I pumped a shell into the chamber and pulled the trigger. The shot deafened the night, even above the screams and moaning. The kickback hit me in the shoulder again, but this time I was prepared for it.
I didn’t wait to see what kind of damage I caused; I just pulled back and shot again. And again and again. Always aiming at the cluster of Feeders standing between those I loved and me. Seven times I released shells; seven times I caught the kickback with my shoulder.
My pockets were now empty of any and all ammo; my guns were useless. I threw the shotgun on the ground and reached for my knife in one fluid movement. Tearing it out of its holster I brandished it in front of me and dove for the still clambering Zombies.
It wasn’t that my aim was off, but the spray of the shotgun wasn’t exactly accurate. The pile of undead bodies were maimed and broken with bloody body parts flung about everywhere, but if I didn’t get them in the brain then they still lived, still hungered for more flesh.
A knife was effective only if I could get it into the brain; I wasn’t exactly in a strong enough position to stab through thick, hard skull. While I’d developed muscles I didn’t even know existed during the last two years, I was still pathetically on the girl side. The eye socket was the best possible scenario here, but their faces were positioned away from me.
This was not going to be pretty- or clean.
I sucked in a deep breath of air and held my breath. Reaching for the closest body, I grabbed hold of the ankle over mud-soaked jeans and pulled.
I didn’t try to overthink this whole process much because what I was about to do and what I had been doing was disgusting and horrifying.
However I did have certain expectations. Like when I pulled on this ankle, the Feeder would come with it, flip over and I would jab him in the eye with my huge knife.
What I did not expect was for his leg to literally rip apart from my aggressive tug. Somewhere between his ankle and knee, his entire leg came apart. Black, sticky blood spread from the point of disconnect through his jeans, soaking the ground underneath him. He shrieked and groaned and flipped over with renewed interest in me. The wound, while disgusting, wasn’t even a little bit debilitating, other than he couldn’t stand anymore.
I was so shocked by the surprise amputation that I tripped, falling back on my ass, and sinking down into the thick mud beneath me. I waved the hunting knife in front of me, but Feeders weren’t scared or nervous about weapons. They barely even registered them, save for the stone cold biotch that tried to play home run derby with Hendrix’s body. But she was a phenomenon I would ponder later. Much. Later.
The Feeder, using his hands as springboards, lunged for me. I scampered back, using my elbows to pull my body out of his reach. His mouth was chomping like a crazed maniac and his hands lashing out in clawing motions meant to grab hold of me.
I kicked forward, punting him in the forehead. His head snapped back on his neck with a sick crunching sound. While he was distracted, I took the initiative and pushed up from the clinging earth. Just as he whipped his head back around my knife connected with his face and I threw my body into the plunge. Sick sounds of knife slicing through flesh and bone and brain matter could be heard over everything else, and I mentally filed them away in the stuff nightmares were made of.
The Zombie beneath my knife went rigid and lifeless with death. I rolled him over so I could leverage my knife out of his face, but it wouldn’t budge. It was firmly stuck in his skull.
Swallowing back a gag, I lifted my eyes and realized the remaining Feeders from my shotgun attack had turned their attention to me. Three of them were crawling through the slaughter in my direction, making bloody pathways of deathly intent, scraping their bodies against the muddy ground. Their low keening scattered goose bumps all over my skin.
I pulled harder on the knife, ready to end this. I yanked as hard as I could, desperate to free it. Then I pushed against the dead body with one foot, hoping to leverage my pull. My planted foot slipped on the spreading blood from my latest victim and down I went again, this time landing in a mixture of blood and gritty, wet earth. My head snapped back with my impact, connecting with the gory ground and jostling my brain.
Twice in one freaking day my hair was tangled in Zombie goo. This was so not okay!
The knife was still in my neighbor’s eye socket and my ankle was suddenly grasped in the iron grip of the closest Feeder. I kicked at his face, frantic to free myself. He held on tight, never feeling pain, never feeling the necessity to let go. I was his next meal and he would eat me or die trying.
