by Jake Bible
Collin farts again.
***
Leading the deadly pack is Skye Lawrence, Twenty-third Code Monkey, with Marshall behind her and off to the right. The other Code Monkeys and crazies begin to spread out across the street, stretching the pack until it is a line of blind killers marching along through the Stronghold. Heads turn back and forth, the sightless faces searching the area for prey and hunting for those trying to stop them in their quest.
Yards behind, in various states of destruction, the Zs come. They follow the Code Monkeys like rats following a piper. Feet shuffle forward, arms outstretched, mouths wide open, grey eyes hungry for the taste of human meat that they can smell all around them. On they come, their numbers growing as more and more crest the wall and tumble from the platforms.
As one, the Code Monkeys stop, their attention turned towards the Team command center. Skye walks forward, straight to the doors and pulls, but they don’t budge. She didn’t expect them to, but it was worth a try. With a barely perceptible nod of her head, Marshall hurries up next to her.
They stand there silent for a few seconds, then Marshall nods and walks away. He moves into the bushes that surround the building, stopping a few yards from the entrance. With amazing agility, he leaps at the wall and grabs onto a window frame then reaches up and finds purchase in the nooks and crannies of the brick and stone building. Within seconds, he’s climbed half way up before he stops, lets go with one hand, then punches through a large window just off to his side.
Glass shatters and falls, raining down on the bushes below. The Code Monkeys in the street smile at the light tinkling sound the glass shards make as they bounce off the building. It’s the sound of magic and fantasy to those without sight.
Marshall climbs into the building, his body easily avoiding the chunks of glass that still stick out of the frame, and is lost from, well, sight. Skye waits at the main entrance, knowing the young one will work his way down and open the building to them. It doesn’t matter if he meets any of the Stronghold inhabitants along the way. She knows he’ll end them quickly and continue on without hesitation.
The sound of a door opening gets Skye’s attention, but it isn’t the doors in front of her.
The Code Monkeys all pivot and face the Gym that’s half a block away.
From out of the Gym come the defensive guards and the citizens that stayed behind by the wall to support them. They march as one, filling the street, their hands gripping axes, machetes, short swords, spears, pikes, chains, bats, even a crossbow here and there, anything and everything that can be used to kill a Z.
But it’s not Zs that stand in front of the command center. The Zs are still shuffling their way from the wall. No, it’s living, breathing humans that are before them, shoulder to shoulder, their blind faces relaxed and ready.
“What the fuck?” someone mutters.
“Who are they?” another asks.
“We can’t kill people…can we?”
“Are they here to help us?”
“Look at their faces.”
“Look at their eyes.”
“Fuck,” Kevin Ross says, realizing who they are now up against. Inside him, rage boils. If he lives through this, he’ll be having a word with Commander Lee. “Get ready, people.”
“Ready for what?”
“The Zs are behind us, not in front!”
“We need to turn around!”
“What is going on?”
Someone cries out and a body drops. The crowd all look as a man lies in the road, blood spilling from his head where a knife is protruding. They all look towards the Code Monkeys as one of the sightless killers lowers an arm and steps back in line.
“Motherfucker…”
“Did you see that throw?”
“It was too fast.”
“They killed Bart!”
“FUCKING GET THEM!”
Before Kevin can shout a warning, the group surges forward, their legs picking up speed as they close the distance to the Code Monkeys. Screams of rage and fury boom from their mouths as weapons are lifted into the air, ready to deal deathblows to the crazies.
But death isn’t for the Monkeys. Not right away.
The two factions collide and those screams of rage and fury quickly turn to pain and surprise as the Code Monkeys tear through the ranks of Stronghold citizens. Bellies are ripped open, limbs hacked off, and the very throats that raised the cries are slashed from ear to ear, silencing them forever.
