by Rosaria, A.
Lauryn didn’t waste time scolding him, though he knew he deserved it. He had almost gotten himself and the girl killed. He had miscalculated the risk by not taking into account that some zombies were faster than others, and by forgetting that sometimes zombies behaved unpredictable and cut loose from the herd mentality. This one broke out to catch him and get the first munch and would have succeeded if not for Lauryn.
The girl kept saving him and in more ways than just physically. Despite the fear he saw in her eyes and the stressful biting of her lip, she persevered and kept going. Dragging Emma strained her. He could see the sweat pouring over her face, but she felt she could keep going and he wondered if she was okay.
They caught up with Brenda, who waited for them at the spot Derrick started his climb. Above them, Derrick was plotting a route up.
“Don’t stay there. I found a way out,” Derrick yelled.
The zombies were still coming. They had no option than going up. Staying or keep trying to outrun the zombies would get them caught. They started the climb. The ground was loose. Ralph’s feet slipped, sending stones and dirt rolling down. It made it difficult to move, especially while having to take care of Emma. It would be a long time before Emma ever got back to some semblance of normalcy, if ever.
They climbed about a hundred feet when the horde reached the base and tried to go up after them, but every few feet, the zombies slipped back down. The loose ground turned to be a saving point. Every so often, a zombie broke free and climbed a few feet, but eventually, after a wrong shamble forward, stepped on a loose rock, and rolled down.
They had to go a few more feet to reach the top—a flat, straight patch a hundred yards wide and four hundred in length with large boulders and plants sprouting out of the rocky ground. They could climb higher, but this was an ideal place to get their bearings before going on.
“Guys,” Ralph said, “we should rest for a while. They can’t chase us.”
Derrick looked down, frowning at the mob trying to climb up. “I don’t know about that.”
Emma went frantic, sobbing out nos. Maybe they were right and this wasn’t the right moment to stop for a rest, but he needed a breather. He could not go on half-carrying the girl.
“Emma, look at me.”
The girl’s eyes kept going from side to side as she repeatedly said no.
“Emma!”
Her eyes finally went to him. “Stay away, stay away, stay away.”
She was looking straight through him. Ralph slapped her. Lauryn protested, but he ignored her and slapped Emma again. The girl’s eyes snapped back to him.
“Are you all right now?”
Emma nodded.
“We are going to get you out of here. Nothing will hurt you.”
“You promise?” she asked, rubbing her cheek. Ralph noticed his red handprint on her skin and felt guilty.
“I promise.”
He took her hand and led her to the top.
“You want to rest here? The zombies can’t climb that well,” Ralph said.
They looked back down. The zombies where now specs that reached from the base to the compound. There were not hundreds chasing them, but thousands. He had never seen this many together.
“If you don’t want to rest, we can go on.”
Emma shook her head. “No, it’s all—”
Her head snapped back violently, and the back of her head exploded in a mushroom of blood and brains. As her knees buckled and she fell lifelessly to the ground, the report of a rifle roared. He held her hand, warm, still warm; he let go as she fell. Paralyzed, he stood looking at her. Derrick and Brenda ran for cover behind a large boulder. Lauryn grabbed his hand and peeled him away from Emma. He felt something whizz by, and less than a second later, the rifle report reached them again. Lauryn pulled him toward the boulder Brenda and Derrick used for cover.
Another bullet whizzed by. The next one hit the rock. Someone was shooting from afar. God damn whoever that was. Ralph barely held his rage in. This was too much. Emma didn’t deserve this. Ralph grabbed his rifle, left cover, and stared shooting wildly. In the distance, he saw sunlight reflect on glass. A bullet whizzed by, followed closely by the gun’s report. Ralph shot again, where he saw the light reflect. Lauryn grabbed him and pulled him back to cover. He heard someone laughing and realized it was him and stopped abruptly.
Lauryn looked horrified. “What’s wrong with you? You could have been killed!”
What was the point? Pinned down by a sniper, zombies waiting below, they were stuck here and at the mercy of some cold-blooded killer.
“Emma is dead,” Ralph said.
