“No. If they’re shooting, though, then things have gone wrong. I take it you didn’t see anything to the west?”
Rory spat. “Not a godsdamned thing. Whatever it is, it’s coming in from the Ruins. Me and the boys are heading that way now before the Mayor gets hold of me.”
“He’ll have a fit about that,” said Marty. Did he sound amused by that? Seth certainly didn’t think the older man sounded concerned.
“Bugger him,” said Rory before spitting again. “These defenses look good. I’d like to shake hands with the clever son of a bitch that decided on the stakes. I wouldn’t have thought we could get 'em up in time.”
“That’d be Lark, here,” said Marty, clapping Seth in the back.
The young man blushed, embarrassed both by the praise and by the color that had risen to his cheeks. “They’re not as good as they could have been if we had had more time,” said Seth. “But I am hoping that if they press the barricade, at least a few will get stuck. I think a lot more will just break off with the weight of them, though.”
“Sure, but I can’t imagine having a three foot piece of wood jammed up your ass makes walking any easier, even for a goner,” said Rory. “Now, I’m gonna get the hell out of here before that jackass of a mayor has me out patrolling or some bullkak.”
Marty extended his hand. “Good luck, Rory. Be safe.”
Rory shook it. “Good luck to you, too. Be safe. And if being safe doesn't work, at least name it after me.” Chuckling with his own mirth, Rory headed off.
“Was that a joke? I don’t get it,” said Seth as he held one of the last spikes for Marty to bury.
“You don't? I’m sure Tom will rest easier, knowing that,” quipped Marty.
That made Seth want to pause and figure it out, but Marty shoved another wooden post at him, and he got back to work.
It took another couple hours to finish the row. In that time, the firing from the bridge hadn’t stopped. “Do you suppose the Mayor has sent my dad some help?” he asked.
Marty shrugged. “Depends on if Rory got away clean.” He straightened, stretching out his back, then turned and started to walk towards the School. “One way to find out. Let’s go ask him,” he called over his shoulder.
“What if he just gives us something else to do?” asked Seth as he hurried to join the older Scout.
“Then that’s what we do,” said Marty simply. “Your dad and the mayor talked a little strategy before he went to the bridge, I’m sure. They have a plan. We have to follow it. That’s part of what serving the community means, Lark.”
“And what if it’s the wrong plan?”
“Then we hope those in charge figure it out in time. Being a Scout is tricky, kid. A lot of the time, you’re out in the wild, and you’ve never felt so free. But some of the time, you have to do what you’re told, and trust that the smartest men you know are in charge.”
Seth digested this. “So, I should do whatever the Mayor says, without thinking about it.”
“I didn’t say that. Remember that the Mayor is only one of the people making the decisions. Your father is another. Do you trust him to make the right choices?”
Seth didn’t respond, but he didn’t think he needed to. From the clap on the back Marty gave him, he was right. They continued in silence until they got to the main entrance of the Ell. Here, Longshooters had set up on the top level of the haystacks, their eyes trained to the sound of the gunfire. Others had joined them up there; civilians who wanted to know what was coming before it came. Mayor Townsend was one of those. He looked down at the two of them when they started climbing up towards them. “Is the last row in place?” he asked.
“Yes, Mayor. I don’t think we have enough time for another,” said Marty.
“Is there anything else you need for us to do?” Seth asked.
Mayor Townsend raised his eyebrows a bit, and then shook his head. “Just rest if you can. You two have been busting ass all day. It’s been noticed, I promise you.”
“Thank you, Mayor,” said Marty, and he sat on a haystack near him. Seth followed suit. “They’ve been shooting a long time. Do they have the ammunition to keep it up?”
“Rory McEuon and the men from the Loop grabbed some ammo before they went and sneaked out,” said the Mayor. “I thought about trying to stop them; telling them to send word to Jake to abandon the barricade and save ammo. But every goner they kill out there is one we don’t have to worry about here. So I let them go.”
Marty nodded. “Is Jay still up on the roof?”
