Chapter 5
The men hunkered down in the ditch could do nothing but listen to the increasing sounds of gunfire, and wait. Blood and bits of flesh dripped from the foliage above them, a grisly testament to the unseen carnage.
Jimmy had pressed his back hard against the concrete, hoping to stay low and quite. The other two men followed suit, and now lay as still and silent as possible, though they wondered if the undead would hear them at all over the rapid firing of the guns. They took no chances, lying completely still, inhaling and exhaling as slowly as possible. Each man feared that the hard hammering of their heart would be a dead giveaway.
Three pairs of eyes were staring hard at the canopy of overgrown grass and bushes above them when the first zombie crashed through, coming down on top of Jimmy. A second fell, then a third landed across Gordy’s legs. One last undead fell, landing face to face on Dean, who had only a second to throw his arms up, using his bite guards protect his face.
Jimmy’s right arm was pinned beneath the dead thing; it was on his right hip that he carried his large Cold Steel Recon blade. The zombie snapped at the arm locked under it, biting only the deer-leather guard. Jimmy could feel the immense pressure of the jaw forcing diseased teeth into the leather.
He groped around with his left hand, leaving the creature to gnaw at the tightly wrapped guard. In the back of his mind he vowed to always have a knife within easy reach of either hand.
His fingers closed around something solid, he wrapped his hand around it tightly, just as he heard Gordy grunting quietly a few feet from him.
Gordy reached beneath and behind himself, grabbing for the Extreme Ratio dagger he had moved from his boot to his belt. Two zombies were pulling themselves up his legs, vying for first rights at his soft flesh.
The dagger came loose from its sheath, and he leaned forward to ram it in the skull of the zombie that was just then moving to bury its face in his midsection. He couldn’t get enough leverage to yank the thin blade back out, leaving it for the moment as the other zombie reared back, getting ready to sink its teeth into the meat of Gordy’s thigh.
Gordy took the only opportunity he had at the moment and brought his left knee up as hard as he could. He felt bone crack, and had to fight a scream as a supernova of pain flared in his knee, making him feel as if he were about to pass out. The zombie’s head snapped back, producing another sharp crack. Its head lolled oddly to the side, cervical vertebrae now broken and loose.
Gordy reached forward, grabbing for the handle of the knife still protruding from the other zombies head. With a burst of strength he did not believe he had left he yanked the blade free and slammed it hard through the eye of the zombie still trying to make its way to his vital areas.
Dean pushed back against the zombie snapping at his face, knowing he could not let go to reach for a weapon, even for a moment. The others were busy fighting off their own troubles, and he knew he needed to take care of this thing fast and quietly.
Hating the thought of what he was about to do, Dean let his hands slide up the decaying creature’s face, skin peeling up under his hands. His thumbs found the zombie’s eyes and began to press inward.
The feel of the slick orbs under his thumbs made his stomach turn, and he thought for a moment that he might vomit in the zombie’s open mouth. He turned his face away as both thumbs pushed through the eyeballs, popping the cataract glazed eyes with a muted snapping noise. He could feel vitreous fluid dripping down his hands and into his upturned ear.
His thumbs passed through soft, rotting flesh, stopping against the back of the orbital socket. The thing still pressed toward him, teeth gnashing, trying to eat his face. The fact that the digits of a man were buried in its eye-sockets did not faze it in the least. It knew Dean was there, and it wanted him.
Dean continued to push, trying to break through the superior orbital fissure at the back of the socket. He knew the bone could cut him if he pushed through, infecting him with the sickness, but with no weapon at hand he felt there was no other choice. He had to destroy the brain or he was certainly going to die.
Just as he felt bone begin to crack the zombie’s head was jerked backward, his thumbs snapping free of the sockets like gruesome champagne corks. He opened his eyes and looked up slowly to see Jimmy lying next to him, his large blade protruding from the creature's head.
Jimmy reached over, laying his hand on Dean’s bicep as Dean began to shake. Jimmy could feel the bunched muscles trembling beneath his friend’s clothing.
