“Thanks.” Wow, Hammer was actually looking beat.
Liz and I went up to the loft and crashed out in a big pile of hay. Man, do I love the smell of hay. It smells like childhood. We held each other and I tried to sleep. I know it was not my fault and nothing I could do, but of all things, having your face impaled by a zombie’s fibula? No, that would not have made my list of the top one million ways you could die. So I just laid there and reviewed the day, over and over. After a couple of hours and Liz soundly snoring, I crawled down to see what’s up.
The barn was one of those old classic New England monsters, probably over a hundred years, maybe older. Two Coleman lanterns were lit but dimmed to a minimum, and it took a second for my eyes to adjust. It was a warm night, combined with the old barn smell of hay and manure, and the comforting light, I started to feel human. What night is it? Saturday or Sunday? Paul and Hammer were working on the leaking Winnebago. Hammer looked up.
“Good to get some personal time, eh?” He had a big shit-eating grin on his face. He thought I got laid! Well, fuck you, Hammer.
“Yeah, Hammer, I guess. So, how are things looking? Do we leave tomorrow?”
“So far, the leak is fixed and we have plenty of oil.” Paul slid out and shut off his headlamp.
“Hi, John. Well, my big man, we are done! Don’t look for fast speeds and the roads had better be kind. With that, I am going to crash. I’ll see you two in a few hours.”
“Hammer, I know it was a shitty day, but, why did you throw the hand grenade?” He didn’t look at me. Just shrugged his shoulders and shook his head.
Roy was sitting in a folding chair talking with the lawyer guy, was his name Dom or Tom?
“Good evening, John, get some rest?”
“A bit.” I crashed into a chair next to him and stayed quiet and half asleep till the sun came up. Roy and Tom spent the time drinking coffee and talking about various islands in the Caribbean. Tom was into scuba diving and had spent a good bit of time in an area I knew nothing about. I’ve never done a dive in crystal clear waters, this was good.
Chapter 13 ~ Run
May 28th
I didn’t sleep, but awake and sitting in that chair for a couple of hours was not smart. I hurt all over and my right shoulder was killing me. I downed a handful of aspirin and left the barn to get a bit of fresh air and look around the farm, as I didn't know when, if ever, I would be on one again. My God! Yet another fantastic Maine day; perfect for a hike up Mt. Katahdin or around Baxter. Would I ever go on a hike again? Would I ever see the fall foliage again? Why do I keep asking myself stupid questions?
I noticed that the two nice, goofy, docile Labs were alert, frozen, and growling with the hairs on the back of their necks almost straight up. Still in a daze and not being the fastest kitten in the litter, I decided to go to the other side of the barn and see what was bothering them. I was too groggy from lack of sleep and just didn’t think. As soon as I rounded the corner, I ran slap dead into a zombie. Right out of the Three Stooges, we smacked belly and face at the same time, which knocked him on his back and me suddenly very awake. It was a man in an expensive dark blue business suit somewhere in his fifties. I thought of several things at once: 1) holy shit a zombie, 2) I know exactly where my shotgun is and it's not in my arms, and 3) how come he has one bare foot?
I started to trip but caught myself and my speed carried me around the corner of the barn. I turned to face him and reached for the Ruger, but in my rush, I couldn’t get it out of the holster. I couldn’t understand what the problem was. During the quick draw practices, things went well, it was easy. Now I could remove about an inch or so and then it was stuck, something was catching on something and I can’t look down!
The zombie was up faster than I anticipated and I panicked. Okay, not like Jackie Chan fast, but he clearly had a sense of balance and purpose. I kept backing up, tugging at my side arm, backing up and frantically pulling at a weapon, which clearly did not want to leave its holster. He was closing the small distance between us fast, arms outstretched, drooling, and making that bizarre zombie growl/moan. His eyes were wide, bloodshot and dilated. We got so close I could smell his breath. Beyond being in need of some serious tooth brushing, it smelled similar to acetone, like nail polish. On this side of the barn was an attached old wooden shed with no door. I had checked it earlier and found it full of rusted farm stuff. I don't know why, but I backed into the shed and darkness just as the zombie got to me. I reached behind, grabbing the first thing I touched, and in one fluid motion, swung it over my head right into the top of the man’s grey balding skull.
