Dead Fall

by Joseph Xand

  He stomped his boots to signal Schuler in the cab but wasn't sure if Schuler could feel the vibration with everything going on.

  "Schuler, get us the fuck out of here!" he yelled.

  * * * * *

  "To the vehicles! Now!"

  Before the words completely registered, Beechum and Phillips had already shot past Tucker and were headed toward the Humvee. Tucker saw Schuler flee onto the hood of the five-ton. It would have been Tucker's closest option, but zombies already surrounded the cab, grabbing at Schuler's feet.

  Tucker had no choice but to follow Phillips and Beechum in an all out race for the Humvee.

  But it was clear to Tucker none of them would make it there in time.

  Tucker was on Phillips's heels. He could reach out and grab Phillips's shirt, and Beechum was equally as close to Phillips in the lead.

  But three zombies were directly behind Tucker and gaining fast. The Humvee was just too far.

  To his left, Tucker noted four others of the dead breaking through the grass barrier and moving fast to intercept them.

  Their only hope of survival was to fight. Tucker looked to Phillips to tell him as much; to scream to him that they would have to make a stand.

  But when Tucker looked in front of him, at Phillips, he saw Phillips's sidearm pointed at him.

  Pointed at his knees.

  "No!" Tucker screamed.

  * * * * *

  Beechum knew better than to look back. He knew how close those things were. He could feel them.

  Phillips was right behind him and he could hear someone else, too. Probably Tucker. Beechum heard Tucker yell something, and Beechum naturally assumed the dead had caught up to him.

  Then there were two quick gunshots, so close they made Beechum's ears ring. Suddenly he didn't feel like the zombies were so close anymore.

  Beechum dove into the front seat of the Humvee, Schuler having left the door open. He hastened to the other end of the cab and planted himself against the passenger-side door to make room for the others.

  Phillips hopped into the driver's seat, pulling the door closed behind him.

  "Tucker?" Beechum said.

  "He had to sacrifice himself for the greater good," Phillips said, a half-smirk on his face. He aimed his sidearm out the window, angled down, and dropped a zombie with a single shot to the head. Then he turned back to Beechum as he returned the gun to the shoulder holster strapped around his chest. "And by 'greater good' I mean you and me."

  When Phillips turned his gaze back to the mayhem outside, Beechum leaned up and checked Phillips's side mirror. He could see Tucker writhing on the ground, bellowing, with at least six corpses on top of him, tearing him apart with their teeth.

  There was a spattering of gunfire, then an explosion from somewhere. From the mirror, he saw a fireball erupt from behind the convoy and people—whether corpses or soldiers, he couldn't tell—were blown off their feet.

  "Jesus," Beechum said.

  "Never seen this many sprints in one place." Phillips emphasized their term for the faster-paced variety of zombie. "Wonder where the hell they came from."

  "They've all died recently," Beechum said, stating the obvious. "Who knows."

  Phillips was also scanning the background through the mirror. "Looks like Schuler made it. I can see him in the five-ton." Almost on cue, they heard the largest vehicle in the convoy roar to life. "I can't tell about anyone else." He looked back at Beechum. "What do you think? Stay and fight? From up in the cab, we can probably pick'em off."

  Before he could answer, Beechum caught movement in his peripheral from his side mirror. The police van, the last vehicle in the convoy, pulled out onto the shoulder, driving forward. Five corpses ran beside it, pounding on the sides of the van. Three of them were on fire, as was the van itself.

  Then Beechum realized Meyers was behind the wheel just before the van dropped off the shoulder and disappeared from sight in the high grass. It was heading towards the access road that likely ran parallel to the highway, and it left a trail of burning grass in its wake.

  "We're going after her," Beechum said, but Phillips was already turning the ignition and motioning for Schuler to follow them, hanging an arm out the window and pointing roughly in the direction towards which Meyers had just disappeared.

  "Think we'll sink in the mud?" Phillips asked as he turned the wheel sharply and angled the Humvee towards the dropoff. Obviously, the Humvee would make it down, so Beechum assumed Phillips was talking about the five-ton behind them.

