Juel crouched at the edge of the woods halfway between the truck and the trailer. Each of them had their compass points to cover, an army of four surrounding the camp. With all the gear salvaged from the abandoned military vehicles and armory back at the shelter, they could have taken over a small town. As it was, they had to make do with the bodies they had. Four former soldiers with a plan and the will to see it through no matter what the cost.
The heavy, long shape with its payload sat in the grass before her.
Soon.
If he could have seen it, Kell would have been both impressed and relieved. But even through binoculars, it was hopeless. The coming night and blazing fire reduced his field of vision to a small area made up mostly of shapes.
But if he could have seen it...
“What the hell?” the young guard said as he came upon the older, drunker man.
The smell of fine whiskey was abundant, but an afterthought considering the scene before him. In his chair, the older guard struggled fruitlessly to free himself, hands seemingly glued to the arms of the thing. No, not glued, he saw as he moved in closer. There were thin strips of plastic holding him in place.
“He took my goddamn gun!” the old man shouted. “Look—”
The younger guard was suddenly confronted with the rapidly growing stock of a rifle moving toward his face. With enough time he would have noted the familiar lines of it; this was a rifle he'd used before.
There wasn't time, of course. A split second later it hit him in the face, shattering his nose, cracking half a dozen teeth, and breaking three off outright. A spiderweb of cracks flowered in his cheekbone, though that condition would go undiagnosed. In the end the injuries were less important than simple physics—the young man's head snapped back, brain doing its best impression of a rubber ball as it smacked against the inside of his skull.
Tim was moving out of the truck's bed even as the young man began to fall. He had in fact been moving before that, swinging the rifle as he exploded over the metal edge and into the fight.
The two other guards froze. It was only a momentary hesitation, and one that wouldn't have made any difference in the end. Tim was simply too close, large hands darting out to strike before either of the other men could step back far enough to raise their long guns.
To be fair, an attack by a giant suddenly materializing next to you is usually enough to freeze most people.
Tim yanked on the gun nearest him with his left hand, pulling the hapless guard along with it, making it that much more effective when Tim's right elbow arced back into the man's face. Without pause that same arm, now trailing crimson from the second shattered nose of the night, shot forward to grasp the remaining guard's gun. Analysis took almost no time at all. The gun was attached to a strap, the strap to the man, and if Tim knew one thing, it was leverage.
He pulled, bowing his head slightly, and pushed with his legs. The headbutt dropped the last guard much less gently than the first. Wasting no time, Tim freed the weapons from two unconscious enemies and one wishing for the painless embrace of sleep.
The drunk only stared in amazement.
Four men stumbled from behind the pickup; three battered, one buttered. They moved in a rough circle facing outward, hands zipped together left to right. In the circle of light cast by the fire, Tim saw frightened faces, and not a few angry ones. At first he wondered why they weren't surprised, hadn't broken ranks to offer help when the sounds of struggle reached them.
Then he noted Juel's dim outline ten feet into the tall grass, rocket-propelled grenade at the ready. Emilia crouched at the entrance to the trailer, one leg extended to the ground, the other beneath her as she sighted down a sub-machine gun.
“Well, that speeds things up a bit,” Tim said. With a grunt of effort he whipped each of the hunter's rifles into the woods. “I imagine you're all worried right now, thinking about what's going to happen next. Let me reassure you. If you behave—that is, if you don't attack and do as we tell you—you won't be hurt. At all.”
There was, unsurprisingly, no sudden wave of relief.
“These ladies are going to cover you while I disable your vehicles,” Tim said. The crowd began to mutter at this, people hanging halfway out of vehicles slowly reaching inside, almost certainly for weapons. “Now, I know you're not happy about this, but before any of you do something stupid I should mention one other important detail.”
Tim pulled the hat from the drunk guard, held it high above his head. A thunderous crack echoed across the open field, the hat leaping out of his hand to spin through the air. He looked from face to face, watching for any sign of impending violence.
“Our friend in the woods is under strict orders. You stay still, don't try to hurt anyone, and you're golden.” Tim's face grew grim. “Some of you are thinking that you have numbers. That you can overwhelm us. We know you have other weapons. Machetes and knives and the like. And you know what? You probably could take us if you all came at once.”
He paused a beat. “But some of you would die. Maybe a lot of you. I took four armed men on my own. All we want is to keep you from leaving this place. The choice is yours.”
Back at the top of the hill, Kell could only catch the barest glimmer of what was going on. His window was cracked a few inches, making the sound of the gunshot crisp. There was no flurry of activity, no explosions or further gunfire. The radio—the one his team communicated with—didn't stutter to life in his ear with the sound of a warning. As far as he could tell, the plan was going off without a hitch.
That thought had barely finished whisking its way from one side of his brain to the other when the zombie slapped a hand against the window of the Jeep. Kell jumped hard, shoving himself away from the door.
“Ah, Fuck!” he shouted, fumbling for a weapon.
Another meaty slap followed, this one near the rear. Then another, more and more until he realized with dawning horror that it wasn't a few stragglers wandering through the deserted Iowa night, but a swarm of unknown size.
