by Jon Schafer
Stammering slightly, she said, “I knew we were going to go through them, so I figured I’d pick it up and get started.”
“I’m only going to tell you this one last time,” Tick-Tock said in a stern voice. “You only do what I say to do when I say to do it. Nothing more, and nothing less. I don’t expect you all to become some kind of Rambo, zombie killer ninja assassins, nor do I want you to be. That’s not what I’m trying to do here. All I’m trying to do is teach you how to survive. Your greatest asset is staying in a group, moving as a group, and thinking and acting like a group. To do this, you need to follow some simple instructions. If you learn to do that, we’ll all make it through this to safety. Are we clear on this?”
The, “Yes, sir,” came almost as one voice, giving Tick-Tock hope.
Looking at Denise standing behind them, he raised one eyebrow. She smiled and blew a kiss at him before taking over. With a list in her hands, she said, “We told you all before to make up a new pack if you lost yours in the minivan, so I want everyone to pick up their backpack and dump it out in front of them. Get everything out of the side pockets, too. You might have been ready to go before, but that was in a vehicle. Now we’re going on foot, so you’ll need to carry only the essentials.”
When the contents of the assortment of book bags, packs and even a few pillowcases they had scrounged were scattered in front of them, she continued, “I want everyone to place their bag in their left hand and pick up each item with their right and hold it up as I call it off. If you don’t have that item, raise your right hand.”
When they were ready, she called out loudly, “One pair of pants.”
When everyone had them in their hand, she said, “Roll them up tight and stuff them in.”
When they were done, she called out, “One shirt.”
Going down the list, she called out two pair of socks, one pair of underwear, two full water bottles and one knife. When she came to the knife, a half-dozen people raised their hands that they didn’t have one. Now it was Tick-Tock’s turn. Going up and down the three rows, he handed out the few hunting knives they had and gave the rest of his trainees whatever decent blades he had found in the kitchen. In addition to this, he also handed every third person a pencil sharpener
When he was done, he said, “I don’t have time to teach you knife fighting for a couple reasons, the first being that I never learned how to do it since I prefer to stand well back and shoot my attacker.” The group laughed, so he added, “And the greater the distance, the better.”
After the laughter at this died off, he said, “Your knife is a tool for making kindling to start a fire and any number of other things that I’ll go over later, and it’s only to be used as a weapon as a last resort. Don’t start thinking you’re Bizarro the magnificent knife-throwing god and do an overhand toss at an attacking Z because you’ll only be throwing a perfectly good knife away. The pencil sharpener is also to be used for making kindling. Find a stick the size of a pencil and use the shavings.”
When Denise was done with her list, the remains of the group’s belongings lay on the floor in front of them. Tick-Tock watched as they looked down at their property and then back up at him, waiting for him to tell them they could put the rest of their personal items in their backpacks. Instead, he picked up a phone book from a pile stacked on the Ping-Pong table and tore off two inches from it. Walking up to the first person in the front row, he handed it over to him and said, “Put this in your pack.” When the man looked at him oddly, he explained, “That’s your toilet paper. Use it sparingly, since we might be on the road for a couple days.”
Hearing one of his trainees say in a questioning voice, “Phone books,” without missing a beat, Tick-Tock said, “We’re using phone books because I couldn’t find any copies of Hard Choices, by Hillary Clinton, in the library.”
There were a few chuckles, and feeling that their training was winding down, a man in the back row raised his hand to ask a question. Tick-Tock had told the group at the beginning that they needed to save their questions for the end. He wanted them to just learn to do what they were told, but he reminded himself that these were not Marine Corps recruits.
Although they still had to learn how to hold and fire their weapons in a safe manner, Tick-Tock decided to relax the mood a little, so he said, “Training’s not over yet, but go ahead.”
“How long will we be walking?” he asked.
Without breaking stride as he moved to the next person and ripped off another section of the yellow pages, Tick-Tock replied, “When I was in the Corps, on my last day of jungle warfare training, we got back from a three-mile run, followed by a forced march of ten miles through what was mostly swamp. We came back to camp and unassed all our equipment. All we were looking forward to was a shower and graduation the next day, but then our instructors came in screaming that we had to get our shit together and get ready for another ten-mile hike through the beautiful jungles of Panama.
“Most of us grabbed our gear and got ready, but a couple guys quit. They were bitching and whining about how unfair it was. They were saying it was bullshit since we were all done with training. The ones that didn’t quit lined up outside and started off at a quick march. That’s one-hundred twenty steps per minute. We’d barely gone half a mile, though, when we came across a couple trucks parked to the side of the road with a bunch of guys hanging around a bonfire drinking beer and having a good old time. Our instructor stopped us just short of them, and that was when we recognized these guys as the men that had been training us in everything from ambush to improvised explosives over the past six weeks. That was when they came forward handing out beer and telling us we’d made it.”
Clearing his throat, Tick-Tock said, “You won’t quit. You will walk as long as you need to, to get to where you’re going. Don’t project on the time or the distance. Set yourself a goal. Pick out a tree or a rock in the far distance, and say to yourself, ‘That’s my spot. That’s where I’m going.’ When you get there, pick out another spot and head for that. Always remember, mental projection is just like mental masturbation. You’re only fucking yourself.”