“Yeah,” the mayor replied. “Our defenses here are as good as they’re going to get, I think. I am hoping Jake comes back when Rory shows up; we need him fresh, and he hasn’t slept or eaten if I know him.”
“My dad won’t leave that wall unless his men are safe,” said Seth.
“I know. If there is one thing I can count on, it’s the stubbornness of Jake Larkin,” said the Mayor.
Seth was about to respond, but he felt a heavy man sit next to him on the haystack. He turned in dread, expecting to see Tom Harper there. But it was actually Tommy. “So, Lark, how bad did you get it from my Dad?” he asked.
“Shut up, man,” said Seth. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. The two of you looked pretty damned cozy. It was kind of disgusting, really.”
“Look, Tommy, can you quit joking for ten seconds?” Seth sighed. “My dad’s out there. He’s in real danger.”
Tommy started to say something, but stopped. “I know he is. I thought I’d come up here, try to cheer you up. It’s been a rough few days, you know? If we don’t look after each other, who’s going to?”
“I don’t want to be cheered. I want to be at the bridge, helping,” said Seth.
“You wouldn’t be much help at the bridge, Lark,” said Marty. “I don’t mean that as a slight, but the men out there have been trained in the wilds. They each know how the others operate, because they were all trained the same. You haven’t had that training yet. And when they fall back, they’ll do that in a certain way, too. They don’t just up and run. Until you get that training, you’d be in the way.”
Seth scowled. “I’ve lived with the Scouts all my life. You think I haven’t heard anything? Do you think I haven’t been paying attention?”
“I didn’t say that. I said you haven’t been trained,” said Marty. “Training isn’t about hearing, it’s about doing it over and over. You haven’t had a chance yet.”
“Besides, are you really so eager to get your face chewed off?” asked Tommy. “You can go get yourself eaten next time, buddy.”
“That is not a funny joke, Mr. Harper,” said Mayor Townsend. “We all may have that chance in the next couple hours. And then, everyone will be fighting, trained or not.”
“Don’t bother with their Gone’s Sacks!” Jake yelled as he drew another arrow's fletching to his cheek. He took a breath, let it out, and released. The arrow caught the goner near the edge of the bridge in the chest, and it toppled over the side. “If you can get it, great, but if not, just try to knock them back. Men on the sides, try to sweep them off the bridge if you can’t get a good shot! The slopes are too steep for them to get up!”
“But, Captain, if we do that, won’t they just wander to the riverbed and get around us?” asked Goat.
“Some of them will. Most will keep trying to get the meal in front of them. Anyway, it’s a risk we have to take.” Jake held no illusions that he would hold the herd here. Now that he was off the barricade, he could get a good look at the horde. The bridge roiled and undulated with pale, uncontrolled limbs. The Gone had packed themselves into every inch of it, but so far had not managed to move the heavy machinery that made up the base of the barricade. His Scouts had been careful to only shoot for goners that weren’t directly next to the barricade. They didn’t want the goners using corpse as platforms to get over the barricade, like they had at Fort Kenosha.
Despite their caution, corpses
were beginning to pile up anyway. Goners didn't seem to have any compunctions about crushing their fellows against the heavy wall, and then stepping on the corpses to reach the men at the top. Goat had been using that long handled scythe of his to take out individual goners. His long, arching sweeps managed to hit some of them so that they were swept off the bridge. But many more were becoming another step the Gone could take towards their prey.
Jake shot off his last arrow, and grabbed a large club. The other defenders were also running low on ammo, though his men were making every shot count. Picking targets wasn’t hard; the horde still extended well into the Ruins proper, so deep that Jake could not be sure where it ended. And all of them were headed his way. As they crowded into the narrow space, more than a few were getting knocked off into the trench below without any help from his men. They were down in the trench now, clawing at the earthen walls, trying to get to the defenders. Jake was more worried about them wandering off than he let on, but he also realized that, right now, they weren’t an immediate threat.
