by Raymond Lee
As he neared the front line, he saw several men go down, their eyes bulging as they screamed. Blood sprayed from their necks as major arteries were bitten into. Their bullets had been wasted. There were too many dead coming for them.
He turned and ran.
He ran over tents that had already been trampled, hoping some of the lumps he felt beneath his feet weren’t people. He heard his name called out, heard a Humvee nearing him, but he couldn’t turn toward it. His feet wouldn’t let him. He had to run.
Ahead of him, a tank rolled through the fence at the back of the enclosure, making an exit for everyone inside. Richards kept running, catching up to the groups that had started fleeing before him. He was a soldier. He had weapons, training. He couldn’t even bring himself to raise his gun. He just gripped it in his hand as he ran.
The survivors were quickly loaded onto the backs of cargo trucks sitting near the back. One by one, the trucks left, driving over the knocked down fence, the survivors and the lucky bastards driving making their way to safety.
“Richards!” Garcia ran to him, having delivered the group of survivors he’d been leading away to a cargo truck. “You good, man? This shit is happening!”
Richards brought himself to a stop despite the voice in his head screaming for him to keep going. Another voice, maybe his conscience, reminded him why he was there. He was a soldier. He didn’t get to flee the carnage with the civilians, all tucked away in the back of a cargo truck. He had to stay and fight. Defend.
“Dude!” Garcia elbowed him as he stood at his side, his firearm raised. “Raise that fucking gun and shoot these fuckers or shoot yourself. Don’t just fucking stand there and get eaten!”
Following his own advice, Garcia started shooting.
The sound of Garcia’s gun brought Richards out of the pool of panic he’d been drowning in. He turned toward the direction he’d ran from, raised his gun, and pointed it at the herd of zombies coming for them. His hands shook. He breathed in, out. He sighted down the barrel of the gun and closed his eyes.
“It’s time to rock and roll,” he said. He opened his eyes and pulled the trigger. A dead man at the front of the herd went down.
“Atta boy!” Garcia shouted. “This is America, mother fuckers! Take your dead, zombie asses back where the fuck you came from!”
Garcia whooped and hollered next to him, joined in by other men in their unit who’d lined up to do their part in taking out the herd. Richards went somewhere else in his head, somewhere quiet and peaceful. He aimed, he breathed, he fired.
He reloaded.
The process repeated.
It became something almost beautiful as his bullets hit their targets, bone and blood flew through the air as the undead bodies of their enemies seemed to dance, their bodies flinging backward as bullets connected.
Suddenly Raven stood before him, her arm stretched out. Her hand reached for him as zombies danced their final death scene around her.
“Save us, Scott. Find us.”
A bullet entered her forehead and she smiled before crumpling to the ground.
Richards blinked, shook his head. Raven’s body quickly rotted and became just another of the dead.
“Come on, man. We’re pulling out!”
Garcia’s hand squeezed around Richards’s shoulder, bringing him out of the vision. The woman on the ground wasn’t Raven. It had never been Raven.
“Richards!”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m good!”
He turned and fell back with the rest of the unit.
“Man, that was fucking awesome!” Hoss shouted as he threw a beer to Jones and plopped his considerably big ass on a log near the campfire.
“Dude, when the fuck is your adrenaline gonna run out?” Roberts asked, earning a laugh from the others. “That shit was hours ago.”
“It’s the first time he’s been a part of real shit,” Jones defended him. “Let him celebrate. Nothing wrong with being happy as fuck you survived another day in this shitfest of a world we’re in now. You can’t tell me this shit ain’t worse than Vietnam. We’re fighting dead shit that ain’t staying dead.”
“We’re the baddest fucking soldiers of all fucking time!” Hoss yelled, raising his beer can.
“Try not to be so loud or we might be the deadest soldiers,” Garcia admonished him as he walked past the group to sit by Richards.
“I’m good,” Richards said, knowing the question was coming.
