My shot struck the “zombie” in the center of the chest. When it jumped up, my instincts kicked in and I fired at center mass. Even after all this time shooting zombies, years of training still had me shooting center mass under stress. It’s funny how things like that work. I didn’t have time to ponder it for long, as I rounded the front of the SUV and stared down at the body on the ground. It’s face was a mass of ruined flesh with strips of meat clinging to the neck and cheeks. The mottled grey skin seemed in stark contrast to the eyes shining clear beneath the face.
I was shocked to find that the wound had kept it on the ground. Torso shots rarely did enough damage to keep the undead from getting back to their feet. To my surprise, there was a ragged hole in the middle of its chest with blood pouring out of the wound. Not the congealed darkened blood from a zombie, but bright red blood. I could see bubbles in the blood as it struggled to breathe.
Beneath him, there was a rapidly spreading pool of blood. I could see the eyes were wide open and pleading with me as it reached out with both hands, as if begging me to help. Its mouth kept opening and closing like a fish on the shore, trying to breathe. Somehow, this creature lying before me was alive. Not merely the living dead, but actually alive.
“Holy shit!” I snapped. “I think this thing isn’t dead!”
"It will be soon," said Spec-4, shaking her head.
I knelt down beside it, careful to not get in the blood, and grabbed the matted hair on its head. I tugged gently and the entire face came off in my hands. I was left holding a flap of hair and skin like a disgusting Halloween mask. Beneath the mask was another face. Although streaked with dried blood and gore, it was the unmistakable face of a young boy.
I grabbed the skin along the arm and pulled. More skin pulled away, revealing living skin beneath it. Whoever this kid was, he had been wearing the skin of a dead man like a gruesome suit. My son used to tell me about people costuming for fun called CosPlay. Well, this was more like CorpsePlay. As disgusting as it was, wearing the skin of a zombie had allowed him to walk among them without being eaten.
My mind was whirling from the implications. What kind of person would willingly wear the skin of a dead man to survive in a world full of the dead? The thought was both revolting and frightening. Was this the first time I’d killed a living person, thinking it was a zombie? This kid had done nothing to me, and I shot him down without hesitation. What had this world done to this kid to make him wear the skin of a zombie? What had it done to me?
As the kid stopped moving, I closed my eyes and sighed. I felt like I’d been kicked in the stomach. I wanted to be sick. He couldn’t have been any older than my middle son, Erik. He couldn’t have been much more than fifteen. This was someone’s son. All I could see was the faces of my own.
“All-Father, forgive me,” I whispered, closing my eyes.
“We can’t risk him turning from all that stuff on him,” whispered Spec-4.
“I can’t…,” I muttered, tears on my cheeks and stinging my eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and shot the poor kid in the head.
It had to be done. Just to be safe. Just to be certain. I wasn’t sure if she was apologizing to me or to the boy. I’m not sure who needed it more. I felt like he deserved it more than I did, though. We could have helped him, if we had only known. I felt like howling into the sky, bellowing my rage into the heavens. I felt like I had failed.
With my eyes closed tight, I lifted my face to the sky and let the tears flow down my cheeks. I could still feel the horrible scream welling within my soul. Rage, sorrow and guilt welled into pressure and pain in my chest. With the blood pumping in my ears, I could feel the scream. I could feel blood running down my chin as I bit my lip to suppress it. My hands shook on the grip of my weapon.
“What the hell?” I heard Spec-4 whisper.
I felt her hand on my arm and a firm grip on my bicep. That’s when I realized, I really could hear a soul rending scream. It was echoing all around us. My shot had ended the life of a young boy. My shot had filled me with remorse and anger. It had also alerted every undead around us for miles. They were coming.
It suddenly hit me that I didn’t have time to mourn the boy. If we intended to survive, we had to get the hell out of here and in one hell of a hurry. Spec-4 and I exchanged worried glances. It was dawning on both of us just how much trouble we were in. It was time to move.
“Let’s go!” I yelled, and shoved her back towards the direction we had come.
