by A. M. Geever
Standing guard, Connor thought.
Mario rode into the light of the flare. “Imagine meeting you here. Let’s make this fast; the horses are getting spooked.”
“Tie him to me and I’ll climb up with him,” Doug said to Connor.
Connor balked. “I lost him; I’ll bring him over.”
“You have more than redeemed yourself.”
Connor shook his head. He wanted to set things right. “There’s no way—”
“Will one of you get over the goddamn fence?” Mario said, sounding short on patience.
As if on cue, one of the horses darted away from the buildings behind Mario. Connor could see Miranda’s silhouette hacking at a zombie.
Doug held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, you win.”
After helping Connor with the short rope tethering him to Jeremiah, Doug scampered over the fence like a squirrel. Despite the quickness of his climb and descent, the surrounding zombies became even more riled up. They pressed against the fence on either side of Connor and Jeremiah. Connor looked up at the rusty bolts holding the fence in place, then shook it off. They would hold or they wouldn’t.
“Here’s how we’re doing this,” Connor said to his captive. Still gagged, Jeremiah glowered at him. “If you decide to jump off, Doug will shoot you. I’ll die too, but I don’t care anymore,” Connor said, surprised to find that he meant it. He was tired of chasing this asshole, tired of the mission, tired of the constant struggle for what constituted a normal life anymore.
“Got it?”
Jeremiah nodded.
Connor waited until Jeremiah had the toes of both his feet stuck into the fence before starting to climb next to him. The metal mesh chilled Connor’s fingers. More clatter of horse hooves. Both Miranda and Seffie rode out to kill zombies coming from the far side of the buildings. As soon as they were seven feet up, the zombies below rushed the fence. It swayed, but not terribly. Connor pushed away the spike of anxiety. The fence only had to hold for another sixty seconds.
Connor straddled the top of the fence, one leg on either side. When Jeremiah was halfway down, Doug caught him by the waist. Connor flipped his left leg over the fence, perching on the top rail to get his balance before jumping down.
The sky filled with a bright-yellow flash, followed by a thundering explosion from the town below.
What the fuck?
An ominous metal creak scraped against Connor’s ear. The fence pitched forward. But instead of throwing him over to safety, he tumbled backward, as if he had hit an eddy line in a river while sitting on the side of a raft.
The sensation of falling, the sick realization that he was going the wrong way, flashed through Connor’s brain as he grabbed for the fence. Another explosion lit up the sky. Shouts and screams from the others, the clatter of hooves. Then the rope strung through his belt loops pulled him up short.
Cold hands clutched him. Connor thrashed, twisting away, trying to catch the fence with his hands. He kicked his legs, breaking one free. His instinctive reaction made a liar of him: he did care if he died. He cared very much.
Connor looked through the fence. Doug was almost to the top shouting, “Don’t cut that rope!” Mario had jumped from his horse. His good arm was wrapped around Jeremiah’s neck, pinning him to the slanting fence. Seffie and Miranda rode toward them. A crack, like a gunshot, then the fence tipped even more.
“Grab my hand!” Doug shouted, reaching for him. Connor swiped and missed. He tried again. Doug’s strong hand clapped around his wrist. Doug pulled, but Connor felt cold fingers catch his other arm.
Connor looked over his shoulder at the frenzied pack of zombies, then up at Doug. If they didn’t free him quickly, Doug would be pulled down, too.
Two more thunderous explosions came in quick succession. “They’re shelling the town,” someone cried.
Connor looked at Doug. “Cut the rope!”
Doug’s blue eyes flashed with determination. “Not yet.”
Connor wrested his arm free and caught Doug’s arm, but now they had his boots. He glimpsed Miranda on the ground. She had something in her hands. Seffie stood next to her horse, reins held tight. She had backed the alarmed animal’s flanks against the fence where it was breaking free, trying to hold it in place. Gunshots rang out, so close Connor’s ears rang. Then his feet were free. Doug wrenched him up. His boots found purchase against the metal mesh. Then he and Doug fell to the ground with a thud.
More explosions rocked the valley below. Connor climbed to his feet, adrenaline-induced tremors racking his frame. His ears buzzed and rang. The screech of twisting metal sounded far away.
Doug and Jeremiah were mounted up together. Mario and Miranda seemed to blur together as they shoved Connor up on a restive horse that stamped and pulled. Connor looked over his shoulder, trying to find Seffie. Nausea overwhelmed him. Seffie was still on the ground, fighting to mount her frightened horse before the fence collapsed.
Another bolt popped out of the fence’s moorings, whizzing past Connor’s head. Seffie’s horse bolted and the fence lurched, the top rail four feet from the ground.
Connor wheeled his horse around. As soon as the horse’s front hooves hit the ground, it balked, refusing to go forward.
More shells exploded in the valley behind him. Seffie sprinted for Connor. The fence crashed to the ground. Connor leaned down, hand outstretched, kicking his horse’s sides in a vain attempt to make it go toward the imperiled woman.
“Sef, take my hand! Come on!”
