by TW Gallier
Sean and Mike came jogging up the road. Roger and Charlie were nowhere to be seen. My heart dropped into my stomach.
"Where's Roger?" I demanded.
They stopped, panting lightly, and looked at each other. That was not good. I was already cursing under my breath when more distant gunfire filled the air. Sean looked embarrassed.
"I'm sorry, Jenny, but it was his idea and he volunteered," Sean said.
"Volunteered for what? Fight a zombie horde all by himself?"
"No, Charlie's with him," Mike said, as if that made it all right.
I just stared at him incredulously. Roger fought his way back to us, and then went off and volunteered for something that could get him killed? What was that man thinking?
"It's not as bad as it sounds," Sean said. "There is an old car down there. Mike hotwired it, and now Roger is luring the horde away from us with it."
"He'll meet us on the trail to Ocoee," Mike said. "Don't worry, Charlie's got his back."
My anger flared, stoked by fear, "Charlie is more fu – ," I stopped and glanced at all of the children staring at me. "He's even crazier than Roger, which is saying something."
"They know what they are doing, Jenny," Sean said. "Trust him. He'll be fine."
"He better be," I said, eyes narrowing. "Because I'm going to kill him when he gets back."
Mike looked at Sean, "That's why I never married. Women scare me."
That got a nervous laugh from others, but I wasn't amused. It took everything I had to keep from crying. Roger made me so mad sometimes.
"Listen up, everyone," Sean shouted as he turned and walked toward the others. "We're going to be moving out in a few minutes. Take five minutes to make sure you haven't forgotten any weapons, food, or water. After that, we'll practice a few fighting techniques one more time with the spears before we leave."
I headed back to my place in line. I was pretty sure we hadn't forgotten anything. Roger was thorough, and I was even more OCD. Still, checking would help take my mind off my stupid husband's heroics.
Chapter 3
"Man, you sure got some ugly z-bees in Georgia," Charlie said. "See that big blonde Georgia boy? He's missing half his teeth and his nose."
I had about three seconds to look at him before I ran the aforementioned zombie down. Charlie opened up with three to five round bursts on the next group of zombies. I hit the brakes, spun the wheel, and fishtailed into that group. They were all smashed aside. That might've killed a lot of them before they were turned into zombies.
"First, he's not blonde. He's like ninety years old," I said. "Secondly, if you keep making Georgia boy jokes I'm going to kick out half your teeth."
I hit the gas again, and spun out. That El Dorado had a badass V8. We were still on the road to Blue Ridge. The ground was already pretty flat. My objective at that point was to drive around and make as much noise as possible to get the zombies following us away from the mountain.
I didn't have enough time, gas, or luck to even try driving through the middle of Blue Ridge. Hell, the gas gauge was already to the left of E as it was, so my goal was to get the zombies closest to the mountain road to chase us, and hopefully the rest would play follow the leader. It seemed to be their MO anyway.
Charlie's sporadic gunfire probably did more to draw in the zombies than anything. I mostly avoided hitting the zombies with the car, because I didn't want to disable the car in the middle of the horde. Still, the closer to Blue Ridge we got the thicker the horde became. I worried we'd never make it to Highway 5.
"I see light at the end of the tunnel," Charlie shouted. "Hit the gas."
He was riding shotgun, but sitting on the back of the seat so he was higher and could shoot over the windshield. Or maybe he was just more observant, but Charlie spotted the intersection with Highway 5 before I did. The highway skirted the edge of town. What little I could see of Blue Ridge was wall to wall zombies. They were pouring up the Appalachian Highway into Blue Ridge.
Turning onto Highway 5, I found the way easier. I drove slowly, honking the horn. I continued to sideswipe, and occasionally run over, any zombies in front of us. The front of the El Dorado was holding up remarkably well considering how easy it was to damage modern cars. Still, the damage was starting to add up, so I tried to just graze the zombies with edge of the front bumper when possible.
"Hey, zombies, follow us!" Charlie shouted between shots.