A high scream of panic ripped from my throat; I flailed and thrashed in an effort to stay away from his slobbering mouth.
I would not get bitten. I would not become one of these… things.
The other two Feeders were just inches away from my other appendages and closing in. Holy hell!
The Zombie with his disgusting fingers wrapped around my ankle cocked his head back, ready to clamp his ravenous mouth down on my body. A bloodthirsty glint shone in his red eyes as saliva ran in streams of craving down his chin.
I closed my eyes, letting out a desperate whimper and arched my body away from him as best as I could.
Before I realized what I was doing, I braced myself for the impact, knowing he had me, knowing I was about to become a buffet of flesh for these monsters.
My entire body tensed in preparation. Suddenly the door to the barn boomed open and gunfire echoed through the night.
My eyes snapped open just in time to see the Feeder at my feet take a bullet to the back of the head and lose his life at the hands of fifteen-year-old King. The bullet exited the dead Zombies head and landed in a puff of mud right between my knees. I winced, and let out a hiss of breath.
Close call, but better a busted kneecap then a conversion to Zombie-ism. And King had managed to save me from both.
Harrison was right behind him, taking out the two stragglers with even, well-aimed shots.
Once every threat was eliminated, I dropped back to the bloody ground and closed my eyes in thanksgiving. Too many close calls today. Forget all the Zombies, I was going to die of a heart attack.
“Thank you,” I said sincerely in a hoarse, trembling voice.
“Thank you,” Harrison countered. “That’s all we had left.” He tossed his empty gun into the pile of Zombies. “We would have been toast if you hadn’t showed up.”
“I am saying the same thing,” I smiled darkly. “Page okay?”
“She will be,” King nodded.
The sounds of gunfire had stopped behind us and I glanced back to make sure we were all present and accounted for. Now, in the early morning light I could make out all four forms making their way back to us.
“Did we survive?” Harrison asked, taking in the same sight of his brothers and Haley returning to us.
“Looks like it,” I confirmed.
Harrison held out his hand to me and I reached for it, ignoring the slippery feeling of blood coating my own. He helped me to my feet, putting a supportive arm under mine when I wobbled.
I breathed in another sigh of relief when I heard Haley’s voice. She was relaxed, or as relaxed as anyone could be after Fright Night in Zombie-ville.
She was safe. And alive.
My throat immediately closed with emotion. Surviving was everything, but how many more of these close encounters of the third kind could we go through before someone didn’t make it out alive- before I didn’t make it out alive.
The Universe apparently didn’t think it was much longer because around the side of the house came a crazed, raging Feeder sprinting for the three of us. He was quiet in his approach, which was disturbing, but more than that he was more insane than any of the others. It wasn’t in his movements; they were surprisingly human, and it wasn’t in his behavior. It was his expression. The look on his face was pure evil. His eyes were bright red, and one side of his jaw had been completely ripped away, leaving only, remnants of shredded skin, bright-crimso
n tendon and gnashing teeth. A deep gouge dented one side of his head and he was missing an entire ear.
But he was determined. Dead set on the boys and me.
I didn’t have time to think, to react; he would be on us in a seconds and I had no weapon to protect us. I reached for guns and knives, but there was nothing there. I didn’t have anything.
Harrison leapt in front of me in an effort to protect, even while I knew he didn’t have any weapons either. King raised his gun and fired. The bullet ripped through the Zombie’s neck like a freight train, splattering a stream of blood from the entry and exit hole. Other than a jerk of his head, though, he didn’t show any sign of pain or slowing down.
King continued to fire, but his gun was empty now. Only the clicking sounds of an empty chamber broke up the heavy panting from the running Zombie.
