by V. L. Dreyer
"Everyone, keep your eyes peeled," I shouted over the sound of our running feet and harsh breathing. "I smell a trap, and it stinks worse than week-dead fish."
More grunts. No one seemed to have the willpower to answer me at that moment, but it wasn't necessary. They heard me, and that was all that mattered. A few seconds later, we burst out into the courtyard, and raced past the bodies of the fallen on our way out the door. Someone cried out again at the sight of the dead men, but I couldn't tell who it was.
No matter how much we might have wanted to stay and bury the dead, there was simply no time. We passed them and hurried down the ramp outside the complex, heading for the forest. A moment later, I was running through cool shadow, but this time it wasn't a relief. This time, it definitely felt like the darkness only concealed death.
Nothing happened, though, and that was the worst part. We made it to the far side safely, and tumbled out into the clearing where the bikes waited, but there was no sign of where the mutant undead had gone. The tension was just about killing me, but an old saying kept ringing in my mind: 'Don't look a gift horse in the mouth.'
"Michael, I want you up front with Anahera," I instructed, pointing him towards one of the big quad bikes. "Take the lead, and don't stop for anything. Your task is to get her home safely so Doc can fix her up. Got it?"
"Got it," Michael agreed, hurrying over to his bike. The others helped him to load the unconscious woman in front of him, and then he was off.
"Everyone else, double up. I'll cover the rear and make sure nothing follows us." I made a quick gesture for them to fall in, and they jumped to obey. In less than a minute, they were ready to go. I shooed them off, then hopped on my own little bike and headed after them, keeping an eye peeled for trouble.
The scenery flashed past on either side of me in a river of verdant green, but the ground beneath me was rough. I stood up in the seat and braced myself against the uneven trail, my bike bouncing and juddering over railway sleepers hidden under the thick grass. Within a few minutes, we'd successfully traversed the long tunnel of the old train line, and I saw my companions up ahead turning off to make their way into the brush beyond. I glanced back over my shoulder to check the trees behind us, but I saw nothing.
Unfortunately, that also meant that I didn't see whatever was hidden under the grass in front of me. I faintly heard a thud, and then I found myself flying head-over-heels. I had enough presence of mind to try to tuck and roll, but it wasn't enough. I landed messily. My forehead struck something hard, and I blacked out.
CHAPTER THREE
When I came to, the only sounds I could hear were the peaceful tones of nature: the trill of birds in the trees, the wind in the leaves, and the faint, low growl of a predator stalking nearby.
Wait. A predator?
My eyes snapped open to a sight that I had never wanted to see. Squatting beside me was one of the mutants, blood still dripping from its jowls. It was just sitting there, watching me, covetously stroking my belly with its horrid fingers. For reasons that only it knew, it hadn't attacked me yet.
My gut twisted in disgust. Even though my body ached from the fall, every one of my instincts screamed at me in unison to get away from that horrible dead thing before it changed its mind and decided to hurt instead of pet. I rolled away and came up to my feet in a fighter's crouch, fully expecting the thing to attack me at any second.
It didn't, though. It just sat there, staring at me, looking almost… contented.
And then realisation struck me. It was drenched in blood; it had killed recently, and already eaten its fill. It was playing with me, like a cat plays with a mouse even though it's not hungry. It would kill me for fun if it decided that I no longer amused it.
"Screw you, buddy," I told it quietly, side-stepping around the languid undead in search of a weapon. Where was my shotgun? It wasn't on my back, so it must have fallen off when I'd taken my tumble. The grass was so long that I wouldn't see it until I stepped on the damn thing. With no other choice, I snatched up an old branch that lay on the ground at my feet, and armed myself with that while I hunted for my gun.
The mutant didn't seem to care much. It was perfectly content to sit there, watching me, as if amused by my fighting spirit. I can't say that I felt the same way, but at least that gave me time. A little bit of time. How much time? A few seconds, a few minutes?
