Joe walked off; his footsteps much softer as he plotted his advance into the woods. Charlie sat on the forest floor, holding his knee and grimacing as he went down. It was the first time he’d shown any pain since they had begun their hike from base camp. Grace wondered how long he’d been hiding it. She’d expected him to hide it from Joe, even from her, but the fact that he wasn’t even attempting to disguise it concerned her.
She knelt down next to him. “How do you feel?”
He looked up at her, his face the picture of agony.
“Never better,” he said half-jokingly. Grace didn’t laugh. She only offered a look of concern.
“You don’t have to be a hero for me,” she said. “You need to rest.”
“We don’t have time to rest,” he said.
“Yes we do,” Grace insisted. “We’re fine as long as we make it to the summit before nightfall. We have plenty of time.”
A loud, lengthy groan emitted from Grace’s stomach. She shut her eyes tight and tried to ignore the pain. The contractions seemed to work their way from the bottom of her ribcage all the way to her pelvis. She put a hand on her stomach and massaged.
Charlie looked at her incredulously. “Yeah, plenty of time,” he said sarcastically.
Grace looked at him. She wasn’t going to argue. She knew they had to get to the summit and find something to eat. Aside from the ache in her stomach, she felt herself becoming physically weaker. Each fiber of muscle in her legs burned from fatigue and lack of nourishment. She felt a twinge in her shoulders with each breath she took; her lungs attempted to expand more and more in order to take in more air. Her headache was also wreaked havoc on her vision; with each throb of pain, the woods appeared to open and close in front of her. Tunnel vision was a bad sign. That, along with the nausea, induced a fear of fainting. She looked down at the ground and considered which leaves on the forest floor she might be able to eat. She thought about Joe and where he had wandered off to. He was already gone from sight.
“What do you think of him?” she asked.
Charlie considered the question for a moment. “I think he’s okay,” he said. “He made it out long before we did and still managed to stay alive.”
Grace nodded. She had to admit to herself that Joe seemed okay. And if Charlie gave his approval, then she didn’t really have much reason to doubt Joe. After all, it was good to have three solid people together. The fact that Joe was armed also gave her a little peace of mind.
They both jumped when they heard the scream. Grace shot up from her squatting position and Charlie jumped to his feet. The fatigue she felt through her body quickly washed away as the adrenaline surged through her once again.
Another scream. It came from deeper within the woods. It sounded like a man’s scream. It had to be Joe.
Grace and Charlie took off toward the screams. They ran through the woods with no regard for protecting themselves from the branches and scrub that whipped at their faces. Grace saw a figure up ahead. A man. He was attacking something, or someone, on the ground. She saw the man’s arm raise and lower, quickly and violently. It was Joe. He was swinging the machete.
Grace called his name. Startled, Joe turned around. He froze with the machete held high, ready to swing. His face was spotted with blood spatter, his arms more like they had been bathed in it. Grace and Charlie stopped running and continued slowly. A mangled figure lay on the ground. From the long hair and slight curve of a breast, Grace assumed it was a woman.
A woman. Eventually, Grace would have to reconcile the difference between living and dead—and undead.
She looked at Joe but didn’t notice any obvious wounds. “Are you...okay?” she asked.
Joe’s chest heaved as he fought to catch his breath. “She came out of nowhere,” he said, then paused to inhale. “Fuckin’ dead bitch! She almost got me.” He whipped his head left and right, quickly scanning both shoulders. He pulled at his shirt and looked for any indication that she had bitten him. “I was looking for something to eat. Then this bitch grabs me. Tries gnawing at my back. So I spun around and just started hacking.”
From the corner of her eye, Grace could see that the woman had several deep head wounds. Joe had been merciless in his assault. Her face didn’t much resemble a face at all. It looked like a stew of blood, bone, and cartilage. Joe hadn’t simply killed this woman; he had exacted revenge on her.
“Are you sure she didn’t bite you?” Charlie asked.
Joe turned, pulling up the back of his shirt so they could see.
“I don’t think so,” he said.
Grace and Charlie checked his back. There were no wounds.
“You’re fine,” Grace said. “But that was loud. We should get moving.”
As she said this, they noticed movement to her right. Two men and a woman were running through the woods, straight toward them. Grace took a few tentative steps backward. She reached back for Charlie’s hand. Charlie yelled out to the people, attempting to elicit some kind of response. There was nothing, nothing that resembled any kind of recognition. They just kept running. Their movements were fast and uncontrolled. The wide eyes and open, quivering mouths on otherwise expressionless faces told Joe, Grace, and Charlie all they needed to know: They were flesh-eating beasts that were coming to rip them apart and eat the pieces.