He frantically keyed the mic on his radio. “We have a problem up here,” he said, fumbling at the ignition. “There's a swarm all around me.” No response. “Hey, can you hear me?” Nothing. “Well, shit.”
The engine came to life with a low growl. Kell hit the lights and sped down the road, only sparing a brief glance to gauge the enemy.
Thirty seconds later he was screeching to a halt at the edge of camp, snagging his spear as he bolted from the Jeep. Tim stood from the tire he was slashing, irate.
“What the hell are you doing?” Tim demanded.
“Sorry,” Kell panted as he ran toward Tim. “We have incoming. Swarm. No idea how big.”
There was an explosion of worried protests from the strangers arrayed about the camp.
“You've got us all killed!”
“What are we going to do?”
“We need our guns!”
“Quiet!” Kell roared. “What we need to do is spend the next few minutes getting ready to fight!” Everyone shut up in a heartbeat. Even Tim said nothing. “Good,” Kell continued. “Now, everyone who has a hand-to-hand weapon, get out in the middle and form a circle. Anyone who doesn't, or who can't fight, get in a vehicle and lock the doors. Some of these zombies might know how to work a handle.”
A few people tentatively reached for weapons, eying Tim as they did.
“Go ahead,” Tim said. “Just be sure you use them on the right people. The dead people. I catch any of you coming after any of ours, you're gonna regret it.”
Out of the dozens of camp residents, only seven moved to the center of the camp. Every other person who wasn't on Kell's team hid away. He stared at them disbelievingly until one of the volunteers, a young woman with short red hair, stepped forward.
“They're from the bunkers,” she explained. “They've never had to deal with the dead. Spent the last two years behind a big steel door. They don't even think they can be fought.”
Kell raised an eyebrow. “But
not you?”
The woman shook her head. “We're all from Hope,” she said, sweeping an arm toward the volunteers. “Little community in New Mexico. We all joined up with the UAS a while back.”
Kell was about to ask what the UAS was, though it clearly referred to the larger group from the bunkers, when a shout went up from the trees. Tim cursed.
“That's Nicole. She's warning us. They're here.”
Emilia pulled the trailer door shut, breaking the handle off with the butt of her SMG. Kell saw her climbing the ladder to the top as he swung his attention toward the road. From there she would be able to fire at will on any enemy alive or dead.
Juel pelted through the brush and into the camp, handing the RPG up to Emilia and drawing her machete. After a moment of hesitation, she unstrapped the shield from her back.
“Sword and board, I like it,” Kell said as she stood beside him.
“I don't get it,” Juel said.
“It's a nerd thing,” Kell replied. “Never mind.”
The volunteers stood in a rough circle near the fire, all facing the road. Though the light was faint at that distance, the first shimmers already played on dead skin and milky eyes.
“The seven of you stick together, all face outward,” Kell barked. “We'll thin them out for you.”
The swarm stepped from the road and into the grass. The first of them were twenty feet away from Kell, Tim, and Juel when Kell noticed something out of place.
“Uh, Tim, do you need a weapon?”
The big man grinned, scars stretching tight across his face. “I'm good.”
From one cargo pocket Tim pulled a rolled length of dark cable. From his boot he drew a knife. Without a word, the three of them exploded into action.
Kell kept to the middle, letting Tim and Juel have plenty of room to each side. His spear slid through the air like a living thing. There was no thought as his muscles and bones fell into the patterns of rigorous training. Step with one foot, slide with the other, lead with the point, thrust. The first zombie to fall for him was New Breed. It actually raised a hand at the last second in an attempt to deflect the needle tip.
The spear burst through its palm and into the thing's mouth, erupting from the back of its head. As he'd done a thousand times before, Kell twisted and pulled before the momentum of the falling body could begin to pull his weapon away.
Then it was an armored fist to the face of a dead woman who moved in too close for comfort, the force of the blow knocking her back into her fellows. Kell took the opportunity to dart forward for another thrust, taking out one of the bodies she'd fallen into. The ghoulish woman righted herself just in time to become victim number three.
From the corner of his eye he saw Juel dancing between enemies. She slashed with the heavy machete, lodging the thick blade in the head of a dead man as she knocked another aside with her shield. Gunfire cracked regularly; Emilia was picking off the spares.
Bodies streamed in, parting around Kell and between the other fighters like sand between fingers.
To the left, Tim was having entirely too much fun. The big man—without armor or any apparent self-preservation—rushed into the fray at full speed. His knife moved in a liquid blur, stabbing upward here to part the flesh of a soft palate, sideways there between vertebrae in a display of precision to boggle the mind. Five bodies, then six in the time it took Kell to create three, all with one hand. And that wasn't all.
Tim moved deeper into the swarm, looping one zombie around the neck with the strange coil, which had a sort of slipknot built into one end. As he moved, Tim deftly wrapped three more coils, simple twists of the hand, around the throats of three more enemies before running out of cable. He held the end while flipping the knife in his right hand to stab a zombie through the eye—number seven—then in the slight lull that followed, yanked on the cable, putting his hips in it.
Four zombies fell like dominoes, arms and legs tangling together and with those of the truly dead littering the ground.