“You’re good man,” Jimmy whispered into his ear. Dean simply nodded, glancing at his Dad, who lay unmoving, the zombies still across his legs. The severe pain evident on Gordy’s face was a relief to Dean. It meant his Dad was still alive.
Watching through the hole the falling zombies had created, Jimmy and the others could see several undead shuffling past, bodies jerking as gunfire still popped nearby.
They lay still in the ditch, Dean with his zombie still half across his chest, Gordy with his legs still pinned by the two that had attacked him. Jimmy had rolled his off to the side when he moved to help Dean.
Though the wait felt like forever, it was less than five minutes before the last zombie shuffled past. When the sound of automatic gunfire stopped, the three men did not hesitate to crawl back down the ditch toward where their car was hidden. They knew that someone would be coming to investigate and had no desire to meet them face to face.
Jimmy tugged on his shirt as Gordy pushed with his good leg, grunting with effort, sweat dripping down his face, staining his leather collar with dark brown spots. Dean low-crawled behind them, surreptitiously watching over his shoulder to be sure they were not spotted.
He noticed the bloody track they were leaving behind them, spattered gore rubbing off, leaving a trail that was easy to follow along the concrete. “Faster guys, we’re sitting ducks in here,” he said, voice low but urgent.
Jimmy pulled, Gordy sucked air and continued pushing with his good leg, Dean shoved from behind, helping to keep their odd procession moving, inching away from the carnage they left behind and the men he was certain were about to find it. It would be easy for anyone to deduce what had transpired in that ditch.
After several agonizing minutes of pulling and pushing, Dean and Jimmy helped Gordy up the steep side of the embankment. With an arm draped over a shoulder the two men half carried, half dragged Gordy toward the car waiting forty feet away. They were all exhausted, and fell into the De Soto, pulling in deep breaths, calming the hard beating of their hearts.
“Dean, get the turkey call out of your dad’s pants pocket,” Jimmy said as he slid out of the car onto his knees, shotgun up and braced across the trunk.
Dean felt through Gordy’s pockets until he found the small box turkey call Alex had given them. Dean thumbed the spring-loaded button, pushing as Alex had shown him, creating sounds like a hen, to draw in tom turkeys. He continued this off and on for several minutes before slipping the call into his pocket.
Dean sat down beside Jimmy, rifle standing between his knees. His only wish at that moment was a long hot shower to wash off the sickening smell of the gore they had all been splattered with.
Chapter 6
Rick’s finger twitched, caressing the trigger guard of his rifle. He watched as the final few zombies fell to the onslaught of bullets the soldiers were firing.
Watching the men shoot, Rick wondered how many of the men were actually soldiers, and how many just wore the garb and gear. It was obvious that at least a few of them were just pointing and shooting, not choosing their shots, or considering shot placement. Essentially, they were wasting precious ammunition.
Not moving from his hide, Rick slowly swept his scope back and forth, watching the ditch where his friends were concealed. He also kept a close eye on the man who appeared to be in charge of the group at the armory.
After several tense minutes the final gut-sucker fell, leaving a strange quiet in place of the rapid popping of the rifles.
The men at the armory stood where they were for several minutes, watching down the road with weapons at low ready. When it was clear that nothing else was coming along behind the horde that had just been torn to pieces, several of the men broke away and began walking toward the ditch.
The man Rick assumed was the leader, possibly the “Greer” that he had heard the gardening guards mention, stayed behind; watching as his men moved forward. It occurred to Rick that Gordy would have been first to investigate were they in a similar situation.
The cold eye of Rick’s rifle scope followed the leading soldier as he made his way around the end of the ditch onto the highway, walking slowly, weapon raised and ready to fire. Though he knew that firing on any of the men down there would give away his hidden position, he also knew that he would not hesitate to pull the trigger if it appeared that his friends were in trouble.
Rick’s finger tensed as a rifle shot popped in the distance. Watching closely he could see there was no alarm raised, that the bullet must have been for a zombie that had been down, but not dead. Should have used a blade for an easy kill like that, he thought.
