by R. J. Spears
He wasn’t sure he could live with that, but he was sure he would die without falling back. The zombies crowded in, pawing at him, their hands trying to get a firm grip on him. His rifle maneuvers were failing, and he knew it. One zombie blocked a forceful blow with its arm and the rifle fell from his hands.
It was fall back or both of them died.
His heart sank as he took the first step in his retreat. That’s when he heard the crack of a shot and the head of the zombie next to him partially exploded. The explosion sent blood and gore into Russell’s face, blinding him temporarily. The zombie flew forward at his feet. The others paid no attention to their dead comrade. A series of gunshots followed and with each shot, a zombie fell.
Russell frantically wiped the zombie’s blood away from his eyes. Blinking, he looked toward the door and saw blurry armed figures enter the room, two of them. He swabbed his eyes again and opened them. The hulking figure of Sergeant Jones filled his field of view and he was closing fast.
Madison knelt beside Mr. Schultz, one hand on his back. He was face down in the field and hadn’t moved since falling face first into the dew covered grass.
Other than the gunfire in the distance, most of it coming from inside the complex, the night was quiet. A gentle wind blew through the trees at her back. Night creatures rustled along in the underbrush in the woods and insects chirped away. Bats swooped overhead, catching mosquitoes, moths, and other nocturnal flying insects, but she didn’t pay attention to them.
She knew Mr. Schultz was dead. While his body was still warm, she hadn’t felt a breath come from him in several minutes. She had seen dead people before. Too many. Some stayed that way, and some got up and started moving again.
Her family wasn’t all that religious, but when they had been at the church before it had been attacked and then burned, she had seen people pray. A kind old lady there told her she could do it anytime. Finding the right words was challenging, but she prayed over Mr. Schulz’s body. It was a simple prayer of a child of only a few words and she was surprised to find it comforted her, despite the tears running down her cheeks.
When she finished, she patted his back one more time, picked up his rifle and, then grabbed one of the pistols from the ammunition bag. She took another moment, collecting herself and wiping the tears from her cheek, and started walking toward the complex.
Del had the lead with Cynthia and Mrs. Hatcher a few feet behind him. Henry was in the rear of the group as they crept along a back hallway of the complex. They were surprised not to have encountered any soldiers, but they knew what Lodwick had said. Still, it was hard to believe he hadn’t planted any traps or ambushes.
“Do we keep going to the dining hall?” Del asked as they moved quietly along. He felt that stealth was wasted because the hallways were now well lighted, but caution was still warranted.
“That’s where Lodwick said he would take all our people,” Henry said.
“But there are only four of us,” Mrs. Hatcher said as they stopped at a corner.
“I don’t think he’ll have as many soldiers as he thinks,” Henry said.
“They have more guns than us and are better trained,” Mrs. Hatcher said. “This is a suicide mission. We should turn back.”
Cynthia seemed to be wobbling between which way to go and Mrs. Hatcher’s antics weren’t helping.
Del stopped, slowly turned around, and said, “You’re welcome to stay here or go on back out into the woods if you want, but we’re moving on. We have people inside and we’re doing this.”
Henry thought that he couldn’t have said it better himself.
Mrs. Hatcher looked down at her feet for a moment, then said, “But...but…” She stopped talking and then said, “Okay.”
Del held her in a hard stare for several seconds as if checking on her resolve, then said, “Alright then, that’s settled, we’re heading in.” He swiveled back around and continued around the corner.
Jo shouldered her way past Jones, which wasn’t an easy thing considering that he was nearly twice her size. What she saw when she did was Russell standing over Maggie, a stricken expression on his face. That look changed when he saw her.
“Jo!” he exclaimed. She could tell he hadn’t expected to see her and the surprise was doubled by the fact that she was accompanied by one of Kilgore’s men. She watched as he glanced wearily at Sergeant Jones.
“It’s okay,” Jo said. “He’s on our side.”
“Since when?” Russell asked.
“It’s too long of a story to go into,” Jo said, waving a hand in the air to dismiss the idea. “What’s wrong with Maggie?”
Russell whipped around to look at Maggie’s still body. “She’s not breathing, I think,” he said, his voice breaking.
Jo moved in beside him and knelt next to Maggie’s body. “What happened?”
Russell explained the way the vest had shocked Maggie and how she collapsed. His voice shook as he spoke.
“So, she controlled the zombies with that vest?” Jones asked.
“Yes,” Russell replied.
Jones looked around the room at the dead soldiers, many of which looked like they had been bitten or partially eaten. His expression was a combination of shock and disgust.
“And her zombies did all this?” Jones asked.
Jo thought she heard something in his voice and she didn’t like it. She knew that he had commanded these men and something like this had to be hard to witness and she wondered what this was doing to his head. She contemplated whether he could, or would, shift his alliance back to the soldier’s side.
She decided that she couldn’t do anything about that and that the task at hand needed her attention. Still, she kept a firm grip on the rifle she had picked up in the hallway, ready to use it if she had to. “Have you checked for a pulse?” Jo asked. She couldn’t see Maggie breathing at all.
“No,” he replied. “I was afraid to.”