  He didn't think it would get stuck, but headed downhill, with as much weight as it carried, there was no way to be sure.

  "We're about to find out."

  The Humvee dropped down off the highway, slicing a path through the brush.

  * * * * *

  Meyers watched as Nunez, a small distance behind Caldwell, slid out of the way of the bounding buck. It continued, half-hopping, half-running, down the highway.

  Caldwell turned around to watch it as well, then he leaned out of Meyers's line of sight. "Man, what the fuck!" she heard him say. Then Phillips mumbled something from in front of the police van.

  Meyers's heart had nearly stopped pounding when there was another sudden burst of sound, then two gunshots in quick succession. At the same time, behind Caldwell, there was an explosion of clear liquid.

  Meyers jumped. Travers buried himself in the back corner of the van.

  "Awww, fuck man!" Nunez was pissed. He was covered in gasoline. "You coulda killed me, man. Blew me up, or some shit!" Both gas cans were raised above his waist. He glared at someone.

  Meyers tried to piece it together. Why would someone shoot the gas cans Nunez was carrying? She was about to go to the side window to see what she could see.

  One more time, a rumble of weeds. Louder. Faster. More than either time before.

  "To the vehicles! Now!" That was Beechum. She knew his voice all too well. His commands.

  There was fear in his voice.

  Caldwell backpedaled and lifted his M-16. Before he could raise it completely, a zombie fired past the back of the van, ripping Caldwell out of view.

  Travers clawed into the corner as if trying to make an exit. Meyers, instead, edged forward. Another corpse shot past, following the first. As she got to the van door, Nunez slapped away one zombie with one of the gas cans only to have another one bring him down.

  She looked left. Caldwell was among the tall weeds beyond the shoulder, thrashing and flailing and screaming as he tumbled down the incline, the two zombies latched onto him with their jaws.

  Meyers stepped gently onto the asphalt, ignoring the black tar burning the bottoms of her bare feet.

  "Don't move," she hissed at Travers, glaring into the darkest corner of the van without really seeing him. But she knew he'd never leave the police van without being forced to do so.

  She quickly shut and latched the van doors. There were more gunshots, lots of them from seemingly everywhere. She looked around the corner of the van just in time to see a pack of the dead take down Tucker as Phillips climbed into the Humvee.

  She knew at least three of her captors were dead, or soon would be. There were many corpses, but they were scattered and occupied. Many were beginning to feast on Tucker. Others were occupied with Caldwell and Nunez. Still others surrounded the five-ton.

  None had noticed her yet. She'd never have a better chance than this.

  A gunshot behind her made her jump and she turned to see Nunez suddenly engulfed in flames and zombies piling on him regardless. The heat was blinding.

  Meyers ran towards the drivers-side door of the police van. A zombie, having slid out from under the five-ton, saw her and bolted to cut her off.

  Then an explosion from behind knocked her forward. She hit the ground hard and was immediately disoriented. There was a searing pain. She realized she was on fire. The back of her shirt and hair.

  On automatic pilot, she slipped the shirt over her head and used it to pat out her ha
ir. Nearly naked, painfully she rose and stumbled to her feet. The back and top of the van were on fire, but it was mostly metal and she doubted there was much danger in the fire spreading.

  She looked around for the corpse that had been coming at her before the explosion, but couldn't find it. The door to the police van was unlocked, of course. She climbed in. Her burned buttocks and back screamed when she eased down into the seat. She shut the door as quietly as possible so as to not draw attention to herself from the invading corpses, though with all the bedlam and noise of gunshots there was little chance of that. Then she reached for the ignition switch.

  The keys were gone.

  She panicked, feeling around the seat and folding down the visor. She checked the glove box. Nothing.

  Then she remembered Moss's rule about hiding the keys in the crevice between the seat and the drivers-side door.