The men continued to walk along the edge of the ditch for several feet, stopping at the obvious hole in the heavy brush and grass. Rick placed the crosshairs of his scope directly in the center of the lead man’s chest, readying himself to take the shot at the first sign of trouble.
He heard a faint shout and saw the man raise his arm, waving his fellow soldiers over. Rick drew in a deep breath, exhaling slowly, allowing his heart to calm itself as much as possible. Slipping his finger through the trigger guard he caressed the trigger gently, positioning his finger and readying himself to take the shot.
He watched the men in the distance as they gathered around the hole. When they pointed rifles down into the hole in the brush Rick knew he had to do it.
One last slow breath and he began to gently squeeze the trigger, waiting to be surprised when it broke, sending the speeding projectile into the man he was certain was about to fire on his friends.
Suddenly Rick’s ears twitched at the sound of a turkey hen warbling quietly in the distance. Relaxing his finger off the trigger he continued to listen, hearing the hen several more times. He could see through the scope that the men standing over the ditch heard the sound as well, though they appeared to be ignoring it, as one of the men jumped down into the ditch, lost to Rick’s view.
After one last look through the scope, Rick folded up the attached bipod and slung the heavy rifle over his shoulder, leaving him easy access to the pistol on his hip. He faded quietly back into the woods, moving slowly, so he didn’t attract unwanted attention by accident.
Once he felt he was far enough into the trees to not be seen he moved as rapidly as he could in the direction of the car, while still being able to pick his steps carefully, making little noise as he passed through the thick undergrowth.
After several agonizingly slow minutes Rick could see flashes of the De Soto through the trees, a few steps later he could make out Jimmy kneeling on the ground next to the car, his shotgun pointed out across the trunk. He began to whistle quietly, two long and two short whistles, repeating it until he stepped out of the woods next to the men waiting for him.
“About fucking time, man,” Jimmy said, glancing at Rick.
“It’s been less than ten minutes since I heard the call. Made my way here fast as I could.”
Jimmy’s eyes flicked back toward the drive they had come in on, watching for signs of anyone following. He slowly stood up and reached into the car, stowing his shotgun upright next to the passenger seat.
It was then that Rick noticed Gordy stretched out on the back seat of the big car, his face twisted in obvious pain.
“What happened; what’s wrong with Gordy?”
“Busted his knee fending off a Zom,” Dean told him.
“Let me take a look at it,” Rick said as he leaned into the back seat, reaching for Gordy’s pant-leg.
“We need to go, now, before those assholes find us sitting here with Gordy’s pants down. Jan can take care of it when we get back.” Jimmy slid into the driver’s seat, motioning for Rick to hurry up and get in.
Rick stored his rifle and pack in the trunk, sat down in the passenger seat and looked over his shoulder at Dean, who sat with his dad’s stretched out legs across his lap.
“You need something to cushion your head against the door, Gordy?”
“Hell no, just get home,” He answered through tightly clenched teeth.
Jimmy took that as his cue, starting the engine and backing slowly down the short drive. Wasting no time watching for men from the camp, they sped away home, Gordy’s groans of pain causing them all to cringe.
None of the men saw the greasy-haired head poke through the foliage just at the edge of the ditch where they had climbed out, watching the De Soto as it drove away.
Chapter 7
Jimmy pulled up to the main bridge-gate, blasting the car’s horn in the day’s signal, letting those on guard know that all was well to lower the gate and allow them to cross. As he pulled up, stopping just before the drop that had been dug in the roadway, Louis stepped up to the window, asking questions, wanting to chat.
Jimmy’s terse, “Drop it.” And a quick glance into the back seat let him know that now was not the time. He ran to the crank, winding it wildly. As soon as the cattle guard dropped Jimmy was on the gas pedal, hurrying to get Gordy to his wife.
Louis watched the car speed past, turning to crank the bridge back into its upright position only after he saw the car make the left turn toward camp.
