Ken turned to the next zombie. The man in the suit. He tore its head from its body, then drove a bladed fist right through its middle, cutting it from neck to groin. The thing fell in two halves. Ken ripped those halves in small pieces with hands and teeth, then turned to the remaining two.
They flew at him.
They fell.
And Ken turned to Aaron. Dark ichor streaming from arms and face, bits of meat clinging to the blades that still extended from his wrists and hands.
He growled again.
There was no doubt what came next.
6
Christopher had seen many things since the world ended. Impossibilities undreamed of by men sane and mad alike. But one thing he had yet to see was Aaron completely at a loss, completely terrified.
The man fell back, not just afraid of his impending death but clearly unhinged by seeing….
"Ken?"
His jaw worked up and down, up and down, like he didn't know what to say, whether to speak or shriek.
Christopher could certainly sympathize.
Not that there was time for sympathy. Or anything else.
Ken sprang toward Aaron. Aaron tried to jump back, but he tripped over a still-twitching piece of zombie arm – another first – and fell to the floor before he took a single step.
Ken loomed over him. Theresa didn't even try to get between them. She shrank back against the side of the tunnel, saying, "What, what, what, what?" over and over again, her brain short-circuited into a panic-loop.
Ken raised a buzzing arm. Christopher didn't doubt it could do exactly the same to Aaron that it had just done to the zombies that had dared attack the survivors.
The last thing Ken had known before –
(dying being killed)
– being shot by Elijah, Aaron was after his family. So was that what he was remembering right now? Or was something else happening? Was he in the thrall of some other force?
There was no way of knowing. The only thing that was not in doubt was that Aaron was going to die.
"You don't know what's out there!" shouted Aaron.
It was an insane thing to say. A nonsense thing. Of course they knew what was out there.
But Ken halted. Just a fraction of a second.
He lifted his gaze to the sky. The zombies had all done that, too. Had looked up and panted, breath moving in-out, in-out, in-out in perfect sync. Aaron thought they were downloading, brains turning to muck as they transformed from human minds to receptors for… what?
That's the question, isn't it, Christopher?
Ken shook his head. A frustrated motion, the rapid thrashing of an animal in a cage too small for it.
He brought down his arm on Aaron.
7
Christopher wasn't sure how he felt about seeing Aaron die.
No, that's not true. I don't want him to die. He's one of us. Not with us, maybe, but one of us.
And that was it. He was one of the original survivors. He had been with Ken before anyone else who was still alive – and unChanged. He belonged on a level closed off even to Christopher.
He deserved to live, at least from that viewpoint.
But he also had aligned himself against the group. Against their decision to see the children to safety.
And now he was going to end.
But when Ken's arm fell, somehow Aaron's short scream kept on. And then when it did stop it was with a jerk. Not with the high-pitched edge of terror and pain, but with the clipped sound of a man yanked to the side.
Christopher noticed that the saws on Ken's arm had disappeared as fast as they came to be. That he had grasped Aaron in his bony fist. Was hauling him toward the front of the bunker.
Theresa moved. Whether to attack Ken or just because her body couldn't stand pressing against the side of the bunker anymore. Either way, she twitched toward Ken. Barely an inch.
It was enough.
The hand that wasn't dragging Aaron by the collar flashed out. The bone saw – literally, in this case, a saw not merely for cutting bone but of bone – slashed out.
Theresa gagged. Blood flowed between the fingers she clapped to her throat.
She fell.
Ken continued forward through the large tube that served as the gateway to the outside.
Christopher saw it all. Saw, but didn't believe. He had experienced the past moments in a mix of chaotic panic followed by a haze of mad disbelief.
He followed Ken and Aaron. Stopped at Theresa, sure he would see a body bleeding out on the floor.
But when he stopped, he saw her still looking up at him. It wasn't through the dimming light he had seen far too many times in the past days. Her eyes shined with tears of someone in pain but still living. He pried her fingers away from her throat. She had been cut there once before, a nasty wound that had barely had time to heal, and that wound had now been joined by a twin. But… and he barely believed what he saw… the wound Ken had inflicted was shallow. A perfect cut that bled freely but somehow avoided being fatal.
The slash had sent a message: Don't follow me. Stay. Or die.
Christopher shrugged out of what was left of his shirt. It was dirty, scuffed. Bore no resemblance to the piece of art he had gotten at his last visit to Dolce & Gabana during his last trip to Los Angeles. But it was all he had right now. He pushed it against her throat.
She grimaced, but pressed her hand against it.
He winked at her. "You finally got me to take my shirt off."
She glared at him. He waggled his eyebrows at her. She managed somehow to glare harder.
Then hurried after Ken and Aaron. Pausing only to shout, "Make sure she stays there," at Amulek. The teen nodded.
Then Christopher was in the tunnel. Following the cowboy… and whatever it was Ken had become.
8
Ken was already standing outside. Aaron kept trying to stand. His cowboy boots gouged twin grooves in the earth beneath him as he struggled to get his feet under him, but Ken held him down as easily as he might a toddler.