The zombie staggered back from the doorway into the full light of day. I think we both might have had the same expression, eyes wide and our mouths making a perfect O. In the middle of his head with the blade about three-quarters of a way in was an old rusted machete. The zombie took a second and fell on his back. I just stood there and stared. A machete. A fucking machete. I just killed a zombie with a fucking machete! Oh, my, God, what a cliché.
“Yeah, Oh yeah! That's what I am talking about. Tom Savini, eat your heart out!” I yelled. I hoped Tom was still alive, because he would just love this shit.
Roy and Samuel came running over and just stared. Roy folded his arms and looked at me for a good minute.
“What, your Ruger’s not good enough? Man, Hammer is going to be pissed. A machete. Oh, John, you just raised the ante. This is going to be interesting.”
I knew I was shaking and continued to stare at the dead undead guy. In the back of my mind, I wondered what the hell Roy was talking about. Samuel, laid back as usual, just gave me an approving nod.
I had to go sit down for a second, stepped over the body, and rushed to the tiny bathroom in my Winnie. I closed the door, sat, and stared into nothing. My God, that was close. My whole body was electric with adrenalin. It was then I realized that, yes, I had indeed pissed my pants. Son of a …Luckily, this was my Winnie and my clothes bag was inside. I opened the door and saw that Jane was in the turret talking with someone, so I sneaked over and grabbed some jeans. After emptying my pockets, changing and stowing the soiled ones, I sat down and it just came to me. I don’t know exactly how many? A dozen? It had to be more than that. I was really a zombie killer. Yes, I was El Macho Machete, Zombie Killer! How cool was that? A middle-aged anthropologist was now El Macho Machete, Zombie Killer. It probably took me ten minutes to calm down and realize that insanity was not that bad. I also figured that a piece of leather had somehow gotten cut, stopping me from drawing the Ruger, which I fixed. I then got ready to meet my adoring public.
As soon as I opened the door, there stood Mary with arms tightly folded, tapping her feet, and obviously pissed off.
“Are you some kind of idiot? No, tell me, John, because I had a completely different opinion of you.” She started to pace back and forth. “This is not a game. We need each other. The odds suck that we are going to get through this and you pull a stunt like that? You have been through a lot. We are all thankful, I am relieved you are with us, but you better screw your head on, boy.” and she stomped away. I didn't have time to respond and was kind of stunned when Liz came storming in. The look on her face was anything but serene, oh shit.
“What the hell were you thinking? We need you. I need you. Don't you get it?” I thought she was about to punch me. “I am too pissed off to talk right now, but this conversation is definitely NOT OVER!” And she stormed off with this odd foot stomping movements that in a normal situation, I would have found amusing.
Well, so much for El Macho Machete. Everyone in the barn was staring at me and no one had an approving look on their face. Shit, I wasn’t pulling any stunt. I was just keeping myself alive. What the hell? I decided that I had to seek refuge in the only bastion of machismo I could think of, a redneck or as we like to call them in this neck of the woods, a Swamp Yankee. I went to find Hammer.
He was over by the Hummer wiping grease off his hands, saw me coming, crossed his arms, an
d just stood there.
“A machete, huh?” I cannot emphasize how massive this guy is. He was not angry, but had this mischievous look in this eye.
“Yeah.”
“Okay, okay.” He slowly reached to his side and pulled out the biggest, nastiest knife I have ever seen. It was almost a foot long, curved, serrated. You knew it was so sharp you could shave with it. Definably something a Klingon would use.
“Well, then I'm going to get me one with this.” He twirled it expertly in his hand. The knife just screamed pain.
I stared at him with my best poker face, nodding my head. Game on. I continued to nod and stare for half a minute.
“Yeah, well I got you beat, yes, sir. And I have it right here.” I slowly reached into my jeans and pulled out my trusty basic Swiss Army knife. I knew there was more than likely, Spam on the dull blade from the night before, so I didn't open it. He just shook his head, laughed, and started to walk away.
