100 A.Z. (Book 3): The Mountain

by Nelson, Patrick T.

  “What? Are you afraid? Offended?” he said to them. He realized how absurd it was to be talking to a herd of zombies. He shook his head. “You can’t understand a word I’m saying.”

  “Listen to me,” he began again, regardless. He just had to get the words out.

  “You don’t understand, and I’m not sure why I’m telling you. I guess I feel you should be treated with respect. You follow me, so I won’t mistreat you. I will look out for you. All of you were people once. You were somebody’s little baby once,” John’s voice cracked as an image of Mark as an infant, cradled in his arms, flashed into his mind. Loving, eager little eyes looking up at Daddy. “Someone loved you all once, and maybe they still love you…still miss you. I will honor that. I will do whatever I can to make sure no one else goes through what you have.”

  John walked up to each of his twenty-seven walkers and looked them in their bloodshot, foggy, or missing eyes. He gripped each one’s shoulders. The virus surged inside him, amplifying his emotions. Sadness, comradery, and love. He fought the ridiculous, impossible feelings, but they were too powerful. Wailing, grieving, sobbing, he crumpled to the ground.

  The zombies stared at him, registering nothing.

  Chapter 2 – One Week Prior

  WE HAVE LOST SO MANY. IT IS UNFORTUNATE THAT WE MUST KILL MORE OF OUR OWN. IT IS THE ONLY WAY TO UNDERSTAND THIS VIRUS, AND THE HUMAN RESPONSE TO IT.

  Cable from Canadian Forces Base Winnipeg to Cheyenne Mountain - 5 A.Z.

  Obevens sat in his cell in an old government building lining the square. It was a cellar room that had been converted into a cell, probably years ago. Door bolstered, bars implemented on the window, and the furnishings removed. They’d also been kind enough to create a hole in the ground.

  The bearded foreigner was executed three days prior and Obevens had heard the riots that ensued in the city from within his cell. One day three they’d calmed down some – but only a little. It was nighttime now, and quiet. All he could hear were the rats scurrying about the hallway outside his cell. He examined the old stones making up the walls of his cell. The craftsmanship amazed him. How had they created such perfect squares out of rock and then aligned them with each other? He'd had these thoughts a million times already, but there was nothing else to do, so he just kept thinking them.

  The silence was broken by a voice outside his cell’s small window. The window was too high for him to see out, but the voice was clear.

  It was Guillermo, the man he’d struck a deal with while imprisoned with Tenochtitlan’s soldiers on the beach of Lake Texcoco. “You ready?”

  “Yes,” Obevens whispered back.

  “Okay, wait a minute.”

  Obevens didn’t have much choice but to wait. The man left. Obevens sat on the hard floor of the room, wishing this would go faster. Those assassins were out there tracking Ellie, and Obevens was the only one who knew and could do anything about it. Who knew what was going on in Los Alamos, with Sal and his machinations? Hopefully the men from Obevens’ team were able to put Sal in his place, but that was probably wishful thinking. Sal rarely knew his place.

  Obevens had started pacing the floor when a loud explosion sent a shockwave through the building, knocking him back down to the ground.

  Shortly after the explosion he heard the lock on his door being undone. It opened revealing Guillermo – and Dalbec!

  Dalbec grabbed Obevens’ arm and roughly pulled him to his feet.

  “Get out of here! Don’t let me ever see you again,” Dalbec hissed into Obevens’ ear. Obevens couldn’t help staring at him. This man who’d had nothing but disgust for him…why was he here, helping? Dalbec gritted his teeth at Obevens’ obvious astonishment and shoved Obevens at Guillermo. Guillermo was monitoring the hallway cautiously. He slipped noiselessly into the hallway and motioned for Obevens to follow him. Obevens happily complied.

  “The guards will be here soon, we have to hurry!” Guillermo whispered back to him.

  “Where are we going!” Obevens asked.

  “To your friends!” Guillermo responded. Obevens had no idea what that meant, but this wasn’t the time for a discussion.