Jo wondered if it was the fear of getting shocked or the fear he wouldn’t find any vital signs. She tentatively reached out a hand toward Maggie’s neck. Just as she brushed by the control vest, she got a zap of electricity and quickly drew her hand.
“The thing’s still active,” she said.
“Listen, folks,” Jones said breaking in, “she’s probably gone. We don’t have time to waste. We need to get out of here.”
Russell shot him a withering stare, but Jones was made of tougher stuff. He had faced down a thousand hot-headed grunts in his career.
“Lodwick’s men could come here at any minute,” Jones said.
“Can’t I have a damned minute?” Russell shouted back at him.
“She’s dead, you’re alive,” Jones said. “You want to stay that way, then we have to move.”
But Russell refused to move.
“She’s gone, Russell,” Jo said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Sergeant Jones is right. We need to get going.”
Still, Russell didn’t move. Jones moved around the two of them and Maggie’s body in a tight arc. This action put him on the other side of Maggie, nearly up against the back wall of the room. He slipped the barrel of his rifle up as if to poke her, then aimed it at Maggie’s head.
Russell shot out a hand and knocked the barrel downwards and it struck the side of Maggie’s vest. On impact, a burst of blue and yellow sparks shot off the vest making Jo think of a sparkler. Maggie’s body bucked into the air, her feet pounding off the floor convulsively. Everyone jumped back as Maggie’s body bounced around for several more seconds. The smell of burnt plastic filled the air. Maggie’s body made one final convulsive jerk, then it settled back down on the floor, still and quiet.
Seconds ticked by. Jo held her hand to her mouth, her eyes wide. Russell sat on the floor just as surprised as Jo, his mouth open. Jones looked down at Maggie’s body, a look of disquiet on his face, wondering what had just happened and whether he had had anything to do with it.
Maggie broke the silence when she gasped out in a s
emi-strangled voice, “What the fuck happened?”
Chapter 37
Into the Darkness
With no small sense of dread, I edged down the dark hallway with my rifle up. It was nearly pitch black in there with the only light coming from the fires in the parking lot. Portraits of children’s faces hung on the walls, some intact, but others barely hung in place, their glass and frames broken. They were smiling in that way that children do when they have received some award for academic achievement. No doubt they were called eggheads and were picked on.
A large chunk of the ceiling had collapsed, no doubt a product of the pounding the building took from the helicopter’s cannon. Water dripped from the ceiling making me think of a cave. I wasn’t sure that made me feel any more confident, but I continued on. I walked cautiously over a pile of debris, feeling it shift under my weight.
The further I went, the darker it got. By the time I made the first corner, I was essentially in total darkness. To keep from falling on my face, I slid up against the right wall, putting my hand out to steady myself. As I moved slowly along, I listened for anything that might lead me to Kara.
This hallway was a short one and made a quick left turn. I wished fervently for a flashlight or anything to illuminate my way, but I was all out of luck on that account. Each step was an adventure as things crunched under my feet. In my isolation, it sounded like I was bringing a troop of people with me. I was sure that at any moment, either Marlow or one of his goons would step out of the darkness and blow my ass off. There was nothing to do but continue on.
A hard thud sounded somewhere in front of me. The darkness was disorienting, but it sounded close. Another thud came, and I felt the vibration of it through my fingertips as I still held my hand against the wall.
A muffled voice spoke and I couldn’t tell what it said, but I could tell it was coming from my right and was behind a wall. Another voice answered it, but the words sounded like they were coming through a box of cotton.
I stopped dead in the hallway and waited and listened. I listened like I had never listened before, waiting for something to happen. I listened so hard that I could swear I heard my own heartbeat.
There was another exchange of muffled voices, then another jarring thud and a thin vertical line of light broke through the darkness just a few feet in front of me. A dim light spilled out into the hall through what I guessed was a door. The light flickered like firelight on the wall opposite the door.
“Marlow said we should stay here with the girl,” a gruff male voice said.
“Shit, he could be dead,” another male voice answered. “I’m not waiting in this room anymore. Who knows, that helicopter could drop a bomb on us at any moment.”
“What about the girl?” the first voice asked.
“Leave her, she looks half-dead, anyway.”
I had no way of knowing if they were talking about Kara, but really, I knew they were. An aching, icy rope wrapped itself around my chest and tightened and I felt as if I might pass out, but it let up and I stayed aloft.
“I need to get this fucking door open wider,” the first voice said. “When the ceiling fell, it must have pressed down on the top of the doorjamb.”
“Put your damn weight into it,” the second voice said.
“Watch it, asshole,” the first voice responded with a growl.
Nothing happened for a few seconds then the door banged open, but only halfway as it caught on some debris in the hall. It blocked any view I could have into the room as it opened on the left, acting like a wall between me and whatever was happening in the room. More light spilled out and reflected off the wall across from the door, illuminating some stenciled letters on the door. It said, “Principal’s Office.”
I was in the right place, only at the worst time.
The second voice asked, “Are you sure we shouldn’t do something about the girl?”
“Leave her,” the first voice replied. “If Marlow’s still alive, he’ll finish her. I just hope he did the rest of her people. Those fuckers are the ones responsible for bringing this shit storm down on our heads.”