Ralph watched as Lauryn looked at the dead girl lying on the ground. Her mouth opened to say something, but she was at a loss for words. And why shouldn’t she be? Crap like this, there were no words to describe or understand it. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that murderous assholes lived when children died. It wasn’t fair that shit like this happened in a world where the dead were gunning for the living. Each single life should be worth tenfold what it used to before the zombie flu. No, he was wrong. Some lives were worth nothing—those who chose to go out and instigate violence. They didn’t deserve to live, and he will kill the son of a bitch who shot Emma.
Derrick and Brenda slid in beside him.
“What are we going to do now?” Derrick asked.
“We stay behind cover and wait for the bastard to expose himself.”
Derrick nodded. Brenda cocked her head and frowned. “What’s that?”
The shooting had stopped and the only sound he heard was the moans and growls from the zombies trying to climb the hill.
“He’s gone?” Derrick said.
Brenda shook her head. “Don’t you hear it?”
Ralph held his breath and then he heard it, a faint whop, whop, whop. He looked at Brenda.
“I hear it too,” Lauryn said.
It became louder. Ralph’s face paled.
“What’s the matter?” Lauryn said.
“It’s a helicopter.”
Derrick sat down, back against the rock. “More are coming,” he mumbled.
Ralph nodded, but Derrick didn’t see him. He had dropped his shotgun in front of his feet and held his head into his hands, rocking back and forth. This wasn’t the time to lose it. Brenda sat down next to the young man and held him. Brenda looked at Ralph, a desperate question in her eyes, but Ralph didn’t know the answer and was glad Brenda kept silent.
“What should we do?” Lauryn asked.
Ralph grunted, about to say, “He didn’t know.” He pressed his lips together. With Ethan dead, they now looked to him to lead them.
“Grab Derrick’s shotgun.”
Lauryn nodded and went over to grab the shotgun at Derrick’s feet.
“Brenda, try to get him back to us. We’ll need him.”
Ralph didn’t wait for a reply; he knew Brenda would do what he asked even if he hadn’t. But he had to do it, to give them the impression hope wasn’t lost yet. No matter how much he despaired, he couldn’t afford to show it.
His eyes fell on Emma. He pushed his thoughts back, not wanting to break down like Derrick. He inhaled deeply and quickly peeked. A light flashed about five hundred yards away. Ralph drew back, and less than a second later, the stone chipped where his head had been, followed by the rifle’s report.
Great, the sniper was still there. No way would they be able to fend off the chopper in the open.
“Lauryn, watch our left. I’ll do the same over here.”
Derrick was still on the ground, but he was talking to Brenda. Clear relief showed on Brenda’s face. Good. Derrick was much better with that shotgun than Lauryn ever would be, but for the time being, the young man was still grounded and Lauryn had to do.
The whop of the chopper grew louder. Ralph felt the wind sweep up as it descended. If only the helicopter flew over the rocks then Ralph and his group could get a shot at it. No such luck, the pilot knew the sniper had them cov
ered and it could land safely out of reach. Ralph crept closer to the edge. He peeked out again. A flash. Ralph ducked. The stone above him chipped as the bullet ricochet away. The sniper most likely used a bolt action rile with magnifying scope. It would take a second before the sniper loaded another bullet in and got his bearings back.
Ralph observed the helicopter. Ralph drew back and had to force himself not to drop down sitting and join Derrick. A large cargo military transport helicopter had landed; the pilot was a young African-American woman who couldn’t be older than twenty, with her hair crew-cut short, and pilot sunglasses on that covered a quarter of her face. The pilot wasn’t what upset him. It was the four men with heavy body armor carrying SMGs. No way they could fight against that and survive. Ralph shook himself awake. Everyone’s eyes were on him, expecting something, anything.
“Derrick, are you okay?”
The young man nodded.
“Lauryn, give him his shotgun, and cover my back.”
Derrick stood up, took his shotgun from Lauryn, and took her spot to the left.
“Brenda, cover him.”
Brenda nodded.
“Stay in your positions, wait for them to get close, and then blast them with everything you got.”