  They moved quickly down the hallway toward a junction when two Academy guards turned the corner right on top of Guillermo and Obevens. The guards were obviously still panicked by the explosion but immediately zeroed in on Obevens.

  “Hey!” One of them shouted.

  “Howdy,” Obevens said as he wrenched the guard’s arm and kicked his legs out from under him. The guard’s shoulder slammed into the ground with a resounding crack, and his pistol skittered out of his hand. Guillermo crashed into the much larger guard, bouncing off him into the wall. It was enough to give Obevens time to scoop up the pistol and crack the second guard in the temple. He crumpled to the ground, unconscious, and while Guillermo fumbled for the man’s pistol Obevens similarly dispatched the first guard who was trying to right himself with his good arm.

  Guillermo led them to an exit in the back of the building where two small men waited. They had a quick exchange in Spanish that Obevens couldn’t understand and Guillermo turned to Obevens and said, “These men will take you where you need to go. Buena suerte. Good Luck.” Obevens nodded his thanks to the man. Guillermo started trotting down the alley, admiring the pistol he’d lifted off the guard and already wondering what he could get for it as the two men led Obevens off.

  They snaked their way through the back alleys, avoiding the riots that Guillermo had paid for as a distraction. The chanting of the mobs could be heard throughout the city. At one point, shots were going off a block away from them. Obevens kept a tight grip on the pistol and stayed close to his guides. Finally, after at least an hour of zigzagging, they stopped. Obevens stood guard while they used a crowbar to open a foul looking manhole. They pointed inside and motioned for Obevens to go in. He looked incredulously at the men. They gestured again, this time with more urgency.

  “I wish you guys spoke English,” Obevens lamented as he lowered himself onto the ground to climb in. A noxious wave of reek rose up to meet him. Choking and coughing, he descended, stopping to pull his shirt up over his nose and wipe his watering eyes. The stench was a mixture of human waste and some rankness that he assumed was probably zombies. His guides pointed towards the west as he climbed down the ladder, indicating which direction he should go once inside. When he was in far enough they replaced the manhole cover over the opening. It went pitch black. Obevens froze. After a moment, he began trying to feel his way down the metal ladder rungs, but some of them were missing, making it dangerous in the dark. Obevens snarled at his two “guides” for leaving him hanging, literally.

  A few minutes passed as Obevens debated whether he should try to go back up and remove the manhole cover to find another escape. The sewer was extremely quiet, which he found unnerving. All he could hear was the steady running of water and the occasional echo of some sounds he didn’t want to think about. Then he heard the striking of a match down the tunnel about thirty feet from him to the west. He looked to the light as it caught onto a torch, which lit up the putrid cavern. A Mexican man dressed all in black, with a black cloth tied over his mouth and nose, was holding the torch. He motioned for Obevens to follow him. Obevens navigated the remaining rungs and dropped in line with his next guide on this surreptitious journey.

  The tunnel was only an inch or two taller than Obevens, and they had to wade in vile liquid up to their ankles. The stench was nearly overpowering. Obevens’ guide gave him a rag dipped in something floral smelling to wrap over his mouth and nose. It helped a little, and he just tried not to look at his feet.

  The man kept muttering to himself in Spanish, and occasionally got louder than Obevens would have preferred. It probably took someone half-crazy to traverse these catacombs for a foreigner, he told himself. The noise of the guide speaking echoed eerily through the tunnels. There was a response to the echo. Zombies. Distant, but not far, and coming closer. Their noises began to fill the tunne
l. Obevens’ guide said something and chuckled.

  Maybe this person is actually totally crazy, Obevens thought. The guide stopped walking and pulled out a small knife, which he handed to Obevens. He motioned for him to go on ahead, indicating that he would hold the torch and provide the light. Obevens cocked an eyebrow at this offer, but was in no position to argue. Without the light there was little hope of getting out of here alive.

  Obevens took the lead with the guide a few yards behind. The guide kept muttering and chuckled to himself. It was a nervous chuckle that made Obevens uneasy. The groans were getting louder.