In seconds, the street is covered in blood and guts. People slip and slide, trying to keep their footing as the Code Monkeys take down numbers that should have overwhelmed them. The citizens of the Stronghold that realize they are outmatched begin to retreat, and back away as fast as they can, turn and all out sprint for safety anywhere they can find it.
But in their horror, they have forgotten the nightmare that their existence is based around.
They have forgotten the Zs.
Those that flee run right into a wall of undead, the living flesh welcomed by open, rotted arms.
***
“Sheriff?” Crespo asks, her eyes watching as friends and neighbors struggle to keep from being torn apart. “We have to help.”
“Hold, Deputy,” Marsh says, his finger on the trigger of the MK-46. “Wait for my signal. You just make sure those rounds feed properly. Don’t want a jam.”
“Sheriff,” Fitz says, “they’re dying out there. You gotta let me fire.”
“I know, I know,” Marsh says. “I can see what’s happening, but once we open fire, our position will be given away. We’ll have moments before those crazy fucks get to us. We have to make every one of those moments count.”
Marsh surveys the bloody scene out on the street, carefully gauging the timing of it all, waiting for just the right second to attack.
“Fitz?”
“Yes, sir?”
“You send those grenades into the back of the horde of Zs. Don’t worry about hitting any of our own. If they are in the middle of that shit, then they are already dead. You just fire and keep firing until that thing is empty. You hear me?”
“Yes, sir,” Fitz nods as she looks into the targeting screen the MK-47 has. “I’ll do my best.”
“Your best?” Collin laughs then urps up a little bile. “Girl, you better do more than your best.”
“Shut up, you old drunk,” Fitz says.
“What are you going to do, Ward?” Collin asks. “What’s your best?”
“I’ll hold our position,” Marsh says as he targets the Code Monkeys. “When they head our way, and they will when Fitz starts firing, I’ll cut ‘em out at the legs. I don’t care what fucking superpowers they have. They can’t do shit without legs.”
“Good plan,” Collin says. “Can’t wait to see how it works out.”
***
The sound of the grate rolling up catches Skye’s attention and the man she’s holding by the neck falls to the ground dead after a quick snap of her wrist. She smiles and walks casually over as the front doors swing open, showing Marshall standing there, fresh blood splashed across his shirt and neck.
“Any problems?” she asks.
“No,” Marshall smiles. “Not for me. Not for me.”
“Good,” Skye says. “I’ll find what we are here for.” She pats him on the shoulder as she walks past. “You go have fun. Enjoy the rest of your day.”
“Yay!” Marshall shouts as he runs from the building and joins the massacre in the street. His hands flick out here and there, suddenly both holding wicked sharp blades, and more screams are added to the chorus of brutality.
Skye sighs, knowing the child will be so wired from violence that he’ll have a hard time getting to sleep. Such is the way of children. For her? She’ll sleep like a babe, once she has what she needs in hand.
She looks forward to her dreams, the dreams that tell her so much of what the Code Monkeys have been put on the Earth to do, the dreams that fill her with dread and delight at the same time.
The dreams that say that humanity’s time on the planet must finally come to an end.
***
The slaughter down the street is heartbreaking, and Commander Lee’s hands are shaking as she puts her fingers to her mouth and lets loose a high pitched whistle. Soon the whistle is taken up and for blocks and miles around more and more are added, calling out, telling all those that wait inside their houses to come forth and defend what is theirs.
The neighborhoods and streets fill with citizens of the Stronghold: men and women, old and young. Anyone that has the strength to wield a weapon answers the call.
Commander Lee smiles sadly as hundreds and hundreds of her friends and neighbors join her. This has been what they have drilled for, been trained since birth to handle, what they have all known could be their fate someday.
That day has come and Commander Lee looks left, nodding to those at her side there, then right, nodding to those that have joined from that direction. Then she looks forward and points. The roar of the crowd is ear splitting and the sound of over a thousand feet thunder up from the pavement as they rush headlong into the blood and violence that waits for them.