Could he hold down Lizzy? Hope?
Would they let him? Or would they command him the way they seem to command the others?
The little girls had become something alien. Something frightening. Not like Ken. Different in a way that was even less understandable.
But in the next moment his ponderings fled.
He saw.
He had seen hordes before. But not like this.
These things spread across the horizon. Spewing over the eastern edge of the night sky in a pair of long lines that had a small, perfect break between them.
Every once in a while a zombie would dash across that no-man's land –
(no-zombie's land?)
– and throw itself into the mob of creatures on the other side, there to be torn apart.
That was yet another first. Christopher had seen the things attack their brothers and sisters, but only after a head wound rendered them insane. Only after – if Aaron was right – their communication with whatever was in charge of them was cut off. But never had he seen the creatures just attack each other for no apparent reason.
Nor had he seen them like this before. Always before they had run in a single group whenever possible. Always before they had acted as a uniform organism.
Why two?
The beginning of an idea began to form. Not comprehension – nothing so developed, so sophisticated. But… something.
The twin hordes swept like locusts across the fields. Christopher had no doubt that they would leave nothing behind.
And had no doubt they were headed for the bunker. The survivors.
The girls.
They had only minutes. Perhaps ten. Perhaps less.
"They're… coming," Aaron gasped. "We… have to… kill the girls.... Our only chance…. Cut off the… source…."
Christopher understood what he meant. Understood he believed that the girls were somehow ordering this.
And it made sense in a way. Made sense
that they would be ordering the twin hordes. Even made sense that the hordes would attack each other at the fringes.
Just like Lizzy and Hope tried to have Sally and Buck kill each other.
What are they becoming?
"We have to… kill them…." Aaron started to turn blue.
Ken growled. Raised the growth on his free hand, which buzzed its deep, deadly sound.
"Ken, stop" said Christopher. The other man – if a man was what he even was – turned to him. Christopher almost cringed away from his gaze. Instead he turned to look at Aaron. "It wouldn't do any good."
He looked at Ken. "Let him go." Ken didn't move. "Please," he added.
Ken's hand opened. Let Aaron fall. He chuffed, an angry sound that clearly said to Aaron, You're mine. I can kill you when I please. And don't cross me, or I will.
Then Ken loped into the night.
And the horde was closer.
(Give up.
Give in.)
The feeling came over Christopher. The feeling he had had so many times. The feeling that he should just give up, just lay down and die, or run with arms wide to the embrace of the horde coming his way.
But that didn't chill him.
No, what scared him was that he felt it coming from a particular direction.
From inside the bunker.
From the girls.
9
Aaron stood, rubbing his throat. And though Ken seemed to believe he wasn't a threat, Christopher wasn't so sure.
Sure enough: "We… we have to…."
"Don't." Christopher held up a hand.
"But –"
"Don't." He marveled in the back of his mind that he would argue with the cowboy. Such a thing would have been impossible only a few days ago. Aaron was imposing – not just because he could kill just about anything with a bobby pin and a handful of spit. Even without that, the man was had a commanding presence. He was shorter than Christopher, didn't look physically impressive. But there was an aura about him. A vibe that said, "Cross me and I'll punch you so hard yo momma will die. And if she's already dead she'll resurrect and then die."
But here Christopher was standing up to him. And Aaron was actually quieting. Looking at the horde. Softly saying, "They're coming. For them. I think… I think the girls are calling them."
"I think so, too."
Aaron swung on him. Wide-eyed. "Then what are we doing here, son? What chance do we have – do any of us have, but to kill them?"
Christopher shook his head. "Even that won't work."
(Give up.
Give in.)
(HERE. COME HERE.)
(TO ME. COME.)
(KILL.)
(KILL.)
Christopher looked at Aaron. Wondered if the other man had heard. Had noticed.
"Two," he said.
Christopher nodded. The mind-sounds, the calls from below, had split. Somehow they had become two distinct mental cries. Similar, but different. Two waves overlapping, crashing over each other in a race to some unknown shore.
"We have to kill them."
"It won't work." Christopher shouted the words. And as he did, he heard the horde. The sound of them, chirping that strange noise that could be communication, could be them continuing the changes they were still undergoing… could be some weird zombie farts for all he knew.
We have to hurry.
He shook his head. "Killing them won't work," he said again. "Not unless we can burn the bodies to nothing before they –" and he pointed to the twin hordes, still apart from each other but drawing ever closer to the bunker in the night, "– get here."
"What do you mean?"
Christopher looked at the hordes. Dark masses, growling, chirping. Few details visible in the dark night. But enough that he felt loose inside, and at the same time felt his skin tighten, his frame grow rigid.
We're dead. Dead. All we've done, all we've gone through… and it meant nothing.
He heard something from the far side of one of the hordes. A shrieking. A small part of that loping line fell in on itself. Imploded as though a bomb had gone off just inside its line.
Ken.
But it wouldn't be enough. No way even the… thing that Ken now was could stop what looked like tens of thousands of the creatures that all –
(COME. COME.)