As always, people came running out to greet the returning vehicle, stepping back when they realized that Jimmy wasn’t slowing to a stop in the parking lot. Tires slid in gravel as Jimmy stopped the car directly in front of Jan’s dispensary and emergency clinic.
Jan’s face appeared in the tiny window set in the front of the building, watching as the rear passenger door of the car was flung open. She threw open her door when she realized the men were dragging her prone husband from the car.
Images of Sam being dragged from this same back seat flashed through her mind. The knife jutting up from his shoulder, blood soaking his shirt front and back carried her into a moment of dizziness.
Jan felt her mind begin to disconnect from the situation, not as a caregiver, but as a wife. Her stomach lurched, mind reeling in terror. Just at that moment when it felt as if the last few strands of sanity were going to snap, catapulting her into an oblivion of senseless screaming, Jan fought back.
In a matter of moments she took in the sight of three men covered in blood and gore, the detritus of death, and one man that was as clean as when he left. She turned on Rick, spitting, “What the hell happened? Weren’t you supposed to be watching out for them?”
Rick was about to respond with as much vehemence when he noticed the fear coursing through Jan’s eyes. He stepped back, allowing Dean and Jimmy to get Gordy upright between them, while still holding Jan’s gaze.
“Wasn’t anything he could do, Janet. Shit happened, we’re all alive and no one is bitten. Ahhhhh, FUCK!”
Gordy cried out as the two men tried to lift his foot above the threshold of the door, the toe of his boot just barely bumping the wood.
Jan let out a breath, finding a small measure of relief that no one was bitten, though she wouldn’t entirely relax until she had checked all four men for possible infections.
“Get him up on the table. The three of you wait here, everyone else out.” Jan spoke with such force that raising her voice was unnecessary.
Jimmy caught his wife’s eye just as she was turning to leave with the rest of the small group that had gathered outside the door. Worry creased her face, causing laugh lines to deepen and darken. He wanted to feel for her, to reach out and comfort her like he knew she needed to comfort him. He gave her a short nod and turned back to Jan and the others cramping the small building.
“Someone needs to tell me what
happened,” Jan said as she prepared to cut the leg from Gordy’s camouflage cargo pants.
Lifting his head to see what his wife was doing, Gordy grunted, saying, “Don’t cut it, damn it, just help me to take them off.” He began unbuckling his belt, nearly in tears with the effort.
“What the hell are you doing, Gordon?”
“My favorite pair,” He replied, breathing heavily, as sweat began to roll down the sides of his face.
Jan paused for a moment, just staring at her husband before setting the emergency shears down and moving his fumbling fingers from the buckle. She quickly unbuckled the belt, unbuttoned the pants themselves and began to slide them down past his hips.
Gordy began to wheeze and grunt with every jerk of the fabric, fighting back a scream. He didn’t seem to care that his boxer shorts had pulled half-way down his hips.
“Damn, Gordo, if you were any whiter you’d be transparent.”
“Fuck you J-Jimmy,” Gordy shot back, stuttering at a spark of pain. He tried a grin, but his face could only mirror what felt to him like electricity and fire both in his knee.
Gordy and Jan both gasped when she slid the pants past the knee, Gordy from the painful rubbing of the heavy fabric, Jan from the sight of the swollen and bruised knee.
“What the hell did you do Gordon? It has to be swollen nearly twice the size of normal.” Jan probed as gently as she could at the tight, darkly bruising skin surrounding Gordy’s knee. No matter how much he tried to hold still, he jerked and twitched at every touch; both touch and twitch igniting bolts of pain up and down his leg.
Jan sucked air through her teeth as she spun around, grabbing items from a nearby shelf. Tearing open packages, snapping and shaking and rustling plastic bags, she soon had several instant ice packs surrounding the knee. A rolled up towel helped to brace the knee in a slightly bent position. She sent Dean and Rick out to get two long branches, at least an inch thick, to use as splints to immobilize the leg, preventing further injury to the damaged tissue.
American Revenant (Book 3): The Monster In Man Page 3