The sound of boots grinding the ground came from his side. Ralph signaled Lauryn to stay put as he swung out from cover. Right in front of him stood a tall, broad-shouldered soldier. Ralph squeezed the trigger and got the soldier square in the chest. The big man staggered back a step, and then launched himself at Ralph. The bullet had not gone through the body armor.
Ralph drew back behind cover. Too late. The soldier tackled him to the ground and started wailing fists at Ralph, hitting him hard. Lauryn wanted to join in, but Ralph managed to yell at her not to. She grabbed her axe and threw it at the soldier. The axe head hit the soldier’s helmet, knocking the man off Ralph. Ralph scrambled behind cover. The sniper shots hit the ground close to his feet. Lauryn grabbed him and pulled him in.
“I thought I lost you.”
Ralph looked over his shoulder. The soldier stood, shook his head to one side as if getting water out one ear. He bent over and picked up Ralph’s rifle, his own SMG somewhere on the ground. He aimed at Ralph. Lauryn pushed herself in front of Ralph. He tried to pull her back, but she didn’t budge. The soldier lowered the rifle and cursed.
Derrick blasted his shotgun twice, holding the soldiers on his side at bay. Ralph yelled at Derrick to come help, but the gunshots drowned his voice.
“Get your gun,” Ralph yelled at Lauryn.
Wide-eyed, she looked at him. Her pistol was not on her belt. Brenda had it, shooting at the incoming soldiers at her side, and ducked back in cover as the soldiers returned automatic fire. They were fifteen feet away, but for all the sound going on it was like a mile apart.
The large soldier for some reason had not taken the shot; instead, he came in with a big smile on his face. Ralph wondered why he bothered. He had a clear shot on them. The soldier was upon him. Ralph managed to pull Lauryn back and stood up to meet the soldier, but was too late, a boot stomped his stomach, sending him into the dirt. He hoped Derrick or Brenda would look his way and take care of the soldier, but they were focused on keeping the soldiers from advancing on their side. They were doing a much better job than he and Lauryn had.
The soldier moved in to kick him again. Ralph rolled to the side. Lauryn launched herself at the soldier; the soldier grabbed one wrist, dropped the rifle, and hit her hard in the jaw. In horror, Ralph saw her slump down. Ralph jumped for the rifle, but the soldier kicked him in the stomach. Ralph rolled to the side, clutching his belly. The wind escaped him. He saw the soldier lift Lauryn over his shoulder, bend over, and grab the rifle. He touched his earpiece, mumbled something, and walked away as the gunfire died down.
“Why are they pulling back?” He heard Derrick say.
“Over here,” Ralph yelled.
“Shit,” Brenda hissed as she ran toward him. She helped him up.
“They took Lauryn.”
Ralph stumbled to go after the soldier. Brenda pulled him back.
“Let go of me.”
“You’ll get yourself killed.”
He brushed her off. Derrick rushed to help Brenda restrain him. Ralph punched him. “Let go of me!”
Ralph yanked the shotgun from a surprised Derrick, who was rubbing his jaw where Ralph had hit him. Ralph ignored their warnings and left cover. No sniper fire got him. A tall, slender man with blond hair got on the chopper parked a hundred yards away. He had a scoped rifle strung over his back. The huge soldier who captured Lauryn was close to the chopper while the two other soldiers kept his back covered.
Ralph gritted his teeth and set to a run. The two soldiers aimed at him. One fired, but his gun jammed. The other shot too hastily and missed. The one with the jammed gun dropped it and ran for the chopper. The huge soldier pushed Lauryn inside the helicopter and the rotors started to spin.
Air swept up and about, unsteadying the soldier still facing Ralph, sending his next bursts wide. At forty yards, Derrick’s shotgun loaded with buckshot instead of slugs would not hit much, but still Ralph pulled the trigger. The wide spread of pellets spread too far apart and lost momentum to do any damage, but enough pellets hit to throw the soldiers aim off. Ralph quickly closed the distance. Twenty yards to the soldier, forty to the chopper. The chopper started to lift. The soldier looked over his shoulder and saw this. He hesitated. Ralph shot again. At twenty yards, more pellets hit the soldier, though not penetrating the armor. The soldier staggered when hit, and he turned tail, not wanting to be left behind. As the soldier turned his back to run, Ralph aimed at his legs where he had no armor on. At ten yards, the effect was devastating. The pellets blew off a chunk of bone, muscle, and flesh, and blood splashed. The soldier cried out in pain and toppled over when his damaged legs couldn’t carry the weight.