When he had finished handing out their impromptu toilet paper, Tick-Tock stood in front of the group and said, “Now I want everyone to put your pack down and pick up your sleeping bag or blanket and shake it out. I’m going to teach you how to roll everything up nice and tight.”
***
Looking down at the white clumps studded with finishing nails sitting on the kitchen counter, Brain reached down and laid three fingers on one of them. Feeling no heat coming from it, he checked the wires to the radio duct taped to the formless wad. Satisfied, he said to Connie, “They’re ready.”
“But will they work?” Steve asked from the other side of the kitchen.
Startled at his sudden appearance, Brain jumped slightly. Regaining his composure, he said, “There’s no reason they shouldn’t.”
“What kind of blast can we expect from them?” Steve asked.
“About a third as much as the dynamite I set off,” Brain told him. “The big difference in these, though, is that the shrapnel from the nails is going to do a lot more damage. We’re going to get a lot more Zs staying down after the blast.”
Thing one and Thing two took this as a sign to dance around as Steve asked, “You’re sure they’re going to work, though?”
Annoyed at being asked the same question twice, and feeling like Steve was questioning his abilities, Brain asked defiantly, “Have I ever been wrong?”
Steve laughed and made a placating gesture with his hands as he said, “Just making sure. Everything hinges on blowing a hole through the Zs so we can make it to the woods.” Looking at the bombs lined up on the counter, he asked, “Can you set them to go off one by one?”
Brain shook his head and replied, “We’ve only got one transmitter to detonate them, so they’ll all go off at the same time.”
Steve thought about this for a second before saying, “Then we c
an only use six of them on the dead since we need the last one to blow a hole in the fence. Is there any way you can set one of them to go off separately?”
“No, but they also go off if you throw them against something,” Brain told him. “The impact will do it. I used the leftover Styrofoam to make a dozen extra that we can bring with us. I figured they might come in handy. I can use one of those to blow the fence and the rest to slow down the Zs that will be following us.”
Steve nodded as he brought up a mental image of the map and considered the most effective places to use these as he asked, “Who’s going to be carrying the bombs?”
Puffing out his chest a little, Brain replied with a touch of bravado in his voice, “I am.”
With a smile, Steve said, “Then if you trip and fall, make sure I’m not around.”
***
Climbing up through the hatch in the roof, Steve could hear the muted sound of firing pins falling on empty chambers above the low whining of the dead. Surprised that he could hear anything above the voices of the Zs, when he was completely on the roof, he noticed a marked drop in the volume coming from below.
Seeing Heather helping a slightly overweight man adjust the sling on his rifle, he waved to her but ignored the glances he received from the group standing a few feet away with their rifles held at a semi-resemblance of port arms. Edging to the side of the roof, he cautiously looked down.
Disgust welled up in his throat at the sight of the nude and semi-nude dead bodies pushing up against the side of the building. Disfigured and torn in ways that would gag a maggot, they were strangely silent. Pushing away his revulsion, he studied the dead for a moment as he tried to figure out why they were being so quiet. Nothing had changed in their demeanor, as they were still desperately trying to get into the mansion, but most of them weren’t making the high-pitched keening sound anymore.
Realizing Tick-Tock had joined him, he asked, “What gives? Not even a couple hours ago, you couldn’t hear yourself if you screamed up here.”
Tick-Tock shrugged and said, “They were like this when we came up. I thought they’d start back with all the noise when they saw us, but it’s been like this ever since. Maybe they know we’re trapped or some other shit and they’re saving their breath.”
“They don’t breathe,” Steve said absently as he focused on a Z with the left portion of its skull missing and its brain exposed. Dark fluid covered the wound, and he could see that underlying grey matter was actually a dark red.
“No shit, Sherlock,” Tick-Tock said with a laugh. “What was your first clue they don’t breathe?”
Shaking off the sight below him, Steve turned to his friend and laughed. “Sorry, just talking. The sight of these things makes me want to blow chunks, but it also makes me want to know what makes them tick.”
“You should have been a scientist,” Tick-Tock said wryly.
“And you should have been a proctologist,” Steve shot back with a laugh.
“Then you’d only have to worry when you felt both my hands on your shoulders,” Tick-Tock replied.
They both laughed at this old joke before Steve asked, “How are your trainees doing?”
Tick-Tock shrugged and said in a low voice, “A couple of them show promise, but…”
“But what?” Steve asked.
“I need at least two days with them to be able get them to shoot straight,” Tick-Tock answered.
“You’ve got until tomorrow morning at dawn,” Steve told him.
Already having guessed this, Tick-Tock was nonetheless excited at hearing they would be going soon. With a slight grin, he said, “I figured as much, that’s why I’ve been busting ass to get these people ready.” Pointing to the dust cloud to the east that had dissipated for a short while, only to reappear closer to the mansion, he added, “Looks like the Zs crossed the lake. Even tomorrow morning might be cutting it close, but we should be able to get out of here before they hit us.”
