I was almost disappointed when we reached the pond, frozen over as it was, and still no attack. Rodriguez tested the ice first, and when it held her, the others followed. I didn’t care for how dark the scratchy ice looked once we got away from the bumps of frozen reeds at the shoreline, half-expecting one of the undead to float up from underneath. I still couldn’t smell anything, but the sense of unease kept increasing to the point where I was asking myself if this was something akin to an anxiety attack. Could it really just be in my head?
Sadly, no shambler chose that moment to come crashing out of the reeds at the other side of the pond to alleviate my doubts.
Up the slope on the other side of the hollow we went, Red signaling us to spread out further. Burns followed suit but he was still close enough that he could be on anything that might jump me in under five seconds. I itched to switch my tomahawks for the M16 but forced myself to keep it on its sling instead. Yeah, ringing the dinner bell with shots fired, not the brightest idea.
The sun set, and still no attack. Also no foxes eyeing us suspiciously from a distance or mice scurrying away, a dead giveaway if there was one that indiscriminate predators were out and about. What were they waiting for?
We crested the rise, reaching what I figured was the very middle of the golf course. A little under a mile away I could make out the buildings that must have entertained the not-so-sporty clientele in the past and, beyond a small strip of a parking lot, the broad band of the river—our destination. Rather than be relieved, I could practically feel my paranoia run up my spine like a colony of ants. Any moment now…
It was more coincidence than planning that I looked back the way we had come as I caught my foot on a twig hidden in the leaves and grass. The trails we’d left, about fifty yards wide altogether, were easy to follow back to the pond and continued on the other side. I was about to turn back and keep scanning what lay in front of us when I noticed the grass moving a little to the east of where we’d passed. Sure, it could be nothing, but…
“Shit,” I more whispered to myself than anything else, then, louder so the mic would pick it up, “They’re behind us.”
I didn’t stop and neither did any of the others, but I saw several of the soldiers scan as far back as their position would let them. I checked again but the small trails, almost invisible next to ours, were gone, the momentary motion that had created them halted.
“Don’t see anything,” Munez declared, but he sounded far from certain.
I already had my mouth open to insist that I wasn’t seeing ghosts—much more preferable, really, but sadly not the case—when I realized that Nate had started falling back to my position, walking more slowly until I’d caught up to him. His eyes kept skipping over the terrain, letting me know that he hadn’t found anything to latch onto yet, but there wasn’t a hint of doubt in the tense set of his jaw.
“Shouldn’t we stop and maybe come up with a tactic of how not to get swarmed from behind?” I proposed, mostly asking him but not muting the mic. That had been fun when I’d felt good about pissing Bucky off in the past, not when it might mean nobody heard me call for help later.
“Keep going, and keep up the pace,” Bucky ordered, still striding forward with purpose. I must have inhaled loudly enough to voice my protest for him to pick it up because he added, “What do you think will happen to us if we stop now, Lewis? Single us out as prey in the predator’s eyes?”
Grudgingly, I had to concede that point to him—at least until he started calling out names, among them mine and Gita’s, for who was to take the lead. “What, frail womenfolk can’t hold our own in an attack?” I grumbled, again loud enough that the mic caught it. Nate shot me a glare that made me shut up for good, but I didn’t miss Burns still being highly amused, the rising tension notwithstanding.
Hamilton ignored me as he continued calling names—this time for who’d bring up the rear guard—and I kind of saw his reasoning when I realized that he was holding the heavy hitters back, quite literally, among them Hill and Burns. He still took a moment to gloat back at where I was slowly catching up to his position while he fell back. “If you need to know, it makes the most strategic sense to position our light, fast runners up front and those who can hold back the tide in the back so we force the attack to split, giving us a better chance not to get overwhelmed.” His pause was a pregnant one. “Afraid you can’t run fast enough, Stumpy?”
That fear wasn’t quite unfounded—and I hadn’t really had a chance to test my full-out sprinting capabilities since we’d set foot in Europe—but I did my best to sound cheerful. “I just have to run faster than you, right? And that I can do any day.”
