Living Amongst The Dead (Book 3): On the Road Again

by J. N. Morgan

  Brown eyes stared right back at him, jolted from him to Tiff and back, then with a frustrated grunt she began walking ahead, taking a faint turn left to go around him, but pointedly shouldered his right side, his injured side. When he seen her moving in his general direction when already so close, the hand on his side-arm twitched, white-knuckled, ready to unholster. When his brain registered that she was not preparing the bayonet to thrust, it was relieving, until the pain in his shoulder felt like she’d gone ahead and stuck him like a pig anyways. Thank God the thick black leather of his holster was covering the trigger, he thought. Or rather, he would have thought, if he could think of anything but the pain. A groan, a shudder, knees shook but he didn’t fall. His woman gasped as she went to him. His hand gripped the pistol so tightly, including his trigger finger, that if the leather had not been there to block it he likely would have had a negligent discharge. If the manual safety were engaged though then that would be an impossibility, however it was not.

  Regaining his composure, heat streaking through the upper right part of his torso, he looked back as he seen her approaching one of the walkers with her Simonov rifle. Soon enough they were all dispatched, one of them having given her some trouble due to a poorly aimed thrust. A kick to the torso had it fall back off of the bayonet, she pinned it to the ground with her boot, and another thrust did the job. Face distorted from the stench that came with being so close to so much rotting flesh, she went back to the two and waited impatiently for the next move. It took all the will he had to both keep his mouth shut and keep his side-arm in its holster.

  The man looked around to assess the situation. No more undead in sight for the time being, that’s good. If they keep quiet, most of those that are out of sight should remain out of sight. Hopefully. Tall, wild grasses covered the dirt on the left side of the road for about a meter perhaps and then a wall of trees told them that bush-whacking around this place would be tricky to say the least. Their path of retreat was clear, that was good, and with the absolute worst case scenario if they were to come across a horde which they had to get away from that they just can’t shake, they can travel all the ways back to the van as quickly as they can manage, hide inside of it, and wait for them to bugger off. Hopefully it won’t come to that, but he was trying to consider all possibilities, even the worst ones. Well, the very worst would involve all of their deaths, but at least he could try to control the things that were known. Hopefully if the unknown throws a curve ball, they’ll be able to think on their feet and get out of there.

  So he started leading them along that southeast road, the Sun high above, and to the right to the southwest a road stretched on for what seemed like several kilometers. This was bad, it would seem that they were definitely on the outskirts of a pretty damn big town, probably a city. Cities were never good. A redbrick apartment complex at the corner to the right, meanwhile to the left was a row of quaint houses and garages. He was shaking his head, there seemed to be no trails around this place, trails that was so convenient back at Strathcom where he’d bumped into Tiffy. Beyond the houses to the left just seemed to be more forest, meanwhile to the right the roads continued to lead off along straight asphalt roads which showed more and more houses, each one with a few undead at varying distances, always at least one or two noticing them. In spite of his burning shoulder, heaving lungs, and the nervous sweat going down him, he picked up the pace.

  With each street he passed to the right, more of the undead came to view, and more spotted them. Constantly he was looking back, past the women, but could not ignore their looks. One, God love her, some nervousness but in her features were trust and commitment believing that no matter where she followed him, he would lead her true. The other, the polar opposite. He could practically hear her thoughts each time he looked back.

  ‘You don’t know what you’re doing, do you, white boy?’

  ‘You’re probably leading us right to them, going to get us all killed.’

  ‘If only I shot you in the head like I wanted to, back at that house.’

  ‘We’re getting surrounded!’ Hatred on her face, it was turning to worry. Veronica had her eyes locked on him before but now she too was looking back, knowing that with each step forward, the ones behind them were getting a step closer to the highway, about to cut them off from their possible escape route. The store was reached, and down the road towards the right was a pile-up of sorts with various vehicles bashed into one another, and a large tube could be seen sticking out from something behind all the vehicles. Was there a fucking tank back there?! Undead in that corner store were pressing against the glass, clawing at it as they came into view. Peering back the way they came, one was already heading in their direction, another just coming into view, and he knew that 3 or 4 others at least were on their way.