  We need to leave the keys in the vehicles in case we need to make a quick exit and whoever was driving last doesn't make it back. But at the same time, let's not make 'em easy to steal by hiding them in the obvious places.

  His words echoed in her mind, and she felt next to the seat, slightly beneath it, ignoring her throbbing burns. Finally, the keys rattled against her fingertips and she hauled them up.

  She wondered then how many of the others still held to Moss's traditions, or if Murphy was the only one.

  She inserted the keys in the ignition and with a quick flick of her wrist, the van rumbled to life.

  Only then did she notice Murphy's button-up army jacket on the passenger seat. She nabbed it up and started to slide into it quickly, only to be halted by stabbing pain. She slowed down and eased her arms in and then fastened a few buttons. She felt better. Less vulnerable.

  She slid open the grated window behind her head. "Hold on to something!" she called to Travers. Then she put the van in drive and eased it onto the shoulder. As she did, corpses ran to the van from various places, some burning, their flesh dripping away, as they pounded on the van's sides.

  * * * * *

  Fuller chanced a peek between the front seats of the car he and Cadagon had stowed themselves in. Much had changed in the few scant minutes that had passed. He could see fires in several places—the grass on the right side of the road, parts of the road where Nunez had been standing.

  Through the smoke of the grass fires and the haze of the gasoline burning away, he could see the five-ton pulling off the highway and disappearing down the incline, an array of sprints giving pursuit. The police van was gone, as was the Humvee. Once the five-ton dipped out of sight, there was no other movement, and Fuller guessed all the zombies were giving chase to what remained of the convoy.

  "I think we're clear," he told Cadagon below him.

  "You sure? 'Cause I got no problem waitin' it out here."

  "They're gonna leave us if we don't move. Whoever's left has already pulled out."

  "I got no problem with that either."

  Fuller slowly pulled the door handle until he felt the latch release. He eased it open, closing his eyes as the hinges ground. Sliding out, he half-expected something to grab his ankles from underneath the car, but nothing did.

  "Come on, scaredy-cat. We gotta catch up."

  Cadagon slithered out behind Fuller while Fuller covered them, his 9mm outstretched. Once Cadagon was out, they moved forward as they were trained to do, sidestepping back to back, their eyes down their weapons, Fuller with his sidearm and Cadagon with his M-16, as they swept side-to-side scanning for movement.

  They had to make a wide arc around the worst of the fires, the heat alone stifling and threatening to ignite their clothing.

  As they approached the M-548, it was obvious the direction they'd need to take to follow the convoy, the vehicles having cut wide lanes among the tall grass.

  When they reached the M-548, Fuller climbed into the driver's side and nodded towards the only remaining vehicle. "Take the deuce and a half."

  "Why do I have to walk alone? Why can't I have the closest vehicle?"

  "Cause you never learned to drive the 548, dumbass."

  Cadagon stared up at him.

  "The door to the deuce it forty feet away, you pussy. Now let's go!"

  Cadagon huffed. Then he decided to dispense with conventional military tactics such as moving slow and cautious. Instead, he hightailed it to the drivers-side door of the deuce and jumped inside. The key that started the fuel pump was still in place. He turned it, then pressed the ignition switch. Rather than roar to life, the engine emitted a low buzz and nothing more.

  He tried again and got more of the same. He rattled the fuel key, turning it off and back on again. The buzz greeted him again.

  The M-548 pulled alongside him. Fuller looked at Cadagon and put his arms up in a frozen shrug. Cadagon read Fuller's lips as a clearly mouthed, "What's up?"

  Cadagon gave a shrug of his own in return.

  Fuller climbed down from the M-548 and walked around the front of it to the hood of the deuce. As he did, Cadagon leaned out the window.

  "It won't turn over."

  As soon as he reached the front of the deuce, Fuller could see why. He counted at least three bullet holes in the grill leading to the engine block.

  "Damn. We'll have to leave it. It's been shot to shit."

  Without comment, Cadagon climbed down from the driver's seat of the deuce. Then he put one foot on the M-548's tracks, hoisted himself up, and put his other foot in the passenger side foothold. From there, he ascended into the idling cab.

