As she kept running, she heard shooting from the other end of Main Street as well.
They were coming at them from all angles.
Bernie had failed everyone. She’d assumed the small group barking at the bridge was the real danger. They’d been the distraction and she’d been fooled.
If she survived this fight, she’d gladly turn it all over to Tosha.
If Tosha were here, she would’ve seen this for what it was: a well-orchestrated ambush, Bernie thought.
Profit was lagging behind and Bernie stopped, aiming her weapon even though she was out of ammo. Maybe it would slow down the marauders a bit.
“Keep going. Don’t worry about me. I’ll get my second wind,” Profit said and grinned.
Bernie let him pass her first before she continued and he didn’t argue.
More firing from past the bar they were headed for got Bernie’s attention again.
A man ran into the street from her right and, if she had a bullet left, she would’ve fired. He might be an ally. It was hard to tell in the confusion. It wasn’t like everyone was wearing uniforms for either side or nametags proclaiming their alliance.
Bernie wondered how many people had been killed with friendly fire so far. How many lives had been lost because of this attack?
The worst part was the fact it wasn’t zombies that were going to kill everyone in the end. It was mutually assured destruction at our own hands.
Profit stopped, bent down and picked up a rifle. He smiled when he checked it.
Bernie came up next to him. She was feeling winded and knew the marauders were right behind them. She didn’t want to turn and look. She could hear them screaming and an occasional shot fired.
“Go inside and help them barricade,” Bernie said to Profit.
“Not a chance. I’m going to help you make sure everyone gets inside safely. If we don’t, it isn’t worth it. I’m not leaving people behind. I already lost Jada, who’s caught behind enemy lines. No one else is going to get left on my watch,” Profit said.
Bernie smiled, despite the gnawing feeling they were heading right into their deaths.
Chapter Thirty Four
For every ten feet they managed to get back, they lost another fighter.
Carlie ran out of bullets and threw her gun at the advancing horde of people. They were worse than the damn zombies because they knew better.
Carlie didn’t understand their motivation. If they’d tried to join The Promised Land like other groups had, maybe they could’ve worked together. Been one big, happy family against the zombies.
It didn’t really matter now.
If she could help it, every one of them was going to pay for ruining a good thing, just when they were starting to rebuild and see more people joining them.
This has been a hell of a week, she thought.
Another person was shot next to her and she didn’t want to look, fearful it was one of her family members.
At least most of the marauders only had bats, pipes and pieces of jagged broken furniture. Carlie would be bludgeoned to death but not shot, at this rate.
Her mother, looking beyond panicked, was being chased by two men wielding axes.
Carlie wished she had two bullets left. And the gun she’d thrown away in anger.
As she tried to angle towards her mother, knowing every second she didn’t run straight down the street there was the danger of being cut off, she saw a blur of movement.
Her father, who’d somehow found a wooden chair, got between his wife and the two men.
“Let’s dance,” he said with a smile. Carlie knew he’d said it because it was so cliché and over the top. The old man still had his sense of humor intact.
Mister Hand kept both men at bay while his wife escaped down the street, but Carlie knew he couldn’t hold them off forever.
Carlie rushed the first man from an angle, aware others were catching up as well. If she wasn’t fast enough, she’d be in the middle of a lot of bad people.
She crashed into him but her small size worked against her. It was like a bee sting. The man was pushed a step but looked more annoyed than anything.
It was all her father needed, as he crashed the chair over the man’s head.
The other man swiped down with the axe, cutting the chair in two.
Carlie dropped to one knee and picked up the heavy axe as the man tried to shake his head clear after being hit with the chair.
She swung, connecting with his side. Even though the blow didn’t have much force behind it because she was kneeling and didn’t have the strength, it still did damage. The blade must’ve been nice and sharp because it imbedded in his side and he cried out.
She tried to hold onto the handle but it was slick with blood and slipped through her fingers.
He also fell sideways and hit his partner, who stumbled and tried to hold onto his axe.
Carlie’s father moved in and hit him with a broken half of chair, a jagged edge tearing the man’s cheek and stabbing into his shoulder.
As both men tried to stay on their feet, Carlie kicked out as hard as she could, shattering a kneecap with her boot. Her father took her lead and did the same to the other man, but they didn’t have time to congratulate one another as a wave of marauders approached.
“Time to go,” her father said.
Carlie didn’t need an invitation.
As the group approached, anger and death in their eyes, Carlie thought this might be the way it was going to end.
Carlie stumbled and nearly fell, dancing across the pavement until she righted herself.
She heard gunshots and looked around, hoping her family was safe. She knew no one on her side had any bullets left.
Carlie got her bearings as she looked around.
Bernie was next to April, shooting three times until she was out of bullets and tossed the gun aside. She was holding a baseball bat and took a swing at a marauder as he closed the distance between them.
Carlie could hear the sickening smack of the bat as it connected with a head, splitting it like a watermelon.