I ignored the mocking expression on his face as I passed by him, instead forcing my senses to better focus on what lay ahead. It wasn’t easy, exactly, as all I wanted to do was glance back and find any possible hints where the attack might be coming from. Gita looked scared as shit so I signaled her to join me, the nasty voice at the back of my mind—sounding awfully like Nate’s—assuring me that I’d probably get a head start if the shamblers ate her first. Realistically, I’d hang back and get mauled instead, or so I told myself. Maybe. Probably. Fuck.
On and on we went, and still no attack. The French scouts ended up between the two groups we split up into, Ines inching toward me while the three men hung back to where Cole and Carter were maybe twenty yards behind me. Rodriguez and Munez were in front of us, both twitchy as hell. I couldn’t help but feel like the shamblers must have been really stupid not to attack yet because according to Hamilton’s claim we were already more like the deer caught in the headlights than the driver.
I didn’t see the shambler rear up—one moment Rodriguez was striding forward, setting one foot in front of the other, and the next she let out a muffled cry and simply disappeared. Two more tried the same move on Munez, but alerted by her shout, he reacted quickly enough and managed to keep his footing, with the undead suddenly clinging to him, trying to bring him down.
And then they were on us, strong hands reaching, finding ample purchase on limbs, packs, and gear.
Instinct took over, my body kicking into overdrive before fear could fully clog my thoughts. Anywhere I felt pressure, I blindly hacked at, twisting my body in a different direction. I didn’t give a shit about how ridiculous I probably looked, happy to quickly dislodge the zombie suddenly clinging to my left thigh, strong fingers digging into my mostly numb flesh. The wet sound of the tomahawk embedding itself in a shoulder that got the arm to drop away was most satisfying—not that my mind had the time to process that. A kick, and the zombie tumbled back into the cover of the thick grass it had been hiding in, making it hard to track as one of its brethren came for me from the left.
“Vanguard, disengage and head for the river!” I heard Bucky’s order. Part of me wanted to bark that I was a little busy here, but when I managed to twist around and look back, I saw that the ones behind us had even more shamblers crawling all over them. Carter and Hill were down as well if still putting up a fight. I barely had time to check that Burns, Nate, and Tanner were all holding their own before a cry from Gita got me casting around for her. She’d managed to somehow disentangle herself from the shambler trying to come for her, but that left her barely able to fend off the reaching arms now.
Taking two steps in her direction, I went down when another, yet-hidden shambler went for my knee, pretty much yanking my leg out from under me. I kicked and hacked as soon as I got my bearings, landing twisted sideways, partly supported by my pack. I managed to dislocate its lower jaw, making it hang by a few tendons on one side only. The shambler screamed at me, but no sound came out beyond a guttural exhale. It was only then that I realized that all the evident shouting and grunting from around me came from those still alive. What the fuck? But no time to dwell on that now.
The shambler reared up the same moment I managed to roll over onto my knees, sparing me having to come for it as it met my ax in mid-swing. The sharp blade sheared off its nose
and flesh from the side of its cheek, adding more disfigurement to its face but not doing much damage. The other tomahawk embedded itself deep into the scrawny neck, getting stuck for a second before I managed to tear it free once more. Gooey blood and bits of flesh came along but I ignored the gore. The next swing went right through its spine, severing the head for good.
Staggering to regain my balance, I looked around, finding Gita and Munez busy helping Rodriguez to her feet. What was visible of her face was covered in blood, but she was able to stand unsupported so it couldn’t all be her own.
“We need to head forward!” I called at them, making sure that no new attacker was about to come for us. Another shambler reared up to my right but I kicked it in the face before it got close enough to tackle me. “Run!” And because it was sound advice, I followed it myself.
It worked for exactly ten seconds. When they realized that their prey was about to escape, the shamblers hidden in the grass came for us in earnest. I figured that was a blessing in disguise as we could at least see them coming for us—or I could, the last rays of the sun finally gone to make my low-light vision work as it should. For the others, not so much.