The Scout Captain swung out with his club. He had decided that his hatchet was a bad idea; the blade would get stuck if it bit too deep, and that was a good way to lose your weapon. His position was almost dead center on the barricade, so he couldn’t knock them off the bridge. What he could do, though, was use the length of the club to knock any climbers off balance. A quick thrust of the thick wooden club to the forehead was enough to make them stagger, sending them backwards and away from the barricade. Again, he knew it was just a stalling tactic. Those that weren’t trampled by their companions would get right back up and go again.
He caught one goner right between the eyes. He had been a big man, with a full beard that looked ratty and unkempt now. It staggered, but didn’t fall. With a lurch, it lunged at Jake again, stepping on the remains of two trampled goners to get to him. Jake hit him again, with a downward swing instead of a thrust. The tip of the club struck the it’s nose, causing it to burst in an explosion of magenta ichor. Jake closed his eyes and mouth reflexively; the blood of a goner was cursed, and you didn’t want to get it in your eyes or your mouth.
Unfortunately, that reaction cost him. He felt something grip his club and tug. On sheer reflex, he tried to pull it back, and opened his eyes. When he did, he saw another goner, female this time, short and very thin, face to face with him. She had been so light, his frantic pull had lifted her high enough to grab onto the top of the barricade. Jake fell backward as she lunged at him, barely avoiding her grasping hands. As he fell, his shoulder hit the edge of one of the heavy crates, and Jake heard a popping sound. When he looked up, the face of another goner had appeared behind her, seemingly using her as a climbing device. “Shit! They’re getting over!” Jake called. “Fall back, fall b…”
A shot was fired behind him, hitting the female in her open mouth. She lost her handhold, and went sprawling back to the other side, taking her passenger with her. Jake laid his head back and permitted himself a moan of pain.
“Mother bugger me with a cattle prod, Jake!” came the voice of Rory McEuon. “How the hell have you survived this long without me around to save your ass every minute of every godsdamned day?”
Jake laughed, despite the pain. “Shut up, you old fool. How can you watch me every minute of every day if you show up here late? I expected you an hour ago.”
“Old fool? I have a mind not to give you this ammo I picked up on the way here! Don’t worry, my boys are already distributing it out some. How's your shoulder?”
Jake tried to move it, but a stabbing pain shot through his shoulder and into his arm. “Not too great. I think it’s dislocated.”
Rory felt around his shoulder for a moment. Then, without warning, he jerked Jake’s shoulder back. There was a crunching sound, and Jake screamed in real pain. “Yup, dislocated,” said Rory. “Better?”
Jake sat up and rotated his arm experimentally. It still hurt, but far less than it had a moment ago. “Anyone ever tell you that you’d make a good nurse?” Jake asked.
“I hear nurses wear short skirts. I’m pretty damned sure I don’t have the legs for it,” said Rory. He went over and picked up Jake’s club, which had fallen to the barricade when the goner had dropped it. “A baseball bat? If you're gonna use this, shouldn't you have traded spots with someone nearer the edge of the bridge?"
“Yeah,” Jake admitted. “I’m not thinking clearly.”
“When the hell do you ever think clearly?” Rory quipped, helping Jake to his feet. “I brought three other shooters. Where do you want us?”
Jake thought a moment. “We have to figure out a way to separate this herd,” he said. “If it just keeps up the way it’s going, they’ll be over the barricade within the hour.”
“Maybe we should jump into the trench and start flapping our arms? Say mean things about their mothers?”
Jake’s eyes widened. “That’s a good idea!”
As he began running off, Rory called out behind him. “No, it wasn’t a good idea! It was rutting sarcasm! Jake!” But Jake wasn’t listening to him. He ran to the south of the barricade, past the questioning gaze of his men, and started jumping up and down, shouting.
“Captain, what the hell are you doing?” asked one of Rory’s Longshooters who had taken a position there. What was his name? Hoser?
“Getting their attention!” cried Jake, before turning back to the bridge and cupping his hands over his mouth. “Hey! Over here! Look at me! How tasty do I look! Come this way!” A few goners noticed him, and gave a Gone scream. Then they started towards him, oblivious of the trench dug just feet in front of him. They started to fall in, a couple at first, followed by more and more.