***
“Now!” Marsh yells and opens fire with his MK-46, making a Code Monkey dance as 5.56mm NATO rounds rip through its body.
He shoves his shoulder against the machine gun, keeping it steady on the sill as he turns it slightly, taking down another Monkey. And another. Then the rest see him and start to move away from the main fight, their eyeless faces filled with the desire to tear apart whoever dares attack them.
“Now, Fitz!” Marsh shouts. “FIRE THAT FUCKING THING NOW!”
Fitz pulls the trigger and the MK-47 lets loose with a loud whump-bang as the first round flies free, soaring up over the horde of Zs. It arcs in the air and starts to drop, but just before it reaches the heads of the Zs, the grenade explodes, sending thousands of pieces of shrapnel shooting every which way.
Fitz does as Marsh ordered and keeps firing and firing until there is nothing left for Crespo to help feed into the gun. They both wave their hands, clearing the smoke from out of the way, and their mouths drop open as they see what the weapon accomplished.
Collin, seeing the looks on their faces, stands up and walks his drunk ass over to the window.
“Well, I’ll be dipped in shit,” he says. “Ain’t that something.”
The Z horde is decimated, having been ripped apart by the dozens of rounds Fitz sent at it. The undead litter the ground, arms here, legs there, torsos piled this way and that. They have been shredded into undead flesh confetti.
But there are also more than a few human casualties.
Marsh shoves that from his mind as he focuses his fire on the blind crazies running his way.
“Get ready!” he yells. “This isn’t over!”
***
The Stronghold attacks.
They fall upon the Code Monkeys with nothing but vengeance in their hearts. Vengeance for their fallen friends, vengeance for the loved ones that haven’t returned from their missions on the Teams or Crews, vengeance for the destruction of the sense of security they have lived with for so long.
The Stronghold attacks and they strike blow after blow.
One Code Monkey falls under a mob of dozens. Another Code Monkey is able to kill seven before he is cut down. A third raises an arm, ready to slice the head off a screaming teenage girl when his arm is separated from his body by what had once been a lawn mower blade, but is now wrapped on one end with black tape and cloth, held by the teenager’s mother.
Yet, despite their overwhelming numbers, the citizens of the Stronghold do not keep their advantage for long. One by one, two by two, three by three, they start to fall under the uncanny skills of the Code Monkeys. Instead of a massive mob that should have swallowed the blind whole, it becomes a mass of people with pockets of corpses quickly spreading through it. The Code Monkeys turn to each other, moving back to back through the throng, keeping themselves defended while never letting up their brutal offense.
In the middle of it all, Commander Lee is holding her own. They come for her, but she cuts them down. She works her way from crazy to crazy, slashing and slicing, hacking and killing. She takes a cut here, a gouge there, but she doesn’t fall, she doesn’t stop.
Yet even with her success, she knows that those around her are failing. The veteran soldier in her can read the battlefield. She can sense the panic that starts to build. She knows that at any second, the tide will turn and the momentum gained by surprise will be lost.
She has faced the Code Monkeys before. She doesn’t take anything about them for granted.
***
Sliding on his knees through a man’s legs and slashing upward, Marshall sends the man screaming to the ground behind him as his manhood tumbles from the split in his jeans.
Marshall whirls around, leaping onto the man’s back, and opens his throat with one blade while stabbing, stabbing, stabbing the man in the kidneys with the other. He giggles as the blood spurting from the man’s neck gets slower and slower.
Licking his fingers, Marshall rolls away from the man and tumbles a few feet to a group of six women trying to stay alive as another Code Monkey works through their ranks. Marshall slams into a woman’s calves, knocking her legs out from under her. She falls to the pavement, dazed as her head smacks into the ground. Marshall hops on her, straddling her waist as he raises both blades over his head.
“Mommy?” he asks.
The woman’s face turns from pure fear to confusion. Then the blades come.