They didn't require a lot of cajoling. Every zombie within sight was heading toward us. Their brains weren't coherent enough to understand they couldn't catch a car while on foot.
"Don't kill too many," I said. "We don't want them stopping to eat."
Zombies didn't hesitate eating each other. Every zombie we killed was immediately swarmed by his hungry fellows. It was disgusting, but apparently they had to eat. As best I could tell, the poor souls they caught had even chances of dying or becoming a zombie.
Zombie bites turned normal people into zombies. They stopped attacking as soon as the victim turned into one of them. I wasn't sure how they knew when a person turned into a zombie, but I hadn't had a lot of free time to contemplate the matter. But if the zombies killed the victim before he could turn, they would feast. Only living people turned into zombies.
The car hesitated and began to slow as we drove up a hill. The engine sputtered. I floored it, but it shuttered again.
And then the engine died.
I looked at Charlie. He looked as spooked as I felt. I tried to start the car, but just ran the battery down. The zombies were getting closer and closer.
"Uh oh," I said. "Looks like we're out of gas."
"I'm so glad you didn't say out of luck."
I took up my rifle. We did a quick inventory of ammo, and I gave him two of my 30-round magazines to even it out at four magazines each. Then I put the car in neutral, and we gave it a shove. That big Cadillac started slowly rolling backwards. It picked up speed as it went, and was probably doing more than ten miles an hour by the time it plowed into the approaching zombie horde.
"They are too stupid to get out of the way," Charlie muttered, shaking his head. "Even Mike knows to get out of the way of a car."
We started walking backwards, popping off a shot here, another there. I had Charlie shoot a line of zombies to the left, while I did it to the right. As we killed them, others jumped on the dead to feast. So that line of dead became a line of piles of eating zombies, which acted as an unholy dam of sorts. It was a very leaky dam; but hopefully, it was enough so we could escape.
"Let's go," I said. "As soon as we are over the hill and out of sight, we'll leave the road and head into the woods. I think they'll continue down the road."
"Mission accomplished," Charlie said. "Damn, we're good."
"Yes. I'll make you a Zombie Commendation Metal," I said. "For valor in the face of stupid." I glanced back. "And they are awful stupid."
"I want a Zombie War combat patch on my shoulder," he said. "Maybe a Master Slayer badge, too."
We got about ten feet before two zombies appeared atop the hill, heading east. Yeah, I felt pretty stupid right about then. We shot them, and then seven more came over the hill.
"Damn. I think we jinxed ourselves," Charlie said. "Hate it when that happens."
"Let's take the fight to them," I said, and started jogging up the hill.
We fired single shots, taking a zombie down with almost every shot. The horde surged forward behind us, bowling over the feasting zombies. So we had to move faster, running straight into the unknown. There could be five zombies over that hill, or five thousand.
And then we topped the hill to find a couple dozen of the little monsters. And they were right in our faces.
"Jesus!" Charlie cried, butt-slapping a teenage zombie in the teeth, before kicking out to knock another one back a step. He ejected his empty magazine, slammed another home, and racked the charging handle. "Eat lead!"
Pap-pap-pap-pap! Pap-pap-pap!
"Don't use up all
of your ammo," I shouted.
Pap-pap-pap!
"Seriously, you need a new mantra."
I kicked, butt-slapped, and even thrust my rifle barrel into the eye of another. Four inches of blued steel barrel in the eye socket didn't faze the unholy terror, so I pulled the trigger. That killed him. Pausing, I slowly turned in a circle as I shot every one of them center of mass, and hit the heart of most of them. Three got back up, so I shot them in the heads.
"I wish I was this hard to kill," I shouted. My M-4 locked back, out of ammo. "Go to hell!"
I kicked straight up into the chin of a rather pretty redhead in a bikini. Well, she was missing her left hand and a several bite-sized chunks all over her body. I released the rifle to hang on its strap across my chest while I pulled my machete.
"Up close and personal time," I growled, and took off that zombie girl's head.
