The Fractured Earth

by Matt Hart

But I didn't have to worry as the shotgun boomed and the creature's head disappeared. I took aim at the last one and finally put a burst through its head, stopping it for good. I didn't see any more, so I did a quick tactical reload just as another crash sounded.

  "Joe!" I heard the shotgun boom again.

  I got back to the storeroom as fast as I could, taking care to not trip on the bodies in front of the door. Another BOOM from the shotgun.

  The window in the room had zombies pouring into it. I grabbed Erin by the back of her BDU’s and picked her up, heedless of her warning not to touch her, and then pulled the door shut. She didn't complain, and we both started backing down the hallway as more creatures poured into the hallway from the living room. I shot four of them over her head, and the shotgun boomed again as Erin put a shell down the hall and started reloading from her bandolier.

  The garage was at the end of the hall, so I opened the door and we both went in, then closed it. I pulled over a big tool chest and dropped it on its side in front of the door. I flicked on my rifle light and grabbed some wood and wedged it between the toolbox and my Jeep's front tire. Almost immediately the creatures started pounding on the door.

  Fortunately, it was a pretty strong outer door, and it looked like the wedged wood and toolbox would hold for a bit. I turned and looked at Erin.

  "Are you alright?" I asked, acutely aware that A: she'd called me "Joe" instead of "Camo Joe" and B: I'd grabbed her by the shirt and she wasn't freaking out about it.

  "Erin?" I called softly, barely heard above the noises at the door.

  She looked at me, and I saw the frightened little girl inside of the hard shell, and my heart melted and I realized I loved her, and would protect her, and would do anything for her.

  Chapter 12

  —————

  Mark

  "Let me have that water bottle back, we'll fill it up somewhere along the way," I said.

  "Yuck," said Jen, "I don't want to drink nasty roadside water!"

  "I can filter it a little and make it safe to drink. I even have some Gatorade packets to make it nicer to drink, but well, yeah, it's still lake or swamp or stream water." I smiled to try to soften the blow. "Better than dehydration."

  "I guess so," she agreed. "So how much further?"

  "You mean 'are we there yet?’" I joked. It didn't seem to go over too well, since I just got a glare from her. "Maybe two and a half hours of walking, on the road. Longer if we bushwhack."

  "What's that mean?" she asked.

  "It's when you go off-road, with no trails. Not so bad in West Texas where there's always a meandering path between mesquite bushes, but no so easy here in the woods."

  "I like the sound of the road," said Jen.

  "Road means trucks, and might mean Richards."

  "I like the sound of bushwhacking," said Jen.

  I laughed. "How about we wait here for a bit, then see what's going on at the store?"

  "Is it safe here?"

  Good question, I thought. "Good question," I said out loud. "I don't really know. That guy that attacked you, those people in the back ... are they what I think they are?"

  "If you're thinking they're zombies, then yes," she said.

  "Unfortunately, it is. Which means the only protection, if movies are to be believed, is to be wherever they aren't." I thought for a second, then added, "Or can't reach you."

  "Well," said Jen, raising her arms and gesturing around her, "they could just stumble on us here."

  "I agree," I said. "Despite the risk, I think we have to try the road. I was thinking of trying to get a mower back there started and riding it back home. Are you game?"

  "Is this one of those risky stupid things that people do that get them killed?"

  "Stay here, hide in that building, take a mower, walk, try to take the truck. I don't see a lot of good options."

  "But you have a gun, right?"

  "Yeessss," I said slowly, "but taking headshots at zombies with a nine-shot small pistol doesn't seem like a safe bet."

  We sat in silence for a minute, thinking.

  "Let me have that machete," said Jen. "Let's at least take a look and see if they've left. If they have, or there's only a few, I say we try it. I ran away behind the building and they didn't follow me, so I don't think they can chase us very well."

  "They had other things on their minds," I countered. "What's left of them, anyway."

  "True."

  I sighed and pulled the machete and gave it to her. "Stay here, be still and silent. I'll be back in a bit, I'm going to check it out."

  I didn't wait for an answer, but took off my backpack and waist pack. "Pray for safety and wisdom," I said, but she looked at me like I was crazy.

  "Okay, I will," she said. Okay, maybe that was surprise rather than crazy.

  I tucked in my shirt, then crawled slowly out from under the branches of the spruce tree. I stopped halfway out and just watched and scanned around for a minute, then crawled the rest of the way. I got up and ran to the back of the building. I approached the corner and sliced it until I was facing the store. I stood still for a while, just watching and letting my peripheral vision take in any movement.

  I didn't see any, so I made my way to the dump truck. I should have sliced every corner around every vehicle, but I didn't. Fortunately, a low moan warned me and I looked left just in time to see the outstretched arms of the old lady from the accident. I jumped and pulled my gun, flicking off the thumb safety and stepping back.

