by Dalton Wolf
“Guster!” she screamed.
But with a yell, Gus charged the other two Joggers stumbling up the walkway. He called the faster ones Joggers because they looked like first time joggers at the end of their route, and they didn’t have much balance…and the first ones they’d seen were in jogging suits. It took only two pushes with the butt of his spear to knock them into the pit below. The immediate danger gone, he rushed back to Scaggs and tried to pull the big corpse off her. Then he tried to push it off, but it barely moved and he could hear her grunt out a pained breath as it rocked over her. Failing that, he attempted to roll it off by lifting one side only.
“Well, this is just instant Karma,” Scaggs muttered, trying to crawl out from under the putrid, oozing corpse as he lifted, but no matter what he did, too much weight remained firmly on top of her. “Guster! Get it off of me now!” she screamed. “It’s dripping its juices on me!”
“I’m trying,” he called desperately, finally stepping back and taking a quick glance to make sure the walkway was clear.
It was.
Dropping to one knee and grabbing the huge dead man’s left arm, he threw it over his shoulder, grabbed it with his other arm and then half-turned and fell over with his entire body, rolling to the ground pulling the big body with him until it was laying halfway off the walkway. Scaggs staggered to her feet, pulling off the face shield and then her helm and vomiting from the stench and pieces of dead flesh as she peeled chunks away. Gus twisted out from under the man and pushed him the rest of the way off of the walkway to splat fifteen feet down in the pit under the tower.
“Man, how can those things start to smell so fast?” she asked, wiping bile from her mouth with a clean rag she pulled from a pouch, removing tears with the other side of the ‘kerchief’ as she looked around for her spear, which she found laying right behind her. “Doesn’t it usually take days for a corpse to start to stink like that?” she asked, slamming the helm back onto her head and fumbling with the snaps, but her shaking fingers were unable to fasten them.
“Yet another in a string of the mysteries that is zombie science,” Boomer said over his mic. “Hey, it ain’t theoretical no more, am I right?”
“That’s for damned sure,” Tripper laughed.
“Gus!” Scaggs screamed again as she slipped in some of the gore and teetered over the side.
His heart sank as he watched her horrified eyes disappear over the rim of the walkway, down into the pit with a dozen active zombies.
“Help me—oof!” she screamed.
She felt arms grab pull on her arms and legs, the spear ripped from her grasp as sinew stretched and several finger joints on her mailed left hand snapped out of position between the teeth of one zombie, the chain mail gloves leaving nothing but oozing gums in the mouth of that particular zombie. Her legs were ripped in two different directions and she knew it was just a matter of seconds before something broke. Pain erupted from every joint as both legs were stretched to the limits of their natural design. She screamed again, knowing there was no way Gus could save her now.
My God. This is how I’m going to die. She began to scream, but only then realized that she had never stopped.
Gus’ body smashed onto two of the Infected with a horrific clang as his armor struck the pavement. Cold, dead fingers reached into her helm, clawing at her flesh. Tripper was suddenly there just as one the corpse-like fingers of a zombie began pulling the loose helm from her head. Gus grunted and rolled slowly to his feet and the two men began bashing away in every direction. As quickly as the danger had arrived, she was safe again. She cried out in rage, fear and relief and rolled away from the zombie corpses to lean against a concrete wall, staring in horror at nothing. An unrelenting stream of tears flowed from both eyes. Gus swept her up into his arms and held her tight.
“Shh,” he whispered. “You’re ok. You’re ok. Everything is going to be fine.”
“Oh my god, Guster. I thought that was it.” She ripped up her face shield and visor and then his and planted kisses on his surprised face. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she breathed emotionally.
“Hey, I helped too,” Tripper suggested hopefully.
She ignored him and kissed Gus soundly, and with lots of tongue.
“Is she ok?” Calvin asked.
“I think so,” Tripper replied. “Gus and I are ok, too, if anyone cares.”
