our efforts at kicking them away. When the last one has it's head firmly bashed in, Nick and I both collapse, breathing hard and feeling the pain we couldn't afford to feel before. Gasping for air, I open my eyes and look above me to thank Eric. But then my breath is gone again when I see, not Eric standing there with a tire iron, but Vicki!

  It takes a minute before my brain starts functioning again, but when it finally does, I roll over to my side and push myself up with shaky arms. Managing only a sitting position, I stare up in shock at her, then I look over at Nick. He seems to be in just as much shock as I am.

  "Vicki? What the hell?" Nick asks.

  Vicki shrugs and drops her arms in exhaustion, "I was the star hitter on my softball team before my teammates decided they'd like to eat me. No one else was doing anything to help, and I damn sure wasn't going to just stand there and let them kill you two. Besides, if Nick is going to die, it's going to be with me by his side, and it will be my hand he's holding!"

  She laughs to let us know she's joking, but I can't help but wonder just how serious she really is about that.

  Even so, my long time irritation with her immediately turns to respect. Now that I know she can be useful, and can protect herself, and others – she is less of a worry and more of a warrior. I think that was my problem the whole time. I was scared of not being able to protect her. I needed to know she could protect herself too. And if I were honest, even with all her faults, I adore her, and I truly expected her to be dead long before now. I guess I needed to keep her at a distance, so her death wouldn't hurt so much. But deep down I know, even if she hadn't turned into some warrior princess, it still would have hurt like hell to lose her.

  Nick and I, along with Vicki's help, assist each other to our feet. My legs are shaking from the hell I just put them through, and judging by the wobble of Nick's legs, I assume he's feeling it too. Nick and I both wrap our arms around Vicki, showing her how much we appreciate what she did for us. Then I lift my head, ready to kill the other two people myself, for just standing by and watching, instead of helping us.

  But they couldn't have helped us. They're too busy killing zombies, zombies that had come out of the alley next to their car. There are six now, but I see the arm of another emerge from between the buildings, so who knows how many are still coming.

  "Nick! You two go help them. I'm going to reload our guns, then I'll be right there."

  I snatch up our guns from the ground and take off for our truck while the teens start out at a run to help Eric and Amy. I reload the two guns, and slip another four handguns inside my fatigues. Then I limp over to the group as fast as I can, hand Nick his gun, and we both start taking them down.

  In just the amount of time it took me to deal with the guns, the street has filled with zombies, all coming from the alley. Right now, I would guess there are about thirty in the street. I push forward enough to be able to look inside the alley, and my head begins to spin when I see that the alley is completely full of the undead bastards. Then there's the mass of undead not yet in the alley on the other side. There seems to be no end to the rotten bastards.

  This isn't going to work!

  My brain feels as if it's unable to function anymore, it's definitely not coming up with anything good as fast as I need it to, but then it finally does comes through for me once again – and just in time.

  "Eric, Amy, and Vicki – in the truck. Now!" I scream at them.

  Vicki immediately runs to the truck, but Eric and Amy waste time – time we don't have – arguing with me about leaving their friend in the car.

  "Go now or die!" I'm done arguing with them. I tell Nick to go now too, then I follow. As I settle behind the steering wheel and start the truck, I watch as Amy and Eric finally make their choice and race to the truck. When they get in and slam the door, I put the truck in gear, jump the curb and pull the truck right up against the passenger side of the car.

  I can finally see the woman inside. Fiona is terrified, her mouth wide open with screams that none of us can hear. I share some of her fear, knowing what she must be feeling – thinking we had abandoned her to be killed in the most horrible of ways.

  I push every emotion aside and focus on what I need to do. I roll the back passenger window down and order Eric and Nick to bust the other car's window. Once the
y do, they help the woman inside our truck.

  I'll be honest, I don't really want to take her with us. How do I know that she only has a gunshot wound? How do I know it isn't a zombie bite? Why should I trust these people?

  I don't have time to look her over now, but how can I just leave her here to die if she really hasn't been bit?

