“You need every gun you can get, Walt!”
“Later! We don’t have control here. You’ll get your chance later! Don’t make me cold-cock you, you son of a bitch. Get gone!” Lennon looked over his shoulder at a solid Latino standing nearby. “Garcia, get this man to his truck and make sure he leaves. If you have to, put him in a headlock and toss him into the back of his truck and hog-tie him. Just make sure he goes!”
Garcia nodded. “Okay, Walt. Whatever you say, man.”
More gunfire erupted from around the HESCOs. Corbett looked over and saw Danielle leading a group of townspeople into the fray, firing at the few zombies that crawled about on the ground, their limbs shattered after their tumble from the wall. From the secondary wall behind him, Corbett heard more gunfire, erratic at first but becoming more purposeful as additional gunners moved into position. Bodies began to fall from the wall as zombies were taken out, but more and more grotesque corpses slid over the barrier. For every one killed, three more took its place.
Lennon looked back at Garcia and pointed at Corbett. “Get him out of here!” he shouted then ran forward with the rest of his men.
“Come on, Mr. Corbett,” Garcia said, grabbing Corbett’s arm in a steely grip.
“You go on,” Corbett said. “I don’t want to be taking a gun out of the fight.”
“Then get in your truck and drive back before they close the interior gate. Do it now, so I can get to business, sir.”
Corbett grunted, a sound that was probably audible only to him. He retreated to his truck, glancing over his shoulder a couple of times. Garcia was watching him, face impassive despite all the commotion going on behind him. Corbett climbed into his truck, started it, and pulled away.
###
Danielle led four men down the line of angled HESCO barriers. She couldn’t see over the barriers, but it wasn’t necessary to maintain a full field of view. The zombies weren’t armed, and they didn’t have very many tricks up their sleeves. They would attack wherever they could, without any degree of guile or deception. Basically, they would launch frontal assaults until they were stopped.
Several were already crawling on the far side the barrier, limbs shattered from falling off the wall. Two clumps of undulating dead surrounded people who they had taken down, and as Danielle watched, they tore into the still-living gunners with their teeth. A bright splash of arterial blood spurted into the air. The man was screaming beneath the pile of corpses, but she couldn’t see who it was. Danielle raised her rifle and fired into the mass, not to kill the zombies, but to put the man beneath them out of his misery. The screaming stopped short. Either she had hit her mark, or death had claimed him independently of her actions.
Something hissed to her right, and she looked over to see a ghoul crawling toward her. The creature was covered with dust from its trek across the desert, and its clothing was only a mass of tattered rags. Danielle put a bullet in its head, and the corpse collapsed into a motionless heap. Beyond that one, more dead were trying to walk or crawl toward her, despite broken arms, shattered legs, and damaged spines. Zombies fell from the wall, arms outstretched, reaching toward her even as they slammed to the ground. The impacts did nothing to deter them. As soon as they stopped their descent, they began inching toward the living.
“Don’t get too close to the wall, Dani,” said a lanky, pimple-faced boy beside her. Jason Donner was a short-order cook at the diner. While he hadn’t served in the military, he had been a bit of a paintball fanatic, and he took to shooting real rifles like a natural. He nodded toward another zombie as it stepped off the walkway and plummeted to the ground. “It’s like they’re trying to get to us, even though they’re all the way up there!”
“Start killing them,” Dani said. She shouldered her rifle and fired, dropping the stench closest to her. When it stopped moving, she turned her sights onto another target and dispatched it as well.
Jason did the same, firing accurately. One shot equaled one kill. From overhead, the gunfire grew more ragged, less intense, as the gunners manning the wall were either overwhelmed, ran out of ammunition, or retreated to the ladders that led to comparative safety. The miniguns still ripped their thunder, and over the din, Dani heard dozens of 5.56-millimeter cartridges raining down from the towers like metallic waterfalls, twinkling and spiraling in the sunlight as they fell.
“Are we going up top?” Jason screamed. He sounded terrified, but the expression on his face was one of pure joy, like that of a kid who had spent his short life killing things on an Xbox and finally had the opportunity to do it all in real life.
