by J. N. Morgan
“I’m not going to apologize, but I don’t want this to go on any longer either. Here; your rifle.” Her eyes seemed to peer into his very soul as she wouldn’t let her gaze off of him. Without taking them off of him, her dark hands grasped the firearm, snatching it away.
“Where’s my ammo, you cracker fuck.” In the light of the morning Sun he could see droplets of saliva leap from her mouth to his Navy blue hoodie. She felt that the racial slur was insufficient for how she felt towards him. He’d been trying to maintain civility and reason, but his desire to maintain either was quickly diminishing. By now, his woman had caught up with the two, looking from one to the other with concern.
He stood silently, just looking at her, features entirely blank. Already he was regretting making this one small effort to reconcile things between them, and so nodded towards the road.
“Go on.” No way in Hell was he going to give her ammunition when she wouldn’t even make the effort to leave racism behind. She spat on the pavement without taking her eyes from him, turned, and continued the march. The fixed mag had its base plate undone, which brought the follower away from the bolt. The follower is the part of the magazine that pushes the rounds up, and once the follower is as high as it can go, meaning when there are no rounds in the mag, it pushes up the bolt stop which causes the bolt to lock back when empty. With the bolt stop lowered due to the follower being out of the way, she noisily pulled the bolt back and let it fly home. Now closed, she slammed the base plate of the fixed mag back into place, then pulled back on the bayonet latch to unlock it from its folded position and ‘threw’ it forward. A loop on said latch snapped into place on the end of the barrel, fixing said bayonet, and so slung the rifle in that position. If she couldn’t use ammo in it, she may as well have the spike bayonet ready, and so it was essentially an 8.5lb spear for the time being.
“Would you be so kind as to give me the ammo, babe?” Rich asked, holding his hand out to receive it. A 10-rnd clip, another clip but with only 5 rounds, and 6 loose rounds. He pocketed them in his jacket pocket, the same pocket in which he had his little plastic sachet with ear plugs which he’d used quite a few times before already. As for the bandolier of .303, since he couldn’t very well use that rifle due to both the manually operated nature of it as well as how the recoil, even on his left shoulder, would likely play Hell on his right shoulder, he let Tiff have it since she also carried the rifle. As for the SKS, if he had something to rest the stock or barrel on, then he could definitely use it one-handed. It was semi-auto so he wouldn’t need to manipulate anything until it was time to reload, and the recoil should be soft enough to where it shouldn’t hurt his tender shoulder too badly. At least, that was the theory. Still, better off just sticking to the pistol for the time being.
So the three continued to snake through the huge Ontario forest on the Trans-Canada Highway. Just a few hour’s walking had them in sight of yet another lake, not as large as the one near the cannibal group’s place but it’d do. A fire was started, water boiled, and while Tiff tended to that, Richard tried his hand at fishing to see if the lake had any meals to provide them. Seen a few potential nibbles, the floater bobbing on occasion, but ultimately by the time the water had boiled and cooled he had nothing to repay the effort it took to dig up the worms. They ate the last of their food, made sure both bottles were full of potable water that had been boiled to kill any bacteria or diseases within, and hit the road once more.
She had the Lee Enfield’s magazine in her pocket, the previously chambered ‘1/2 LOAD’ round securely pushed onto the top of it for a total of 9 rounds, the bottom 8 being all full-powered ones. With no mag and no rounds, it allowed the woman to safely manipulate the bolt without losing any ammo and without risking a negligent discharge.
“Yup, that’s good. Remember; don’t dryfire. It can damage the firing pin, I’ve done it before. Just a few millimeters chipped off the end and you’ve got a 9lb paperweight. Well…” the bayonet, still on his belt, was pulled out of its metal sheath with his left hand. “… a 9lb paperweight with a pointy end.” Handing the thing over, she opened the cocked bolt, feeling the spring-pressure within, and with her thumb behind the bolt handle her ring finger pulled the trigger. This dropped the sear, allowed the bolt to close without keeping the firing pin cocked back, and so the firearm was decocked one-handed just as he had taught her. It was how she familiarized herself with working the bolt without dry-firing. Work the bolt, open, decock while closing, and work the bolt again.