The flare tied to the fence began to pop and spit as water on the ground pooled around it. The chain-link mesh rattled as zombies spilled into the space between the buildings, only feet behind Seffie. Her face lit up from another exploding shell in the town below. She looked over her shoulder and stumbled. When she turned back, Connor could see the realization in her eyes.
She was too far away.
Seffie waved Connor on, urging him to leave. Connor couldn’t hear her voice but could just make out what she said by reading her lips in the guttering light of the flare.
I’m sorry.
The horse hit its limit as the dying flare’s twinkling pink reflection on the slick black concrete winked out. It turned and bolted after the others.
Connor ducked low against the horse’s neck, its musky sweat penetrating the odor of rotting corpses. Icy needles of rain stung his face. He gave the horse its head and followed the others.
54
Dust filled Miranda’s nostrils and coated her throat. She looked out the shop window at the carpet of thick clouds overhead. They brightened inconsistently, as if they would concede to dawn, but grudgingly. A zombie staggered past the building across the street, others trailing in its wake. The high whine of an incoming mortar did not concern the zombies, but it sounded close to Miranda.
She ducked as a hand grabbed her shoulder. A deafening explosion shook the ground as the building across the street exploded. Miranda flinched and ducked lower as the window overhead blew out. Debris flew through the open space. Glass, rocks, wisps of insulation, and shards of wood tumbled around her. She looked over at Mario. His hand shielded the back of her head.
“I didn’t see him.”
“How long did Doug say it would take?” Mario asked.
“Forty-five minutes.”
“It’s been over an hour.”
His mouth settled in a grim line. He was covered in dirt and muck and dust. The fabric strips of his sling had been a light color once, but not anymore. His face was pale and drawn with fatigue.
“You can take your hand off my head,” Miranda said.
She half hoped he wouldn’t. He’d only been shielding her, acting on instinct, but the warmth of his hand felt…nice. Like something she would not mind him doing again if they survived. He was so different from Connor, whose attempts to be protective felt smothering. Mario’s protectiveness felt matter of fact. If she was barefooted and had dropped a glass, he’d tell her to stay put while he swept it up
because that made sense. Connor would insist on switching to plastic tumblers.
Mario pulled his hand away. “We should go back.”
They walked carefully through the racks of clothes in the darkened shop. Apart from the front window, this building was intact despite the shelling. It felt strange watching zombies roaming an area that showed signs of human life. She was used to seeing them in abandoned ruins, but the buildings along Pacific Avenue were tidy and well cared for, inhabited. Thanks to the shelling and the influx of zombies that resulted from it, destruction stretched in all directions.
Mario stopped short of the shop’s back door to the alley. Following closely behind, Miranda ran into him, almost knocking him against the door.
“Sorry,” she whispered.
Mario looked back at her, exasperation plain on his face that she would make such a rookie mistake.
Miranda put her ear to the door, then stepped back. “Better give it a minute.”
Mario leaned against the wall beside her. Miranda wiped her hand over her face, feeling the grime and grit, wincing when she touched her swollen cheek. If she lived long enough to take a bath, it would be at least a week long. She looked over at Mario.
“What?” he asked, voice pitched low.
“Just thinking how filthy we are.”
One corner of his mouth quirked up. “You wear it well.”
In a heartbeat, he was in crystalline focus: his dark-brown eyes, the straight Roman nose, and curve of his lips. Miranda reached for him before she knew what she was doing. The feel of his lips brushing against hers, his hand alongside her face, the weight of his body pressing her against the wall. She felt like she was drowning, falling, diving into him, unable to get close enough even if she could burrow under his skin. She arched her neck as Mario trailed kisses along her jaw, felt his groan of desire tingle across her ear as her hips rocked against his. She tangled her fingers in his hair to pull him back to her mouth, but Mario pulled away.
“No,” she protested, breathless, then understood as the high whine of an incoming mortar pierced the haze of desire enveloping them. The mortar wasn’t close enough that they were in danger, but close enough to bring them back. Mario brushed his hand lightly against her face, as if to smooth back hair that was no longer there to fall into her eyes. She saw her own longing mirrored in his eyes. Her entire body thrummed with the need to reclaim him.
“We should go,” he said but didn’t move.
Miranda unwound her fingers from his hair. Mario stepped back, but his eyes never left her own. Then he shook himself and slowly opened the door. Miranda pressed her hand against her mouth, still tasting him on her lips, and followed him into the alley.
Two slanted doors sprouted from the ground to attach to the building’s foundation like lichen on a tree. Mario tugged one door with his good arm. Dim light radiated up at them.
Miranda descended the uneven steps. They’d found a medical kit in the root cellar earlier with ibuprofen seven years past its expiration date. She had taken eight, along with one of her few remaining Percocet. To her surprise, the ibuprofen still worked. Now her knee only looked slightly swollen, instead of horribly. She was most definitely not healed but compared to how her knee had felt before, every step she took seemed to be lubricated with oil.
Connor and Jeremiah were huddled against the far wall of the cramped root cellar, sitting on bins of potatoes, Brussels sprouts, and beets. Mario sat down on the floor beside the battery-operated camping lantern. Delilah hunkered low to the floor near the bottom step. Her tail thumped against the concrete block wall as Miranda settled herself on the bottom step and petted the frightened dog’s head. Delilah had not stopped whining since they took refuge in the confined space.