Before she could tell him she didn’t know, Walter Lennon and a band of his men pushed past them.
“Coming up!” Lennon shouted over the gunfire. They ran for the ladders, weaving around the writhing dead on the ground at the base of the wall. Some of the men stayed back, aiming their rifles upward. They began shooting the dead with a mechanical precision, clearing the walkways around the ladders. Dani raised her rifle and joined in the fun.
Lennon started waving at her. “No, no! Kill the ones on the ground!”
The cluster of ghouls that had covered the man Dani had shot broke up and started crawling toward Lennon and his men. Dani hurried over, moving with a commanding agility despite her leg. The new prosthesis worked like a charm. She walked right up on them and began shooting, blasting each corpse in the skull as they swung her way.
She was surprised to see the man on the bottom of the pile sit up as well, his skin pallid and pale. She recognized Officer Whitter of the Single Tree police department. He was severely torn up, and his shirt and most of his pants had been ripped away. His flesh had been torn open, and for a moment, she thought the man looked like a present that had been ripped open by some overeager kid on Christmas morning. He had two bullet holes in his chest, but like the other zombies, he was trying to make his way toward her. In life, he had been a sour, authoritarian sort. In death, he wasn’t much better. Dani shot the corpse in the face, and it fell back to the ground and lay still.
Something tugged on her prosthesis, and she looked down. A small female zombie had managed to slither up next to her, probably while she was staring at Whitter’s body. It tried to sink its teeth into her shoe as it grabbed onto the titanium spar that served as her ankle.
Dani raised her leg and brought the prosthetic foot down on the corpse’s head. Bone cracked, and the ghoul’s grasp on the prosthesis weakened. She stepped back, lowered the barrel of her rifle, and fired a round into the zombie’s now-misshaped head. It stopped moving without even a twitch.
“Dudette, that was totally hard-core!” Jason said, sidling over to her.
“Keep shooting!” Danielle realized her magazine was empty. She pulled a fresh one from her tactical vest and hit the mag release on the rifle. The empty slipped out of the well and clattered to the ground. She slapped in the fresh mag, hit the bolt release, and was back in business.
As she raised her weapon to aim, a horde of zombies boiled over the wall and came crashing down all around Lennon and his men. And her.
###
“Sounds like some badass shit is going down,” Shaliq said.
“Yeah,” Doddridge said, as he listened to the thunderous gunfire that seemed to be coming from every direction. It wasn’t right outside the police station, but it was close enough to set him on edge. He knew what was going on, and he wondered how long it would last.
“What, you fucking scared?” Auto asked. He was lying on his bunk in the next cell with his arms folded behind his head. He had the cell to himself because the townie cops hadn’t wanted to put a white convict in the same pen with two blacks. Doddridge thought that was wise. Somebody would have wound up dead otherwise.
“Aren’t you?” Shaliq asked.
Auto snorted. “What, you think the zombies can get to us?”
“No,” Shaliq said. “But they can get to the people who feed us. And if that happens, we dead, man.”
“We’re dead
anyway,” Doddridge said. Like Auto, he was lying on his bunk, which was separated from Shaliq’s by a sink and the toilet. “These people ain’t gonna look out for us. Once those things get inside, they’re gonna leave us in here to rot.”
“I don’t know, man. These people, they’re not like the guys who run penitentiaries,” Shaliq said. “They’re all country boys. You know, America, Mom, and apple pie and shit. I don’t think they’ll be leaving us in here if they can avoid it.”
Doddridge chuckled. “Boy, you think a buncha rednecks and spics are gonna give a shit about us? And they even got fucking Indians here, man. You think those people are gonna stop runnin’ and say, ‘Hey, what about the two niggers in the jail cell?’ We ain’t from their town or their tribe. Hell, you ain’t even from their state.”
Shaliq said nothing, just looked across the cell at Doddridge with empty eyes.
“Don’t you be eyin’ me, boy,” Doddridge rumbled.
Shaliq looked away.
Auto chuckled. “Heh, every cell block has its bitch.”