“Everyone needs to get inside. Now. We’ll make our last stand,” Bernie said.
Carlie hoped Bernie was wrong about this being their last stand.
They had nowhere else to go now.
As Carlie helped the last couple of people into the building and grabbed the door to close it, she wanted to cry.
There were dozens of armed men and women rushing the building with bloodlust in their eyes.
Chapter Thirty Five
Tosha held her breath as someone walked slowly up to the pickup. The group had spread out in the area, searching for survivors.
She saw feet as the person stopped directly in front of where they’d entered the underside, where the grass was parted slightly.
Tosha had her knife in hand and inched forward.
The grass parted and a man’s head blocked the light.
Tosha jabbed forward as hard as she could, piercing the man’s neck. With her other hand, she managed to grab his shirt before he could react, driving his body to the ground.
Mitch helped her drag the body under the truck.
Tosha was covered in blood. She tried her best to wipe it from her eyes as she scanned the area for anyone running to this spot or shouting.
So far no one was any wiser this guy wasn’t in sight.
Mitch went through the guy’s pockets even as the man tried in vain to cover the wound in his neck.
“Kill him before he makes a sound,” Tosha said.
“Sorry,” Mitch said and stabbed the man twice. He finished going through the man’s possessions.
“Find anything good? Ammo? Twix bar?” Tosha asked.
“Two pistols with a few shots in each. A couple of knives. A water bottle I think he was pissing in. Lots of dirt and lint in his pockets,” Mitch whispered.
Tosha kept scanning the area in front. She reached out and shifted the weeds slightly so it looked natural but
covered the entrance again.
They could stay where they were and hope for nightfall. Maybe sneak away and either take a shot The Promised Land was still in one piece or head west and hope the army of zombies didn’t try to stop them.
It made the most sense, unless the bad guys were staying in the area. They might even camp out nearby.
Tosha tried to hear gunfire but everything was muffled and quiet from where they were hiding. She didn’t know if the bridge had held or maybe these assholes were already streaming over to lay siege to Main Street.
What if there were only a handful of them left, searching for what remained of Tosha’s forces? They could be doing their own thing.
Tosha waved Mitch closer so they could talk.
“What do we do with him? He stinks and it isn’t only because of you slicing his neck open. I really think he shit himself, and not recently. These people have lost all sense of humanity,” Mitch said.
“Stop being a pussy. We’ve both smelled worse. I need you to focus.” Tosha stopped talking when she thought she heard someone walking.
Mitch must’ve heard it, too, because he had a pistol up and aimed ahead.
Tosha held her breath, sure her panting was going to alert someone with a very large gun.
For what seemed like hours but was only a few minutes, the pair stayed perfectly still. A gentle breeze rustling through the weeds was the only real sound.
“What’s the plan?” Mitch asked.
“You always need a plan. My plan is simple: don’t get shot.”
“Great plan. I think we can either stay in place and wait for darkness and hope we can sneak away, or we get out from under this pickup before someone notices this dead guy is gone and looks for him where they last saw his sorry ass,” Mitch said. He smiled. “Unless you have a third option.”
“The third option would be to pull my pants down and let you fuck me for awhile. Guess which option isn’t really available?”
“I’m hoping one or two.”
“Your begging is really sad. This might be a low point in our relationship,” Tosha said.
“You said we were in a relationship. I’ll take a small victory at this point.” Mitch sighed. “We need to figure out what we’re doing so I can mentally prepare to sit tight and think about dying or run out and I think about dying.”
Tosha wasn’t sure which plan was better or if they were both just equally fucked.
She was scared of doing something which would lead to their deaths.
“Do you think Jada got away?” Mitch asked.
Tosha was glad for the distraction. “Yes. That bitch is a survivor. I haven’t heard shots fired in a while, which means they’re still looking for her. And us. I doubt they gave up, even if their main force was storming over the bridge. They’ll leave some of the more rabid members of their army to patrol on this side of the river.”
“It still leaves too many for the two of us to fight,” Mitch said.
Tosha didn’t disagree.
The sound of people shuffling through the rubble and debris was getting louder.
We go now or never, Tosha thought. If they’re far enough away, we might get a running start. If they’re closer than I think... we’re fucked.
Tosha lifted her body, preparing to go, when Mitch grabbed her arm.
She gave him a dirty look. He wasn’t making the decisions right now. She was.
Mitch pointed.
At least a dozen men had come into view, well-armed and searching the area.
As three men went into a building, the rest stayed and watched, weapons drawn.
Tosha knew it was only a matter of time before they got to this part of the block, and there was nowhere to run if they did. If they tried to get out from under the vehicle, they’d be heard and spotted before they got far.
“Three bullets left, right?” Tosha asked.
Mitch nodded.
“Let’s figure out which one is their leader. He’s getting the first shot,” Tosha said. “We need to put this dead fucker in our way so when they start shooting at us we have a shield. Until they cut him to ribbons, of course.”