  The guide pointed ahead. “Los Muertos.” Obevens knew what that meant. He pointed his pistol down the tunnel and scanned the flickering shadows in front of him. He only had six shots. The groans were getting closer.

  “Siete,” the guide said. Obevens had no idea what that meant.

  The staggering figures appeared in the reaches of the torch light, splashing hungrily toward the two. Obevens waited for a clean shot and took it, timing the lurching gait with the pull of his trigger. He dropped the lead walker, sending an ear piercing “BOOM!” through the tunnel. He dropped five more, each with the same precision. The echo of the shots in the small area rang in his ears. Their bodies floated in the sewage water. One more walker approached, crawling over his dead compatriots. Obevens gripped his pistol and waited until it was within range before grabbing its arm and throwing it face first into the side of the tunnel. He held it up against the wall with one hand and bashed it in the head with the butt of the pistol. The groans in the tunnel stopped.

  “No más,” the guide said plainly.

  Obevens glared at his guide, who gave a little half-smile and shrugged, then rapidly motioned for the Captain to keep moving. Obevens stuffed the pistol into his belt and pressed on, not looking forward to wading through the dead zombies.

  After about an hour, the guide put out his hand for Obevens to stop. He pointed to a ladder leading up to the surface. Obevens didn’t need much encouragement, and quickly ascended the ladder. The guide stayed below, still holding the torch. Obevens pushed on the manhole cover, dislodging it from the grime, and slid it aside. The fresh air hit him and he took a deep breath. Before he could react, two sets of hands grabbed him underneath the arms and pulled him up. They toppled over on top of each other and he scrambled to his feet ready to fight them off. The two men scrambled to their feet also, backing off. They spoke quietly and urgently in Spanish, making placating gestures with their hands, then urging him to follow them. Obevens relaxed and let them lead him on a short journey through a shantytown to the edge of the lake. There, a small boat waited for them with a rower and another man with a beat-up rifle. Obevens climbed in and they launched the boat.

  They paddled slowly and silently through the zombie-infested waters. Occasionally a dull thud sounded from the hull of the boat and the rifleman, sleepy in the prow, would jerk to attention. Obevens kept a keen eye trained on the water around them. At one point he saw a hand rise out of the water on the port side of the boat, straining for them. It was a gloomy night, and a mist hung over the water. He hoped the oarsman knew where he was going.

  After an hour, they heard the faint sound of another set of oars out in the mist. It was between their boat and the shore where they were headed. The oarsman stopped and cursed under his breath. The rifleman frantically searched the mist for a sign of the boat, but it was too thick. The sound of the other oars was clearly getting louder though, and the oarsman tried turning the boat around to get out of the path of the other craft. It was too late.

  A gunshot cut through the silence of the night. Obevens heard the bullet pass a couple feet over their heads. He ducked down behind the side of the boat and looked to the rifleman, who seemed perplexed as to where the shot had come from. He had a single shot rifle, and Obevens didn’t have a whole lot of confidence in him.

  Another shot hit the side of the boat, barely missing Obevens. Now the oarsman was frantically turning the boat around to get away from the attackers. Two more shots came at them and the rifleman blindly shot back in the direction they came from. He fumbled for another bullet from his pocket and spilled them all out. His lurch forward to try and catch the bullets wobbled the boat sideways. He overcompensated to steady it. Obevens made sure to close his mouth as he was thrown backwards into the water. Travels through the wilds had exposed him to any number of festering water sources and he knew even swallowing a few drops could have deadly side effects. The three of them now scrambled to hold onto the overturned boat, which had an air pocket keeping it afloat. They could hear laughter from out in the mist. They were momentarily safe from the attackers, but now had a bigger problem – the undead in the water. They were treading water while the oarsman tried to right the boat. He was vehemently whispering instructions to the rifleman who swam over to the boat. Before he could reach it he let out a scream and began kicking frantically. Something had his leg. He got pulled under the surface for a second and then sprang up above again screaming. Obevens swam to him to try and help, but the rifleman went under the surface before Obevens could reach him.

