Living amongst the Dead: On the Road Again

by J. N. Morgan

  “Woah- WOAH!” Going at a casual jog, Nick’s feet skidded along the relatively smooth gravel road that lead to the two houses. Quite nice-looking structures, one of which even had a motorboat on a trailer parked beside it. From around a corner, a young man, looking quite a bit younger than Rich, was fumbling with his zipper until he noticed the woman who quickly tried to come to a stop. Fly still open, the black-haired and dark-complexioned youth quickly went to get the rifle slung over his shoulder. An odd mix of fear and excitement went across his features, but whatever else there might have been, in his eyes were only murder.

  “NICKY!” Her voice was shrill as she shakily brought that hefty English-made rifle up to her shoulder, but the other female already had her SKS at the ready, irons being brought to the fellow while he still tried to get his rifle at hand. Trigger pulled, safety was on, flicked off quickly and BOOM! The small wooden-stocked firearm clattered to the ground beside him, and Johnathan was already stopped in his tracks watching it all.

  “Come on, come on! To the ditch!” The survivalist told him, nodding towards the relative safety that would be provided. There wasn’t much to it, only a couple feet deep, not much water going through but it was still moist, and their pant leggings got wet as she lowered down. The former holy man got to his stomach, and Rich went down on his left side, obviously unable to lie flat on his belly for his right arm was still slung in front of it in a sling. Rolling over a bit until he was almost on his back, left hand fumbled at the pistol on his hip.

  A door opened somewhere, Nick was running towards the general store which was, in her view, the nearest form of cover. “TIFF!” The fellow shouted, seeing her standing completely in the open, in shock as she watched the boy that slowly writhed on the ground with blood pumping out of his chest, and in less than 10 seconds he was still. The portly woman snapped out of it at the sound of her man’s commanding voice, and she ran towards him.

  “God DAMN it, Carl!” A fat, grey-haired, old mustachioed man growled as he brought a rifle to shoulder and aimed it at the first person he seen, the chubby girl, and a round screamed out of his lever-action. It flew by, Tiff screamed, and she leapt down into the ditch. With a grunt she groaned in pain, nearly colliding with her wounded lover but thankfully missing him. The Lee Enfield had been dropped, left on the pavement, and so with three people in that shallow ditch they had only one firearm available and it was a fucking pistol. The wooden stock of the lever-action somehow had blue grain on it, looking gorgeous, and the action was quickly worked as a large casing plopped out of it. He retreated back into the house and closed the door.

  A middle-aged looking ginger peered around the corner, a handlebar moustache on his face, and he seen a head peering out from within the ditch; Richard. A .45 cal muzzle was in the man’s direction, but in turn a .243 cal barrel was presented. The .45 fired first, the pistol, and it blew a small hole into the corner of the house just a foot to his left. He returned behind cover.

  BA-BAM! Two shots rang out quickly somewhere, somewhere close, in the direction of the general store, but he had to focus on what he was doing. Johnathan kept as low in the ditch as he can manage, clutching at his chest though not in pain. Unseen was a cross hanging from his neck, and he had it scooped up with the cloth of his clothing in his hand, lips moving inaudibly as he prayed to himself, eyes shut tight. Tiffany was in a fetal position, whimpering at the gunfire.

  Richard moved, the pistol in his non-dominant left hand swinging left towards the other house as a silhouette appeared in the window. He steadied the irons, wishing badly that he could use his right hand. The window opened, showing a woman with some grey showing in her otherwise black messy hair. Of all things, a wooden bow was presented, an arrow pulled taut on it, but she loosed it high as she fell back with a shriek. He’d fired a second .45, it struck her in the side of her chest, through a breast, and so in the living room of that house she quickly began choking on her own blood, a large hole having gone through one of her lungs.

  Handlebar peered out from the corner again, looking through the scope on his polymer-stocked rifle, but having seen the movement in his peripherals Richard scooted back not wanting to risk the time it would take to have a proper look, much less aim.