Gita tried to support Rodriguez while Munez surged ahead of them, but a few staggered steps and they were swarmed again. I was closer than Munez so I took over shoving the undead away where possible, but they came right back at us as soon as they regained their bearings. I wasn’t strong enough to try to punch them out for good, and with nobody around who carried a sledgehammer, the tactic didn’t work as it had in the ravine days ago. But that wasn’t the only problem—the undead we’d encountered there had been sluggish and on the stupider side. Those here were crafty, sneaky, but also strong fuckers. This wasn’t looking good.
“Vanguard, what’s the holdup?” I heard Bucky grate over the open frequency. Looking back, I saw that the rest of our people were doing only marginally better.
“Rodriguez is injured,” I offered. “And we’re just as overrun as you are. We could use someone who can smash in heads.”
“You sure could,” came Hamilton’s response—yet despite his jeer, it only took a few moments for Hill to break away and try to close up to us. Apparently, he wasn’t one to stay down, which I found myself oddly happy about. Munez and I managed to hold the shamblers back until Hill arrived, and a few tiring moments later, we could finally break away forward. Munez and Gita took the lead while Hill grabbed Rodriguez under one arm to support her, leaving me to fend for myself.
I ran, or tried to, as much as my exhausted muscles would let me. My legs felt like lead, and it wasn’t just obstacles hidden in the grass that made me stagger. Damnit!
“Switch?” I asked Hill when dispatching another shambler forced me to fall back to them. He gave me a weird look that I was sure he thought I wouldn’t catch, but then let me take over supporting Rodriguez so he could clear the way ahead for us. Rodriguez wasn’t much taller than me but her sluggish body seemed to weigh a ton. Up close, the scent of blood tickled my nose, making my stomach roil. Glancing back, I saw Cole maybe twenty yards behind us, the others another hundred behind him. The sea of grass was moving all around us but the shamblers seemed to hold back now that we’d broken free of their first wave of attack. It was easy to believe they’d lost interest but I didn’t buy it.
“We need to move faster,” I told my semi-responsive burden. “Once they realize what’s slowing us down, they’ll try to overwhelm us again, and this time it will work.”
She didn’t answer but the tension in her body increased, the load she had to put on me lessening somewhat. We continued to hobble forward, right behind Hill’s swinging sledgehammer, until I almost went down once more when a shambler grabbed my ankle. Rodriguez let go so I didn’t drag her down with me, and Hill managed to dispatch the shambler before it became an issue for me. I grabbed Rodriguez again, but this time she sagged against me, no longer able to carry her own weight.
“It burns,” she pressed out between gritted teeth, her eyes impossibly wide with what I realized must be pain. “Why does it burn? Why is there fire in my veins?”
I wasn’t sure if she was actively asking me for my opinion, but I chose to refrain. My own body hurt enough as it was, but I could feel the serum doing its thing, the increasing concentration of adrenaline in my veins making it all easier to ignore, my body singing with the need to burn any residual energy off rather than slow down with exhaustion.
“Just ignore it,” I pressed out as I pushed myself forward, looking toward the river as if seeing it would bring me closer to my destination. The buildings of the club would have been easier to reach but I doubted that we would find a warm welcome there.
As if he’d read my mind, Munez drew up short after veering slightly toward the houses. “Can’t be sure but looks like they are overrun,” he reported, glancing back toward me for a second. I couldn’t help but smirk, although Rodriguez’s increasing weight on me quickly wiped it off my face once more.
“Head for the river,” I repeated Hamilton’s previous order. “At least they won’t be able to follow us into the water.”
The sounds of our voices were enough to bring another wave of agitated undead down on us, making me shut up for good. I had to let my burden slide off my shoulder so I could use both arms—and effectively—to fend off the shamblers, doing my best to kick them away from me so I wouldn’t fall over the dead ones. None of them even glanced at, let alone fell on, their dead, obviously preferring us for a food source.