I spotted my little dirt bike sprawled in the long grass and circled around towards it, careful not to turn my back on the mutant. One glance was enough to tell me that it had been damaged beyond repair by the crash; the entire front half was all bent out of shape. A glint of steel beneath it gave me hope, though. I shoved the bike aside, to find my shotgun beneath it.
Not a moment too soon, either. Just as I dropped the branch and darted down to grab the gun, I heard a low, deep growl in the bushes behind me. Instinct kicked in; I flicked off the safety, spun, and fired from the hip. Shrapnel tore through the creature that had been creeping up behind me and sent it tumbling off into the grass. I swung back to finish off the lazy mutant that had been watching me, only to find that it had vanished while I was distracted.
I swore beneath my breath, but there was no time to stop and look for it now. None of us had any idea how many of the things existed, or if the mutated plague was spreading. There could have been dozens, even hundreds. They could be anywhere. I was not about to stick around and find out. I spun on a heel and raced off into the brush as fast as my legs could take me.
My feet crunched over the leaf litter as I dove into the shadows amongst the trees, and ran for home. So long as I didn't lose my way, I could be there in a couple of hours. It wasn't far, as the crow flies. I wasn't a crow so I couldn't go in a straight line, but I was well-adept at racing through the wild, overgrown world that New Zealand had become in the decade since her population had vanished.
There was a problem, though. My head throbbed in time with the pounding of my feet. I'd spent enough time alone to have a good sense of my own body, its limitations, and its needs. Right now, it wasn't happy with me. I estimated that I'd probably sustained a mild concussion, and running was the last thing I should be doing.
Although I'm no doctor, I spent a lot of time reading and I was aware enough to recognise the symptoms. My limbs weren't responding quite the way they should, and my vision was a little blurred around the edges. I was alert, though, and fully awake, which were both good signs so soon after being knocked unconscious. Judging by the angle of the light filtering through the trees, I'd been unconscious no more than half an hour; it was still early afternoon, and the sunbeams came almost straight down from above.
"Just keep running," I told myself softly, using the sound of my own voice to keep me going. "It's not far. Just a little bit more. Michael will be worried about you. Just keep running, okay? Okay. Good girl."
The undergrowth was old and thick, but I knew the pathways, and I knew all of Mother Nature's tricks. I knew which trees would have tangling roots that would try to grab my feet. I knew which bushes hid thorns, and which ones were safe to cut through. They were lessons I'd learned the hard way, but they were ones that I would never forget.
Eventually, I reached the edge of the trees, where I slowed to a jog. The sun seemed entirely too bright as I stepped out of the comfortable shade and into the fields beyond. Waist-length grass swayed placidly in the breeze, but it felt like every movement was hiding an enemy. I didn't like that feeling, not one bit. I felt exposed, and a little befuddled. The light stung my eyes and made my head hurt.
"Just… keep going. Walk for a bit, but keep going," I said softly, trying to keep my spirits up. "It's not far. Where are our tracks? I should be able to find them, then I can follow them home." I nodded to myself and set off with renewed determination, using my instincts like a homing pigeon to guide my way back to where my family was waiting for me.
I made it a few hundred paces before my vision began to blur again, and my balance faltered. Whether I liked it or not,
I was going down for a bit, so I chose to sit rather than fall. I plopped down on my backside in the grass, and dug my water bottle out of my backpack. The water helped; it cooled my throat as it flowed down, and left me feeling refreshed.
"Okay… okay. You need to keep moving," I ordered myself softly. "Up we get. Come on, Sandy."
Getting up again was harder than sitting down, but I made it. I tried to run, but all I managed was an unsteady trot. That was an unsustainable method of travel, so I settled for walking. I knew better than most that a person could walk further than she could run, particularly when that person was dumb enough to go getting herself a concussion.
"Shut up, Self Doubt," I scolded my inner demon irritably, and squeezed my eyes closed for a second to try and steady myself. When I opened them, the world was spinning. "Whoa. Okay, that's not a good sign. I'm also talking to myself. Some people say that's not healthy, but you know what?" I paused again, and took a sip of my water, then continued where I left off. "Most of those people are dead. So, stuff it. Just keep going, Sandy. You can do it."