“Ok, you can come out, guys,” Calvin said brusquely. “We’ll have the rest cleared out by the time you get out.”
A little investigating had shown that the pit was where Tripper’s mysterious zombies had been coming from. He had made the connection and gone through the doorway when he’d seen Scaggs disappear from the walkway overhead. Gus had simply panic-leaped the fifteen feet down to save his new girlfriend. Calvin and Felicia ran across the lot to clear away the remaining Shufflers as Gus and Scaggs stumbled through the small opening. They were quickly joined by Tripper. Calvin pointed the exhausted climbers to the vehicle. “Go ahead and get in,” he ordered. “Felicia and I will open the gate and clear us a path.”
“I thought you were tired,” Tripper said.
“And I’m the driver,” Felicia seemed confused.
“See. I’m tired. Ok, me and Tripper will clear the path. Either way, Gus and Scaggs need a break.”
The fatigued couple nodded.
“Also, Scaggs has a noticeable odor,” Calvin added. “I don’t want to have to stand next to her out here.”
The others laughed weakly. The real reason was as clear as the two broken fingers on her left hand, both pointing to the sky where the others gripped the spear and her pale features were visibly shaken under the open visor. Gus supported her to the passenger side of the Hedgehog and following a brief conversation with Felicia, he hopped behind the wheel and she climbed into the back. Calvin didn’t have time to wonder why. He and Tripper jabbed skulls through the fence with long-handled screwdrivers until enough bodies blocked the sidewalk enough to leave enough room for Calvin to roll his side of the gate open. When the first gate was clear he came over and kept zombies away while Tripper rolled the other gate open. The turrets peppered the mass with tiny steel darts to keep a cushion and Gus carefully pulled the Hedgehog through the gate, pausing in the middle of the street with less than ten feet for a shaky perimeter, moaning dead on all sides pressing in.
“Ok, we’re clear. Get in!” Felicia shouted from the back, holding the door open, her hammer ready to use as a spear if any zombies should feel froggy.
“Hang on. We might need to come in here again,” Calvin reasoned.
Gripping the gate with both hands, he pulled the gate through a sticky puddle of ex-humanity. It rolled smoothly, leaving an arcing trail of coagulating blood behind. Grunting with every effort, Tripper killed four more zombies. The tinkling of the turrets was non-stop until suddenly everything grew much quieter. Before Calvin could turn to find the reason, Joel yelled out, “Whoa! Whoa! My turret is down!”
Calvin forced himself to move faster, nearly running to get the gate pulled shut in time, slipping in some blood, but grabbing the chain links and being dragged by the rolling gate until he could pull himself back up again. Tripper kept his back clear, which was amazing because there was a heavy circle of dead pushing to get into the area. His friend twirled the aging bat around like he was a ninja. In a short-lived moment of calm when they had a good ten foot radius free of zombies, Trip nodded for him to finish. They moved as one to the other gate and he pulled it shut, while the Louisville Slugger kept his back free of zombie teeth.
“Hurry, I can’t keep them back with one gun!” Boomer insisted through gritted teeth. “And my fingers are cramping on this trigger.”
Calvin slipped the solid steel chain around the gate and through the locks, turning the handle and locking both sides of the chain in place with a comforting, solid clink.
Only real people should be able to get through here now, he thought.
He nodded to Tripper and t
hey ran to the Hedgehog, both diving into the back next to Felicia, who slammed the door closed behind them, the sound pressure wave popping everyone’s ears.
“We’re moving,” Gus announced, sending bodies and their parts flying in every direction as he headed them south, away from the tower and into unexplored territory. At least, it was unexplored for the group; he and Scaggs had gotten a good look. It would be simple to get them clear and headed back for either the shop or the Plaza. Confident it would be the shop once again with one of the guns being inoperable, he took the first left.
“What’s up with that gun, Joel?” Calvin asked.
“I don’t know, Scoot. It’s an air issue. It’s feeding ok, but there’s not enough pressure to shoot with.”
