Moriah

  Riley gave up on the pistol and gripped the body bunker shield with two hands. She was taking fire from Tommy and Red. She watched Tommy come towards her, pumping his shotgun, bringing it to his shoulder. He was yelling at her, but she couldn’t make out his words over the din. Suddenly Tommy was knocked off his feet, shot down by Bruce across the river. Riley silently thanked Bruce and grabbed up her pistol again.

  Tris was pinned down in her spider hole. “Smoke!” she yelled at the top of her lungs as she tossed the first of the three smoke grenades she carried into the field. Tris pulled the pins on the second and third and lobbed those too. Dee, Carrie, and Kevin followed suit.

  Flat on his back, Tommy lay in the grass. He’d been hit. Sniper. Fuck. He extended the shotgun in the direction of the shooter and fired, knowing the buckshot had no chance of reaching the gunman, much less the river. He just wanted to let the fuck know he was still in this game. Tommy let the shotgun go and drew his pistols.

  A score of zombies were staggering across the field towards the firefight. They moaned and walked with arms outstretched, seeing food before them and smelling blood. The obese one watched little Red’s head bob up and down in the grass and made for its intended meal.

  Victor pulled the doubled edged weapon from his leg. “Damn it.” He threw the thing away from himself in disgust. Reaching up—his back and shoulder screaming at him—he undid the bandana he wore. He bound the cloth as best he could above the wound in his leg. He still had the hatchet in his back. He could feel it there.

  Red had watched Tommy go down—“Tommy!”—and turned her fire on Bruce across the river. She fired the N4 and missed, the rounds kicking up dirt two feet from Bruce.

  “Whoa!” Bruce twitched involuntarily and adjusted his own aim, finding Red through his sights. He fired and watched through the telescopic sight as his own round went wide.

  “Okay-okay-okay…” Bruce kept Red in his scope as he worked the bolt on the M40 A3, preparing his next shot, determined not to miss on this one, the ground around him churning up in a maelstrom of dirt and dust.

  “Yes!” Red saw blood mist as Bruce went down.

  The mutant with the foot on its head sat up in the grass and growled, a low moan of pain and anger. Three of the bookers abruptly tackled it, flattening it.

  Tommy signaled to Red that he was okay. He pointed behind Red to the enormous female zombie trundling her way. Red looked over her shoulder, relieved Tommy was okay. She ignored the zombie, knowing it wouldn’t bite her because of her own wound.

  “Oh, shit!” A bullet careened off David’s helmeted head. He reached up and touched the helmet he’d taken from Victor. “Oh, shit,” he repeated, relieved.

  As black smoke ballooned from the tree line—driving more zombies before it—the grey smoke from the hand grenades wafted across the field.

  Riley had scrabbled over to her CETME on the soles of her feet and a palm, doing her best to keep the shield in place with one hand. Incoming fire continued to spark off the casing of the bomb in front of her. She took up the semi-automatic rifle but had difficulty bracing it with one hand.

  The obese zombie reached Red and bent down over her. She hadn’t expected it to get so close but just as suddenly it lost interest and stood, beginning to lumber off.

  “Wait!” Red sprang up, onto the rotund creature’s back. She was small and the zombie was elephantine. Its ass jutted out behind it like a shelf, and Red found her footing there as she sank the curved edge of the karambit deep between its shoulder blades, right where its neck met its clavicle.

  The zombie tried futilely to reach around to the diminutive redhead on its back. Red jammed the barrel of the Noveske Diplomat N4 under the zombie’s right arm. She leaned over the undead’s meaty limb, peering through the smoke and haze, and fired the N4 with one hand, the other gripping the karambit like a pommel.

  “Down!” Tris screamed.

  The earth in front of Dee churned up in a spray of soil and grass and he barely had time to fling himself to the side, a 5.56 mm round catching him in his boot.

  “Shhiii—Sugar!” Dee lay on his side, cringing at the pain in his foot.

  Tris—out of her hole and stalking through the smoke—fired the Calico at the zombie on which Red perched. The undead absorbed the 9mm rounds, its torso shivering with the impact, fat rolls jiggling. Red swiveled the barrel of the N4 and sent a stream of lead at Tris, but the black woman had already found cover in an abandoned spider hole.