  BANG! Yet another shot fired from the direction of the house with Mr.Handlebar, the fatso, and the nearby general store. “Fuck… fuck…” the young man was panting from the adrenaline, shoulder sore from moving about on the ground. Two more shots rang out, and from Richard’s perspective one sounded like it was faintly to the right while he lay on his back, at the house closest to those two gas stations, followed quickly by another at the other house.

  “FUCK!” It was Veronica. Their ears were ringing from the M1911 being fired a couple times without ear protection, but they could recognize it, and Tiffany screamed out for her friend.

  “NICKY!” Peering out from cover, there was a barrel sticking out of the side of the lefthand house, meanwhile the ginger man with the funky moustache was on the ground lying still. What was going on, where IS she?! Something slapped at the wounded fellow’s face. Dirt? It was wet, yet warm. He looked to Tiff, and she was looking back with horror on her face, colour rushing from her. No, she wasn’t looking at him, and craning his head he looked over to Johnathan. A massive chunk of his skull was removed, utter gore showing where his salt-and-pepper hair was shot away along with a portion of skull and undoubtedly quite a lot of brain. Eyes still closed, he continued to clutch at his chest. The shot didn’t come from the houses, it was the first thing he realized, so quickly scooted down to the base of the shallow ditch where blood was running down along the older man’s body.

  “DOWN! DOWN!!” Dropping his pistol, his left hand reached over and grasped the young woman, tugging at her pant leg as she continued to look at the man in horror. Dirt splashed up from the east side of the ditch, towards the houses, and a second or two later a shot was heard far to the west towards the barn structure and the RV-looking thing on the far ridge. Someone must have been shooting at them from way the fuck over there. There was no way in Hell he could make a shot like that with his pistol. Another distant gunshot but this time a bullet didn’t come near the two survivors in the ditch. A surprised feminine scream was heard towards the houses immediately after yet another shot was heard. It shook the shell-shocked woman out of her unresponsive state as she scooted down into the ditch with him, clinging to him as she shuddered like a leaf. Neither of the two knew if the scream was Nicky or not.

  She sat, breathing heavily, at the southeast corner of the house on the south side. Just a couple feet away on the opposite side of the same corner, the fat man with the lever-action lie dead with two bullet holes in him, one in the right arm and the other through the throat. It had been after giving him that somewhat wild double-tap that she then peered past the corner and shot the ginger. Not long after that a woman across the way presented a rifle in a window to which a quick shot was fired that went wide and then one was received, thankfully also going wide. She cursed as she peered down at the open bolt of her semi-auto rifle; empty, five rounds having been fired already.

  A 10-rnd clip was pulled from a pocket clumsily, it slipped from her grasp, and she cursed again as she bent down to pick it up. Ramming the rounds down from it into the mag, 5 went in, a 6th came loose and fell to the ground as she removed the strip of metal with 4 rounds on it now and she let it too tumble to the ground. Smacking the back of the bolt a couple times it wouldn’t go forward so she gave it a pull and a release; it flew home and chambered to the top round. The thin woman, wrapped warmly in her big luxurious winter coat, twitched as she went to peer around the corner to take a shot again but feared that she might already be aiming steadily. Just waiting for her to peer around.

  Flank her! She jogged around the other corner, going around the front of the house that faced the road, and was just passing by the steps leading up to the front door when a bullet tore near her, a distant echo of a shot sounding amidst the ringing in
her ears, and she quickly went up the steps two at a time, opening the door and jumping inside. Some scraps of wood the back of her coat, some of the shrapnel imbedding into the fabric but not deep enough to hit flesh. The bullet flew through the door, and went over one of her shoulders, narrowly missing her. Eyes wide, darting about, not knowing if any threats were in the house. Opposite the front door was the back door, the one that fatso and ginger had gone through earlier, she went left, towards the north, in the direction of the house with the other shooter. Whoever was sniping at them from the west would have to be dealt with later.