There were directions I should have been giving, or goodbyes I should be uttering, something should be coming out of my mouth- even a terrified scream at this point. But I was so shocked by the rogue Feeder and our inability to protect ourselves; I was more than frozen to the spot. I was paralyzed.
The Zombie reached us, leaping into the air to tackle one or all of us; I had no idea who it would be. I cringed in anticipation, finally having enough common sense to push both King and Harrison out of the way. With as much force as I could manage I put my hands on each of their shoulders and shoved them as hard as I could in opposite directions.
Three gunshots fired from over my shoulde directly in my ear deafening me immediately. Every sound was replaced with a lonely high-pitched ringing. From the silence of my own head I watched as a long, muscled forearm rested over my shoulder. Following that forearm up to a pointed, smoking gun and to the Zombie, who was wrenched back by the impact of the bullets. I felt like reality slammed on the breaks and everything moved forward in slow motion.
The Zombie now lifeless and empty crumpled into a puddle of his own blood.
I felt my mouth drop open in shock, felt my body begin to tremble and shake from the trauma of the night. Still I felt detached from my body. I felt like a spectator in my own life. How much more of this could I go through? How much more could I handle before I lost my mind?
Slowly my hearing came back to me, first fuzzy and dizzying, then full force. But there was nothing to hear. My hearing returned and met only shocked silence.
Finally, after several tense moments, Hendrix growled out, “Reagan-“
“Don’t say it,” I breathed through a shaking voice. I turned around and wrapped my arms around his neck. He was right there, arms clutching my waist before I’d even fully turned.
He buried his face against my neck and breathed me in, nuzzling his nose against my dirty, sticky skin. I did the same to him, inhaling him, relishing in the feel of his body and how alive he was.
“What did you think I was going to say?” he asked in a rough whisper.
“You were going to tell me to ‘come here.’ But, I’m already here, Hendrix,” I answered through a muffled voice. A lone tear snaked down my cheek and dripped off my chin onto his t-shirt.
“You are already here, aren’t you?” His voice was thick and filled with possession. He gripped me tighter, pulling me against his hard body.
More tears spilled from my eyes, I couldn’t stop them now. I had been strong and as unemotional as possible over the last two years. But I couldn’t be that way anymore. Part of me had maintained my tough exterior because I had to, because there wasn’t a single safe place for me to retreat to, for me to become vulnerable in. But with Hendrix’s arms wrapped securely around me I finally found that safe place, the place that made it okay for me to cry, for me to grieve.
I sobbed against Hendrix, open and raw. This life wasn’t fair, this existence not acceptable. But it was all that was left and I had no choice but to survive it. Still, it didn’t make all this gore and difficulty easy.
In fact, this was very, very hard.
“Don’t cry, Reagan,” Hendrix ordered, wincing against my neck. “We made it. Everyone’s alright. We’re going to be alright.”
I only cried harder at his words; ugly, sobbing, sniffling tears streaked across my dirty face and drenched Hendrix’s t-shirt. He pressed me against him, tightening his arms so firmly I felt every inch of his body as we wrapped up in each other.
“We made it, yeah?” He asked in a barely audible whisper. He was afraid, terrified for me and I wanted to reassure him, but I couldn’t. I was a mess right now. “Reagan,” he asked in a more determined voice. “We made it.”
I nodded into his neck and found the courage to speak. “We made it.”
“And we’re going to be alright,” he prompted.
“We’re going to be alright.” I echoed.
“Look at me,” he demanded, full of his usual confidence again. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. But you have to stay with me.”
I shook my head, “Your siblings-“
“Don’t,” he cut me off, his blue eyes piercing straight through me. “I don’t mean that. I am grateful for what you did for them. I mean everything else. You stay with me.”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. I didn’t know exactly what he was asking. I just threw myself back against his body and clung to his neck. I felt a chuckle vibrate through him and he gave me one more comforting squeeze.
“Reagan, you’re going to kill me, you know that?” he sounded amused, even while his lips danced over my skin. “Good thing I’m used to near death experiences.”