  She shambled after me, but slowly. I continued backing away, looking behind me, then I darted to the side and ran back to the building and around the corner.

  I forgot to slice the pie around the corner again, but it didn't bite me this time.

  Such a bite could be fatal. No wonder those people in the movies made mistakes and got bitten. This zombie business was terrifying. And, frankly, made it hard to think.

  I slid along the wall a bit and looked toward the spruce tree. Catching my breath, I searched for a quieter weapon than my Shield. There was a nice piece of scrap two-by-four that might work nicely.

  I stepped away from the wall, then made my way toward the corner, keeping a decent distance and slicing slowly. The old lady was at slice five, and coming along at a normal pace, but with her arms to the side. I stepped back and looked all around. The only danger seemed to be the old lady, but somebody with a gun could easily get the jump on me from the other corner of the building.

  Nothing I could do about that anyway except run away.

  Or ... I should just let the old lady come to me. I hadn't seen any others while slicing, so maybe they weren't attracted by moans, contrary to all zombie movies.

  Yeah, not likely. I figured they'd be here soon. Best be safe.

  I turned and ran to the other side of the building, and quickly sliced the corner. No bad guy with a gun, but there were two more guests for dinner.

  Crap.

  I looked around for inspiration, and saw some buckets and a pallet. I put the pallet on the ground away from the wall, and put four buckets on either side, like a funnel leading to it. Turning around, old lady zombie had turned the corner and reached out her hands with a moan, still shambling slowly. I had maybe thirty seconds. I looked back at the others, and sure enough, it looked like they might have picked up speed.

  I walked quickly back to the old lady and, not wasting any regrets, moved behind her faster than she could turn and hit her on the back of the head as hard as I could. She staggered forward and fell, and I put my foot on her large back and hit her three more times, breaking the two-by-four on the last strike.

  I stepped away, but she didn't move. I think that worked.

  I went back to the woodpile and picked up three more two-by-fours. One of them was a bit long, but I had an idea. I carried them over to my makeshift pallet trap, dropping two but keeping the good bash-the-head-sized one. Then I stepped out to expose myself to the two zombies, who were still coming with raised arms and low
moans. I kept moving a bit to angle them into the trap. The first came on and tripped on the pallet, flopping to the ground. The second started to step on the first, and tripped as well.

  Keystone Zombies.

  I walked closer and bashed the one on top as the other pulled himself out, breaking a pallet board in the process.

  So zombies are at least that strong.

  I bashed the bottom zombie and the top one in sequence, one after the other. The board broke on the sixth hit, so I picked up the other short one and kept bashing. There wasn't a lot of noise, fortunately, just the thunk of the board. A few more hits and they stopped moving.

  I stepped back and did a 360, belatedly realizing I'd been pounding them for at least twenty seconds or so—almost enough time for another one to come up behind me, and definitely long enough for a human.

  But there was no one else. I didn't have to use my leg trip idea with the long board after all.

  I put down the board. It was covered with dark blood and mashed-in hair and fleshy bits. I wondered if this infection could be transmitted by blood splatters.

  I ran quickly back to the spruce tree and ducked under it.

  "Mark! I saw everything! Are you okay, are you hurt?"

  "I'm okay," I said shakily, clearly not okay. I pulled my waist pack over and opened the medical compartment.

  "What now?" asked Jen. "Was the truck still there? Can we get to it?"

  "Just a minute." I took out some hand sanitizer and squeezed out a big blob, rubbing it on my hands, arms, and face.

  "Did you get bit?" asked Jen, her face suddenly scrunched up in terror.

  "No, no," I reassured her. "Just being careful. I don't know about blood splatters and such. I don't think I got anything on me, but I want to be careful." I put the sanitizer back and zipped up the pouch, then got my backpack and opened it. I took out a long-sleeved shirt and two bandanas. I made a German-style headband that covered my head and ears, and tied it really low so that it covered most of my neck, then put the other one over my nose and mouth, tying it in the back.

  "Jen, do you know how to use a gun?"

  "No, I've never used one."

  I took out my survival rifle and snapped it shut. "The first rule is to never point it at anything you don't want to shoot. Always assume it is loaded, and keep your finger off the trigger." I handed it to her, and she took it, turning it over.

  "Okay," she said.

  "For now, don't try to get fancy and aim it. This trigger here is for the shotgun, the other one is for the .22." She looked at me, confused. "So, this gun has two barrels and shoots two different kinds of ammunition—a small shotgun, like for birds, and a .22. The .22 is a rifle shot, but it's really only good for small animals like squirrels and such."

  Jen turned the gun over on its side and looked at the two barrels. "One trigger is for the shotgun, the other for the .22? Which is which?"

  "It doesn't matter," I said, "because I want you to just point the gun at your target as best you can and pull both triggers. I'll show you how to shoot later, but for now, if there's one zombie, let it get about five feet away, then pull both triggers. Then drop the gun and run away."