“The compressor gauge shows full,” Felecia commented, now back in her chosen seat beneath his turret. She stuck her head against the carpeted underside of the turret. “And I can hear it running.”
“Must be a leaky line,” Tripper said. “I think I hear a hissing sound.”
“Yeah, a line or a connection somewhere,” Scooter spat in disgust. “Anyone have a screwdriver?” he asked as an afterthought.
Tripper held out his backup weapon, but at a foot-and-a-half with a one-inch bit face his beefy screwdriver was much too large to fit into the tiny access hole.
“Here,” Felicia pulled out a multi-purpose tool and held it up proudly, her colored locks sticking out of her coif and plate helm and framing her blue-green eyes and milky face rather nicely, Joel felt as he climbed down to help hunt for the issue.
“I have one too,” Scaggs held hers out with her good hand. “We bought them together here in town, when the bolts in our costumes for the Con kept coming loose—Felicia was a Pink Stormtrooper and I was a Pink Master Chief,” she announced, also quite proudly. “We were rockin’ the pink for The Cure.”
“Nice,” Calvin replied. “How are you doing, Scaggs?” he asked, his bright green eyes never leaving the crooked fingers of her left hand.
“Oh, don’t worry. I’m fine. I think they’re just dislocated a little,” she said boldly with a broad smile. However, the drained, colorless appearance of her usually olive skin told them all that she was in pain, and also a liar.
“We’ll get you some pain meds when we get back,” he assured her.
“I’ve got some pain meds,” Tripper informed him with a broad, impish grin.
“Maybe later, Trip. We’ve still got work to do. Now scoot over a bit so I can get in there,” he pushed his friend aside gently. “Let’s get this panel off here and check the hoses. I think we need to head back to the Dungeon, though.”
“Already on it,” Gus informed him.
“What about Lola and Lucy?” Tripper asked quietly into Calvin’s ear, forgetting he was miked up.
“You’ve seen the video, Trip. It’s as bad there as it is here. We need both guns to get through The Plaza.”
“You’re right. And both vehicles, I guess.”
“Damn,” Calvin cursed. “This is taking much more time than I expected and we’re all getting punchy. We need a break. And Scaggs needs some medical attention. I think we should wait until they have the ambulance done. And we might as well top off the ammo drums for the turrets again. No telling how much ammunition we’ll use there.”
“Hef says he’s got ten more barrels back at the shop. They make the nails locally, so we can always break in and get more. If we’re gonna waste ammunition, I’d say the nails would be our best option. Save the bullets for emergencies.”
“Right,” Calvin agreed. “Make it so.” He joked in that voice.
Moving through the streets at a rapid pace this time, they reached the Dungeon safely, again not seeing a single zombie on the return trip. Calvin made a note to use this road more in the future. Unfortunately, the leak remained undiscovered as they approached the alley, so Calvin called Hephaestus and Quinn to give them the bad news.
“Adventurers to Dungeon,” he called.
“This is the Dungeon Master,” Quinn replied instantly. “Go ahead, Party Leader.”
“We’re coming back in. Got a broken sword, need a blacksmith.”
“Oh, well, we just happen to have a few of those here. And you have great timing. The cage is in the back of the ambulance. Just finished it up and was walking by the radio to get some things for our next task. It’ll hold five in the cage and there are still eight jump seats squeezed in. Got doors on both sides of the cage, too, so you can still back it up to the Fortress and crawl through from the front if you need to.”
“Nice,” Calvin said happily.
“Lost a lot of storage space, though.”
“That’ll happen,” Calvin responded. “How difficult was the conversion?”
“It was easy. We converted an old shark cage he had sitting around and just welded it to the frame,” the big smith explained. “He’s putting one of the cots back in now. How far out are you?”
“We’re coming down the alley now.”
“Son, you need to give us more notice. Let me check the monitors,” he flicked the controller through all of the cameras. Except for the same three lurkers on the north side of the building that seemed to be permanently stuck in a very muddy ditch thanks to a week of rain, the area appeared clear for as far as the cameras could show.
