by Marlin Grail
He lets down his rifle, then joins his hands, palms up, and crouches down. My left foot steps on first, then, with both our exerted energy, I’m boosted to the top beams.
They didn’t see or hear that. Once again, rest in peace.
I wobble at first on the beams. Clenching my mouth shut helps my mind assist in stabilizing my legs. It succeeds. I detach my pistols from my pants, then fire at the light and gunfire sources—altering my trigger pulls to bounce back and forth between one another.
My targets all fall to the ground lifeless.
The rest of our dispatch mobilizes down the path. I use this opportunity to be our higher ground advantage. Battle howls come from the building, now only 100 feet away from us.
The divided maze of wood and logs disperses further down to the main perimeter of this building. Our advance stagnates once more, as the other aggressors have found cover by the building’s side ramps and railings.
They’re now fully focused on us.
I suddenly reconfigure my position to fall to the ground below, now that I have spotted potential cover for me. Before that I claim two more aggressors when they expose themselves and lose their shielding.
I assume the remainder of our threat has rallied all together to this side of the battle. That hope gets trampled when I hear the gunshots commence on the left side of this site.
Where our mission leader went towards.
Chapter VIII
He has no weapons! No way of communicating his situation!
I’m unable to think further about him because of our immediate skirmish.
We all knew the risks. C. followers can’t be blamed for “following” what we’re ordered to do.
The major thing in my mind is to drop to the ground as quietly as possible. I decide what else I might accomplish with this action. How about taking the time to also practice the idea of landing more gracefully—like a cat—as the instructor suggested?
Toe pad first, then heel. Let’s see if I can have this in my toolset of defense.
The gravel firmly halts my descent down, though there is very little pebble scattering to be heard during a lull in the fighting. Warfare picks back up within the span of a rejuvenating breath. A groan comes out of me while I quickly slide to a forklift I spotted before jumping.
The landing proves to be more in control in the way that instructor spoke of. The bullets didn’t seem to spread any wider to my area than they were trajecting already.
Farther to the right of me is the rest of our dispatch. They huddle tight, and are somewhat wary to move out of cover to fire. I understand the struggle, because of the aggressors’ greater level in height, and number in people overall. As I claim a reload period, I notice the gunfire from the left has stopped. This makes me concerned that our mission leader could’ve possibly been killed.
Remember to think one battle at a time, Gary. Any flanker on the left would have a rough time, considering the maze-like lanes and log paths riddle all across that area.
I holler over to our other three, mainly to grab the attention of a grenade carrier. “Chuck one over! Remember the plan! Flush them to the opposite wall here!”
If our RPG man is positioned correctly, he’ll wait until they’ve started to move back before he attacks.
We all mutually accept what comes next.
“Flask Carrying Man” throws a grenade over the logs. I hear cluck, and then it sounds like the grenade has dinged right against the building wall. In response, several of the aggressors shout at one another to move. In order to hurry them further, we commence shooting at every speck of movement. Especially when we see the ones that run down the gravel-front to their raised level on their left.
However, two lunge themselves over the railing on their right. This gives me full responsibility to make sure they don’t become a wide offense. The explosion goes off while I take the necessary risk to keep sight of the ones that went over the ledge.
The action movie star in me appears when I gallop sideways and spot the two of them down on the ground. They attempt to be the quickest to the draw, but mine had already started before I even saw their faces.
I’m sorry. I have to think you wouldn’t be friendly or innocent whatsoever if we came looking to negotiate.
I move on and look to my right, now seeing the three of our dispatch have already rushed up the walk ramp. They’re shooting directly below them erratically. I soon see why.
Some didn’t die immediately from that grenade blast.
I catch up, knowing we’ve reached our next divisive tactic once the RPG missile blaringly sets off. It impacts directly in the path of the few remaining aggressors.
We’ve got them on the run now. We must finish them.
Before we run around the front corner of the building, where these aggressors just got assaulted, I see a grisly sight.
A group of undead limp right to our RPG carrier.
Chapter IX
I raise my voice, but it doesn’t alter his fate.
The first of the undead gnaws hideously into his back. He lurches over in agony. The logs he hid behind keeps him nailed between the undead and us.
Unfortunately, we cannot do anything but be where we are.
If I could, I would take your body back to bury it. But that would depend if the undead aren’t gluttonous and take away most of you.
I stand there for not two seconds before the “Irritant” man smacks the back of my head.
“Keep it together! We’ve got a job to do!”
Now, he’s behaving serious.
This bevy of undead learn about the rest of us. Several completely ignore the RPG man, likely because he’s unable to be seen by anything at this point because of the several who’ve already claimed him.
Yes, the aggressors are limiting, but the undead are escalating. They’re more than we can contain at this point.
Our dispatch chases down the fleeing aggressors, but all of us have the belief they’re going to stick to the opposite wall to ambush us. We find them, as predicted, only what’s unexpected is their refusal to take aim and try to shoot at us.
