by A. M. Geever
They moved the tanks so that they were under the hole in the wood floor above them, which Miranda and Doug had hastily hacked before entering the basement. Doug dropped to his knees and started fiddling with the valve on the less full tank.
“I just want to stick a pin in this one, let some of the propane out. It’ll pool on the ground but should still ignite.”
“Why? The grenade will ignite the tank.”
“I am cultivating multiple opportunities for success, Coppertop.”
Miranda snorted. “Cultivate faster. I want to get the fuck out of here.” She looked up at the hole they had cut in the floor. “We should make that hole bigger.”
“Why?”
“So we have a higher chance of success with those multiple opportunities you’re cultivating.”
Doug nodded. “Okay. Come hold the light for me. I can’t see shit.”
Doug’s usual good humor evaporated after a few minutes of fighting with a valve frozen shut for at least a decade. “Why the hell couldn’t they have stored these outside like normal people? Then we could just shoot the damn things and yes! Got it!”
Miranda heard a faint hiss as Doug stood up. She sniffed, the smell of gas filling her nostrils for the first time in years. Because of the nuclear reactor the valley relied on for much of its power, electricity had replaced gas-powered utilities.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” she said.
They emerged from the stairs slowly, in case zombies had broken in. They hustled to where Mike stood above them. He threw down the cable. Miranda pulled out her hatchet and began hacking at the hole they had made earlier.
Doug said, “You were right, it’s propane, a tank and a half. Just going to make the hole bigger so it’s easier to get the grenades down. Where are Connor and Mario?”
Miranda looked up. It was just Mike up there. She had been so focused on the task at hand that she had not noticed.
“They’re out on the roof. Seffie called—”
The clang of broken glass stopped Mike mid-sentence. Miranda stood up and whirled around to face the window behind her.
“Back door window, I’ve got it. Finish what you’re doing,” Doug commanded.
Miranda dropped back to her knees. Above, she heard Mike calling for Mario and Connor. The hatchet felt heavier in her hand, the blade duller, the Douglas Fir planks more substantial. Her burned palms felt sweaty and tender under the bandages, and her hand holding the hatchet began to throb, still sore from when she had punched Mario. The moans and groans got louder.
Another window cracked and broke.
Miranda hacked at four separate points about six inches apart until the gouges were an inch deep. She sprang to her feet and stomped with one foot. The wood cracked. She stomped again and it gave way. Not completely, but enough.
“Are they inside?” she yelled as she powered the hatchet down again.
“Just trying to block their path,” said Doug. “How you doing there?”
Another shot, then another.
“I need another minute,” Miranda said.
“That’s about all you’re gonna get.”
Doug’s rifle fired almost continuously. Then the world began to sparkle as bits of glass showered over her. Miranda flinched away and leaped up, turning once again to the window behind her. Zombies were trying to slither through. They cut their arms on jagged glass still stuck in the frame but did not stop. Zombies didn’t feel pain. They never even noticed.
Miranda wielded the hatchet high above her head, swinging down to smack through skull and eye sockets. Black goo splattered her face, her arms, her hands. Doug’s rifle fired nonstop.
“Mike, get us out of here!” Miranda shouted. She looked up. Mike was gone. “Mike!” she screamed, fighting against the panic that tried to fog her brain.
Doug worked his way to her, quick but methodical. He glanced up, then kept firing.
“Where the hell are they?”
Miranda dropped the hatchet. She pulled her assault rifle around from where it was slung across her back and fired.
“Miranda!”
Miranda looked up to see Mike and Connor and Seffie above, plus two other guys. Where the hell had they come from? She grabbed the cable and pushed it to Doug. He shook his head.
Miranda’s ascent was swift with so many pulling. As she crested the edge of the floor, she unclipped the cable and threw it back down. She scrambled, half crawling out of the way, and took the first hand extended down to help her up.
“You okay?” Apprehension filled Mario’s face.
Miranda nodded. “I’m good.”