Cole finally caught up to us, grabbing Rodriguez while I was still hacking away at my latest undead victim.
“Go!” he hissed at me when I still hesitated. “The others won’t get rid of them, but if you ready the boats, we can flee into the river. But for that to work you need to create more of a distraction.”
I was about to follow his advice when the deafening roar of an assault rifle going off right next to me made me jump. Shamblers all over came surging out of the grass.
“How’s that for a distraction?” Rodriguez panted, giving me a bloody grin. “Stealth doesn’t work with those sneaky assholes. We need to waste some ammo to get through them.”
She was right, even if I didn’t like the fact that she’d rung the dinner bell before alerting us to the fact. I didn’t waste another moment on yelling at her and instead switched weapons, the weight of the M16 alluringly comfortable in my hands. While unable to hack at anything while being carried before, Rodriguez could very well still shoot, and we actually made better progress now. I hated how fast I chewed through my magazines, even using single fire only—but it worked when Gita and Munez joined in, leaving only Hill to continue bashing in heads. We finally broke through the wave, and then it was down the last sloping mile toward the river, gravel paths intersecting the long, brown grass until it ended in a haphazard belt of reeds. Tightening the grip on my rifle, I ran as fast as I could, hoping that I wouldn’t kill myself by breaking my neck this way.
Eight hundred yards.
Five hundred.
Three hundred, and I could make out the shed that Ines had told us to find so many times that I was disappointed that the glorified lean-to didn’t look quite like the mental image her words had conjured up.
Two hundred, and a look back over my shoulder verified that the others weren’t all dead yet, as if the constant cursing on the coms hadn’t alerted us to that yet. My lungs burned, as did the muscles in my legs and back, but with our goal so close, it was easy for hope to rise inside of me—
Until another wave of shamblers came out of the reeds, heading straight for us.
“Veer to the left!” I called out to Munez and Gita—more to her than the soldier running by her side—while I kept on going straight, getting ready to fire into the undead horde. Hill cursed and finally switched weapons so he didn’t have to wait for close-quarter engagement. Turning to Cole, I jerked my head toward where Munez was following my order. “After them! Hill and I will join you in a few secs.”
“Fire in the hole!” someone—I thought it was Davis but couldn’t be sure—hollered over the com, and a moment later, a grenade went off roughly where the first gravel path had crossed the grass farther up the slope behind us. Two more explosions followed, close enough that I could feel them but they didn’t force me to take a balancing step forward. The zombies in front of us staggered, if not to a halt then with confusion. That was all the distraction I needed. Making a quick motion down when Hill glanced my way, I let myself fall to the frozen ground, using the same technique the undead had used on us before—and prayed like hell that it would work. And because I had no intention of getting trampled by zombies, I started dragging myself in the direction the other three members of our vanguard had run into, trying to make as few sounds as possible.
Our plan didn’t work well, but it was enough. Only a handful of shamblers noticed us as they passed, and they found their timely end in a much quieter way than what the others were heading toward as Hamilton’s group opened fire on them. As soon as I was sure that we were in the clear, I pushed myself up into a crouch, then ran as quietly as I could for the shack.
I found the others huddled on the ground a good hundred feet away from the shed. A quick look around confirmed that Gita looked spooked but okay; the same couldn’t be said for Rodriguez. Cole had let her slide off his shoulder and onto the ground where she writhed, her eyes open impossibly wide from what looked like pain and panic, blood frothing at her nose and mouth. Over the noise the others were making, her moans were low enough not to draw any attention. I tried to check her body for injuries, but except for the blood smeared all over her cheek—and now pretty much the rest of her face except for her forehead—I couldn’t find anything. Most of that seemed to come from what must have been a bite mark below her chin, where sharp teeth had torn a chunk of flesh out but it wasn’t enough to hint at a severed carotid.
Green Fields (Book 9): Exodus Page 12