“I just know one thing, I’m not sticking around here any longer. This shit is coming down and I don’t want to be here when it does.”
I took a step back, crouched down, and brought my weapon up, bracing my shoulder against the far wall. A moment later, a scruffy looking character that looked more like an over-large dwarf pushed his way out the door. Something about his body language told me that he was not able to see me. Basically, he didn’t react at all because I was shrouded in shadows -- invisible like a ninja. It was like I wasn’t there, but I was very, very there with my blood pressure on the rise. I guess that’s excusable when you’re getting ready to gun two men down.
The scruffy dwarf shuffled out of the doorway and was joined by a Mephisto-looking guy, complete with a shaved head, goatee, and mustache. He had a gangly way of walking, all knees, and elbows. He held a flashlight that shone on the wall across from the door, giving the hallway a dim, warm glow. Both of them had weapons. Scruffy had a shotgun and Mephisto carried an assault rifle.
The beam of Mephisto’s flashlight flipped in my direction and that’s when the scruffy dwarf saw me. His eyebrows raised up, looking like giant wooly caterpillars.
Instead of putting his emphasis on being surprised, he should have reacted with his shotgun. I didn’t make the same mistake and pulled the trigger on my rifle. The report of my shots exploded in the hallway like cannon fire. The muzzle flashes, hot and angry, blotted out the dim light of the flashlight. Scruffy came off his feet and flew back down the hallway. Mephisto started to spin my way, but I shifted my aim and cut a bloody bullet-ridden line across his middle. He doubled over, spun around, and collapsed in the hallway.
I didn’t hesitate and rushed forward, shifting my aim between the two men, but that was a waste of time. Both of them were dead. Overkill maybe, but I was sick of these bastards and I didn’t have time to waste negotiating with them. I kicked Mephisto’s boot, but he didn’t stir at all. I kicked him again because I was pissed, but it was a waste of time and energy.
There was little or no time to waste. While I didn’t know it, things outside were moving fast. Through the walls, all I could hear was the exchange of gunfire.
Scruffy’s flashlight had survived the fall to the floor, so I scooped it up and headed into the room. It wasn’t necessary as there were two kerosene lanterns inside already. They weren’t overly bright but provided enough illumination to get a lay of the land. The room looked to have been hastily converted from a semi-sterile office into a bedroom. A sturdy wooden desk had been shoved into a corner with two office chairs. A file cabinet had been overturned at some point, spilling papers onto the floor.
Against the wall sat a four poster bed, incongruous to the whole setting, seeming totally out of place. I wasn’t there to critique the decor, so it really didn’t register with me. What was on the bed did, loud and clear.
Kara lay spread eagle across the bed, her arms were tied to the top posts with heavy rope and her legs lashed to the bottom posts with what looked like a dark-colored extension cord. A dirty white sheet laid haphazardly across her body, barely covering it. I could tell that she wasn’t wearing anything, but that wasn’t what froze me in place. Her face was swollen and puffy. There was an open wound on her forehead.
She hadn’t been gone long enough for bruises to appear, but I could see places where they would show up on her legs, her arms, and other exposed places. Marlow had beaten her before he had used her.
So many different feelings surged through my body. It was like someone was running a blowtorch across my head while also rubbing it with a block of ice, alternating in revolving instances -- hot, cold, hot, cold. I didn’t know if I was going to throw up or pass out, or both. My stomach felt like someone had punched me with an iron glove. Breathing became a real challenge.
What broke me out of my trance was when Kara raised her head, and looki
ng up at me through puffy eyes, she said, “Joel?”
Chapter 38
Rebels and Loyalists
“Can she even walk?” Sergeant Jones asked while leaning over Russell’s shoulder and peering down at Maggie. They held a vigil over as she lie prone on the floor, barely moving. While she slowly came back to consciousness, they surmised that had been a sizable electrical charge in the control vest. When Jones had brought his rifle in close proximity of the vest, there was an electrical arc. The charge from that arc acted like a defibrillator and that literally shocked Maggie back to life.
“I can walk,” Maggie croaked out, but she was still on her back, her eyes fluttering open and closed.
“You don’t have to get up,” Russell said, trying to be comforting.
“Like hell,” Maggie said, her eyes stopped fluttering and locked on his. Her voice sounded dry and raspy, but it was gaining strength. “The choice is that I lay here, waiting for a soldier to find me and shoot my ass off, or wait for a zombie to come and eat my ass.” She coughed a couple times, then continued, “Because you can’t stay here with me with your people still in danger downstairs.”
“She looks like she’s been cooked,” Jones said.
The skin around her neck was red and blistered. In places, there were black stains of an electrical burn.
“Stop talking like I’m not even here, asshole,” Maggie responded, starting to push herself off the floor.
Russell reached out a hand and helped her to her feet, but she wobbled back and forth, her knees close to buckling. “You don’t have to go with us,” he said. “We can stash you in a safe room somewhere.”
“I’m going,” she said with some of the fire starting to come back into her eyes and voice. “Somebody help me get this damn vest off.”