She looked back to see one of the strangers catch Doug’s arm as the others pulled the cable. Giddy with relief, she leaned against the wall and grinned at Mario.
“I didn’t get dead.”
“I knew you wouldn’t.”
A queer feeling came over Miranda. He really means it. Mario had been afraid for her but had not let it get in the way. He was happy she was there next to him, she could tell. She opened her mouth, but Connor swooped in, saving her from saying something she would only regret later.
“Don’t you ever do that to me again,” he whispered.
Miranda looked up into his frightened eyes. She knew it was the fear talking. He had to know that was a promise she could never make, let alone keep.
“I’m okay.” She stepped back and put her hand over his heart. “Really, I’m fine.”
“Jesus, that was close!” Doug gasped. He caught Miranda’s eye and began to laugh. “That was way too close.” He regarded the strangers, then stuck out his hand to the one nearest to him. “I’m Doug Michel. Who the hell are you?”
“I am Finn Butler,” the man said. “It is time we get out of here.”
38
“Liley, stop that.”
Miranda twitched her head away. Delilah merely wriggled and whined and licked Miranda’s ear again. She did not like being wrapped into a sling on Miranda’s back. Miranda was not crazy about the arrangement herself. The zombies had thinned out considerably; perhaps two hundred fifty were left. Much of the horde had drifted away into the woods over the past hour. Scent bombs, Finn and Dalton said. Miranda had never heard of such a thing, nor knew of any scent that could lure a zombie away from a human.
Finn and Dalton’s original plan had been to wait it out at the house until the zombies moved on, but the propane leaking into the airless basement made their rescuers uneasy. It had started raining again, which apparently made the scent bombs less effective.
“See the one with the white ring around the trunk?” Finn asked. “That is where the ladder is. We should all be able to get to the outbuilding in ninety seconds, give or take. We stay together, head for the ladder.”
“That’s still a lot of ground to cover, especially using hand weapons,” Doug said as he sized up their route.
Miranda agreed. Two hundred yards lay between the house and the banded tree. The zip line would take care of not quite half, but it took them off a straight path. Even thinned out, it was a fair distance and a lot of zombies. Finn and Doug had agreed using guns in such close quarters could result in friendly fire, so they had to get through the old-fashioned way.
She studied the young man, this Finn Butler, as he rattled off instructions. He was just a kid, couldn’t be more than twenty. Despite the strength of his wiry frame, Miranda estimated he might be a hundred forty pounds soaking wet. His cousin, Dalton, stood beside him. Dalton’s build was stockier, and he looked older, but Miranda could not judge by how much. People living rough tended to age faster. Younger or not, Finn was in charge.
Everyone crouched low on the ridgepole of the roof. The zip line extended from the chimney to what looked like an oversized chicken coop about halfway to the tree line.
“Our archers will cover us when they see that we’re coming,” Dalton said. His lips barely moved as he spoke, and his monotone voice sounded as if it were being ripped from his mouth by force.
“Will you be okay on the ladder?” Seffie asked Mario, her voice low.
“The alternative is to be ripped apart by zombies. Let’s hope they have better escape technique.”
They know it was just bad timing, Miranda thought as she eavesdropped. Finn and Dalton had apologized profusely for almost knocking Mario and Seffie off the roof. It had just been bad luck.
Connor raised his head in an attempt to peek over the lip of the roof. When he noticed Miranda watching him, he smiled tightly.
“You still hate heights?”
“Yeah,” he answered.
“Then don’t look down.”
Connor grimaced. Everyone scooted closer to the chimney while Dalton reached up and clipped on to the zip line.
He jumped off the roof without a word and sailed through the air. Miranda’s stomach dropped as she watched the line dip, but he touched down safely and immediately pulled out a crude sword. It took the zombies a few moments to realize their prey was on the move. When they did, the shift in their direction was like a breeze rippling across the surface of a pond. Soon everyone was safely down except for her, Doug, and Finn.
“Go on, Doug,” said Miranda. “I went first last time.”