“I'll be damned. It’s working!” said Hoser, as he stood up and started jumping up and down. “Yeah, that’s right, you rotting sons of whores! Come this way!” The man then came out with a string of words in a language Jake barely recognized. Marty sometimes used it when he was surprised or upset. Jake had always thought it a shame that the Black Dogs, who had used it among themselves, had tainted it. It was such a musical language.
By that time, Rory had caught up. “Great. It’s working. They’re falling into the trench. Now it’s harder for us to get at them, and they’ll just wander off and bug us later.”
“Yeah, but if they do, they won’t be bunched up like they are now,” said Jake. “We need to keep their attention. Rory, try to thin them out a little bit. Leave the ones nearest us; go for the ones at the far bank. The other goners will trip over them less, and won’t get trampled. It will give us more time.”
“You keep saying that. You are playing for time. What are you hoping will happen?”
“The longer we fight them here, the fewer goners there will be to attack the school,” said Jake. “If they’re thin enough, even people who’ve never seen a goner in their lives might be able to take a few down. But if they see the number that we’re seeing here, there might be a panic.”
“I think you’re grasping at straws. Some of em will panic any which way,” said Rory. “But we’ll do it your way. I sure as hell don’t have a better idea.”
“Cap’n!” called Lewis from the wall. “They’re getting over!”
Jake looked to the barricade. Sure enough, there were enough dead goners at the foot of the barricade now to act as a ramp for their still moving kin. At least a few had managed handholds. He saw Goat cut the fingers off of one, sending the creature tumbling back into its fellows. But more were coming. Jake turned to Rory and Hoser. “Keep up what you’re doing! Get as much attention as you can! Scouts, quit hiding in the grass, let them see you!” With that, he ran back to the barricade. He thought he heard Rory mutter, but soon enough heard the vulgar Longshooter call out a string of profanity that, if there was any justice in this world, someone would write down for future generations to admire.
Jake crawled onto the bottommost level of the barricade and started making his way to the top. His shoulder protested, but he ignored it the b
est he could. As he got to the top, a goner managed to make his way to the top and throw himself at Boldin. They both fell back, Boldin holding the goner by the neck to try to keep the biting mouth from his flesh. Jake drew his belt knife and jammed it into its Gone’s Sack, kicking the creature off the barricade before it had fully gone limp. He then took a page out of Goat’s playbook and drew his axe, hacking at fingers and grasping arms. “Did it get you!?” he yelled out to Boldin as he swung.
He heard Boldin rolling off the top level to the level below. “No, I’m good. Just give me a minute!” the Scout called back to him.
“We don’t have a minute! Get yourself together and get back up here!” A goner grabbed Jake’s ankle, but the Scout Captain felt neither revulsion nor fear. He simply brought his axe down, severing the creature’s hand at the wrist. It fell, and the hand released his grip. On instinct, Jake reached down and threw the severed limb at the head on one of the Gone near the edge. His aim was good; the goner staggered and fell into the ditch below. He didn’t have time to celebrate, though. Another one was already taking its place. A dagger sprang from the side of its neck, which it didn’t seem to notice; Boldin had apparently recovered enough to toss a knife. Jake grabbed that blade with his left hand and pulled it out of the creature’s neck, which started to spurt red-purple fluid. He then swung the axe in his right hand at the beast’s shoulder. He connected, spinning the goner around enough that he was able to slice through its Gone’s Sack and send it tumbling down, head first. He then tossed the dagger to Boldin, who caught it without looking while kicking another climber in the face.
A horrified cry came from his right side. He looked, in time to see Rory just miss catching Hoser as the ground gave out below him. He must have jumped too close the lip of the trench, and either snow or loose soil had caused him to slip. The Gone were on him before he had even stopped sliding. Soon enough, you couldn’t see him through the mob. His screams cut off blessedly soon.
Aspen Vale: A Tale of the Gone Page 19