Normally, I wasn't one to hold conversations with myself. Ten years of hiding from danger had driven that trait right out of me. However, there were some times when you needed to. I remembered that you were supposed to talk to people with concussions, to keep them awake. There was no one to talk to me now, except for myself. I was used to being self-reliant, so that was nothing unusual to me.
I plodded along carefully, paying close attention to every twinge and complaint that my body had to offer so that I could keep track of how functional I was. It was getting harder to move, to the point where I was putting one foot carefully in front of another to keep my balance steady. It wasn't the easiest task in the world when my body was in such a disagreeable mood, but it seemed to work.
As I walked, I sipped my water to keep myself refreshed. If I estimated my timing right, Michael and the others should reach home very soon, and when they did they were bound to notice that I was missing. A few minutes later, the radio on my belt crackled to life.
"Sandy?" Michael's voice was crackly and distant, but clear enough that I could make him out. "Sandy, where the hell are you? Please respond."
I picked the radio up, and answered him. "I'm here. I had an accident, but I'm okay. Mostly okay. I'll be home in a couple of hours."
"Jesus, you just about gave me a heart attack," he answered; his relief was so audible that I could detect it in his voice even through the walkie-talkie. "Wait – what do you mean by 'mostly okay'?"
"I took a bit of a tumble," I admitted, absently rubbing my eyes. When had the sun gotten so bright? It hurt just to look around. "I've got a mild concussion, but I should be fine. Add it to the list, right? Seems like you're the only one that doesn't have a head injury right now."
"Head injuries are no laughing matter," he scolded me, concern thick in his voice. "You stay right where you are; I'm coming to get you."
"No, don't waste the fuel," I protested. "I'll be fine. Just focus on getting the others comfortable. I should be home before suns—"
A blood-curdling screech cut me off mid-sentence, and my words died in my throat. The sound was less than a kilometre away.
"Yeah, I heard that," Michael's voice crackled from the radio in my hand. "I'm coming to get you, and that's final."
"Yeah," I agreed, nervously scanning the treeline far behind me. "Yeah. Yeah, okay. Um. I'm going to try the running thing again now. Wish me luck."
He didn't bother to respond. There was no need, and no time. I shoved the radio back onto my belt, and took off at a sloppy, wobbling trot. My body didn't want to respond the way it should, but a spurt of adrenaline kept me going.
Behind me, I heard a handful of inquisitive growls, carried on the soft breeze. I couldn't tell which direction they were travelling in, and the long grass made it impossible to spot them unless they stood up straight. The mutated undead were an unknown element, though. I didn't have enough information to try and predict what they'd do. My only choice was to keep going, and hope that Michael arrived before they caught up with me.
The grass rustled and swayed around me; the movement made my head swim. At least I was travelling mostly eastwards, so the sun was at my back; the intensity of the sunlight hurt, but at least it wasn't constantly in my eyes, blinding me. That was a small blessing, but a blessing nevertheless.
The sound of my own breathing rattling in my ears felt deafening, like it would lead the undead right to me. I tried to breathe quietly, but that just made me even dizzier. My footsteps sounded like an elephant crashing through the brush.
The fact that I could hear anything at all over my own noises was a miracle, but I did. I heard the growls closing in on me. Every so often one of them would start to get further away, then another one would shriek and draw it back into the hunt. There was definitely more than one, and I had no doubt that they were following me. Stalking me. I was wounded prey, and they were after me.
"I'm not prey," I told myself softly, shifting my shotgun around into a defensive position. There was a soft click as I eased the safety off again. I had a handful of spare shells in my pocket for easy access, so I pulled them out and carefully reloaded them by touch as I jogged eastwards. The combat shotgun held eight shells, which was usually more than enough. Would it be enough now? How many were after me?