  Stepping into a bedroom, it had a window in the direction of the other house. She did not approach the window, but aimed through it from a distance. Walking sideways, more and more of the other house came into view until she seen the open window that the barrel was sticking out of, and taking careful aim a bullet tore through the pane of glass toward the blonde woman who had shot at her. She gave a feminine scream as she disappeared in her mass of vibrant hair, falling out of view, and her rifle had been thrown out to tumble to the grassy lawn by the house near the dirt road.

  Nick cursed yet again to herself, ears lost in a screaming ‘EEEEEEEEE’ of ringing after having fired a round of 7.62x39 indoors. No time to lose, she didn’t even know if tiffany was still alive or not, and it was the only person she was worried about right now. Out the back door, down the steps quickly, shoulder the northeast corner around which the enemy ‘sniper’ of sorts might be within sight. Looking down to her SKS rifle, teeth were bared in worry… it was doubted that it would be accurate enough for how far away that fucker probably was. Scooting down onto her bottom, she was sitting next to the ginger’s corpse, and eyed his scoped rifle. Quickly, her hand darted towards that wooden-stocked rifle with the gorgeous blue grain and pulled it towards her. No shot rang out in retaliation.

  “Where are you, my little nigger…” he grumbled with a grin as he sat comfortably in his RV. Left hand on the window sill, polymer handguard on the back of his webbing between thumb and pointer finger, his other hand held the pistol grip of his AR-15 pattern rifle as he looked through a powerful optic. A Chinese copy of an AR, to be more precise. He’d paid $750 Canadian for it a few years back, and was quite familiar with the design by this point. Carl, he was supposed to be keeping watch from this spectacular viewpoint up on the ridge, able to see south along the clearing on the west side of the road, and even able to peer beyond the houses to the valley to the east, however only had a few gaps interrupted by trees from which to see the main road from the northern access, and it was from there that the four had come, now three. He laughed after having seen a headshot managed from that distance, and even now he could still see the gore of Johnathan’s head.

  He was trying to see into the west-facing windows of that house that he had seen the bitch run into, expecting see her stick her little short-haired monkey-head up and into view for him to shoot. His mil-dot sight went from one window to the other, back and forth, magnification maxed out on his adjustable optic but he knew exactly at which dot his point of impact would be. Glass cracked violently next to him.

  “JESUS!” He dove to the side, out of view, clutching his rifle as he seen fragments of glass littering his dining table.

  Veronica’s cursing continued as she worked the bolt of the rifle, seeing two more rounds left in the mag. Quickly she brought the scope to eye again. Figuring there would be some degree of bullet drop, she aimed for the top of the window frame above him. Whether from wind, or from having ‘too much finger’ on the trigger, the bullet had struck the glass to his right, from her perspective. Lying prone there on the ground next to that body, she peeked around the corner with rifle shouldered, looking side to side along the RV waiting for him to peek out. So she had to aim a bit to the left, and a fair bit high, quite a lot of guesstimation but hopefully she’ll get him within the next two shots. Her SKS lay on the ground next to her as she continued to keep an eye out for that bastard, the fellow who had killed Johnathan though she didn’t yet know it. Through the optic she focused on the windows and the corners of that vehicle he was hiding in. She’ll get that piece of shit…

  “Cheeky little thing…” he muttered tauntingly as he steadied his rifle on the roof. Having gone out the door on the opposite side of the recreational vehicle, the shooter then crept up the ladder which was equally out of view, and now steadied his optic on Veronica’s face partially hidden by an optic of her own. Lining up the correct mil dot, the front of the parked boat was almost to the point of being in the way, the curve of its bow was just a little above her head, but still granted him full access.

  Slow breath in, steady, steady, the light recoil of his 5.56 ammo won’t be enough to jostle him from the ladder. He had the scope lined up perfectly, he could see she didn’t see him, and so began slowly squeezing the trigger, very slowly, until the rifle went off of its own accord. The bullet flew directly for her head, just as one had previously flew for Johnathan’s. The action locked open; empty.