We both took off retracing our steps, running as fast as we could with the amount of gear we were carrying.
“Southard!” I yelled into the radio. “We’re on our way back. Come pick us up.”
“Clear,” he responded. “We are in route to your position. E.T.A. two minutes.”
“Copy,” I replied. “Less would be better.”
“Understood,” he replied. “Out.”
We ran to the end of the block and hurriedly looked both directions. To the west of us, I could see a mob of the dead emerging from a residential area several blocks away. The leaders appeared to be Sprinters. They were coming our way with unbelievable speed. I estimated there to be at least sixty of them. It looked like we were being pursued by a fucking Zombie Marathon.
I couldn’t tell if they had seen us or not, but it really didn’t matter if they had. They were coming right at us. As soon as we tried to cross the road, they’d see us. If Southard rolled up in the Humvee, they’d see us. If we stayed where we were at, they’d see us. Basically, it was one of those situations where you were screwed no matter what you did. Fuck it, we were running.
“Let’s move!” I bellowed, and shoved her out into the street.
Spec-4 didn’t wait for another invitation. She headed across the street and towards the back of the bank as fast as she could go. Spec-4 was in her mid-twenties, in good shape and carrying less gear than I was. She was also outdistancing me by quite a bit. While she seemed to be running just fine, I was quickly running out of steam. My heart was thudding in my chest and I could barely catch my breath.
Adrenalin is one hell of a thing, though. Despite it all, I kept running. Being eaten by a pack of undead is a big motivator to keep you running. At least, it was to me. I wasn’t keeping up with Spec-4 but I wasn’t stopping, either. As I rounded the back of the bank, Spec-4 was already halfway across the parking lot. The Humvee was screeching to a halt, next to her. I was still a good thirty yards away from the Humvee when I saw the second group of Sprinters.
This group was much closer. They were coming at us from the northwest, out of another residential area. There was well over forty of them. The problem was, they were going to be on top of the Humvee long before I was. If I kept running, I’d run right into them. Southard locked eyes with me and I could see on his face that he knew it, too. If they stayed for me, they’d be swarmed. They couldn’t escape if they tried to save me. I couldn’t let that happen. I wouldn’t let that happen.
Spec-4 was already inside the passenger side and locking her door. I could see her face as the situation dawned on her, too. I couldn’t hear her voice but I knew she was screaming my name. Snake had a hold of her shoulder to keep her from diving back out of the vehicle. Southard looked horrified, but determined to come get me.
“Get the hell out of here!” I screamed into my radio.
I didn’t wait for them to reply. I didn’t give them a choice. I lobbed a grenade into the nearest group of the dead, then turned and ran the other direction.
“Goddamn it, GO!” I screamed. “Get out of here, Chuck!”
I could hear the tires screeching on the Humvee as Southard mashed the accelerator to the floor. The only direction they could go without getting overran was back out of town the way we had come in. They didn’t have any other choice if they expected to survive this.
“Wyle!” I heard Spec-4 scream into the mic. “We’ll come for you!”
“You can’t,” I replied, still running. “Go! I’
ll find a place to hide and contact you when I’m safe. GO!”
I turned the corner and ran the only direction left to me. I ran towards the County Sheriff’s Office. It was the only chance I had. It was less than two blocks away, but the Sprinters were gaining ground. I didn’t have any time to spare. I just put my head down and ran. I ran despite the pain in my side. Even when it crept into my chest, I kept running. Sweat was pouring down my face and into my goatee.
When I could hear the snarling of the dead getting closer behind me, I started dropping grenades. I was starting to get light headed as I ran across the grass of the Courthouse building. The other end of it was the county Sheriff’s Office and the jail. I was close enough that I could see the front door. I was also losing ground to the undead and losing momentum with each passing step.
I started to feel my knees getting weak. My energy was gone and I knew the dead had to be mere steps behind me. My thoughts started to go to the people I love. My wife, my sons…Spec-4. Even all of my friends. With my energy almost gone, I was about to breathe my last prayer and hope I woke up in Valhalla.