“Of course you are. That’s why you’re sitting here all alone on the back of a cargo truck while your unit is celebrating a victory”
“You’re right here with me.”
“Yeah, I’m fighting off a headache and they aren’t helping.” Garcia looked at him. “You froze up out there.”
“I unfroze.”
“Damn good thing.” Garcia popped the tab on his beer and took a swig, grimacing. “Shit. What I wouldn’t give for a refrigerator.”
“Pussy.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He took another swig and laughed at something one of the other guys said before sobering. “Seriously though, man. Don’t do that shit again. You’re one of my buds, ya know. I can’t be taking your tags off you.”
Richards nodded, not sure what to say. He could act like he’d been fine but Garcia knew him. He’d frozen. He could have died. He could have gotten Garcia killed.
“Seriously, y’all. Today was just all right,” Jones said. “That shit that happened in New York was the best shit though. I ain’t gonna lie. Some of those rich fuckers got what they deserved.”
“Remember that old orange guy?” Hoss asked.
“The guy that owned all those hotels?” Jones guffawed. “Oh man, he was the worst. All he did was bitch about if he ran things this wouldn’t have happened and we’d be the greatest country ever because he’d build a wall.”
“The biggest wall,” Hoss added, “and his dumb ass kept blaming this shit on Mexico when Russia done said they did it. What the hell was a wall gonna do when they flew those infected bitches over here?”
“Yeah, I think he liked them Russian women.”
“He liked all women,” Roberts chimed in. “Caught that bastard around some real young ones. Almost bashed his droopy face in myself. Perverted old fucker.”
“Oh yeah, he was messed up,” Hoss agreed. “Kept bragging about how hot his daughter was.”
“That’s sick.”
“Did y’all see him die?” Martin asked, grinning. “Looked like the zombies were munching on a really big Cheeto.”
They erupted into laughter, holding their sides and wiping tears from their eyes.
“But it was the greatest Cheeto ever!” Hoss cried, imitating the man’s penchant for referring to everything involving him in some way as the greatest ever, causing more laughter. “Man, he was even fuller of himself than that rapper.”
“What rapper?” Martin asked.
“Shit, I don’t know his name. He talked himself up all the time too like the orange guy, and something was wrong with his jaw or something, think it was metal.”
“Oh I remember that one,” Jones said. “Had the wife with all the plastic surgery.”
“Yeah. What happened to him? Please tell me we’re not still protecting him.”
“Naw, man, he got bit after the fort went down. Adams found him with his face buried in his wife’s big ass, eating her alive. Adams took both of them down.”
“Listen to them,” Garcia muttered. “Talking about people dying like that shit’s funny. I don’t care if they were normal or famous, assholes or angels. Shit’s not funny. That could have been us.”
“Yeah,” Richards agreed. He looked down at his hands and watched them tremble. He finally admitted the truth to himself. He hadn’t joined the army to go to war. He’d thought the world was at peace. He’d joined to escape his problems and pretend to be a bad-ass.
Scott … Find us … Save us.
He closed his eyes tight and gritted his teeth together. He hadn’t t
ouched his hot beer yet so he couldn’t blame drunkenness for the voice haunting him. He’d seen her in that field of zombies clear as day. The dreams were bad enough, now she was coming to him when he was fully awake. Why? He prayed his conscience was just twisted, that Raven didn’t really need him. If she was really in trouble he hoped someone would save her because he didn’t know how in the hell he was supposed to, not when his first impulse after seeing men die that morning had been to run.
III
Walking In a Winter Zombieland
“I can’t feel anything below my ass,” Damian whined, his words shaking as they passed his chilled lips. “Where the hell we at? Antarctica?”
“We’ll be coming to shelter soon,” Elijah called back. Used to the cold Kansas winters and knowledgeable of the area, he’d taken the lead shortly after they’d fled Wally’s Club.
Raven looked back over her shoulder, noting she could no longer see smoke in the sky. It felt as though they’d been walking forever and her body protested every movement.