“You know, Hammer, you could step it up and go for the office stapler option.” This stopped him dead in his tracks and he turned back.
“Humm.” He rubbed his chin. “That would require cunning, dexterity, quick hands, focus, and above all, dedication. You know, I like it.”
“You do realize though that if you go the stapler route, and it is an impressive option, I would have to go for the next notch up, or down, depending on how you look at things.” He walked back over to me.
“One whole notch up, eh? You, an academic with some luck with a shotgun is willing to cross that line?”
“Paper cuts.”
“Ouch! I hate those things. Man, do they sting.” He re-folded his arms. “Brother, you are now in the Crazy Zone. Okay, okay, I got it. You want paper cuts? Well then, I’m going for spit balls.”
“Wow, back up there, cowboy. You can take an eye out with one of those.” Hammer had this confident look about him, but I was not done.
“Well, Hammer, you leave me no choice. You have me in a corner and I have no option but to bring out my big guns, my trump cards...Taunts and insults.”
“Taunts AND insults?”
“Well, they kind of overlap and you need to cover the bases here.” We both lightly laughed. He slapped me on the back, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw Liz. I was SO in the doghouse.
“Come over here and let me show you what I am going to taunt them with,” he said in the worst Tony Montoya impression ever. We walked over to the back of the Hummer and he opened the trunk.
I jumped back. “What the hell is that?” In the trunk was a large, like Terminator large, machine gun.
“This, my friend, is an M60.” He lifted it out of the trunk and let out a sigh. Hammer was in love. This was The Rambo Machine Gun, fucking huge. There was no way I could hold this thing and fire away like in the movies, but still, way cool.
“When we get to the islands, I will introduce you to her. She is very special.”
“Yes sir, Hammer. I definitely see her coming in handy for the whale hunting season.” We both started to laugh and I noticed something beneath the belts of ammo.
“What's that?”
He pulled out a green tube about two feet long with brown waxy paper on the ends. “This is a M72 LAW rocket launcher”
“Cool, hunting zombies with a rocket.” What? A rocket launcher?
“John, zombies are not our only problem. We got to be ready.” He gently placed it in the back seat and started playing around with stuff in the trunk.
“Thanks for your time, Hammer. I needed the support.”
“No problem, brother. A machete? You have got to be kidding me.” He went back to moving stuff in the trunk, laughing.
I turned and started to the rear of the barn to get my stuff. Where do these guys get these things? They were definitely not at the place I got my gun, and I damn well know that Wal-Mart doesn't sell them, not even Super Wal-Mart! I made sure not to look at Liz, grabbed the gun, bandoleer, and headed for the door; at least someone had washed it.
“Hey, Tom Savini, Nice job and nine points for me.” Zach must have been waiting above the door for at least fifteen minutes just to use that line.
“That’s not a quote and I already used it.” This guy was just killing me, and way ahead on points.
“Sorry, doesn't count unless we both hear it.” He ignored me and had his little black book out, writing up his new score.
“Tell me the truth John, did you plan that?” Excellent, the spider has walked into the parlor or something like that.
“Your ignorance is exceeded only by your charm, Yes and thank you, Dr. Logan, and a massive thirty something for me.”
Zack’s face went blank for a long ten seconds. “Shit, fucking Day.”
“You’re right, but next time, call me Blades, now go check on the gate, Bud. And that's a quick,” I counted with my fingers. “Nine back at you.” I turned to go visit Samuel and Nancy.
“Was ‘Blade’ actually said in the movie? John?”
I looked over to the house and saw Samuel and Nancy on the porch swing, the two Labs at their feet and a pitcher of what must be lemonade on a table near them. They looked kind of odd, but happy and holding hands, slowly rocking back and forth. I started to walk over to them. God, I hope they come with us. And which now seems like a daily trend, the world took a turn for the nightmare.
“Oh fuck.” It was Zach up in the loft.
“Gate’s down! Gate is down!”