“I don’t know what that means,” I sighed dryly, finally feeling like myself again.
“Of course, you don’t,” he laughed. “Come on, now that your breakdown is over, you definitely need a shower.”
“A shower sounds amazing,” I groaned, pulling away from him.
“Just remember you promised to let me wash your body,” he said seriously, reaching for my hand.
“Um, I think we said hair,” I corrected, ignoring the jolt of something delicious heating my body.
“Mmm, I’m pretty sure we said body,” he grinned down at me and pulled me over to the rest of the group that had been patiently giving us space.
“I’m pretty sure we said hair,” I argued. “And that’s if you’re lucky.”
“It’s not about luck, Reagan. It’s about something so much more necessary than luck.”
“And what’s that?” I asked in a tiny whisper.
“Guess we’ll find out soon enough.” But he definitely sounded like he already knew.
Chapter Four
We walked for hours that morning. We were filthy and still bloody from last night’s battle, and exhausted since nobody got more than maybe an hour of sleep. Other than the few disinfectant wipes I had to share, we weren’t able to clean up at all, and all of us were too nervous to try to find a river or creek. We just wanted to find some kind of shelter.
We stayed along the highway, like usual, but the topic of venturing toward a town had been raised. We couldn’t continue much further in our condition. We only had a few guns with ammo and not enough food to keep us full. We could all use a bath- desperately use a bath- and it would be nice to find out more about the Zombies in this area.
Over the past two years, Haley and I had been able to pick up rumors about other parts of the world. Not everything we heard could be believed, but we had a system of finding out what was considered widespread knowledge and what were some weary traveler’s paranoid suspicions. Usually, if we heard a rumor in more than one place and from more than one kind of person, like an old man, a middle-aged woman and a teenager, we started to believe that everyone generally believed it as truth. Now, this didn’t necessarily mean we believed it just because everybody else did. But our system had become a way for us to get the local and worldwide news, so to speak.
One thing we had heard over and over again was that Mexico and everywhere south of America had a stronger breed of Zombies. They were, in fact, so much stronger that they organized
themselves into armies and were successfully taking over South America. This was one of those rumors that everybody believed, but we didn’t know what to make of it.
The Zombies we had run into thus far had all been mindless with the need to eat and crazed to feed their brains-addiction. They had been relatively easy to kill, especially if they were by themselves. Obviously a horde of them posed a different set of issues, but if they could be shot well enough in the head, they flailed, they stopped trying to bite you, and they died. Easy.
There had been enough examples of smarter-thinking Zombies in the last two and a half weeks for me to start believing all the South America rumors. In the last two years, I had never heard of Zombies organizing themselves like the time before we met Gary, or last night. I had never heard of a Zombie picking up a weapon or trying to physically subdue their prey before they attacked, like last night when Hendrix was used for batting practice. These were not good signs.
This meant a Zombie army could exist. It meant they were capable of rational thinking- of planning and organizing.
Of meeting us on a battlefield and winning.
And that sucked.
Now it was more important than ever to get some kind of transportation and find more weapons.
Easy, right?
“Vaughan, we have got to find a place to stop,” Nelson groaned. It was mid-morning and we were all wearing the cranky effects of exhaustion. “Reagan reeks! For real, I can’t take it anymore.”
“Shut up, asshole!” I shoved him in the back.
“Cuss jar,” Page demanded.
“Page, he said I smelled!” I huffed, annoyed that I slipped up in front of her. This was the end of the world, not a pirate ship. I didn’t want her thinking every girl cursed like a sailor, just the bloody, gore-covered, no-sleep, out-of-ammo ones. Okay, and a lot more too, but she was only eight.
“Reagan,” she tsked, sounding so much older than her few years. “You do smell!”
“Traitors,” I grumbled. “You are all traitors.”
Love & Decay (Season 1): Episodes 1-6 Page 17