Mitch and Tosha slowly moved the man an inch at a time, hoping they weren’t making too much noise. Once they got him into position, they moved to either side to make sure they could still watch the road and the enemy.
The weeds and grass were thicker behind the pickup truck, only a small gap to a crumbling building, but Tosha knew there was even less cover.
Tosha knew they were taking their time searching by how long it was taking them in the first building. When the group finally came back out, shaking their heads, they moved to the next one.
She judged there were at least a dozen buildings before they got near the pickup truck.
“How long until dark?” Tosha asked Mitch.
Mitch glanced back outside, straining his neck to see the sky. “A few hours.”
“Watch these fuckers. I’m taking a nap. If I start to snore, hit me.” Tosha put her head down, careful to keep it as far away from the dead guy and his smelly body as possible.
“You’re joking, right?” Mitch asked.
“Nope. If we try to run, they’ll shoot us. If we wait until night, we might be able to sneak out of here. I’ll take the chance of staying put. As shitty as it sounds, if anyone is hiding in any of these buildings, it will only help distract them. Maybe they’ll all give chase and we can get back across the river,” Tosha said and closed her eyes.
“I knew you wouldn’t leave everyone hanging.”
Tosha didn’t bother opening her eyes. “What does that mean?”
“Under that tough exterior is a soft, loving woman. Someone who has morals and is loyal to her friends,” Mitch said.
“If you say another word, I’ll stab you in the face just to prove you wrong. Now shut up and let me get a power nap. I’m sure the fun is only beginning,” Tosha said.
Chapter Thirty Six
There were eighteen people in the bar with Bernie.
Eighteen out of hundreds.
People were busy piling chairs and tables against the windows but she knew it wouldn’t hold for long.
“Who has ammo left?” Profit asked.
Only four people held up their hands.
“Come with me. We’ll take out whoever looks important from the second floor. Maybe if we kill their leaders they’ll scatter.” Profit looked at Bernie and she knew what he was thinking: it was such a long shot there was no way it would amount to much.
It was still worth a shot at this point, though.
The alternative was to throw open the doors, admit defeat, and be slaughtered.
“Everyone else, grab whatever weapon you can find and find a spot where you can stake your claim. We’re not going out like chumps,” Bernie said. “I’ll take the front door.”
She saw people huddling in small groups, hugging and telling one another things they would probably never admit to if this wasn’t life and death.
Bernie wished she had Tosha here so she could tell the fiery redhead what a sister she was and a bitch, which she’d appreciate.
She also wished Profit hadn’t run upstairs so quickly. If this was going to be the last hurrah for them, she at least wanted to kiss him goodbye.
Is this really going to be the end? Bernie tried to remain calm. Right now it was more important than ever to show no fear. She needed to lead this small group and be positive, even though she knew they were all going to die.
Stop being an asshole, Bernie thought. Be positive. Fool yourself and them into thinking we just might survive to see another sunrise.
There was shooting from upstairs.
“They have us surrounded. Right where we want them,” Profit shouted down the stairs. “This is going to be exciting.”
As if on cue, the marauders began pounding on the building, on all sides.
Bernie stretched and mentally prepared for the battle ahead. There was no stopping until everyone was d
ead. Despite the heavy odds against them, she needed to act like this was just another fight.
“We’ve beaten a score of zombies already, people. This is just a bunch of scared, dirty assholes. Once we clear out a few of them the rest will run and hide. We need to stand strong and hold our ground. No one can get past you.” Bernie looked at each person in the room.
She saw fear and people shaking but she also saw anger.
“They are fucking with the wrong people. Am I right?”
She got a murmur back from the small crowd.
Bernie shook her head. “I didn’t hear you. Am I right?”
“Yes,” a few people said.
Bernie swung her sword and grinned. “We’re dead already. Shit. I thought we were the real survivors. Less than two dozen of us out of billions maybe left in the world. Can you imagine the odds? Yet… we’re all acting like we’re going to die. Am I right?”
“Yes,” everyone shouted.
Bernie could see the Hand family, lined up near the back door, begin to clap.
The noise coming from outside was deafening but right now it didn’t matter.
“I know for a fact there are bottles of rum and bourbon hidden in this bar because I hid them. Once this is over with, we’re going to pass the bottles around. Am I right?”
“Yes,” everyone cheered.
Bernie swung her sword again, loosening up.
“We’re going to be legendary. The fucking zombies will tell stories about our last stand. They’ll make movies about us. Am I right?”
“Yes.” It was loud and Bernie smiled when the pounding outside slowed down.
“We’re going to kick some ass. Am I right?”
“Yes.”
“No way we die this day. Am I right?” Bernie asked.
“Yes.”
After a short lull, the noise from outside rose again, with a renewed vigor.
Bernie laughed. “We pissed them off. Let’s get ready.”
The front door shook.
A few of the pieces of furniture jammed against the windows began to fall as the enemy started to find cracks in the defenses and get into the building.
The front door cracked in two, the pieces falling to the ground.
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