  Fuller joined him on the other side, straddling the laterals.

  "Was there anything in the front seat we needed?"

  "Huh?"

  "Did anyone leave anything in the cab of the deuce we might need?"

  "Oh. I dunno. I don't think so. I didn't really look."

  Fuller stared at him. Then he sighed. "For fuck sake." He eased both laterals away from him, and the M-548 jerked forward.

  In front of them, Tucker stood up dazed, his clothes torn to shreds, one arm gone and half his face eaten off. Tucker turned, saw the 548 lumbering towards him, and moved to meet it, teeth snarling. In response, Fuller shoved the laterals all the way up. Tucker thumped off the front left of the grill and the 548 barely lifted at all as the left tracks rolled over him.

  "I never much cared for that prick," Fuller explained to Cadagon.

  He eased off the laterals, the right more than the left, and the 548 swung slightly around to the right. Fuller had planned to follow the trail left by the Humvee, but decided against it. He put the right lateral in neutral and the M-548 whipped around at a zero turn until it was perpendicular to the road. He thought the 548 would handle the incline better if he went down straight rather than at an angle.

  Once again he eased the laterals forward. The tracks moved off the roadway and the tank-like truck hovered above the dropoff, the heavy back end balancing out with the front.

  As the tracks continued outward, eventually the weight shifted to the front, and both men tipped downward as if on a roller coaster descending from the summit.

  Fuller pulled back some on the laterals to slow them down as he drove blind, falling through the grass and smoke.

  * * * * *

  Meyers had hoped that Beechum and the others would either just let her and Travers go or would be too busy trying to survive to pay her any mind as she drove away. Or that they'd all be too dead to care.

  But then she checked her side mirrors. The corpses, far behind her now, were still roaring at full speed. The fire on the van had begun to abate. And the Humvee tore down the hill leading from the highway with the five-ton following quickly behind it.

  She knew Phillips was driving the Humvee, and she guessed that Beechum was with him. Even then, with them trailing her, she held out some hope that they weren't necessarily chasing her, but rather were trying to get away from the mayhem on the highway.

  Then a bullet dinged off the police van and the side mirror revealed Beechum leani
ng out of the Humvee's passenger-side window, his Colt 45 in hand, and firing steadily one round after another.

  They were gaining fast. Phillips didn't even slow down when he plowed through the pursuing dead. If anything Phillips sped up, taking the zombies out one by one, their bodies either bouncing off the grill and flying into the weeds alongside the access road, or mowed down, swallowed beneath the Humvee. Occasionally the Humvee would bounce as the tires rolled over them.

  The police van had not been built for speed. It had not been the kind of law enforcement vehicle that rushed to the scene of a crime in progress. It had been the type called in afterward, when the danger was passed and calm restored, to help clean out the riff-raff.

  Ahead of Meyers, a car partially blocked both lanes and she had to ride the shoulder to maneuver around it, her left tires dropping off the side. Even then, she clipped the car as she passed by it. Between that and trying to wrestle the top-heavy van back onto the road, it was all she could do not to lose control.

  And hitting the car moved it enough so that the Humvee barely had to slow to pass it.

  The front end of the Humvee was quickly filling her rear-view mirror.

  * * * * *

  Beechum fell back into the cab of the Humvee after having taken some shots at the van and missing each time. He didn't want to be hanging out the window when Phillips nailed the sprints ahead of them, some of which were still burning.

  Phillips increased his speed and jerked the wheel from side to side, colliding with each and either sending them flying or folding them under the chassis.

  "If you can get closer, I can probably hit one of her tires," Beechum said.

  "Doesn't matter. She can't outrun us."

  Beechum looked back through the rear mirror. They were leaving the slower-moving five-ton behind. On it, a zombie was trapped beneath the giant snowplow blade. Probably one of the dead that had attacked Tucker and then ran after the Humvee. He could see them, but Beechum imagined some were chasing the five-ton as well.