  "Should I aim for the head, like zombie movies show?"

  "No, definitely not. Shooting something in the head is really hard, even with a shotgun. Just aim it at the thing and pull the triggers. If the target is a person, a real person, then wait until they are about forty feet away and shoot just one trigger. That should scare them away. If not, warn them you'll fire again if they don't leave you alone. If they keep coming or pull a gun of their own, pull the other trigger, and warn them again. You only have two shots, but they might not know that."

  "Should I drop the gun and run if they keep coming?" she asked.

  "I don't think so," I said. "I think you should drop the gun and pull out the machete. A human could chase you, so better to put up a fight. But use your own judgement." I took the gun back, broke it open and loaded it, then handed it back. "It's loaded and ready, so keep your finger off the trigger until you shoot, and definitely keep it pointed away from me. And don't worry, you'll have time to point it and shoot if there's trouble, so keep it pointed away all the time."

  Jen took the rifle back and rested it on her legs. She looked up at me with frightened eyes. "Why are you telling me this? Are you going away or something?"

  "Oh no, I'm sorry, no. I'm going back again, to see if the truck is accessible like we said. I just want to give you more protection, and if you shoot the gun I'll hear it and come running back."

  Jen looked at me with tears welling in her eyes. She carefully laid aside the gun and machete, then fiercely hugged me and kissed me on the cheek. She held me tighter, then prayed simply, "God, keep Mark safe. Amen."

  "Truth," I agreed. I gently pushed her away and started to leave again, then stopped and dipped into my pack and pulled out a pair of wool gloves. Hot, but at least that much more protection. I put them in my pocket, then crawled out from under the tree, stopping again to scan for a minute. It was getting noticeably darker.

  I scooted all the way out, stood up, and ran to the building. I looked around for another minute, then eased over to the corner and sliced it, then ran to the other one and sliced it. I didn't see anything, so I made my way to the dump truck up front, slowly this time, looking carefully around every bulldozer and grader and tractor and whatever else those things were called.

  Finally, I made it to the dump truck and snuck underneath. The light was definitely fading, but there was still enough to see the store. It didn't look like there was anything moving around it, so the other creatures had moved off or were maybe inside, or I just couldn't see them from here.

  I watched for at least five minutes. I've never been good as whistling, but I could blow a mean hand. I cupped my hands and made an almost perfect hoot owl sound. I waited a minute, then made it again. A shape appeared around the corner of the store and limped toward me. It bumped into the truck still parked under the canopy, then turn and followed the edge.

  Zombie.

  Another shape appeared in the window of the store and thumped against the window.

  Another zombie.

  The first one turned back toward the store and bumped into the window, then followed the front of the store until it reached the corner again. It turned and disappeared.

  I imagined it was doing an endless perimeter check, like a zombie NASCAR driver, always turning left at the corners.

  Maybe it would bump into another creature and have a spectacular crash.

  There was more movement inside the store, but nothing came out, and nothing bumped against the glass again.

  I scooted around beneath the truck until I was pointed the other way, and started to exit when I heard a gunshot. Make that two gunshots.

  It was my survival rifle.

  Jen.

  I quickly crawled out and ran for the spruce tree in the back, drawing my dad’s Shield as I went.

  Chapter 13

  —————

  Interlude—Boreling Empire

  Prime Schedule Guide

  1 : Headliners : Bio-creature attacks in enclosed sub-surface ocean vessels

  2 : Headliners : Slow-motion internal atmosphere craft crashes

  3 : Headliners : Pleasure cruise ocean vessel riots

  4 : Headliners : Life support failures in medical facilities

  5 : Headliners : Night-side bio-creature first time attacks

  6 : Headliners : Credit trade center bio-creature attacks

  7 : Headliners : Alien-on-Alien violence

  8 : Headliners : Hilarious military reactions

  9 : Games : Die or Not Die

  10 : Games : Voter's Choice

  11 : Games : Dance of Death Mashups

  12 : Pay and Play : Drone Controller

  13 : Pay and Play : Build your own Bio-Creature

  14 : Pay and Play : Baffle an Alien

  15 : Entertainment Talk : Jezeen the Irres
istible

  16 : Entertainment Talk : Dradge Borgwah

  17 : Alien Interest : A male travels home

  18 : Alien Interest : A female in danger

  19 : Alien Interest : A family tries to escape

  -- scroll for more --

  Chapter 14

  —————

  The Professor

  The screams of the people below were not muffled by the distance. Sitting in his Adirondack chair, he could hear them just fine, but he wasn't listening. He relit his pipe and puffed, savoring the cherry-sweet aroma of the tobacco. He reached for the glass of wine on the small table next to his chair and swirled it before taking a sip, then lifted the glass as he took another puff on his pipe.