Instead, they have their hands held up high.
We must take precautions.
Our shotgunner demands they drop their weapons, and they oblige. While that goes smoothly, I mention our mission leader hasn’t come yet, and that not every one of the enemy has been taken care of.
The sound of moans drowning in saliva comes from a combination of holes before us and behind us by the front of the building.
“Let’s just throw them down those and keep moving!” the “Nickname Identifier” says.
I argue back, “We’ll keep moving, but we’ll give a chance to convince these people!” I turn my sight to the three of them—a man and two women. Staring them down, I say, “Do you want to be around for tomorrow? Help us with finishing our mission, and you’ll be deemed those of C. Never heard of C.? Follow us with NO hostility, and you’ll find out.”
There’s a firm grab on my shoulder. It’s from the man who I seem to have annoyed yet again.
“You imbecile! They were with people that were trying to kill us! They’ve lost their chance!”
If I can help it, fewer people will die.
“They may have shot at us, but they didn’t actually kill any of us! They’ll be granted a chance of redemption!” I sharply bite, snapping my head back and forth from him and them.
I’ve been able to recognize, without actually being told so, if people kill those with C., their lives are considered the repayment. I don’t agree with it in any way, but I at least know that’s how most here think. How it was thought with Jacob and Mitchell.
I’m forever sorry, boys.
The undead have begun to walk down towards us. “Let’s move out. All three of you head in front of us!” I order.
They’re visibly reluctant to listen, but sight of the many undead behind give them encouragement to be anywhere away from that threat. It’s why they were herding
the undead from within this building to begin with—fear.
Our newest companions continuously feel the barrels of our guns while we challenge foreign movement down by the site. We’re entrusting aggressors won’t appear behind us, due to the undead, and those in front will stop when they see us with the rest of their group.
We illuminate ourselves with flashlights, and march our way to the last section I had heard the firefight. Our next look critically throws all of us by surprise.
“Sir?” our shotgunner asks, looking past the now-frightened face of the girl she guided with her weapon.
It’s a secret only he and I would know…the truth of the extraordinary.
Chapter X
Standing straight ahead, unaffected by our presence, our leader only turns one eye towards us. “Your work’s done. Don’t worry. Tell your supervisor that I’m staying. I’ve done it.”
He genuinely begins to laugh with absolute happiness, as he steps aside from us.
“They changed, sir! You’re…controlling them!” our “Flask” man says with bewilderment.
“I know.” He then looks at the three we’ve taken hostage. “Your people challenged me. They could’ve won, had they not tried to use my own work against me.”
The man I have in front of me lands to his knees. “Walt…” his saddened tone comes through. I look around to see a few aggressors laid out further away, bitten and ripped apart by the controlled undead—Walt likely being one of them.
Our mission leader points a sly finger, directed at the three of them. “I thank your people for helping me unlock the truth. Any of them can be controlled, with time, but you’ve still caused much trouble. As one with C., you must repay.”
They’ve killed none of us! How dare you try to abuse the name? Especially when you tried to abandon it not a week ago!
I intervene, not in control of my respect towards him. “You don’t have to show your control to them! Let the implication be enough!”
He gives no response.
The only voice that comes out after several seconds of whimpered noises from the three is from our “Flask” man.
“No, I want to see them pay!”
I become absolutely appalled towards him. And then towards the others’ nodding and growing malevolent grins. Our mission leader looks dead at me.
“Looks like that’s what is wanted.”
I can’t go against him, because that would be going against our supervisor and C. I can’t take the harsh acceptance to kill him, because they know my heart’s not completely blackened from everyone. My group would be in danger.
Vulnerable, I ask all three of them the last question I have. “Do you want to join us?”
The man on his knees rises up with an uppercut punch. “Never!”
Before I can reply, our mission leader launches his unaccented voice. “Then, we have assurance this is the enemy we’re talking about!”
His finger extends out, as though magic would strike hard from it, onto the three of them. Sorcery does begin though. The undead that stupidly stood behind him head straight into those three in a flash.
I shut my eyes tightly, wishing I could avoid hearing the sounds of shrieking, along with the disrespectful cheering from our dispatch.
Never, in a million years, would I’ve expected to see this happen. Truthfully, I am a visitor to all of this. I couldn’t accept this behavior in me. I do what I have to do in order to protect more than just myself, to protect my people. If I look at this, or have even the slightest glimpse of appreciation to seeing what the others admire, then it’s not for anything or anyone else.
It would just be for sadistic pleasure.
Chapter XI
(Will)
Not a day goes by I don’t think of you, babe. Seeing Gary and Lissie in their bed right now amplifies how you haunt me so much more.