Doug snapped onto the zip line and hopped off the roof. Miranda moved closer to Finn, who handed her a short strap and a clip.
“I’ll be right behind you,” Finn said.
It was a strange feeling, to jump off a perfectly safe building and glide through the air, zombies trailing in her wake. Their wasted hands reached toward her as she flashed by, rain pelting her face. Delilah whimpered in fear and squirmed. Please don’t let her get loose, Miranda prayed as she tucked her feet and held tight to the knots of the sling. And then she touched down. She felt a tug on the line as Finn started down before she finished unclipping.
She turned and reached for the machete on her left hip. Delilah whimpered and growled.
Finn dropped down beside her, unclipped from the line, and pulled out a long pipe slung across his back.
“Throw those grenades,” he said.
The number of zombies seemed greater at ground level. They were everywhere—staggering closer, slipping on the wet grasses and redwood needles, never stopping—but Mike and Doug were ready. Doug stepped out from behind the shelter of the coop and threw his grenade in the direction they were going, then ducked back. Rotted body parts—legs and arms, only God knew what—flew through the air when it detonated. Finn waved them around the corner of the coop. Mike brought up the rear. He paused and heaved his grenade toward the house, his strength propelling it across the gray sky.
It’s not going to make it, thought Miranda as she traced the arc of the grenade across the sky, but a flash and roar shook the ground. Debris flew through the air as the shockwave of displaced air buffeted them. The propane-fueled flames transformed the little house into an inferno.
Finn led the way. His cousin and Connor fell in step beside Miranda. A zombie on her left lurched close. Miranda raised her machete and hacked into its skull. From all around came thuds and thwacks, grunts and shouts, zombie moans, and the soft pffft of arrows. Zombies would suddenly drop, arrow fletching sprouting from their heads. Snarling and snapping, Delilah scrabbled her legs against the restraints of the sling, her hard nails digging into Miranda’s back.
“Duck!” Dalton shouted as she tugged her weapon from a crumpled corpse. Miranda dropped to the ground. Dalton slashed over her head. The zombie fell, bumping into her and Delilah. She took Dalton’s hand and scrambled up.
Finn and Doug fought back to back, hacking their way through the thickening hoard. Mario fought beside Mike, his strikes clumsy using his nondominant arm. Connor dashed forward to help Seffie. Miranda slipped, regained her footing, and hacked into dead flesh.
I will never go anywhere again, she vowed.
“Almost there,” someone shouted.
Miranda looked past the zombie she had just killed. The others had gotten a little ahead of her, but the tree was only thirty feet away. Then Delilah twisted in her sling, knocking Miranda off-balance. One moment she was slipping, then mud filled her nostrils and eyes. Stabbing pain ripped through her right leg. Delilah thumped against Miranda’s back, her solid sixty-pound weight knocking the wind from Miranda’s lungs.
Miranda choked and hacked as she crawled to hands and knees, swiping at the mud in her eyes. Delilah barked and snarled, struggling frantically. There were zombies on all sides. On her knees, Miranda tried to stand, but searing pain ripped through her right knee.
Miranda squinted at the approaching zombies through mud-smeared eyes. She hacked at their ankles, trying to get them down where she could deliver a death blow. But more were coming, far too many to fight from her knees.
This is it, she thought.
Adrenaline, rage, fear, and regret flooded her brain. She would never make amends with anyone. She was going to die on her knees, in the mud. They’ll kill Delilah, too. She cried out in pain and fear, jerking away from a fallen but not dead zombie that pawed at her. A sudden dread of what came after death overwhelmed her.
A flurry of pfttt sounds from arrows engulfed her. Then Dalton was there, with Connor and Mario. Dalton lifted her and Delilah over his shoulder. Miranda cleared her eyes enough to see Connor and Mario covering their retreat, fighting side by side. At the tree, she was hoisted up and shoved toward the rungs of a ladder that started six feet up the trunk. Miranda winced as she climbed but did not dare accommodate her twisted leg. She couldn’t look down without slowing, so she concentrated on climbing.