  “Alright, fuck this, head back. There’s too damn many of them.” Before his sentence had been finished he was already being met with backlash.

  “I fuckin’ knew it, you don’t know what the Hell you’re doi-”

  “I’m saving your fucking life now come on.” Trying not to raise his voice to attract more than what were already keen to them, he passed the two women and gestured to follow him. “Veronica, please, clear a path and get us out, I’ve got an idea.” The pistol was out of its holster and in his hand, however he doubted he would need it; she should be able to handle this many, at least he hoped.

  “Just give me some ammo, I’ll shoot them and we-”

  “Don’t be so fucking stupid, the noise will draw hundreds, no, thousands on us rather than the perhaps dozen or so we’ve got right n-”

  “Don’t you call me ‘stupid’ you misogynist, racist fu-”

  “Do you want to die here?! Do you want Tiffany to die here?!” He made an about-face, turning to her, but his pistol was not up. It just so happened to be in his hand as he brought the arm out roughly to his side, the muzzle pointing at the woods to his left now that he was facing southeast once more. “Keep fuckin’ arguing. They’re coming. They’re gonna surround us.” Spoken as matter-of-factly as can be.

  BAAAAAAAAAAAARMP! BA-BARMP! BARMP-BAAAAAAAAAARMP!

  The three looked to where the sound was coming from, a car horn going off down one of the streets, and through a fogged up windshield he could see marks being made, a blurry figure moving. A dead one was buckled in the driver’s seat and must have been pressing on the horn. Perhaps a female corpse that was once impressively endowed, God curse her bosom.

  The firearm’s muzzle faced the road, treacherously close to his foot, nearly ‘flagging’ himself. He just looked to her with the horn going on in the distance, sometimes sporadic beeps, other times drawn out blasts of noise, and it could doubtlessly be heard for hundreds of meters, maybe kilometers around. When a city is inhabited by the dead, it tends not to make much background noise to drown things out. To the sound, to the woman she crushed on, to him, hatred, and then softness to her, frustration overcame all as she jogged northwest the way they came. There hadn’t been much before, now there were half a dozen or at least close to it. She went to work, and he had to admit, in spite of the luxurious coat and her relatively thin figure, she had an impressive ferocity about her, a strength, and so he looked back towards Tiff who was lagging behind a bit, looking around, clearly with panic beginning to set in, but obediently ran to his side as he turned and jogged his way up to catch up with their fighter.

  “Good! Good! No need to kill each o-”

  “SHUT UP!” Nicky growled. She’d just given one a Sparta-like kick to the chest with one of her boots, knocking it clear off its feet, but instead of going to finish it off she moved onto the next.

  “Fair enough…” he muttered to himself, though audible enough for his woman to hear, and she seen his grin of approval, maybe even admiration to a degree. Her look of borderline-terror allowed a faint smile to creep in.

  “G-go Nicky! You’re d-… doing great…” those green eyes had been looking in her direction until he spike pierced
an eye, embedding it into the dead one’s head until the muzzle was practically touching its eyebrow. In the stutter and pause, the rifle was given a nasty twist to help release it from the suction of flesh which caused the sound of crunching bone as the ribs of the cruciform spike chipped away at it in its ocular cavity. So the last two words of encouragement were barely managed as she looked away, disgusted but still admiring her strength.

  The way was cleared northwest, and as they headed back the way they came more of the dead were coming out of the woodwork due to the honking however by the time many of them came into view they were well on their way. Veronica lead the way nimbly, jogging on with her backpack containing some simple supplies, nothing too heavy. The heaviest item likely the glass water bottle that she elected to take leaving the lighter plastic one in the heavier pack. Following were Tiff and Rich, both huffing and puffing, Tiff due to her own overweight nature coupled with the backpack, and Rich due to still being weak from the gunshot wound in his shoulder. Each time his boot pounded on the highway to bring him farther, a jolt of pain seared through his arm.