Miranda felt sure she was telegraphing the past few moments for all to see. She looked over at Connor. He smiled, unaware of the needful urgency of her body, craving for someone else.
They all looked up at the high whine of an incoming shell, but from the muffled report of the explosion, Miranda figured it had landed several blocks away. Doug had gone to meet his contact, the man who would help them. Delilah began to whine even louder. A moment later the door behind Miranda opened.
“We’re back,” Doug said as he came down the stairs.
A large bear-shaped man pulled the cellar door shut. Miranda scrambled out of the way, scuttling over to the empty space on the bin where Connor sat.
“It’s okay, Liley,” Miranda said. She patted the front of the bin to indicate where Delilah should sit next to her. Delilah hovered a foot from Miranda’s feet, whining, before squirming into the corner next to Mario.
Connor coughed, deep and wet. Miranda looked at him more closely. Dark circles pulled at his eyes. His face was flushed. She felt his cheek with her hand.
“Are you all right?” she asked, even though his skin felt just a little warm under her hand. “You look terrible.”
“Don’t look so hot yourself,” Connor answered. He kissed her palm, then folded her hand into his.
She felt like a fraud, or at least a keeper of secrets, having just moments ago been wrapped in Mario’s embrace. Even now she could see what a good life she could have with Connor if she chose it: he was kind and sweet and loved her. He would quit being overprotective eventually. He would never lie to her, either, but something would always be missing.
“You look like you’re getting sick,” she persisted, genuinely concerned.
“Just exhausted, Miri. When this is over, I’m going to sleep for a week.”
“Sorry it took so long,” Doug said. “The wall along Bay Street near the lagoon took a direct hit. Zombies are pouring in, worse than on the other side of town. This is Philip.”
Miranda’s first impression of a bear turned out to be apt. Philip stood by the bottom step where Miranda had been, but his shoulders were so broad he filled the width of the steps. A bushy beard and mustache hid his face. When he spoke, Miranda detected the faint lilt of an accent she could not place.
“This is everyone?” Philip asked.
Doug nodded.
“I’d rather do this by vehicle, but with the shelling, I think we’ll make better time on foot.” As if on cue, Miranda heard the high whine of an incoming shell. Philip looked the group over. “We have almost a mile to cover before we can get to a truck and up to Davenport. Doug tells me you all aren’t so dumb that if you threw yourselves on the ground you’d miss. Don’t make a liar of him, because I would like to survive this favor long enough to regret it.”
As everyone stood, a low buzz sounded. Philip dug in his front jeans pocket and pulled out a slim phone. He tapped the screen.
“Shit,” he said. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”
“What is it?” Doug asked.
“Looks like those Navy assholes are getting ready to send in a landing party. Loading up four landing craft, one’s just launched, heading for the beach at the boardwalk. Come to finish what they started, or looking for you all, or both.”
“Do you have any way to repel them?” Doug asked him.
“Not after the shelling,” Philip answered. “They might not realize that they blew out the wall by the lagoon and it’s letting zombies in. That might slow them down. Goddammit.” Philip looked at Doug as if he wanted to say more but couldn’t think what. “We better get moving.”
“Wait a minute,” Doug said. “From where they’re moored, they can’t see that breach in the wall. If we could hold up those zombies so that it looks clear enough to get off the beach, and then get them moving toward the boardwalk again—”
“Doug, no,” Mario interrupted. “Whatever you’re thinking, we can’t risk it.”
“Philip,” Doug asked, ignoring Mario, “how long will it take them to get to the beach?”
“I don’t even know what kind of landing craft they’re using,” Philip said.
Sounding more agitated than before Mario said, “Doug, this is a bad—”
Doug talked right over him. “Can
you set up coverage so they wouldn’t be able to retreat to the beach? Put some snipers up on the roof of the boardwalk’s arcade? If we can pin them down between the zombies and the boardwalk, the zombies will do the rest.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Philip asked. “We can’t just send people into a horde to cover a position. I’ve shifted zombies before. It takes days to set up.”
Oh fuck, Miranda thought, catching on to what Mario had already realized.
Doug wanted to use Jeremiah.
“Doug,” she said. “Mario’s right. We have to finish our mission.”
“What the hell are you all talking about?” Philip demanded.
Doug held a hand up to fend off Philip’s question. He spoke instead to his companions.
“Look,” he said, “I do not accept that the God I serve wants the human race to die out and become zombies. They don’t do anything. They don’t create, procreate, they don’t even die. They just…exist and destroy. There’s nothing about them that makes sense.”
“Viruses don’t care about making sense,” Mario countered. “This is a really bad—”
Again, Doug cut Mario off. “I know these Navy commanders. I have to, because of the Missions. People hate them so much that recruiting is hard, but they don’t impress recruits anymore. It all works better when they have people who want to be there. The one thing they cannot afford is to lose personnel. If they’re sending in a landing party, then they’re after us. It has to be that important or they wouldn’t do it.” Doug gestured above as the whine of another shell passed overhead. “All of this is because of us, but if they start taking casualties, they’ll leave. We can make a difference here.”