Then something unexpected happened. The front doors to the Sheriff’s Office burst open and four people came out. Two dressed as deputies and the other two were firefighters. One of the deputies was a woman. They were beckoning for me to get inside. With the last energy I could summon, I lunged for the door.
Through the pounding of my heart and the rushing of the blood in my veins, I could barely hear the reports of the rifles they were firing into the crowd of the dead behind me. Then I was through the door and collapsing to the floor, sliding across the tile. I could see them slam the doors shut and lock them with heavy metal bars. The steel doors were solid and looked like they could hold out against the dead.
I looked up into the gun barrels of the four people who had saved me. They weren’t taking any precautions, either. I couldn’t blame them. I would have done the same thing in their place. They didn't know me or if I was a threat. I counted myself lucky that they even opened the door for me.
“Are you bit?!” demanded one of the firefighters.
“No,” I managed to wheeze out through ragged breaths.
“Who the hell are you?” demanded the female deputy.
The stripes on her sleeves told me she was a sergeant.
“Wylie Grant,” I gasped, breathing heavily. “Nathanael County Sheriff.”
“Holy shit,” whispered the woman. “He’s a cop. Get the fucking medic, NOW!”
I must have passed out, at that point. My vision swam and grew dark. I wasn’t in Valhalla but I wasn’t food for the undead, either. It was a small victory, but I’d take it. Fuck it, I was alive. That was good enough.
Chapter Seventeen
Hel Hath No Fury
“We shall draw from the heart of suffering itself the means of inspiration and survival.”
- Winston Churchill
I came to, laying on a bunk in a cell. There was a young woman with brown hair and green eyes leaning over me, smiling. She was holding something over my face, which took me a moment to realize was an oxygen mask. I noticed instantly that I was unarmed and my armor had been removed. I was wearing my pants, t-shirt and my Thor's Hammer. I could feel where it had fallen down around my neck.
"Easy," she said, her voice soft and soothing. "It's alright. You're safe. Relax and breathe deep."
I considered trying to speak, but thought better of it. My head was pounding and my vision still swam. I must have passed out from the heat and exertion. I had been running flat out in the heat with a heavy pack on my back. It had to be close to a hundred degrees outside and the infamous Missouri humidity made it feel worse than that. Good thing I didn't drop before I got inside. I would have been eaten, for sure.
"Relax," she purred. "You're among friends, here."
I tried my best to listen to her, but my mind kept whirling with questions. Like, "If I'm among friends, then where's my gear?" Or, "If I'm among friends, why am I in a cell?" There were plenty of other questions floating around in my skull, but my head hurt too bad to concentrate. The oxygen I was breathing as helping, but I must have really pushed myself too hard. One of these days, that was going to catch up with me, but I hoped that it wasn't for quite a while.
As my vision began to focus, I could start taking in details. Like the fact that she was wearing navy blue uniform pants with cargo pockets with a matching t-shirt. From the telltale medical scissors that were sticking out of her pocket, the first aid bag on the ground beside her and the stethoscope, I assumed she was either a doctor, nurse or medic. I remembered hearing the female sergeant yell for a medic, not a nurse. That had to mean she was an EMT.
There was an IV stuck in my right arm and I saw a bag of clear liquid being fed into me. I hoped it was saline, but I had no way to know for sure. They could be giving me almost anything. As out of it as I felt, I wasn't going to be able to stop them. That's when I realized that I was wearing restraints. My wrists were cuffed and connected either to the bunk or together under the bunk. My ankles were bound similarly. I wasn't going anywhere. So much for being among friends.
I could at least assume that I was breathing oxygen. If they wanted to dose me with something, it would be easier to put it in the IV. No sense feeding me some gas or airborne chemical. That's what I told myself, anyway. Whatever I was breathing, it seemed to be clearing my head. The longer I breathed it, the clearer my head became. I was also thirsty beyond belief.