  The oarsmen shouted instructions to Obevens on how to right the boat. The Spanish words meant nothing to him, and he had no experience with boats. The man motioned frantically for them to get under the boat and then forcefully shove it up and over onto the right side. Obevens went under the water and popped his head into the air pocket created by the boat. He was looking at the oarsmen who said something Obevens took to be the indicator it was time to push and flip. As they were about to execute the maneuver he heard voices outside the boat.

  “Come out of there!” the voice shouted. The oarsman, who didn’t understand the English command, still looked terrified.

  Obevens wasn’t sure what to do. There wasn’t much choice but to surrender.

  He felt a bony hand grip his ankle underwater. It gave him an idea.

  Chapter 3

  PLEASE EXPLAIN, WHY ARE YOU KILLING YOUR PEOPLE?

  Cable from Cheyenne Mountain to Canadian Forces Base Winnipeg - 5 A.Z.

  “Sal, w-w-who are those people?” Ellie pointed to the three moving specks off in the distance. It was the third day of their journey to California after leaving Los Alamos. They were crossing rolling hills of sagebrush. The group stopped and stared for a minute but the figures had already disappeared behind the a slight rise in the terrain.

  “I don’t see anything, El,” Sal said, still staring.

  “T-t-three of them. Following us.”

  “How do you know they were following us?” Chambers asked.

  “T-t-they are following our path.”

  “Bah. Probably hunters looking for rabbits. Rabbits sustain a man,” Chambers replied.

  Ellie continued to watch where she saw the men disappear from sight. Nothing emerged, though. She hadn’t imagined them. A shiver went down her spine and she looked at Sal. He was also staring across the chaparral, looking concerned. He’d stopped taking Chambers’ advice on important matters. At best, they were just drinking buddies now.

  “We’ll keep an eye out, El,” Sal said.

  She hoped so.

  They were headed west to California on Sal’s prescribed path to the eleven cities on his list from the Canadians. These were the locations Sal wanted to convince to join him due to the threats from the north and south. “To the north, a crazy cult of Canadians. South, a huge herd,” was how Sal had put it. Those were his selling points on this coalition. Join up or die.

  Before leaving Los Alamos, Sal had Ellie show him and Chambers the imagery to confirm there actually were settlements at these locations. It was an easy task. People hid their location from eyes on the ground, but they had no idea there were eyes in the sky. She could see the walls they’d constructed, shelters, security posts, trenches…all indicating a settlement. The presence of humans on imagery only confirmed it.

  “Those might just be walkers,” Chambers had countered once, peering at t
he strange shadows and slanted images on her computer screen.

  “W-w-walkers congregate differently than h-h-humans. Humans have more purpose in their arrangement. Also, w-w-walkers don’t do laundry.” She pointed to some blankets hanging out to dry on a clothesline. He grunted in agreement.

  She’d hand drawn all the settlements to the best of her ability on paper maps, so they knew the layouts. This might help if they got in trouble.

  If.

  More like when they got in trouble.

  It might come even sooner than she thought.

  “Keep close! I sense trouble,” Chambers said apropos of nothing. His ten men followed the order and pulled in close. Ellie had never seen Obevens do this, but Chambers was the opposite of Obevens. Ellie figured Chambers’ subconscious was slowly coming to terms with the fact they were being followed. They continued on another mile or so.

  “I think we should stop.”

  Chambers pulled the reins on his horse and surveyed the area seriously. “You men, hide behind those rocks. You three, over there. Put some guys in that drainage. Let’s see if we can ambush these chumps.”

  He turned to Ellie. “Ellie, my dear, I’m sorry I didn’t listen earlier. I didn’t have a feeling in my gut back there. Now, though, I’ve got a feeling. I never ignore a feeling in my gut.”

  Ellie figured it was the awful breakfast of squirrel jerky, but just nodded.

  The group of men fanned out and took their positions. Ellie was only moderately comforted by all the men with big scary guns.

  They waited. Nothing. They waited longer. Still nothing.

  Ellie followed the slow progress of the sun across the sky. There was no sight of anyone.