(RUNRUNRUNRUN…)
– were headed this direction.
Should we kill them?
But he knew it wouldn't work. Because of what he had felt below. When Maggie screamed in his mind. When the children's mother shrieked, and he fell into Lizzy and his hand touched the toddler's foot, and…
… he saw.
(Give up.)
(Give in.)
(COME TO ME.)
(FASTERFASTERKILLTHEMKILLTHEMALL)
Christopher grabbed Aaron.
Yanked them both back into the bunker.
Into what had been built as a refuge but was now a tomb with an open door that would invite Death to come and make its home.
10
"What are we doing?"
Nothing. No answer. Just footsteps pounding. Dragging them deeper.
(COME.)
(KILL.)
"Son, are you –"
Christopher looked around the first room of the bunker – a place built as both an entertainment room and something of a diversion. Meant to make anyone who stumbled down here believe that this was the entirety of what was in fact a massive underground complex that could house a dozen people for years. The room had a poker table, some shelving, a couch and love seat.
And a large flat screen TV. Christopher didn't care about the TV, exactly. But he did care about….
His heart felt like it stopped. "Where is it?" he said. "Where is it?" Panic rose within him. He turned in a circle. Mo, the owner of the bunker, was a tidy soul. But zombies had recently overrun this room, and it showed. The poker table was overturned, the TV was a bent and broken mass on the floor. "Where, where?" he said. His voice cracked.
"What are you looking for?" said Aaron. His voice was surprisingly gentle. Christopher didn't know whether that was because he could tell how important this was, or if he had just made peace with his onrushing doom.
Christopher didn't care. He whirled to face the cowboy. "Help me find the remote."
Aaron's mouth dropped open. "The… the remote?" he stammered. Confusion reigned on his face.
"The TV remote!" Christopher roared.
"I don't think now's the time. Besides," said Aaron, nudging the broken television with a boot, "the TV looks busted to me."
"I'm not going to watch television, you corn-fed, inbred, cow-humping moron," Christopher screamed. "I'm going to save our asses. Now find the damn remote!"
For a moment he wondered if the zombies weren't going to have a chance to kill him. If Aaron would take care of it for them.
Then the moment passed.
Aaron muttered something under his breath. Then started looking around for the remote.
(COME. COME AND KILL.)
(KILLKILLKILL.)
11
Seconds felt like minutes, and those minutes of the mind shifted in turn to hours and those to lifetimes which all ended in gruesome deaths.
Or worse than death. In Change.
No. I'll… I'll….
Christopher had no end to that sentence. No way of stopping the Change if it came to him. Even killing himself didn't mean he wouldn't come back. Wouldn't return as something horrible. Something neither dead nor alive.
So just live, dumbass.
Don't curse, Maggie doesn't like it. Not good for the girls.
He knew he was panicking. Turning over the detritus that littered the room, jerky movements he hardly recognized as his own.
Where am I?
The question wasn't one of location. It was one of identity. Where was the wise-cracking, nothing-can-bother-me person he had been when all this had started?
Disappeared when you killed your baby, man. Or at
least put an axe in her head.
Then he felt something under a magazine. Rectangular. Hard. Soft plastic buttons.
And suddenly all the terror fell away, if only for a moment. He knew what it was before he pulled it out.
The remote.
"Hells to the yeah," he muttered.
Aaron looked at him. "What now?"
Christopher felt some of his glee disappear.
(COME. CLOSE. CLOSE.)
(ALMOST HERE.)
12
Christopher ran back through the mangled door to the wet room – the room with the toilets, the shower, a few other necessities of life.
Mo was there, his hands being wrapped by Theresa, of all people. She looked almost apologetic as Christopher stuttered to a stop near her. "I couldn't just let this guy bleed," she rasped. "Besides," she gestured at Amulek, who was standing near with her with a machete at the ready. "He didn't really give me a choice."
"Right. Whatever." Christopher didn't have time to deal with that. He turned to Mo. "I need a cell phone, some electrical tape, and an iPod."
Mo managed a look of surprise through his pain. "You plan to play music into the hereafter?"
"Mo, as much as I love listening to you sound wise and mystical –"
(COME.)
(COME NOW.)
"– I really don't have time for it."
Mo looked at Amulek. Then at Theresa and Aaron. The expression on his face was clear.
Christopher shook his head. "They're not going to try anything."
"How do you know, e kare?"
"Because they know we're dead no matter what, unless whatever I'm planning works."
"And will it work?"
"I sure as hell hope so."
Mo gestured at Amulek. He moved back toward the front of the bunker.
Aaron went to Mo's side, helping Theresa with the man's wounds.
"You're the guy who shot me," said the cowboy. Christopher wondered if a small fight was about to break out.
"Yes," said Mo.
Instead of a fight, Aaron grunted. "Hell of a shot." He touched his shoulder, and Christopher realized the cowboy hadn't favored it in the least in the last minutes. He almost shivered. Sometimes Aaron didn't seem human.
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