“How you holding up?” she asked Pimjai, figuring the tiny pregnant woman must feel the effect of the harsh cold greater than any of them.
“I thought hell was hot. I was very wrong,” she answered in her thick Thai accent.
Raven couldn’t help but grin at the unexpected response, then she noticed both Pimjai and Janjai walked while huddled together to try and preserve warmth. “I suck at geography. I take it that Thailand doesn’t get very cold in winter?”
“No snow in Thailand,” Janjai answered. “Tropical. Heaven. Should have never left.”
Pimjai nodded her head in agreement.
Raven offered them a condoling smile before turning her attention to Cruz and Hal, who’d walked in silence and stayed on high alert since they’d left the building they’d hoped to spend the winter in. “How are you guys doing?”
“Been better, been worse,” Hal replied, saying nothing more or less.
“Don’t worry about me,” Cruz answered. “Are you all right?”
“If my legs get any colder I think I’ll stick to the ground, but just dandy other than that.” She looked back at a distraught Carlos, bringing up the rear. “You doing good, Carlos?”
The man grunted, still put out about the loss of the shelter he’d brought his son to for protection.
“You gonna ask about me?” Damian called back to her.
“Why would I need to? You’ve been bitching since we left.”
He directed a dark glare her way. “Well, I’d cry but I’m afraid my eyes would freeze. All I can do is bitch. I’m from Oakland. I can’t handle this cold shit.”
“Maybe you should have thought about that before you shot out the glass and let the zombies overrun our shelter,” Carlos snapped.
Damian swung around and stepped toward him. “Maybe you should have thought about that when you stopped us from killing that redneck the day he pulled a gun on us!”
“Enough!” Raven snapped, stepping between the two of them with her arms outstretched. “Arguing with each other isn’t helping us find shelter. Mistakes were made by all of us, I’m sure, and we will continue to make mistakes. We’re human. We don’t have all the answers, but we do have our brains. If we start using our brains more and our emotions less, we’ll survive.”
“She’s right,” Hal agreed. “We must work together. We’re all cold, hungry, and most of us don’t know where we are, but we have each other. We must be able to rely on one another or else we are doomed to fail.”
Damian and Carlos eyed each other for a long, tense moment, before Damian muttered “Yeah, whatever,” and turned to continue walking in the direction Elijah had been leading them. “How much farther, man? My nuts turned into snowballs half an hour ago.”
“Good, we can melt them down to make water,” Raven said, coming up behind him.
“You are one sick heifer,” Damian said, looking back at her over his shoulder. “Stay away from my balls.”
“You tell all the girls that, don’t you?”
He glared at her for a moment before laughing. “Good one.”
Some of the tension eased, they continued on.
“We should be moving northeast,” Carlos advised.
“We’ll be frozen to death before we find shelter that way,” Elijah responded. “I know where we’re going.”
“I think I know where you’re going too. You can’t go back home, son.” Carlos swallowed hard. “The home you knew is no longer there.”
Elijah didn’t answer. He continued marching forward, head hung low.
“We’re not going to your house, are we, Elijah?” Raven moved faster, catching up to him. “We need a safe place to rest, and we need to keep moving toward Nebraska. Going out of the way can be dangerous.”
The thin teenager looked at her with wounded eyes. “I know my mom isn’t there anymore. I know she’s dead. Just trust me, I’m taking you to shelter. You all can go northeast if you want, but you won’t make it through the night. My dad is just scared to get anywhere near where he allowed my mom to die.”
Unable to think of anything to say to that, Raven merely nodded and followed along, hoping they’d find a warm place soon. She could no longer feel her toes and feared falling victim to frostbite.
“We made it,” Elijah announced, voice low as they crested a massive hill Raven had feared they’d never be able to top.
They grouped together at the top of the hill and looked across the snow covered ground at the structures before them. An assortment of houses lined both sides of the street. The doors to some stood open, windows on many were smashed, and the wrecked cars littering the street told a sad story.