The door to the prisoner area opened, and Lasher appeared with an owlish Latino in tow. The Hispanic guy sported a thick porno mustache and thinning hair that was beginning to go silver. The new prisoner had his hands cuffed behind his back, and he looked terrified. He squinted and blinked, and Doddridge thought the guy needed glasses and wondered why he wasn’t wearing them.
“Is this really necessary?” the man asked with a quaver in his voice.
“Well, yes, Hector. It is,” Lasher said. “You broke the law, and this is your reward.”
“I was just cooking a steak!”
“Well, I hope it tasted good.” Lasher steered him over to Auto’s cell.
“I didn’t get to eat it,” Hector said.
“Life is full of bitter disappointments.” Lasher pointed at Auto. “Get up, big guy. You need to lean against the bars and put your hands through them so I can cuff you.”
“Fuck you, Barney Fife,” Auto said.
“Now, now. Don’t be so rude, or I’ll pepper spray all of you. Or maybe I’ll go and get a taser, and we can have a little chat while you’re lying on the floor, pissing yourself. Your call.” Lasher’s tone was easy and conversational, as if he were offering Auto the choice between a cheeseburger or Chinese food.
“Tase him, man,” Shaliq said.
Auto sighed and slowly rolled off the bunk. The bruises on his face were fading, but he still looked like hell. He walked over to Lasher, turned around, and extended his big hands through the bars.
Lasher cuffed him quickly and efficiently. “I do so appreciate the cooperation.” Lasher unlocked the cell door and pushed Hector inside.
“Really, Officer, I think this is a little much,” the paunchy Latino said.
“Well, it’s what Chief Kuruk wants. And he’s the boss, Hector.”
“But I haven’t done anything!”
Shaliq chuckled. “Yeah, we all say that.”
Lasher removed the Latino’s handcuffs and pointed to the second bunk. “Sit down over there and keep to yourself until we can figure out what we’re going to do with you over the long term. As you can see, the accommodations are the finest in the land. Bunk, sink, and shitter. Try not to get them confused with each other, and you’ll get along just fine.”
“But—”
“But nothing, Hector. Enjoy your stay with us. I hope it’ll be comfortable.” The fat cop closed the cell door then uncuffed Auto. “Try not to make any trouble, boys.”
“Hey,” Doddridge called out as the cop turned to leave, “what’s going down out there?”
“Usual shit. Zombies trying to storm the castle. No need to worry, though, they’re not even on this block yet. You’ll be fine. I’ll be back with some food. In fact, I even have a kosher MRE for you tonight, Shaliq. Guaranteed pork free.”
After Lasher left the block, Auto stepped toward his bunk.
The Latino looked up at him with a horrified expression. “Hello,” he said, his voice trembling.
“Shut the fuck up and get out of my way, or I’ll break your fucking jaw,” Auto said. “Don’t fucking talk to me. I hate spics as much as I hate niggers.”
“Oh.” the Latino practically jumped onto the next bunk.
Auto stretched out on his bunk and clasped his hands behind his head.
“Hey, Mr. Magoo,” Doddridge said. “What did you do out in the world?”
“I run the town pharmacy,” Hector said.
“Pharmacy? What, they find you out there cookin’ up some meth?”
The Latino blinked at him. “No. No, I was just cooking a steak!”
“Cooking a fucking steak got you in here? Shit, man. I know guys who cooked babies and they’re still free.” Doddridge shook his head. “Well, whatever you did, man, it musta been pretty hard-core for a pussy like you to wind up here.”
“I don’t want any trouble,” the Latino said. He looked at Auto. “My name’s Hector Aguilar. What’s your name?”
Auto slowly turned his head toward the man. “The name’s Death,” Auto said, “and I only talk to people I intend to kill.”
Aguilar’s eyes practically bugged out of his skull.
Doddridge laughed. Even in the middle of the zombie apocalypse, funny shit still happened.
###
“So really, why are we here again?” Sinclair asked when Victor stopped the golf cart on the side of Main, just down the street from the roach motel.