Shooting someone was pretty bad. You couldn't think about it too much or it might drive you crazy. It happened. But chopping off a head with a machete was a whole ‘nother thing. I'd use a meat cleaver on them before, but there was something different about using a machete. Maybe it was something ingrained in humanity's DNA after thousands of years of sword fighting.
It was both invigorating and horrifying.
"Talk about butcher's work," Charlie said, also using his machete.
"Go for their necks or legs," I said. "Crippling them works just as good as killing."
Actually, I found attacking their legs a little easier, both physically and emotionally. Zombies did nothing to protect themselves. Decapitating them wasn't much harder than chopping off a leg. But a hamstrung or one-legged zombie couldn't pursue us, while going for the head meant their hands got dangerously close to my neck.
"Oh shit," Charlie cried, backing away from a zombie. "Don't gut them. The stench is god-awful."
Sure enough, the zombie following him tripped over his hanging intestines. Charlie stepped forward and removed his head. I glanced back at that time to find the main horde almost upon us.
"Run!"
I ducked under a zombie's reaching arms, slashed another's belly, and drove my shoulder into yet another. Twisting free of him, I swung the machete back and forth as I ran. I didn't kill any of them, but slashed a few throats and chopped off some fingers. I idly wondered if zombies bled to death. I couldn't see why not, but they never ceased to surprise me with their ability to take abuse.
"I'm starting to develop a bad attitude about zombies," Charlie gasped out. "Damn, this is hard work."
"You must have the patience of Job, because I was fed up with them a long time ago," I replied. He was right. Fighting with a machete was ten times harder than with a firearm. Those ancient and medieval soldiers must've been in phenomenal shape. "Keep going west. We have to find a place to enter the woods without any of them seeing us."
We finally topped the hill and I could see for miles to the west. Nothing but zombies in scattered groups of three to fifty. There was no way we could turn off the road without hundreds of them seeing us. And that meant they would pursue. Zombies always went after their prey. They were relentless in their pursuit.
And then I spotted the small bridge over a ravine or creek.
"Follow me," I called, and turned south.
"Wrong way."
"I have a plan."
We plunged into thick forest at a dead run. About ten feet in I paused to reload my M-4, though I kept the machete in hand. We huffed and puffed, desperate to get our wind while trying to listen for pursuit. If they failed to come after us, then we'd have to go back and taunt them into pursuit. Within seconds I heard countless zombies crashing through the woods.
"Follow me," I said, and took off more southwest.
It didn't take long to reach the creek. It was cutting a pretty deep gorge through the land, but the creek wasn't wide enough to be a barrier against zombies. They could just step over it. We slid down the bank to run along the creek, without actually going into the water. My thoughts were zombies didn't have the intellect to track, and probably didn't look for any signs of passage or footprints, and running in the water would be louder and attract them.
We passed under the bridge, and paused on the other side to watch for pursuit. After half an hour, I was confident we lost them. I just hoped it was enough to keep the horde from going up the mountain until our family and friends were long gone.
"Let's see if we can catch up with the others before dark," I said. "Because I didn't bring any food."
Chapter 4
"Okay, Mike, you know the route and the objective," I said. The former Army Scout was speaking with Jenny as I approached. They seemed to be having a little disagreement, though I didn't see any anger on either side. "We need you to scout ahead and warn us of any dangers."
"Got it, Sarge. I mean, Gunny," he said. "Or Sean."
Jenny looked amused, so I didn't take it as an insult. I still wasn't sure about him. Roger and Charlie made several mentions of him being crazy, but I thought they were joking. Maybe not. He bent down, grabbed a pack at Jenny's feet, and took off down the trail.
"No, no… Uggh," Jenny said. "Idiot."
"Is there a problem?"
"No, Sean," she said, and then sighed. "He insisted on carrying Roger's pack to lighten my load, but I didn't want that since he's already being our scout."
I nodded. "Don't worry about it. I'm sure he's used to a lot heavier pack in the Army. He'll be fine."