With the action closed and decocked, she adjusted her grip on the rifle so she had easy access to the end of the 25” barrel. The socket of the spike bayonet was put on the small amount of barrel that protruded from the wooden stock, gave a turn, and it clicked into place. The last she’d handled it in this fashion was after that murderous group had been murdered in turn, after Johnathan had been killed, and she put the bayonet through a woman’s head as ‘practice’. It was a grizzly thing to be reminded of, and so without any trace of humour on her features fumbled with it until the bayonet was off and handed it back. He slid it back into his sheath, and the friction mechanism caused a scraping noise though not at all high-pitched enough to be ear-splitting.
“Alright, good. If you ever have to fire it, remember to keep the buttstock tight against your shoulder otherwise it’ll ‘punch’ you pretty bad.” She was already seating the magazine, which was extremely tight-fitting since it was only meant to be removed for cleaning. The Lee mag was anything but drop-free. Tiffany was a bit tired of being instructed on handling the rifle for now. About to sling it, she was reminded to work the bolt again to chamber a round, which she did. The ‘1/2 LOAD’ cartridge was chambered, the safety flipped on, and so the rifle was slung in this cocked and locked status with 8+1 .303.
Her green eyes narrowed as she looked ahead, and so her ‘instructor’ of sorts followed her gaze forward. Veronica had stopped, she was kneeling, rifle in-hand instead of slung over shoulder. Seeing her with the bayoneted rifle, the man she had shot about a week and a half ago instinctively felt the side-arm on his left hip, thumb toying with the leather tab and the leather strip that was meant to keep it secured there. They weren’t connected, which would make for a faster draw.
As they drew nearer, around a bend in the road and past a small rise, a buck. Good-sized rack, but more importantly, a good-sized body. Lots of meat, and it hadn’t yet spotted the three on-lookers.
“Give me some ammo…” she whispered, still looking at the beast, her right hand held out beside her in the direction of the others.
“Not gonna happen.” Came the deep-voiced but none-the-less hushed reply, which was again met by a piercing stare.
“Then give… me… your .303.” The anger and hatred was mixed with urgency; they had to get it before it went; they had no food! Tiffany obviously wasn’t a good enough shot yet to be trusted to take it down in one go, and Rich was hardily in a fit state to be taking the shot, so it seemed quite obvious that she should take it. In this case, he would agree, however…
“Look there.” He whispered, nodding in the direction of the animal. Most of what surrounded them was pine trees, however the corner of a sort of red-brick building was just in sight.
“So what?!” Her voice was thick with exasperation, eyes like angry saucers piercing him.
“Where there’s one, there could be more. If it’s a town, or one of the cities along the Great Lakes…” his mouth closed and widened, lips pursing while rising, prominent and arched eyebrows rising as well while his head dipped temporarily. Meant to be an inoffensive and inaudible way of telling her that if it’s indeed a town or city that they’re near, then taking a shot would be foolish. Not only a waste of a round and a waste of meat, but within minutes there could be a horde going their way. Baring her teeth in frustration, she an airy grunt, essentially an external gasp as she shook her head and turned towards the animal again. Nowhere in sight; it had casually returned to the woods while they she wasn’t looking,
and he was happy for it. One last look back at him, hatred renewed, she shot herself back up onto her feet, slung the rifle, the bayonet of which she’d be all too happy to plunge into his chest, and marched on.
Hunger would be on them soon, no food remaining, and though it was looking bleak in having had to let that animal go, Tiff had faith that it was for the best, so briefly put a hand on her shoulder as the two slowly rose to standing. He smiled weakly at her before the two followed.