“Oh, sorry,” Marshall snickers. “You’re not my mommy.”
He yanks the blades free from the woman’s eye sockets and stands, flicking the blood to the ground. All around him, he can hear the terror and panic, the fright and alarm, as people die. His ears taste the sounds, savoring each thud, each whimper, each rent of flesh. His shoulders start to sway back and forth, hearing the rhythm of carnage and loss, letting it all wash over him and move his body to a beat that has been thrumming since the first man picked up a rock and brained another with it.
He feels connected to it all, one with every weapon and every death. His lips turn up in a grin that would have seemed normal for a kid his age; normal as if he were opening a birthday present and finding his number one wish fulfilled. And for Marshall Rosado, Thirtieth Code Monkey, the blood that covers him from head to toe is a wish fulfilled.
***
The MK-46 goes dead and Marsh throws it aside, taking hold of the AK-47 that Crespo hands him. He shoves the barrel out the window and keeps firing, but even that slight pause is enough for the Code Monkeys and blind crazies to close the distance.
A fist reaches through and grips him by the shoulder, pulling him towards the window. He lets go of the sub-machine gun and grabs the arm that the fist is attached to. With one fluid motion, he brings his elbow down hard and the arm snaps in two. A woman screams and retreats, but another takes her place and tries to squeeze through the window and get into the office.
“Duck,” Collin says, pushing Marsh to the ground as he casually places the barrel of a shotgun to the woman’s forehead. “Boom.”
The head is vaporized as the 10-gauge round discharges. Collin pumps the shotgun and takes aim again, blasting off the face of the next crazy that tries to get through the window. He fires over and over until only a click happens when he pulls the trigger.
“Thanks,” Marsh says from the ground, covering his head with his arms, not quite sure which is more dangerous, the Code Monkeys or a drunken Collin with a shotgun. “You can put that down now.”
“There’s too many!” Crespo shouts, picking up a M-16 from the desk and running back to the window. “And they are too fast! I can’t get a bead on-”
She falls to her knees, a knife sticking from her throat; a gurgle and a pleading look in her eyes are all she has time for before she crumples to the floor dead.
“You fucks!” Fitz screams. “You m
otherfucks!”
Dual Desert Eagles gripped in her hands, she opens fire, ripping half the head off the Code Monkey that stabbed Crespo. Of course, another tries to get through her window, but the man loses the entire left side of his face as Fitz fires again. She presses forward, her fingers pulling the triggers without slowing, until her arms are out the window, searching for more targets, desperate to kill anything responsible for the death of her friend and fellow deputy.
Then she screams and stumbles back. Geysers of blood spurt from the handless stumps of her arms. She turns and looks at Marsh and Collin, her eyes wide with disbelief, as her life squirts out of her and all over the office, joining the slickness of Crespo’s blood.
Marsh rolls to her, yanking off his belt so he can tighten it around her left arm. He shoves her down onto her back and struggles to get her belt off for her other arm. Fitz looks up at him, her mouth opening and closing like a dying fish. A high-pitched whine keens from her throat, hits a crescendo, and then tapers off as her heart takes its last few beats.
The sound of gunfire is muted by the grief that fills him. He barely notices Collin yelling as the man stands over him, firing again and again at the windows, fending off the attackers.
“Come on!” Collin shouts, grabbing Marsh by the collar for a change, and pulling him to the back of the office towards the holding area and jail cells he is very familiar with. “We’re gonna get locked down!”
Marsh finally scrambles to his feet, slipping and sliding from all the blood that coats the office floor frown, and shirks off Collin’s grip. He grabs an M-4 and follows the drunk back into the hallway that leads to the cells, slamming the heavy metal door shut behind him. He pats his pockets and realizes he left his keys out on his desk.
“Forget it!” Collin yells. “Just come on!”
Marsh backs away. The last image before he turns from the small window set in the door is of the two corpses that used to be the bravest women he’d ever known.