Oh No. No, no, no. Okay…calm down, you can do this, it’s Alamo Time. I immediately ran to the bridge, ensured my shotgun was fully loaded and the Ruger ready. I cannot let the team down, please help me, I asked to myself. I could see some cars and zombies in the field, but still a couple of hundred yards away. I went to one knee firing position and waited. With the aspirin/adrenaline combination, I was feeling no pain. I stayed off just to the right hand side near some bushes with a clear shot and hoped the commotion behind me would keep the undead distracted until it was too late. Okay, calm down and count your shots. Waiting, alone and scared, I concentrated on my breathing. As luck would have it, I picked probably the only spot on the road where it is really uncomfortable to kneel, as it had new gravel, I didn’t move out of fear of losing what little concentration I had. Then, like a bolt out of the blue, it occurred to me; this was not the Alamo, this was Rorke’s Drift and I was going to hold this line. I shifted my knee to a more accommodating spot.
It took some time for the first one to reach the bridge, maybe five minutes. A young man in his twenties, stained t-shirt, shorts, bare feet, and not at all disturbed by the sharp new gravel. So focused on the action behind me, he got to within fifteen feet when my movement stopped him dead in his tracks, so to speak. My shot blew most of the top of his head off, leaving only part of the face which turned in my direction. Pure anger filled his one eye and he fell.
I could now hear all sorts of activity behind me and just hoped reinforcements would come soon. Oh God, this one’s a child. She was small, six, seven years old and staggered with straight legs like her knees didn’t work. On purpose, I let her see me, let her get within maybe ten feet and then I blew her into the creek. My shot actually lifted her into the air and out of sight. Two spaced closely together were right after her. My brain could not process specific details just that it was more than one and they would arrive at roughly the same time. I was starting to be more comfortable with the shotgun. When you are cocked, and ready to fire with a clear target, you can let the undead get close, very close, and drop them with relative ease. Close was the name of the game.
The first was a woman in a badly coordinated sweat suit, think bright pink top, and bottoms in an orange color not seen in the natural world. I hit her mid stomach and must have caught part of the spine, because she went down and could only move using her forearms. Okay, not an immediate threat, so on to number two. Number two, was a paramedic with a t-shirt that read, Bucksport EMS. I took him down in one. The woman just flopped there and I ignored her as
I reloaded. Where the hell is my support? I could hear a Winnie moving away, not in my direction. I stood, stretched, and got ready for the next batch.
I walked on to the bridge and had a clear view of the field and the road. A truck, with the gate still chained to it, lay on its side in the grass. At least half dozen zombies were crawling over it and banging on the window. That meant whoever drove it was alive and still inside. Two more were running in the truck’s direction. While it offered a distraction and kept more of the undead off my ass, I couldn’t help feeling frustrated that even though I was heavily armed, there was nothing I could do. If I decided to go all Rambo, I would most certainly die. There were more cars and more zombies. Two appeared stalled on the road and close to the bridge. The lead one had its passenger door open. The one behind was an old orange van with something about plumbing with a cross and fish symbol painted on its side. A zombie was most of the way through the driver side window, its feet kicking wildly back and forth. Just like on the highway, it was instant pandemonium, just add zombies.
Thank you, God, I silently said as I heard the Hummer come up beside me. My ass was covered.
“John! Good job! Maintain cover for maybe five minutes and we bug out!” It was Hammer. Gunshots from the Hummer. I quickly turned and saw Robert aiming out the passenger window. He glanced, gave me a wink and continued to fire. They pulled away.
I got the next one with a neck shot, It was a middle-aged woman in blue jeans and a ‘World’s Greatest Mom’ t-shirt. Her scalp had been torn almost completely off and it hung behind her like some macabre mullet. You could see the glistening white of her skullcap. Blood had dripped everywhere except for the center of her forehead and face, almost as if someone had taken a wet cloth and neatly cleaned up the front of her. The next three were a blur. Three or four more bodies on the bridge and it would be hard to run at me without tripping. I reloaded and waited.
I got four more and was so focused that I jumped when I heard, “Get in the back, hotshot.” It was Robert, who was holding the door open. I dove in next to him. It was cramped in back with gear and stuff but I managed to position myself to shoot out the back window. Hammer fired her up and we hauled ass out of there. The Winnies were already on their way.
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