Yet another rock-cut, this one over 2m high on either side. The trees were primarily pine, though were becoming a bit more sporadic. The redbrick structure was fairly nondescript however had a pretty good-sized parking lot. Only one vehicle present, a tell-tale splatter of gore on the driver-side window coupled with a hole and a series of cracks; likely a suicide. Any portion of window without blood was too foggy and/or murky to allow them a view inside, not that any of them got close. Even from a distance they could faintly smell it. The trees were still heavily present, no other buildings in sight, and picking up her pace Veronica looked back at the man with disgust. So far, it was looking like they’d missed that opportunity for nothing.
In turn, the two in the back walked more briskly as well, Tiff shrugging her shoulders to adjust the hefty backpack she wore as well as the rifle slung over shoulder. It’ll be good once he’s healed enough to carry his own burden instead of leaving it up to her to deal with. His heart began to race as he went, and though it hadn’t been too long since he’d eaten it seemed as though an artificial hunger was gnawing at his stomach just to spite all the meat they’d given up in not taking a shot. His own gut was telling him he was wrong, and with things as shaky as they already were, this was not a time to be wrong about such a thing as food. Plentiful food. Days worth of food…
The steadily rising Sun, not too far from its zenith, was faintly a bit off to their left now. They were going about south-southeast, just about all morning that life-providing star had been more-or-less directly ahead of them. A road jutted off to the right far up ahead, a red fence not far from it, and presently they were walking beneath power lines with a large break in the forest on either side of the road where skeletal towers brought said lines seemingly east and west, no, northeast and southwest. The lines were in two bunches, supported by said towers they did not go along side-by-side, but rather, staggered. Still they traveled roughly southeast, almost having to jog to keep up with Veronica, and both Tiff and her injured man were becoming winded in short order. Another red-brick building, this one clearly a house, complete with garage. The red fence was chainlink, however as it continued on it became a tall and obscuring wooden fence. Still, the rooftops visible over it clearly proved it to be a town of some sorts if not the edge of a quaint city. Trees surrounded them to the left, and on the right side of the road with the houses there were still trees densely speckled about making it difficult to see farther than a few hundred meters.
The highway had widened from two-lane to four-lane for a while now since the morning, and as they progressed along the wide expanse of asphalt the red fence stopped as another road headed to the right. This one far longer, not just for one building, but for several. A beautiful neighbourhood of undoubtedly expensive homes, and they could probably see for a cool kilometer or close to it until trees once against stopped their view. Just barely visible behind them, farther in the distance, was more trees. Off to the right, so pretty much towards to southwest. Up ahead, another fence went along the right, that one white, and at the end was a corner in the road at which there seemed to be a store of sorts. The start of the corner which went right, towards the south, was just visible. What looked like another house was down there, though it was hard to tell from that distance. Yes, this was definitely either going to be a large town or potentially a city, and they were on the outskirts. A walker on the road amidst the beautiful houses began shambling in their direction, but their pace didn’t slow. It was soon out of sight, and by the time it reached the highway they’ll likely be long gone, but he couldn’t shake the suspicion that they were going too quickly.
“We need to stop for a moment… figure this out…” he said between breaths. Not only to make a sort of game-plan, but also to let them catch their breath. They could be walking towards their death, or a situation that could most certainly mean their death. They might soon have to run or jog for a long period of time, and if that were the case then it was not good to start out already winded. Nick seemed uninterested in slowing down and so just kept marching with rifle in hand.
“Nicky! Nicky!” She called, having heard out Richard’s sound idea. Loud whispers, essentially, not wanting to attract any more attention than they already had. Something bumped against the white fence they were going along now, and knew it had to be another one of them. Either Veronica didn’t hear, or didn’t care, but considering the distance and how quickly she was moving, how they could hear her boots on the pavement even from that far away, it was likely the former. This was ridiculous, but still they went on, huffing and puffing all the while. He handed her the bayonet once more, and she looked to him worriedly as she unslung the WWII bolt-action.