"There's at least two," I murmured. There was no point in trying to be stealthy when I couldn't move quietly. If talking to myself helped me stay grounded, then so be it. "At least two, maybe more. I think there's more. I gotta conserve my ammunition. I think I should hit the road soon. That's good. Clear line of sight. Yeah. I am not prey."
I took a deep breath and spurred myself on, forcing myself to pick up the pace even though all my body wanted to do was lie down and go to sleep. I couldn't do that. Sleeping meant death. I was too damn stubborn to die. My family needed me. Michael needed me. The future of my species needed me.
For some reason I couldn't define, that thought steadied me and helped me to keep going well beyond the point of collapse. Adrenaline and determination meshed together into some kind of bizarre hybrid emotion that erected itself like a wall between my conscious thoughts and the desperate, panicked animal instincts that pressured me to just drop everything and run for my life.
"I'm running, but I'm not running away," I told myself firmly. "I'm running, but I'll fight you. I'll fight you all, if I have to. I am no one's prey!"
As if understanding my words, a blood-curdling screech behind me drew my attention. I spun and dropped into a crouch, aiming my shotgun from the shoulder so that I could sight along the barrel. Every shot had to count now. There would be no firing until I had a clear target. I drew a deep breath and held it, so that I could hear the sounds all around me as clearly as possible.
There, to the right!
A twig broke beneath a humanoid foot. I swivelled around and stared into the long grass, watching, waiting. They were like a school of piranhas, circling me before they closed in for the kill. As frustrating as it was, I knew that following them into the grass would be suicide; eventually, when they were ready, they'd come for me. They had no brains, so surely they had no patience either. But, as the seconds stretched out into minutes, I started to wonder. They were there, but they weren't showing themselves. Were they waiting for me to pass out? Or were they just waiting for my guard to drop a little?
Whatever they were doing, I wasn't about to sit there and wait until they decided to kill me. I did have a brain, and it told me that every second I was away from the safety of cover as one that I'd end up regretting – if I lived to regret it at all. I took a deep breath, then I launched myself back to my feet and raced off towards the east again.
In the process, I almost bowled over the creature that had been working its way around to take me from behind. I screamed in surprise, swung my shotgun around, and frantically fired at it before it had a chance to recover from my unexpected movement. I would love to say that my
success was based on skill and awareness, but in this case it was just pure luck. If I'd waited a few seconds longer, then the thing would have had me.
My heart hammered in my throat as I leapt over the buckshot-riddled pseudo-corpse and ran for my life, and this time it was fear that kept my head steady. Pure, animal terror. The creature had been so close that I could still smell its stink, still feel the unnatural chill that radiated from its body.
"Oh, Lord. Screw this. Screw this!" I gasped as I fled, using the words as a mantra to keep me going. "Screw this shit right out of the goddamn water!"
Behind me, the creatures lost their pretence of stealth and began shrieking in what sounded so very much like rage – but it couldn't be, they didn't have emotions. They didn't have thoughts or feelings or anything that made us human. They were hollow shells that did nothing but kill, kill, kill. And if I stopped, they'd kill me, too.
I found the old roadway quite by accident. As Anahera had warned me weeks earlier, it was in terrible condition, a shattered grey ribbon broken into uneven strips, with grass sticking up through the cracks. Still, it was relatively flat and straight, and that would give me a chance. I dashed out onto the tar seal and pulled my radio off my belt as I sprinted along as fast as I could go.
"Michael?" I called into the receiver. "Michael, I'm following the old east-west road. They've found me. Please, please hurry." I risked a quick glance over my shoulder, and saw half-a-dozen dark shapes emerging from the long grass behind me. "Oh, God! There's so many of them. I see… at least six—no, seven. Please, please hurry!"
There was no answer, but I didn't expect there to be one. He was too busy driving to answer. I could only hope that he'd at least heard. With no other choice but to rely on myself for now, I shoved my radio back onto my belt and ran as hard and as fast as I could.