  I meet Nick's eyes in the rearview mirror and he gives me a quick nod, his expression serious. I look back and see his gun sitting next to his right leg, ready to shoot if need be, then I hear him demand her to show him where she'd been shot. She pulls her blood-covered shirt off of her right shoulder and we both can clearly see that it is indeed a gunshot wound.

  Nick leans over the front seat, close to my ear and whispers that all of them need to be checked as soon as possible, and that we should do so from now on with anyone new. I nod and focus back on the zombies who are more determined than ever to get inside.

  The truck is surrounded by the undead, several zombie-layers thick with more on their way. There's no way I can push through them without damaging the truck. Throwing the truck in park, I mentally choose the ones who will be fighting with me, and who will be staying in the truck.

  “Amy, get up here and when I tell you, start driving. Nick and Eric, up top with me.” As I climb over the back of the front seat, I lean close to Vicki and hand her one of my handguns. In a much lower voice I tell her, “Watch Fiona. With the blood she's lost, she could still die. Kill her if you have to.”

  Vicki's eyes widen, but then narrow, just before she nods her head. She helps me move Fiona to the very back so that I can get into the storage under the seat. I pick up a box of the grenades and hand them up through the hatch to Nick and Eric, then I grab a second box and pray to God that the two boxes will be enough, because that's all we've got.

  The guys help me up to the top, then sit back and wait while I take a few moments to look around. The undead are crowding the street, and much more are headed our way. I close my eyes tight and suck in a deep breath, praying we can get through this alive.

  Ask me what I think our odds are, and I'd most likely tell you to get bent.

  I feel the fight and survive mentality stealing over me – and the adrenaline that comes with it – so that when I open my eyes, I hear Nick and Eric suck in their own breaths.

  I can imagine what they see. Expecting an expression of hopelessness and despair, they instead see fire in my eyes – a will to live. I've been through so much – too much! – and by god, I'm going to fight until my very last breath.

  I grab one of the grenades, quickly show the guys how to use it, what will get us all killed if they forget, and throw the first one into the crowd. Seeing the grenade's results, the blood and body parts as they scatter and stick to the other undead, doesn't disgust me this time. It makes me feel triumphant, encouraged, and yes, damn frikken happy.

  Once the area in front of the truck is clear enough to push our way through, I slam my fist on the top and scream at Amy to drive. The guys and I clutch at the top of the truck, as we scream at her to take it easy when she floors the gas and almost throws us all off, but she either doesn't hear us, her terror is too great to comprehend the meaning behind our words, or she's just an evil little bitch – I'll let you know which when I find out – because she doesn't take it easy.

  Not at all!

  Hanging on for dear life, I'm unable to grab the grenades, and watch helplessly as they slide off the top of the truck.

  “Eric, what the hell is wrong with your woman? Jesus!” Nick screams, his eyes wide with fear. His hands are white where they clutch at the hatch opening.

  Eric is desperately hanging on to the opposite side of the hatch and doesn't respond, as his concentration is entirely focused on staying on the vehicle. My foot with the walking cast has conveniently gotten caught in the hatch, but just barely. My fingers are clamped onto the half inch of trim sticking up just before the slope of the front window, and I feel the nails on two of my fingers snap off as I cling to the thin metal.

  The sharp sting of the cold mountain air feels like shards of glass piercing my eyes, and I'm blinded even more by the tears that stream from them. My left leg is unable to find anywhere to grab onto and swings off over the side, dangerously close to the decaying hands that won't give up in their need for food, and it also makes my effort to hold on even more difficult.

  Blocks of this bullshit – and a few minutes after leaving the city behind us – just as I finish praying for Amy to slow down, she does...but only enough to make the sharp curve in the road. Halfway through the turn, she slams on the gas again, and my foot snaps free from the hatch. My fingers squeeze harder on the thin metal, but it doesn't stop me from going off the truck.

  I don't have time to prepare for the fall, or to even scream for that matter. I feel my body fly through empty air, then slam into the unyielding ground. Then I feel...nothing.

  Chapter Eight

  In my mind, my eyes still closed, I can clearly see the zombie that is licking my arm. His hair wild, his eyes blank and black, and his face gray and peeling. Bits of flesh is stuck between his teeth, teeth which are stained a dark brown from old blood. I squeeze my eyes tighter, waiting for the bite...but it doesn't come.