  “Right! Lines!” He called out breathlessly. Nick looked back, and then to the right. They were soon to be back at the section of road over which power lines went northeast. An impressively wide and perfectly straight cut in the forest to make way for the skeletal metal towers that guided the now dead wires.

  “Seriously?!” Turning to jog backwards, she looked directly to him, her breathing barely quickened.

  “Just… go!” They had to keep up the pace, and this was the only chance they had of safely going east. Besides this was bush-whacking, and it would have been so unbelievably slow and tedious that a better possibility was to take this route and hope that it either started going in the right direction or got back to the highway somewhere safe and away from this city.

  It was rough going as they began, and the foliage made Tiffany doubly thankful to Brit for having given her proper footwear and the pair of jeans. They made steady progress, forcing a quick walk in spite of the much rougher surface when compared to the road they’d been on. By the time the stragglers who had spotted them came into view of the clearing, they were quite a ways away. The only way they’d be able to catch up is if the survivors stopped completely, which though two of them wanted to, none of them were about to do.

  “We’ll take… a break… soon.” He breathed to the woman at his side, sweat pouring down both of their faces. Nick would still be jogging even considering the terrain if not for those who now slowed her down. Eventually turning around, she stood coolly and crossed her arms, waiting for them to catch up, meanwhile observing the few undead who were making an attempt to give chase. Nah, they were alright. Just have to keep those two moving. The oldest of the group stopped, bent over, hands to her knees as she shook her head.

  “Ju-… just wa-… wait. Gonna… sick…”

  “I’m tired too… Tiff. We have to… keep going, though.” His good arm went to her back, on which were both his backpack and his rifle. Taking the roughly 9.5lb loaded rifle off a shoulder, she let him take it, slinging it over his own good shoulder.

  “Come on, we gotta go!” Their leader of sorts called to them, to which Richard held his hand up in recognition, nodding his head.

  “Come on… just a bit farther. Just a bit…” of course he had no way of knowing, but they just had to get out of the line of sight of those remaining stragglers. Patting her back, she coughed, but eventually started walking again at a slower pace than they had been. It would be convenient to send Nicky back to deal with them, but it’s always best to avoid confrontation when you can.

  They eventually caught up, and so the three went northeast together in a tighter group than before. Coaxing the slow ones, they managed to maintain a quick walking pace, and in time had gotten sufficient distance that the undead had lost interest. It was barely finished being mentioned when the pack was shrugged off and the straight woman sat down on the ground. Veronica laughed, choosing to make just the few extra steps needed to sit down on a nearby rock. Richard put his right knee on a flat and only slightly mossy stone, kneeling, sitting back on a booted foot, holding his rifle as though it were a walking stick. The brass buttplate was on the ground, of course. Not the muzzle. Terrible thing to do to a rifle; put the muzzle into the dirt.

  “Need… a smoke…” she gasped.

  “No, you don’t.” The black woman said sternly, knowing her pack-a-day habit all too well, and the months of scavenging in Strathcom for something as useless as tobacco. Luckily as she weened herself off of the nicotine, she stopped complaining about it. At least, until now.

  “That explains… a lot.”

  “Fuck… you.” Was her simple reply to the man who was also catching his breath, which he laughed at. “You’re… winded… too.”

  With his smile still intact, he looked at her steadily for a few seconds, faint hints of incredulity in his features. “Gunshot wound!” A valid retort, though he mostly said it as a joke. A strange thing to joke about, considering the woman who had pulled the trigger was literally just a few short meters away from him.

  “Fuck… you…” He gave a harder laugh, before a grimace as the jostle in his body sent a wave of hot pain to his shoulder once again. That little nudge that he’d been given earlier on really seemed to have made it more tender, might have even made it start bleeding again, but the bandaging should soak it up until the bleeding inevitably stopped.