I lay there for what felt like forever, while the young woman with the green eyes wiped my head and face with a cool, damp cloth. Despite my best intentions, I actually felt myself relaxing. After a while, I took a deep breath and sighed. My head felt clear and I wanted a drink of water really badly. My tongue felt thick and dry, while my lips felt like they were cracked and leathery. It wasn't a great combination. I must have made a sour face while I smacked my lips and tried to moisten my mouth with saliva.
"Are you thirsty?" she asked, smiling broadly.
I wanted to snap back with some kind of biting remark, but the gentleman in me wouldn't comply. She was being too nice to me and her smile was kind of infectious. Besides that, despite being handcuffed and stripped of my weapons, they hadn't actually done anything to hurt me. At least, not yet. I wasn't willing to rule it out, though. After all, the Freemen hadn't exactly treated me like a friend. I'd awoken bound and thirsty when they took me captive, too.
"Yes, ma'am," was the worst comeback I could muster.
She just smiled even brighter and removed my oxygen mask. Lifting my head gently up with her left hand, she brought a bottle of water to my lips and let some of the cool liquid seep into my mouth. It felt like my mouth just absorbed every drop and left nothing to quench my parched throat.
"Easy," she said, gently. "Take it slow. You'll gag and make yourself sick."
I had no choice but to listen to her, considering she was controlling how much water I got at a time. After several long moments of sipping at the liquid nirvana, I finally felt my throat start to open up and function correctly. When the first actual drink made it down my throat, it felt like I'd just eaten an entire box of breath mints all at once. The sudden cold rush down into my stomach made me shiver and I expected to see my breath in the air.
"There," she said, smiling again. "How do you feel, now?"
"Better, thanks," I rasped, relieved.
I had tried to pop off with some scathing remark, but I couldn't make myself be mean to her. She reminded me of a kid sister or the daughter of a friend. She was just too friendly and cute for me to be mean to her. The freckles on her cheeks and face just made it worse. She didn't look any older than my eldest son, Elliott. Although, to be an EMT, I knew she had to be in her twenties.
"There are some people who want to talk to you," she said, not smiling for the first time. "If they upset you, just tell me. I'll make them leave you alone."
"Thanks," I said, smiling at her.
She gave my ar
m a brief squeeze, and then stood up and walked out the door of the cell. The cells here weren't all that different from the ones in our jail back at Nathanael County. The same layout and fixtures. They must decorate from the same issue of "Better Jails and Dungeons" that we had used. It must have been the spring issue. The colors were earth tones.
I could see movement from out in the hall and people came into the cell. The first one was the female sergeant that I had seen at the door. One of the others was a firefighter from the front door, as well. The last one was an older man that looked to be in his mid-fifties with iron-grey hair. I recognized him from the news. It was the Sheriff of Lacland County, Sheriff Larry Rosewood. He looked like he'd aged twenty years since the last time I had seen him on television.
"Who are you?" he asked, looking at me with his arms folded across his chest.
"My name is Wylie Grant," I said. "Nathanael County Sheriff."
"The last time I checked, Rick Hawkins was the sheriff of Nathanael County," he replied, watching me with sharp eyes.
"He was, sir," I replied. "He fell. Before he died, he gave me the badge and told me to not let it fall. I tried to pass it on, but it keeps coming back to me. I guess I'm going to carry it for a while."
"How did he die?" he asked, cocking his head to the side.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I exhaled slowly and opened my eyes, to meet his gaze.
"Alright," I said. "Here goes."
I told him the story. I started at the briefing we had the first day and went on up until the time I shot him in the forehead. I left out very little. Mostly just small things that he didn't need to know. Things that didn't apply. He listened intently, only nodding occasionally. When I got to the part about me and the sheriff having an argument over the radio, he smiled. When I had finished, he smiled sadly and nodded his head.
"That sounds like Rick," he said. "I believe you, son."
"Then why am I shackled?" I asked, glancing at the faces around me.
Ragnarok Rising: The Crossing (The Ragnarok Rising Saga) Page 27