  I open one eye and stare into the one enormous brown eye looking back at me. I watch as the abnormally long tongue moves out of its mouth and leaves a wet scratchy trail from my chin, up my cheek, and into my hair. I see strands of my hair stick to it, as its tongue slithers back inside its mouth.

  We stare at each other for a few moments, my body and mind frozen in shock. And then, it speaks.

  “Moo.”

  The loudness of the cow scares the living hell out of me, breaking the silence I was most comfortable with. After all, we all know noise attracts the undead.

  Undead!

  Oh, shit!

  I scramble onto my stomach and lift my head to look around. I'm several feet from the road, having been thrown well over a pasture fence, and lying among a herd of cows. None of them really pay me any attention, except the one who considers me her personal salt-lick stash. She stays close, and never takes her big brown eyes off me.

  After checking the pasture and seeing no undead, I look up the road to my right. Nothing. The road to my left, which leads back to Memphis, has the curve that Amy so sweetly used to throw my ass off the top of the truck. I can't see much past the curve, as it has trees surrounding both sides, and even after getting to my feet I realize the curve is at the top of an incline. Not a real steep one, but steep enough that I can't see the bottom.

  I turn back to the way the truck had gone, and it finally hits me.

  They left me! They just plain left my ass here to die. Damn them!

  The anger sweeps over me, and my first thoughts are of complete and total revenge.

  What I'm going to do to those people – every frikken one of them – will not be pretty.

  Before I can really get into the painful ways I plan to torture them, I hear a moan that I almost miss, or dismiss, rather – at first, thinking it was one of the cows...but that was no cow.

  My eyes sweep the pasture, but I still see nothing. I turn back to the curve, and my brain and body freeze in fear. I literally feel my eyes roll from the terror and I beg my legs to move. I barely register the herd calling out warnings and taking off.

  I wonder if I would have moved at all if the cow who had become so attached to me, hadn't butted me with her head, causing my legs to remember how to work again and take off running.

  The trees and curved hill seemed to be vomiting zombies faster than I could count. By the time Bessie got my shit together, the first of the undead were pressed into the barbed-wire fence – the barbs sinking in, digging in, and ripping into their bodies...but that doesn't stop them. They can't feel it, obviously.

  They push and push, and when more come up behind them, the new ones push the others right over – or right through – the poor fence, which isn't nearly strong enou
gh to stop them.

  I turn and follow the cows, but they quickly outrun me and I lose sight of them as they disappear over a hill. Unable to go very fast because of my still-injured leg – and all my new aches and pains from being thrown from the truck – Bessie finally gives up on me and takes off, making her way to the rest of the herd and safety.

  Not that I blame her, but she still could have given me a ride!

  I resist the urge to look back, focusing instead on not tripping or falling in any holes. I reach the top of the hill and a sob of relief escapes me. Down below, about half a mile, is a large farmhouse, a couple barns, and a few grain bins. I see the herd heading straight for one of the barns, Bessie not far behind.

  I can do this. I can make it. Please God, let me make it!

  I start the decline slowly at first, trying to be careful and not break another bone on the steep and fairly rocky terrain, that is, until a moan sounds way too close behind me. Then I quickly pick up speed. I'm doing okay, really, until my legs are knocked out from under me. Now I, and the zombie who tackled me, tumble down the rest of the hill. My hands squeeze and shove back on his throat as his teeth snap at me. We roll down the hill like this, and when he's on top of me, I do my best to dodge the spit and drool that rain down from his nasty mouth.

  Finally, after my entire body seems to be bruised and torn from all the rocks and sticks that littered the hill, we slam to a stop against a tree at the bottom. Fortunately for me, the zombie ends up being the one to stop our fall, as his backside crashes into the large sturdy wood. It also busted his head wide open, which solved my dilemma of how to kill this thing barehanded.

  I suck in air as I try to get my breath back from the quick and painful way we stopped, and jump to my feet, ready to run. A quick glance shows me the zombies are quickly on their way, most of them rolling and some already at the bottom, struggling to their feet.