  “Tris!” Carrie crouched in the grass and fired her submachine gun. Red’s zombie turned towards her, the barrel of the N4 pinned between its arm and torso tracking her movement as well. Carrie went flat as the bullets from the Diplomat sheared the grass above her.

  Tris hopped up and fired out what remained of the Calico’s 100-round box magazine. As the zombie shifted in place from one foot to the other, disintegrating under the hail of lead, Red appeared over its left shoulder, her left arm hooked around the beast’s arm, her hand filled with the Stechkin APS, the 9mm cracking.

  Carrie and Riley fired on the heavyset zombie as one, heavy booms from Riley’s CETME punctuating the chatter of Carrie’s SMG. Tris dove to her left—out of Red’s limited field of fire—and came up with her 9mms in both hands, discharging them. No sooner had she done so than she spied muzzle flashes through the smoke and haze and dropped, the brothers firing on her.

  The obese zombie shuddered, driven back a step as it absorbed rounds, and collapsed onto its knees. Red flung herself from its back at the same time that a 7.62mm round caught it between the eyes. The creature flopped to the dirt, unmoving.

  * * *

  The mutant with the foot in its head stood up in the smoke. Pocked with bullet wounds and bleeding from numerous bites, it had a vacant look in its eyes. In one hand it still gripped the thigh bone.

  “Tommy!” Red’s voice was nearly drowned out in the bedlam. “Stay down!” Tommy had pulled back the slides on both pistols as he lay in the grass and waited for his chance. When he thought he’d found it, he rolled onto his side and stood, ignoring the pain in his side where the sniper had got him.

  “Damned smoke,” David said to his brother. “Can’t see the black woman.”

  “She’s there.” Keith swapped magazines in his AR. “She’ll pop up again.”

  “Brother, you know this helmet saved my life?”

  “That’s good, then.”

  Another mutant broke from the trees, racing across the field. Its hair hung down to its waist and it waved a nail gun as it ran.

  Riley spied Tommy through the small, armored sight window of her shield. He was walking across the flatlands towards her once more, firing a pistol in each hand, his bullets and those of others bouncing off the ballistic shield. He was screaming at her as he came, and she still couldn’t make out whatever it was he was saying. Riley huddled under her cover and watched Tommy die.

  Dee fired and a gush of blood spouted from Tommy’s thigh. Tommy turned one pistol on D.L. and managed to fire it a few times until a round from Kevin’s AK shattered his forearm.

  “Tommy!” Red screamed as she and David lit Kevin up in a withering crossfire, the dark eyed man knocked down into the grass.

  Thomas’ son dropped the pistol in his crippled arm and staggered towards Riley and her shield, straight-arming his remaining pistol, firing it, determined that he would kill her before he died. When the slide of his pistol locked open on an empty chamber, Tommy looked down at it in disgust and threw it away. He continued walking towards the bomb and the woman, pointing at her, screaming, then balling his fist, ready to finish her with his one good hand.

  Riley let the shield fall to one side and fired the CETME from her back. Her first round caught Tommy in the stomach and would have doubled him over except that a full-auto 9mm rip from Tris’ Calico zippered up his back at the same time, causing him to stand ramrod straight. Riley fired and hit him again, but he was already dead before he hit the ground.

  Red’s mou
th dropped open as she watched Tommy fall.

  * * *

  When Keith and David turned their fire on Tris, she disappeared, seeking meager concealment in the grass. The combined smoke from the grenades and the forest fire obscured the battlefield.

  Dee heard a bellow and felt a pain in his shoulder as a nail stuck him there. The mutant with long hair and the nail gun was bearing down on him as he triggered the FN-FAL. Nothing happened. The thirty -ound magazine was empty.

  “My luck.” Dee dropped the rifle, his hands filling with the Colt Python. He fired the revolver and it kicked back in his hand, the .357 round blasting a hole out of the mutant’s back. Dee doubled-actioned the Colt three more times, each bullet tearing through the creature, the thing still firing its nail gun. Dee’s fifth shot caved in its face and it went down.