  After a good few minutes, just as the sweat on the two whites was starting to dry, they all got up again and started moving. This time at a much slower, more casual pace. Now this, Tiffany could manage, even if the terrain made things a bit less comfortable than the road. It wasn’t even half an hour before they spotted some buildings up again, and the two with rifles swore. Tiff still only had the pack, though it was the heaviest item of all, the Lee Enfield being the second heaviest unless of course the SKS and pack that Nick had were combined.

  “Now let’s not panic; we’ll get a closer look. Assess the situation. Then we can panic.” He gave a faint chuckle as they went, and even Nick gave a weak one though it went without a smile, just a shake of her head.

  “Can I have my seven-six-two now?...”

  “Tiffany, what will you do if she shoots me?... again…” The thin woman was already groaning, shaking her head yet again, a decidedly annoyed frown on her face. She was going to attempt silence, but had decided against it. Before a response could be had, she turned around, hands up, lower lip pushing up on her upper lip.

  “Fuck it… keep it, whitey. Caaaan’t haaave an aaaarmed slaaaave, can we, massa?” Sarcasm dripped from her tone with an exaggerated sort of ‘southerner’ black slave accent, and though such language had been used jokingly between Nicky and her formerly feminist friend who was nearby, back during better times, the woman found it in decidedly poor taste.

  “Nicky, don’t.” Once again her head was shaken, this time more animatedly, disbelieving that even said friend was against her. Then again, why was she surprised? She’s changed. There was a time not terribly long ago where if someone called her a ‘nigger’, then she’d have been beating on the white son of a bitch who said it too, but what did she do when Richard said it? Held her down to keep her from beating the fuck out of that racist prick. “… and to answer your question, honestly… I’d probably take that gun on your hip and shoot myself.”

  Both of the other survivors looked at her with wide eyes. It wasn’t something that she was the type to say lightly, even he knew that and he’d only known her for, what, 3 weeks now maybe? Less than a month at any rate. Soon that pistol came to view, pulled from the holster that was still left unfastened, the side-arm itself still with its manual safety disengaged.

  “Weeeeell, if it’d keep you quiet.” It was held in her direction, though she was to his right and he only had his left hand. He didn’t point it at her, in fact wasn’t even holding it properly; the grip-safety wasn’t even depressed meaning technica
lly it had a safety engaged. The woman gave a quiet laugh, more head-shaking on the go.

  “You’d fuckin’ like that, wouldn’t you.” Not a single syllable suggested she meant what she said, but merely kept along with the dark-humoured dialogue. He had a strange way of sometimes making light of very unpleasant subjects, and she loved him for it. It was all Veronica could do not to groan in disgust. The pistol was holstered, and so they continued to approach the buildings ahead from beneath the two sets of power lines. If this was a part of the city that seemed to largely be to their right, to the east, then this certainly was a good-sized city. So far though, thankfully, there wasn’t much. Nick decided to leave the ammo issue alone for the time being, but still found it annoying that even though they expected her to do the dirty work, they wouldn’t trust her with ammunition.

  The houses got closer and close, but things weren’t looking too bad. One that seemed to have been lying down in a ditch crawled up onto the road, tried to get up, fell, and so its broken-ankled foot dangled unnaturally behind it as it made its incredibly slow approach. Another seemed to be sitting in the back seat of a nearby parked car, but it was facing away from them, and while they remain relatively quiet then hopefully they won’t gain its attention as well, not that it was at risk to become a honker like the other in a vehicle.

  Getting onto the asphalt once more, a road went seemingly directly east, and wasn’t looking too bad, however it was only a two-lane road instead of a four-lane. Surely this wasn’t the Trans-Canada. The cut in the trees with the power towers continued northeast. Nearby the glass of a sliding door broke on a 2nd floor balcony. Bullet holes weakened its structure, a walker that had spotted them broke through it, made a few steps on the broken glass with bloody, swollen, and socked feet, made purple from blood pooling up, before falling over the railing and falling to the ground with a combination of crack and thud. It stopped moving, however a gurgled moan was just audible… it must have broken its neck and/or spine but with the brain intact it still made its desire for their flesh audible.