“Gonna get us fucking killed…” he muttered under his breath while looking in the over-eager one’s direction, but thankfully low enough to where the female next to him couldn’t make out his wording. “TSS! Hey!” He whispered out, even slapping the side of his leg, but it was no use. “Come on, we need to catch up… fuck’s sake…” Tapping her shoulder, he started to jog ahead to close the gap, and with a huff, was followed. The clapping of their boots on pavement as they got closer finally made her stop, and they both looked at her impatiently, three arms stuck out in the universal body language of ‘the fuck?’
“We need… to think… this through.” He breathed, and Tiffany nodded her agreement. Veronica, presently in better shape than either, wasn’t even breaking a sweat. A walker was just rounding the corner behind them, stumbling its way closer.
“The sooner we get through this, the better.” Was the simple reply, and it drained any attempted niceties from his face.
“Now listen here; you’ve been in that Strathcom place since all this shit happened. You don’t know how to survive out here, I do, and we can’t be rushing into situations like this!” Her grip was tightening on the rifle in her hands, and he seen the danger in talking so plainly while she had a lethal weapon in her grasp. Even without ammo, getting stuck with a ‘pig-sticker’ cruciform spike bayonet would be sure death right now if it prevented him from retreating from this city. He wouldn’t be able to draw his side-arm in time if she decided to try and run him through.
“Well then what the fuck do you think we should do, huh? Stand around here with our thumbs up our asses? We’ve got company coming.” Gesturing to the northwest, the one walker was coupled with another, and yet a third was coming into view from where the road branched off to those nigh-luxurious domiciles.
“Well first-off, we need to take care of those.” Gesturing to them as well, temporarily turning his back to her, he returned his gaze to continue. “We don’t know how long it will take to get through this place. There’s no high points that I can see to get a good look either, so we don’t know what lay before us, but we do know what’s back there. It’s our escape route, we have to keep it clear in case we need to retreat.” Then gesturing down the road where they were headed, he went on. “We probe slowly, carefully, and while attracting as little attention as possible. You’re going to get real familiar with that bayonet, because we’re relying heavily on you to keep them out of biting distance, alright?”
He looked her intently in the eyes, intensely, and honestly. He didn’t like saying it, saying that he was relying on her, depending on her, but it was the truth. The only real melee weapon he had was his pocket knife which was hardly a fit blade for piercing thick skull bone. It was more likely to break and injure himself than it was to take out a walker. No, all he truly had was his side-arm, and using that would be to ring the Dinner
bell. As for Tiffany, he looked to her next, holding that hefty .303 rifle with the bayonet at the end. Truly deadly in his hands, note plural rather than singular. In his ‘hand’ it was essentially useless, and in her hands was nigh-useless.
“We’re both counting on you.” This he said while looking to his lover with the fading red dye in her brunette hair, the roots showing her natural hair colour quite prominently. She nodded to him, and then looked to Nicky with worry clear in her eyes.
“Give me my seven-six-two-thirty nine.” His hand came to rest on his holstered pistol, and she reflexively braced with the pointed rifle.
“No!” Tiff cried, stepping forward to try to come between them, one hand going to her friend’s shoulder and the other to Richard’s chest. Her green eyes pleaded to Veronica, but she only had eyes for him right now, eyes of loathing.
“Help us get out of here…” he could hear the shambling footsteps and gurgling moans slowly getting louder behind him, “… and I’ll give you your ammo, against my better judgement.” Off to the southeast, in the direction they were to be heading, he could see one roaming into view on the highway, not yet aware of their presence. Sweat threatened to sting his left eye, but with a keen awareness of the bayonet that might soon be thrust into his body he wouldn’t let his hand off the pistol. If she made a thrust, he had to try and get at least one shot off before shock fully set in. Yes it would put his woman in danger, but he wouldn’t let this bitch get away with both shooting and stabbing him without getting something in return, and a cock in her mouth while sleeping wouldn’t cut it. The memory was almost enough to bring a grin to his scruffy face, however the situation was too tense to let it out.