Steve nodded and said, “If I had it my way, we’d go today, but we don’t have enough light left. We need to keep an eye on that herd, though, so they don’t surprise us. I want two people on watch at all times through the night. Even if they can’t see shit, I still want them up here.”
Tick-Tock nodded and said, “Done deal. Denise and I will take the first watch, and then you and Heather -”
“The trainees take their turn, too,” Steve cut him off. “Split them up and get them organized. They stepped up, so they’ll help in everything we do from here on out. I want one of us and two of them to take each watch. I hate to be still making the distinction between us and them, but until they get up to speed, that’s the way it is. I want everyone well rested for tomorrow, so that means they pull their weight, too.”
Tick-Tock nodded and said, “Consider it done, and it’s about time.” Turning to where his people were standing along the edge of the roof, he said in a loud voice, “We’re done snapping in, so now it’s time to use live ammunition. For those of you with a magazine fed weapon, I want you to extract the clip from your pocket and insert it into your rifle like we showed you. For those of you that have a top-fed, bolt action rifle, I want you to load your bullets into your rifle like we showed you.” Pointing to two men holding lever action rifles, he added, “And I showed you both how to load your weapons, so go ahead and do it.”
Steve noticed that no one made a move to do as they were told. He was about to comment on this when Tick-Tock barked out, “Ready… load.” In a flurry of motion, the trainees inserted magazines and loose rounds into their rifles. When they were done, they stood waiting.
Impressed at the discipline that Tick-Tock had instilled in these people in such a short time, Steve said, “Looks like you have everything well in hand.”
“Not even close,” his friend replied. “I can still use some help, since none of them have ever fired a gun before.”
Without hesitation, Steve asked, “What do you want me to do?”
Moving back over to the trainees, Tick-Tock said, “We’ve got plenty of targets, but I want to make sure they’re hitting – or at least hitting near – what they’re aiming at. With all the Zs down there, it will be like lining these guys up along the side of a boat and telling them to shoot over the side and hit the ocean.”
“So what’s the plan?” Steve asked as he followed.
They reached were Denise and Heather were standing as they waited on them, and after exchanging greetings, Tick-Tock said to Denise, “Steve’s going to help us by marking our targets, so give him the splat gun. That frees you up, so I want you helping me and Heather on the firing line in case anyone gets a jam or does something stupid.”
Denise extracted a paintball gun from the pack at her feet and said to Steve, “We took the big feeder off the top, so you have to load it one shot at a time.”
Hefting the weapon, Steve asked, “Why?”
“So you can load different colors,” she explained. “We want to make sure they’re hitting what they’re aiming for, and we want to be able to tell different trainees to aim for different colors when we teach them snap shooting.”
Turning to Tick-Tock, Steve asked, “Are you sure they’re ready for snap shooting?”
“I’d rather teach them how to do everything right from the get go,” he answered. “I know it takes a lot of practice to be able to raise your rifle or pistol in a flash and snap off a shot that hits your target, but I want them to at least know the basics and how to do it safely.” In a lower voice, he added, “I doubt any of them will remember half of what I teach them, but I have to go through the motions. Maybe enough of what I tell them will sink in so they don’t accidentally shot each other or one of us.”
Steve nodded and said, “You’re the instructor.”
“Damn right I am,” he said with a smile before raising his voice and saying to the line of trainees, “Remember your sight picture and remember that the only person shooting will be the one Heather, Denise or myself is standing behind and tel
ling to shoot.” Turning to Steve, he said, “I need about twenty targets spread out across the back of the house. Try to find the ones on the outer edge of the mob that aren’t moving around too much. I don’t want to make it too hard at first, and we’ll get to the part about how to hit a moving target later.”
Steve complied, and within a few minutes twenty of the dead had splatters of red, green, and yellow paint marking their heads and chests. Tick-Tock moved behind the first person in line, a woman who looked extremely nervous but determined, and said, “Pick one target and tell me which one it is.”
The woman looked for a moment before pointing directly out in front of her and saying, “The one with the red paint dripping down its neck. It’s got what’s left of a flannel shirt hanging off its back.”
“Then raise your rifle, get your sight picture and squeeze the trigger like I taught you,” Tick-Tock told her. “I’m going to be right here, so don’t be afraid.”
Hesitantly, the woman raised her .22 rifle and put it against her shoulder, the barrel moving around a bit as she looked down the sights and searched for her target. Finding it, she steadied herself and then squeezed her eyes shut.
Seeing this, Tick-Tock said, “You’re pulling a Brain.”
She laughed nervously as she thought of the story he had told her of how Brain thought shooting was aiming in the general direction of a Z, closing his eyes and pulling the trigger until he was out of ammunition.
Resettling the weapon, she aimed again and jerked the trigger. The shot went high and struck a dead thing standing behind her target in the arm.
“Damn it,” she said out loud, “I missed.”
“Squeeze the trigger,” Tick-Tock said gently.
“I was worried about the kick when I shot, but there’s hardly any,” she commented as she looked down the sights again.
It took her three more tries, but the Z finally went down in a small spray of black pus.
She let out a little squeal of delight and said excitedly, “I did it.”