“Ok, opening up,” he announced finally.
* * * *
To find the leak, Hephaestus took a huge bong hit of El Supremo and, after a suitably long pause, blew through the open end of the hose, which he had disconnected from the compressor.
“I could have done that,” Tripper muttered.
“But you didn’t,” Hephaestus replied after a brief fit of coughing. Tracking the smoke led them to a loose fitting at the base of the turret itself that someone hadn’t tightened properly.
“Sorry.” Hef apologized with a humble shrug. “Even the best miss things.”
“No one’s perfect,” Calvin replied.
“I did not get to test any of this first,” he explained.
“It’s ok. We’re on the shakedown cruise and are called upon to save the universe. Isn’t that the plot to every great science fiction adventure movie ever made?”
Hef laughed. “Hardly, but quite a few,” he admitted.
It took very little time to refill the barrels and get the ambulance ready to roll. “Here are the keys to my baby,” Quinn’s eyes misted over.
“Gus, you’re driving the ambulance,” Calvin ordered.
“That makes me shotgun,” Scaggs stated firmly, leaving no room for argument.
“We need to get you to the doctor,” Calvin argued anyway, with a pointed glare at her pretzeled fingers.
“What, this? Shoosh, it hardly even hurts anymore. I’ll be ok. We’ll get it taken care of after we save your friends, ok?”
“Absolutely,” Calvin agreed. “Of course, someone will need to snap those things back in place first.”
“What?” the girl’s pale features managed to lose even more color.
“We need you to be able to grip your weapon,” he explained, trying to bluff her into seeing the doctor.
“Fine, you do it,” she held out her fingers. Two pair of eyes locked onto each other, each daring the other to blink first. But Calvin was not a doctor and he would hate to cause more damage to the brave girl.
Congratulations, Gus, he thought. About time you got yourself a good one. “Maybe we can wait a little bit.”
“Oh, yeah, sure. I can wait.”
“Let’s get out of here,” Calvin muttered irritably.
“Wait, first we need a proper name,” Gus said excitedly, thin fingers lightly scratching his chin.
“Already got one,” Tripper informed him knowingly. “Whoever is in the ambulance is Healer.”
“I know that. I mean the ambulance needs a name. We’re calling the Humvee Hedgehog. This needs a name, too.”
“I think we’ve got more important things to worry about,” Calvin warn
ed them. But certain groups of people could easily become side-tracked with mundane things when bigger issues awaited their attention, especially when times were hard. This was definitely one of those times, and absolutely one of those groups.
“Dragon,” Joel suggested helpfully.
“Too fantasy-ish,” Gus shook his head.
“And already taken,” Hephaestus informed them.
“Albatross,” Scaggs blurted.
“The Big Black Box,” Felicia suggested with a shrug.
“I need to smoke a bowl,” Tripper announced.
Calvin sighed.
“Paddy Wagon,” Hephaestus blurted out.
“Hmm,” Gus hmmed.
“I like that one,” Calvin admitted, nodding slowly.
“It has a cage in it now, like the original paddy wagons did. You will certainly be picking people up and locking them in there for a while, at least until we know they have not become infected. And we are adventurers. Everyone knows that all good party adventurers need a wagon for their woot.”
“Nice,” Calvin agreed.
“Besides,” Hef laughed. “You named the vehicle on which I worked so hard. Now I get to name a vehicle belonging to someone else. It is only fair. Sorry, Quinn,” he shrugged at the big armorer in a flippant manner completely devoid of even the most base look and feel of a sincere apology.
Quinn sighed morosely. “What kind of world is it where a man doesn’t even get to name his own vehicle?” he raised his hands to the sky.
“Yes. That is what I said,” Hef grinned back.
“Sorry, Quinn,” Gus shot the man a grimace. “Look, we’ll call it whatever you want to name it.”