Sometimes, my mind has to work itself entirely to have me dream of her. Last night, I could feel her silky hair, without my fingertips actually having the nerves to recognize what I was feeling. Her mouth connected with mine, without receiving any of her taste, nor me transfusing my own.
I can’t keep doing this. I promised I would let it go. I’ve already let go of saying your name.
Looking down at those two doesn’t make me jealous, or envious. Merely, I pity what could happen if one of them gained something in common with my past flame.
Death by haze.
Do I wish I’d dived into that cloud and swooped her out? Well, none of us knew a damn thing about hazes. I just knew it was over for her when all of those people were overshadowed by the first one we’d ever seen.
I don’t know. She was too much of a valiant daredevil with the hope of being a hero just as much as I wanted—I want. If she was the only person lost that day…I couldn’t be as cooperative with believing I can forgive her valor.
When I think about it, I start to fabricate a whole new tale that could’ve went down, courtesy of our “wonderful” head C.
“Maybe I’m immune,” I silently say. “Maybe I’ve been this whole time, and I’ve been hiding from something I’ve never had to truly be afraid of.”
Damn you, Will! Don’t let yourself think like that! What had happened is done! You can’t deny you did all you could!
I remain conflicted by that flicker of ruptured uncertainty all the way out of the shelter. That is until my eyes land to the first sight that can’t be ignored.
Thinking about it now, it would’ve been nice if you buried those people more off to the side, Gary.
I can’t complain, however. He’s posted a grave site for us to recall the dead…the dead we didn’t love, but also the ones we did.
I don’t have to see it’s those ambushers down below my feet. It could be her.
“Hey, babe,” I say while kneeling down next to the first pile of bumpy dirt. “I know you’re perfectly okay in heaven right now.”
Occasionally, I look over my shoulder to the shelter, making sure that those doors don’t open. All the sound in my ears has gone to recalling her tender voice, and what she would say to me if she were here.
“I know, babe. I’m reverting. I know, at this point, I couldn’t handle the pressure that Gary handles on an almost daily basis now.”
Last night, when he returned, he was out of his usual way. He simply came in, and laid on his bed. There was no anger within him, but he wasn’t happy. It was unusual for him to be as quiet as he was, and that’s saying something.
“Maybe this sentiment is all coming out because it’s been weeks since I last heard from…him. He told me I had to go back here if I was to truly meet his expectations.”
I exhale somberly, re-envisioning what it was he shared with me when I left here that day.
I want to grasp again what I’d learned out there with him.
***
I stomped through the wheat field, too boiled up on the inside to care about deviating from the made paths we’d recently come from.
“I’m not letting Gary or “C.” control what I do with the measly time left I may run through on this world!” I mumbled through spurts of speech while trampling across the wild woodlands I knew had to be away from what I just discovered.
Unformed and inconsistent, I traveled through the leafless sticks I thought were freakish and in my way. I then considered the positives after looking up at the murky and dull sky, glancing over the limbs I knew small animals would nestle on.
“Real survivors catch their food. They don’t blindly work for it.”
When I look back on it now, most of people did what I thought survivors don’t do, mainly in the modern world. I didn’t expect people would find a way to fit into that life again after the fact. Once again, I felt outnumbered.
I didn’t care where I ended up. I just wanted to feel in charge. It wasn’t about being in control of others, but in control of myself. That was the main thing I didn’t mention to group I’d recently left.
Hours went on to feel like a
matter of minutes for me. I traversed the land with precaution, so undead, but more importantly, animals didn’t appear or disappear because of me.
The distance I’d made wouldn’t have been thought as short in distance as it actually was, because I chose to search more on the horizontal perspective of the woodlands. Just then, as I started growing agitated with myself for my failure to acquire food, I saw little sharp swivels of a head. It was a pine marten, some distance away.
The first pine marten I’d seen this whole apocalypse in Wyoming.
I carefully slipped a hand to my gun, being as loose with the weight as possible. Most of my focus was to watch it stay unaware of my existence. Soon it was aimed in my sights. I was ready to pull the very next second.
Its head turned behind itself. The flight instinct in its body became visible. Suddenly, an undead tackled it to the ground, stealing my food, and robbing me of my control in anything.
My rage couldn’t be measured. The repulsive look of that undead chomping and slobbering away at that animal, enjoying it. If I had any fear for them before then, it melted away at that moment.
I had my brass knuckles, the very weapon of making the boogeyman suffer my wrath.
I had no care of how much sound I made slipping off various substances. I shoved my right shoulder deep into its upper-chest region, but likely it was the jugular, because I could feel liquid squirt onto my forehead. This only shoved the defeat in my face again—that time it being literal.
My punches also made me feel weak. Not only because I was physically weak, but because I critiqued even the amount of force I placed with each blow. My last strike to its disfigured face was anything but satisfying, because I knew it didn’t feel any pain from it.
All I could feel was emptiness in my stomach, along with more grit and grime on me.