When she finally reached a platform overhead, Doug was there, his hand outstretched to hoist her through. Miranda shimmied out of the way. Connor didn’t say anything when he got off the ladder, just held her and the whimpering Delilah tight. Tears sprang to her eyes when Dalton announced he was the last. They had all made it. Relief flooded her body for a moment, but then she heard Mario’s voice. He had come back for her and he shouldn’t have. He was too important to the mission. She twisted out of Connor’s embrace, clutching the bark of the tree with one hand.
“What were you thinking?”
Mario looked around as if he was unsure she was speaking to him.
“We can’t afford to lose you and you risk yourself coming back for me? Do you know how stupid that was?”
Mario just stared at her. So did everyone else. A hand clamped down on her shoulder and whipped her around.
“Not here.” Doug’s expression was calm, but his eyes blazed. He leaned in close. “We have no idea who these people are. Shut up.”
Miranda closed her eyes and bit her lip, trying hard to get her conflicted feelings of relief and anxiety under control. She sat down abruptly, banging her injured leg as a wave of shame washed over her. How could she have said something so revealing? There was no excuse, none.
You were afraid for him, a small voice whispered.
Shut up, she silently hissed back, but it was too late. Now Finn and Dalton knew there was something special about Mario. There was nothing she could do or say to undo it.
Doug untied a bandana from around his neck and handed it to Miranda. He scratched Delilah on the head, then straightened and turned to Finn.
“It’s been a long day,” he said, his voice indulgently apologetic, as if he were explaining the tantrum of an overtired child.
“It is just adrenaline,” Finn assured him with an easy smile. He shifted his attention to his cousin. “I will check with the others before we leave for the village.”
Miranda wiped at her muddy face. She looked up in time to see Finn step onto a rope bridge. One rope formed the bottom, with two more ropes on either side at hand height. Loosely fitted webbing was attached between the bottom and top ropes, forming a V. Finn moved swiftly across the forty-foot span, his footsteps on the bottom rope practiced and sure. He was greeted with high fives by several men holding tall recurve bows
when he stepped onto the platform built around another redwood.
Connor crouched beside Miranda. “You okay?” he asked. His brown eyes were warm and concerned.
Miranda nodded. She didn’t trust herself to speak.
“You missed a spot.”
He took the handkerchief and wiped her forehead, then sat down beside her and slipped her hand in his. Connor’s kindness only made Miranda feel like a confused and conflicted mess. Delilah began to whimper again. Miranda reached back to pet the dog’s snout with her free hand and for the first time, really looked at their surroundings.
They were at least forty feet above the ground. The rain was barely noticeable now that the redwood’s massive branches sheltered them. A sturdy wooden platform encircled the redwood, sticking out about twelve feet from the shaft of the tree. A well-made picket railing was built along the platform’s edge, in contrast to the rail-less platform the archers in the other tree perched upon. Three rope bridges, all of the same design as the one Finn had just taken, went off in different directions.
“My God,” Miranda whispered. She looked beyond to other trees with similar platforms and even more bridges. “How many of these do you think they’ve built up here?”
“I’m trying really hard not to think about how high we are,” Connor said. He looked downright queasy.
Miranda squeezed his hand in sympathy. “Just try not to think about it.”
“Yeah, right.”
Finn returned with several of the archers. They stepped onto the platform with an easy grace.
“The village is not far,” said Finn. “But we need to go; it will be dark soon. And I am guessing none of you are used to rope bridges.”
The ragged company got to their feet. One by one they tentatively followed Dalton onto the bridge. Doug spoke with Finn as the rest filed by. Connor stepped onto the bridge ahead of Miranda, clutching the ropes so tight his knuckles turned white. Doug caught Miranda’s hand before she limped onto the bridge.
“You okay, Miri?”
Miranda nodded, still appalled by her outburst. “I just need to get Delilah off my back and sleep for a week. It’s been a bitch of a day.”