  Red stared in disbelief at the scene before her. Tommy was dead. Tommy. Thomas. Merv. All the others, her friends, her people—the closest she’d ever had to a family. All gone. She howled in anger and pain and fired her Noveske out in Riley’s direction, forcing the woman back under the safety of her shield. Red raced across the distance that separated her from Tommy, sinking to her knees in the grass beside him.

  “Tommy-Tommy-Tommy.”

  She pressed her head to his bloodied chest and held him, unaware of the bullets whipping through the air about her and the moaning zombies shambling past.

  Keith and David were firing at where they had last seen Tris when the mutant zombie wailed. The brothers rolled away from one another, each into a seated position, facing one another, looking for a target.

  Keith saw the monstrosity looming behind David. “David!” His brother’s eyes flashed at him through the helmet, not comprehending. The mutant brought the femur down with both hands, crushing the helmet and David’s head like egg shells. Red splashed against the inside of the visor, which had been knocked into place by the death blow.

  “No!” The AR-15 in Keith’s hands fired, pulverizing the mutant’s face and head. Keith got as low as he could, scrambling to his fallen brother. “Ah, no…”

  “Wanna play?!” Dee had fired out his Python and was standing, facing the zombies that were upon him with bare fists. He punched the closest one in the nose and it clenched its eyes shut, addled. “How’s that, huh?!” The zombie opened its eyes and growled.

  When Keith looked up from his fallen brother, Tris was next to him. She hadn’t known he was there and was reloading her Calico on one knee. “You…” he muttered.

  Tris turned her head to look at him. The barrel of Keith’s AR was pointing right at her. If she was surprised or worried it didn’t show on her burnt face.

  “You gonna shoot me?” she asked, continuing to reload the submachine gun. “Then what? You gonna kill them all by yourself?” Keith looked where she indicated. Dozens of zombies milled about them, driven before the thick, dark smoke that ballooned out of the trees.

  “You gonna shoot me, shoot me,” Tris cranked the Calico. “Otherwise let’s fuck these fools up.” Still on her knee, Tris fired into the advancing horde. Keith swallowed what he felt in his throat and joined her, rising to his feet, sighting down the AR’s barrel at the nearest zombie, squeezing the trigger—“This is for you, David!”—watching part of its skull lift off.

  For the first time in what seemed to her like forever, no one was firing at Riley. She looked through the armored sight window of her shield but much of the meadow was lost to her in smoke. There was still plenty of gunfire, but none of it was coming her way.

  She got off her back and rose to a crouch, covering herself behind the ballistic shield. And still no one fired on her. Riley walked the few feet to the bomb and propped the shield against it, facing towards the direction from which the gunfire originated. She backed slowly towards the river, eyeing the smoke in front of her with suspicion. There were zombies in that smoke.

  “I’m out,” Keith called to Tris. She had just reloaded her Calico and was firing it one handed, the unique design of the gun placing its center of gravity over her wrist. Keith reloaded his assault rifle and pulled back the bolt, chambering a fresh shell. He brought the stock back up into his shoulder and—“That’s for my brother!”—resumed firing, shell casings ejecting from the AR’s side port.

  Tris fired out the last hundred round helical magazine for her Calico and abandoned the weapon. “I’m out!” she yelled to him as she unholstered her Sigs. Tris extended the P238, saying to Keith, “You’re out, too.” When he turned to see what the dreadlocked woman was talking about, she put two in his chest—“Say hi to your brother”—and one in the center of his forehead.

  * * *

  Little Red stepped from the smoke and confusion. She glared across the space that separated her from Riley and started in her direction. A zombie stumbled between them and Red struck, driving her Robbins of Dudley Trench Push dagger through the side of its head.

  “Riley!” Dee called, spotting the diminutive redhead with her knives drawn and clear intent in her eye. Dee balanced himself on his FN-FAL, using its barrel and the chainsaw blade attached to it as a crutch. He hopped on one foot to intervene, but knew he wouldn’t get there fast enough.

  Riley shot and killed a zombie, unaware that Red was approaching her.