The soldier turned on his back to shoot, but Ralph shot first. The pellets ripped through the soldier’s hands and arms, ripping fingers off, leaving him with mangled hands unable to hold the SMG.
Ralph sprinted after the helicopter as it started to lift higher. Ralph jumped. His fingers closed around the landing feet. With a jerk, the chopper moved to the side. Ralph’s fingers slipped and he hit the ground. He crawled on his knees to see the helicopter disappear over the horizon, only able to hear its whop, whop, whop until that was gone too.
Gone with Lauryn.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Sarah left her compound. There were no guards waiting outside to tail her today. The usual two were dead, and she guessed Mr. Ward must trust her enough now not to have her followed. Or it was because she would be set free that it didn’t matter anymore. There was no one forcing her to go to that dreaded school. She should be glad but she wasn’t. Sarah couldn’t stay in that room, not after what had happened. She still felt sore inside and out. The physical pain she could bear, but the other pain, she needed someone to talk to, and not Terry. Terry was out on a mission anyway. Priss would do. She didn’t only want to talk to her, but also see if Priss was getting better.
There were more people on the street than usual at this time of day. The common people should be at work. Guards loitered around, while workers stood in small groups, huddled close, talking loud. As she passed, they all looked at her with distrust. They knew who she was. The closer she got to Mr. Ward’s compound, the more people she saw gathered. They carried pickets, the signs held high and read: no more, equality, fair pay for fair work, truth, freedom, and justice. The one with justice on it had her worried most. It had painted on it a stick figure hanging from a tree, and instead of a generic stick figure, this one was made to look like a woman. The portly, balding guard holding it stared at her with hateful eyes. Sarah shuddered and quickened her pace.
Was this the turmoil Mr. Ward had warned her about? Had they reached the final drop and the cup was spilling over now? She should be with them, protesting, trying to bring the administrati
on down, but she doubted the people wanted her. She was cast between two groups, and if she stayed in Haven, she would be ground to a pulp. It now made sense why Mr. Ward wanted her gone. Maybe Priss’s father wasn’t such a bad guy after all. Sarah smiled at her own naivety. One good deed didn’t undo thousands of bad ones. There was no excuse for experimenting on humans, even if it was to find a cure.
Sarah rang the doorbell once. She waited ten counts and then pressed the button again and held it for two seconds. Across the street, people gathered. They stood in silence. Some looked pale, ill even. They held their picket signs as if it took great effort to hold them up. Their eyes burned into her back. Sarah knocked. One man picked up a stone and threw it, hitting the door inches from her head. She knocked harder and pressed the bell repeatedly. Another stone hit close. She glanced back; more people were picking up stones. Her eyes fell on the portly guard she seen before. He was smiling, drawing his arm back, a big stone in his hand.
The door opened, a hand grabbed her and pulled her in. As the door closed behind her, a stone crashed against it. Mr. Ward stood in front of her, frowning, not looking pleased at all. “What are you doing here?”
It should be obvious. “Is Priss in?”
“Of course she is in. She is tired and not up for visitors. You should go.”
Her eyes widened. “You can’t send me back out there.”
Mr. Ward scowled at her, and looked at the door. Another stone hit. “I can send you out, I should even, but lucky for you, I won’t.”
“Can I see Priss now?”
Mr. Ward nodded. Sarah hurried away from him.
“Sarah?” She turned to face him again, wondering what he wanted this time.
“She has the flu and needs her rest, so keep your visit short. I’ll call someone to clear the mess in front so you can leave.”
Mr. Ward eyed her, calculating what to do next. Sarah wasn’t sure that whatever went through his mind was a good thing for her. The man might like her a little more now since she saved his daughter, but she had no illusions that they were friends.