  “Oh…” Nicky muttered amusedly as she seen the report from the roof of the RV; he was barely in sight. As she brought the reticle up above his head and just to the left, she slowly squeezed the trigger as she seen him take the scope away from his face, eyes narrowing, and mouthed the word ‘shit’ before her own rifle spat its projectile. A .243 cal bullet, probably around 6mm, was propelled from its casing which was more-or-less just a necked-down .308 made to fire a smaller and lighter bullet at higher velocities. Soft-point, the lead-tipped but otherwise jacketed bullet screeched through the air, curved lines cut by rifling causing it to spin as it ducked beneath the bow of the boat, a .22 cal hole on the other side of it where the enemy’s bullet had lodged due to having gotten in the way as it naturally dropped in its travel towards her, and soon that pesky sniper’s skull opened up.

  Tremendously lucky, that shot was, sending the round through one of his eyes, mushrooming out as it was designed to do after hitting its target, and the back of his head splashed to the ground behind him. His body followed suit, and a small grin came to the young woman’s lips. She couldn’t believe it; there was no way she just made that shot! She could have tried a thousand more times and no way could she have garnered the same result! With the spent casing still chambered, she released the unfamiliar rifle and picked up her SKS, climbing to her feet and heading towards the road.

  “TIFF! TIFFY!” Her eyes shot open for the first time since grasping at Richard. Looking up at him, she seen that he was craning his head to try and peer over the lip of the ditch, and now slid himself up along his back until he seen Nicky, raising his left hand, pistol pointed to the sky as he waved. Safety was flicked back on, holstered, and the quaking woman made the mistake of looking in Johnathan’s direction. A chunk of the top of his head was still missing, colour was slowly draining from his face, redness was pooling around down at his feet as he continued to lie on his back more or less straight. She vomited as the survivalist was pushing himself up to get to his feet.

  “Thank God you’re ok.” The dark woman jogged down to the shallow ditch, almost slipping on the muck at the bottom which now streaked some of Richard and Tiffany’s clothing. She only had eyes for Tiff though, rubbing her back as she bent over, spitting, holding her modestly lengthed hair out of the way. Pretty much just crawling his way up, the small embankment, he lightheadedly walked over to his dropped rifle. Nearly falling over in the process, he knelt down, grasped it, and lifted himself to standing once more while looking at his Lee Enfield. It felt like years since he’s had it at hand, yet it’s only been maybe a week at most. He slung it over his left shoulder, sadly unable to put it over his right like usual.

  Heart still pounding, it was the first time in quite a long time he had been shot at, save for a few days ago when he had actually been shot, and didn’t miss it.

  “WAAA-” three sets of eyes shot towards the northernmost house, in which the two women had tried to make their stand. A baby’s crying. Nick was alr
eady running towards the front door, and the Tiffany was still too shaken to say anything. The one man left standing began walking towards the structure. With the way he walked, you’d think he were weighted down heavily, but in this still-weakened state merely the weight of his own body proved difficult to manage. He gave Johnathan a passing glance as he went, too hardened for the sight of such gore to sicken him like it did his woman.

  Front door was open, he could faintly see inside as Nicky began checking rooms. Keeping out of the way, she swung one door in and a shot rang out. The woman cursed, the baby screamed, a hole was now in the door and had she been standing behind it as it opened then she’d have been shot.

  “STAY AWAAAAY!” A savage female screamed out, must have been the baby’s mother, but she was seemingly in utter panic.

  “DROP THE GUN!” The SKS-wielding ‘intruder’ screamed back, ears still ringing, and the baby screeched and cried all the while.

  “I WON’T LET YOU TAKE HER!” So crazed, she was almost beyond understanding, and another shot rang out while Veronica was still behind cover. The baby stopped crying, the African-Canadian’s eyes widened in realization as she swept herself to the doorway, rifle shouldering and being presented as she did so, but before she could even get the rifle up the woman had already squeezed the trigger on her revolver with its muzzle at her temple.