Timmy and Harlan were staring up at us, being nice and quiet. The Bakers were next in line, and their boy Terrel was great, too. Nice and quiet like I asked. It was a shame they were the only well-behaved kids at that moment. Children were shouting and laughing, and running all over the place. Only a few of their parents were putting any effort into calming them down. And then that little heathen, Spook Sutton, came running up with wild, mischievous eyes.
That's when I realized the Carrs and Suttons had swapped places in line. It was irritating that families weren't staying where I put them, but it was probably best to keep that little heathen, Spooky, away from the front of the line.
"Tag," she cried, slapping Terrel's shoulder.
Terrel, Timmy, and Harlan all turned, their faces lit up, and off they ran after the giggling girl. Their mothers instantly called out and took off after them. I looked at Terrel, Sr. He shrugged with a grin.
"They're children," he said.
Jenny and Sonja were already returning with their sons. They were practically dragging the little fiends by their arms. Spooky came running back up, so I cut her off.
"Go back to your parents, young lady," I said with as much authority as I could muster.
Spooky stopped and struck a pose, hands on hips and one hip thrown out. The stance and look she gave me was exactly the same my mother used when I was her age and being difficult. Yes, that was one scary little girl.
"I'm serious, Spooky. We're about to leave."
"I'm going to tell my daddy you used a tone with me," she said.
I almost laughed. Jenny snorted in an attempt to suppress her snicker. I gave Jenny a you're-not-helping look, and then turned back to Spooky.
"Good. Go tell him right now."
Spooky gave me an exasperated snort, turned on a heel, and marched out with chin held high. I wondered if that display was meant to make me feel bad or something. My ex-wife did that to me all the time. Well, prior to divorcing me, anyway.
"You have a way with kids," Terrel said. "You should start a daddy daycare once we reach Canada."
I cut him a sharp look. Terrel barked a laugh, turned to his son and started admonishing him. Jenny was squatting before her boys, speaking to them softly but firmly at eye level. They were nodding, but really how much of this could a nine and seven year old understand? The Baker's son was twelve, so I expected more from him.
Greg came trotting up. He was head to toe hunting camouflage. We'd hunted together many times in the very area we were about to enter. I was used to seeing hi
m with the 30-06 rifle over on his shoulder, but the homemade spear looked out of place.
"Sorry, Gunny, had to make a last pit stop," he said. "I'm ready to go."
Gunfire erupted down the mountain. Jenny stiffened. It was the most intense, sustained gunfire yet. It did not bode well for Roger and Charlie, but I had confidence in their abilities.
"Move out," I said. I hurried down the line telling all of the families we were leaving, so gather your children around you. Travis, Brett, and Kyle were our rear guard.
"We're on the move. I need you to hang back a little to make sure no one is following."
"How far back?" Travis asked.
Travis was dressed in a red button down shirt and jeans. Kyle wore a blue polo shirt and jeans, and was only armed with a .38 Special revolver. While Brett was in hunter's camo, carrying a deer rifle, 9mm, and a large hunting knife. All three had makeshift spears. In fact, it was the three of them that made all of the spears.
"Just keep the last person in view," I said. "I'll be moving up and down the line to keep everyone quiet and moving."
"So you'll end up walking five times more than everyone else," Brett said.
"Not a problem," I said. "Twenty years in the Marines. Infantry."
"Just don't start shouting at me like a Drill Sergeant and calling me 'Marine' because I don't like the water," Kyle said, grinning.
"Really? Don't like water," I said. "Maybe I'll drown you in the first ditch we find."
"At least you haven't lost your sense of humor," Brett said.
"I wasn't joking," I said, and then grinned at Kyle. He laughed. "Okay, enough fun. We're on strict noise discipline from now on – "
Spooky Sutton's laughter filled the early morning air. Several other children cried out joyfully. The three men looked at me with bemused faces and shook their heads.
"Strict noise discipline. Right," Kyle said. "Got it."
I hurried up the line. Half of the families had already passed into the woods and onto the mountain trail. I found Spooky running up and down the line, laughing joyfully, and trying to get other kids to play with her. I went straight to Paul and Amy Sutton.