“Did anyone make it out of this neighborhood alive?” Raven asked.
“Will we?” Damian looked back at her, fear in his eyes.
“This is what it was like after the outbreak,” Elijah explained. “We got out. Others should have too.”
“But not everyone.” Cruz retrieved his machete and nodded at them, indicating they should all arm themselves. “Those who died could still be here, and you know they’ll be hungry for a hot, fresh dinner.”
“Yeah, well, we’re more like some cold cuts,” Damian said through chattering teeth, “and I’m not about to be some dead bitch’s sandwich.” He emphasized his point by raising his blade. “Which one of these houses do we go for?”
“It’s too cold to take shelter in a house with busted windows,” Hal advised, stepping forward to survey the area. “If doors are open, anything could be inside. We could also be shot by any survivors who might be inside the few houses that still look intact. I think our best bet is a garage.”
“We’ll freeze,” Damian cried.
“A garage is going to provide as much shelter as a house right now,” Hal corrected him. “What, you thought we were going to creep inside a house, close all the windows and blast the heat?”
“Oh yeah. Forgot we couldn’t do that.” Damian looked away sheepishly. “Fine. Pick a garage. I just farted for a little warmth and I swear snowflakes shot out my ass.”
“Gross, Damian.” Raven gave him the stink-eye as the men laughed and the twins scrunched their noses in disgust.
“That one,” Carlos said, moving ahead of them, the only guy who did not find his comment amusing. “Greg Bennett lived there. He was a real outdoorsman type of guy, always camping, fishing, and hunting. Ex-military. His jeep is gone so I think he made it out, but he couldn’t have taken everything. There might be supplies in there we can use.”
“How do you know his jeep isn’t in the garage along with him and a gun trained on us?” Hal questioned.
“He never parked his jeep in the garage.”
“The garage door is raised a little. Anything could be in there.”
“I’ll go check it out,” Cruz said. “With the door raised, we don’t have to break in. If there’s anything in there, I’ll just get the hell out.”
“Why you?” Raven asked.
; “Why not me? You want me to send the little bitty Thai women or the teenage boy? Relax, Raven. I got this. It’s too cold to stand out here talking about this crap anyway. We need to get inside somewhere now.”
Not waiting for a response, he quickly moved forward, hand wrapped tight around the handle of his machete.
“He’ll be fine,” Hal said.
Raven nodded. Both of them were right. Somebody had to go check it out. They couldn’t last much longer in the bitter cold, and better to send one person than the whole group. Cruz was fast, athletic. He could handle zombies, and if there were people inside the garage they would recognize him. She doubted any of his movies were bad enough people would want to kill him for it. Still, her breath caught in her throat as she watched him get down on the ground and peer beneath the door. She envisioned dead, rotting arms reaching out and pulling him under, but he stood and walked around the side, disappearing behind the wall.
“What’s he doing?” Raven asked. A loud crash sounded immediately after and she reacted to it like a track star to the blow of a whistle.
“Raven!” Hal yelled her name as she raced across the snowy ground.
She heard them running to reach her and she pumped her legs harder, fearing they would drag her away when Cruz needed help. She couldn’t let another person die.
“Raven, wait for us!”
As she reached the garage, Cruz slid out, dragging a body behind him. He rolled, tossing the rotting body into the snow before stomping in its head. He looked up at her. “Told you I had it. There’s one more body to drag out and we’re clear,” he said, looking over her head.
“I got it.” Hal entered through the side door Cruz had used earlier to gain entrance to retrieve the second zombie he had killed.
“Were you bit?” Raven checked Cruz over, thankful for the thick coats they’d found. A zombie would have a hard time getting through the material to connect teeth with flesh.
Cruz shook his head.
“Oh shit!”
They turned to see what had caused Damian’s outburst. Zombies spilled out of various houses, drawn by the commotion Cruz had caused in the garage. They were slow, possibly half frozen, but they still moved, and their number made them dangerous.