People atop the nearby wall were firing at whatever lurked on the other side. The gate in the middle was still open, and it was guarded by men in paramilitary gear.
“Well, you want to document what happens, right?” Victor said airily as he stepped out of the golf cart. “Here’s your chance, because what’s happening is right across the way.”
“Yes, but what is happening?” Sinclair asked. Sweat broke out across his brow. The din from all the gunfire was horrendous, and he felt weak and queasy as he fumbled with the camera.
“Life. Death. The usual. Listen, why don’t you get up on the wall? You’ll be able to get some great pictures from there.” Victor turned and waved to someone.
Sinclair climbed out of the golf cart and saw that the police chief was hailing Barry Corbett. He didn’t look to be in a particularly welcoming mood, but Sinclair took the chance and filmed his approach, anyway.
“Victor, about time you showed up,” Corbett snapped.
“What brings you up here, old man?” Victor asked. “Thinking if you fart enough dust, the zombies will go back to being the normal dearly departed?”
“Why is everyone calling me ‘old man’ all of a sudden?” Corbett asked. Sinclair was impressed that his gravelly voice was clearly audible over the roar of gunfire.
“Because you’re older than the desert?” Victor offered.
“Sinclair, are you taping me?” Corbett asked, looking directly in the camera.
“Well, it is part of what I’m here for,” Sinclair said. “Barry, might I be able to interview you?”
“You may not, you useless idiot. Get up on the wall. Tape your wife while she kills zombies. I don’t know how you managed it, Sinclair, but you actually wound up with someone in your life who can actually do something. That must’ve been a mistake. I know you hate hanging around people who are more capable than yourself.”
Sinclair stiffened, despite the fear building inside him. “Very well,” he said. “How do I get to the top of the second wall?”
Corbett pointed at a ladder a few feet away. “Right there.”
Switching off the camera, Sinclair marched over to the ladder. He put a pair of earbuds in his ears because the noise of combat bordered on deafening, and getting closer to it would leave his ears ringing for hours, if not days. Sinclair slowly ascended. His limbs felt numb and heavy even as fear-driven adrenaline coursed through his body. He didn’t know how long he would be able to last on the wall, but he had to try to get as much footage as he could. When he got to t
he top, clumsy with fear, he grabbed the edge of the wall and held onto it tightly as he looked out onto hell.
Men and women were firing rifles across the gap between the two walls. Dozens of zombies were piling up on the other side of the main wall, limbs flailing as they formed grotesque mounds over which more ghouls would clamber until they became part of the mound or made it to the top and over the wall. Almost all the defenders that had been positioned on the first wall were gone, and Sinclair didn’t know if they had been killed or if they had retreated. While he was no student of matters military, even Sinclair could see there just wasn’t enough firepower. Despite the towers and their hideous Gatling guns, which continued to bellow in the early evening hours, the dead kept coming.
Dear God, I’ve got to catch this! Sinclair grabbed his camera, switched it on, and pointed it at the violence below. There were scores of zombies on the ground inside the wall. The fighters down there were shooting them as quickly as they could, and for a minute or two, Sinclair thought everything might be okay.
Then, a huge wave of bodies spilled over the wall, raining down on the town side. Most were so damaged by the impact that they could only crawl, but several landed on softer bodies, and they were still able to get up and hobble toward the line of defenders. More and more zombies came across. One of the Gatling guns in the towers suddenly went silent. Sinclair turned his camera in that direction in time to see the crew lean out from the gun nest and begin firing with rifles. He zoomed in on the base of the tower. Zombies milled around there, looking up at the defenders as if waiting for them to try to escape.
If those guys don’t get out soon, they won’t have a chance later, Sinclair thought.
The defenders on the ground were slowly being pushed back by the more ambulatory attackers. Through the camera, Sinclair spotted a young woman he’d seen before, a veteran Marine who had fought in the Middle East. He had wanted to interview her but hadn’t found time to contact her. He’d heard she was disabled, but if that was the case, it didn’t seem to matter. He watched her stomp a zombie’s skull then shoot it at point-blank range.
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