“Fuck! Help!”
Kell spun to see a wall of zombies pushing at the volunteers. They were certainly fighting back-to-back now; the weight of their enemies gave them no choice. Kell hesitated, not wanting to leave the main swarm, but Nicole made the choice for him. Out of the woods came the day-bright strobe of muzzle flash, pop pop pop, and three of the crowd found themselves several inches shorter.
No time to get fancy.
Kell choked up on the spear as he rushed toward the hard-pressed volunteers, bringing it down in fast overhead jabs. One skull after another, like a farmer chopping at the dirt with a garden hoe. Rather than attempt to punch through and join the circle, he worked around the outside. Using the distraction to his advantage, Kell attacked from behind with devastating effect.
After a handful of kills, the zombies noticed him.
Kell brought the spear down badly on one of the bunch that turned around to face him, only hitting the heavy muscle in its shoulder. Then it was a contest of strength—losing, on his part—as he held the weapon out sideways in an effort to keep a safe distance. Hands tore at him, fingernails and raw bone scraping against his coat. Two sets of hands managed to grab tight onto his lapels, and the strain on his arms as he tried to hold them back with the spear grew worse. It wasn't much of a deterrent to begin with, the slim metal pole doing a poor imitation of a barrier.
With his strength failing, it would cease to be one altogether.
“Close your eyes, K!”
Though blinding himself should have gone against his better judgment, Kell didn't hesitate. A second later something heavy thumped against him. There was a sound of breaking glass followed by the punch-you-in-the-face smell of ammonia. The zombies immediately drew back, but being at ground zero had no clue which direction to go. The result was a mass of twisting bodies slamming into each other, all efforts to attack the living evaporated.
Kell was pushed to the ground, the now-desperate zombies overpowering him. Sharp panic sent his heart racing as he tried to move his arms—but no. The spear lay on his wrists, pulled from his hands, and the weight of his attackers held it in place. He screamed for help.
Then the volunteers were there. Moving in a wave, their weapons sought out enemies with brutal efficiency. In moments the zombies scrambling atop Kell were dead, and the red-haired woman was staring down at him. A thick baton hung from her hand, topped with a wicked spike sticking out at a right angle. In that moment she could pull back and, with minimal effort, drive the thing into his ear. He was utterly helpless.
Instead she hauled bodies off him and put out a hand, helping him to his feet just in time for Nicole to skid to a halt next to him.
“Thank god,” the scout said as she saw him stand. “It was a long throw, I couldn't see if I hit you with it.”
All around them lay bodies. Two of the volunteers were injured, one dead. Juel limped over, grasping Tim for support. Her shield was missing. A handful of zombies receded in the distance, vanishing in the gloom beyond the failing light of the fire. Nicole was unharmed, as was Emilia, who sat dangling her legs over the edge of the trailer.
Kell saw them all. Every person standing—or sitting, or curled over some wound or another—had fought the good fight. They stood together in the night to face the common enemy, regardless of all other circumstance. Kell saw people he knew, others he didn't.
But for the life of him, he couldn't see an enemy.
Twenty-Six
“What happened next?” Chris asked.
Kell shook his head. “Must have made an impression on them, because the people who fought with us just let us finish up disabling their vehicles. The rest stayed in their cars. Like they were scared of us or something.”
Everyone laughed. Kell grinned. “The pile of zombies might have helped out there. Good thing, too. Without cars or radios, their buddies in the other camps have no way of knowing anything is wrong. When their relief does finally show up, we're hoping they'll think the bunker was abandone
d a while back.” Kell didn't put much stock in that hope as he studied the room.
They sat on crates in the basement of a farmhouse seventy miles from John's shelter. Thin light filtered through the windows set at ground-level, six-inch tall slits covered in iron bars. The basement itself was huge and open, stretching seventy feet on the long side, forty on the short. Steps led upward on each end of the vast room; one to the house itself and a ground-floor exit, the other to an old-fashioned set of storm doors that opened on the back yard.
It was ideal for their needs in every way. The place was isolated, sitting in the middle of a huge tract of land stretching for miles in every direction. It wasn't completely removed from the world; on the western side, seven miles away, was a small length of road lined with supply depots. From seeds to farm equipment to building materials, the place had everything a new settlement would need.
Which was the plan.
John, looking more like his old self than ever, leaned back on his crate—which held a microscope—and put his shoulders against the cinder block wall. “How long do you think it'll be before you get someone out here?” he asked. “I don't mind being alone, but out here I'm exposed.”
Kate patted him on the knee. “No, out here you're inconspicuous. Even if someone drove by this house, the driveway is a thousand feet long. It's just an old house like all the rest. Much less obvious than a fortified bunker, don't you think?”
“It won't be long,” Kell said. “Even if Will doesn't go for it, we'll find a way to send people out here. One way or another you'll have help fortifying this place and getting it set up properly.”
“When are you coming?” John asked.
Kell smiled. “No idea, man. If things go well, maybe in a few months. If not, then longer. Maybe a lot longer.”
The Fall (Book 2): Dead Will Rise Page 26