  Little Red was fuming as she neared Riley. The bitch had killed Thomas. She’d killed Tommy. Because of her, Mac was dead. Gammon was dead, everyone… Because of her, Red was bit. Red decided she was going to open the woman up, open her up and leave her for the zombies to finish off.

  Carrie interposed herself between Riley and Little Red, straight-arming her pistol, firing, but Red had already dropped and rolled forward, coming up in a crouch under Carrie’s outstretched arms, thrusting with the Trench Push dagger, slashing with the karambit, sticking and slicing Carrie’s torso repeatedly.

  Carrie tripped backwards, multiple puncture wounds perforating her torso, a look of shock and a lack of comprehension washing over her face.

  “Carrie!” Kevin swatted at Little Red with the butt of his AK-47. If he hadn’t been wearing his body armor, he would have been dead when Red and David unloaded on him earlier. And if he hadn’t just yelled, Red wouldn’t have heard him and wouldn’t have been able to react as she did. The butt of Kevin’s AK connected with the five-inch Trench Push dagger in Red’s right hand, knocking it from her grasp.

  “Die!” Kevin swatted at Red’s head but she had already ducked and weaved, coming up around and behind him and his half-assed swing, gouging the karambit in her left hand through his side, under the vest he wore.

  “Fuck!” Kevin cried, grasping her wrist before she could dislodge the blade and jam it through him again.

  “Kevin!” Dee grabbed Red from behind, lifting her off the ground, away from Kevin. She let the blade go and kicked back with her foot, catching Dee below the knee of his wounded leg.

  “Shit!” Dee dropped her, his leg wobbling beneath him. Red twisted and shot her foot out again. Something in Dee’s leg gave and he collapsed, grunting in pain.

  Red dodged as Kevin came back at her, wielding her own karambit, which he had dug out of his side. She hit him in the face with the palm of her hand and he dropped, dead or unconscious. She couldn’t tell which. She didn’t care.

  The undead had fallen upon Carrie and Dee was fighting to get them off.

  Little Red turned back in the direction she’d been heading, back towards Riley. The girl was staring down the barrel of her battle rifle at Red. And the bitch wasn’t alone. The black woman was at her side.

  “No, chicken,” Tris pushed Riley’s CETME aside. “This one’s mine.”

  “No!” Riley said.

  Red stopped where she was and calmly reached to her left forearm with her right hand, drawing the push dagger from its wrist holster. Then she repeated the movement with her left hand, drawing the identical push dagger from the other wrist holster. “Get out of my way,” she warned Tris.

  “This girl don’t stand a chance against y
ou,” Tris stated matter-of-factly. “And you know it.” Tris placed her Sig Sauer pistols on the ground. “Try mixing it up with me.”

  “Tris!” Dee yelled at her, above an unresponsive Carrie. What the fuck was Tris doing?

  “Let’s dance, grandma,” Red told Tris.

  Tris smiled at her and Little Red smiled back.

  Tris’ hands went behind her and returned with two sickles. Red still didn’t look worried. She nodded at Tris and the Tris returned the gesture.

  “Tris!” They both ignored Riley.

  Red and Tris covered the few yards between them in a silent dash and met with a clash of steel on steel. Each moved at whirlwind speed, a flurry of arms and edged weapons.

  * * *

  The forest surrounding the clearing ablaze, the smoke pouring in from the burning trees was oppressive.

  Victor coughed and found a pistol on the ground. When the zombie came out of the smoke he sighted, held his breath, and squeezed the trigger. The zombie dropped, head shot, and Victor pushed off on his elbow and his one good leg, Red’s hatchet protruding from his back. He propelled himself foot by painful foot across the field in the direction he thought the river must be, his vision limited by the haze.

  The chainsaw underneath Dee’s FN-FAL revved as it cleaved a zombie’s head in two. It had come for Dee as he sat there, wounded and vulnerable. Another zombie moved in out of the smoke, a tribal tattoo taking up much of one side of its face. The thing growled at Dee where he sat, his rifle with the under-barrel chainsaw keeping it at bay.

  Apparently changing its mind, the tattooed thing slinked away into the mist.

  “Dee, oh no—are you okay?” Riley was at his side. She was dragging a bleeding, confused-looking Kevin with her.