Joe cursed. “Let’s go!” he yelled.
“No,” Charlie said.
Tired of running, he pulled the gun out of his belt. Grace took a few more steps backward, moving behind him. Joe also stepped back. Charlie took a deep breath and aimed the gun. He waited until they were a little closer. Then, when they were about fifteen feet away, Charlie, patiently and coolly fired three shots.
Three were all he needed.
The retorts echoed loudly through the woods. He hit each one of them in the head and they fell just as fast as they had run. Their bodies lay still on the ground; dark, thick blood oozed from the wounds.
Joe stepped next to Charlie. He stared down at the bodies.
“Nice shot,” Joe said. “You know how to use that thing.”
Charlie only nodded slowly, his breathing slow and controlled.
“You know,” Joe continued, “any other day, I’d say that was loud enough to wake the dead.”
Charlie continued to stare coldly at the three bodies that lay before him. “The dead aren’t sleeping today,” he said.
Joe snickered. He caught Grace staring off into the woods; her face drained of color.
“What is it?” Joe asked.
“We have to go,” she said flatly.
Joe turned in the direction of her gaze. “Oh, shit.”
At least a dozen undead ran through the woods. They headed straight toward them.
“Run!” Grace yelled.
The three of them took off. Grace jumped over stumps, small bushes, and dead trees. She looked back and saw that Charlie and Joe were close behind. The undead were still farther off, but they were gaining fast. They tore through the brush like it wasn’t there. Even when they tripped or stumbled, they never slowed down. In fact, it seemed to Grace that the more they stumbled, the faster they came. How is that possible? she thought. The three of them would never lose them in the woods. The only place they had a chance of escaping them was on the trail.
“Head back to the cliff!” Grace shouted.
The three of them turned toward the trail. Grace could barely see as she got smacked in the face by branches and leaves. She could hear the sound of the stampede over her, Charlie’s, and Joe’s footsteps. The sound was getting louder, closer. The undead could have been tearing down the woods, for all she knew. It was an awful sound, one that only fed the terror growing inside her.
She could feel the air turning colder; they had almost reached the trail. The high winds made the air feel even colder. Ahead, she saw the edge of the woods and began to slow down. She looked behind her. Charlie and Joe were close. The swarm of the undead had closed in on them considerably. Another ten se
conds and the undead would reach them. We’re not going to make it, she thought.
Grace exited the woods first, crashing through the trees and stumbling onto the trail. The winds knocked her backward, nearly to the ground. Charlie and Joe exited a second later. Grace could see that the throng of undead was close. They’d be on the trail very soon.
Grace turned and ran, leading the way up the trail. Trees and brush were no longer a hindrance out here. However, the steep grade and exposed, loose rock presented a brand new set of obstacles. Climbing the ridge was going to be slow. She could only hope that the undead would struggle on the trail as well.
She looked behind her. Charlie and Joe were right on her heels. A little farther back, the horde had finally reached the trail. The mob of undead crashed into each other as they spilled out from the woods. Several of them made hard impact and fell over the cliff. There seemed to be only half as many as before.
Grace turned and focused on her climbing. The trail was so steep she had to crawl on her hands and knees. One hand over the other, she fought through the pain, hunger, and dehydration. She didn’t bother to make sure she had good footing; she only concentrated on speed.
She looked behind her again. The undead were moving just as quickly as they had moved through the woods. Somehow, the rocky terrain was not an issue for them, as they moved like arachnids across tree bark.
Grace slipped as she grabbed hold of a loose rock. She fell backward a few feet. Several rocks fell past her and crashed into Charlie’s shoulder. He fell hard against the trail. The uneven rock clawed into his chest and arms. Joe was able to keep his footing and gave Charlie a hard shove forward.
“Keep moving!” Joe shouted. Grace hesitated, slowing her ascent. Despite Joe’s commands, she wasn’t going to abandon Charlie.
Charlie looked up and waved her forward. “Go!” he yelled.
Grace looked up at the trail in front of her and continued climbing. The horde of undead grew louder and louder as they inched closer. Grace could hear the rock shifting and grinding under their feet as they plowed forward. She tried to concentrate on her footholds and handholds amid the grunting and snorting coming from behind them. She quickly analyzed every rock on which she placed her hands. She stretched her neck to see if the end of the trail was in sight, but all she could see was more rock.
Suddenly, the thought of being overtaken and eaten by the undead became a reality. She tried to imagine what it would feel like to have her skin and flesh torn apart. Would her skin separate like paper? Would her bones break and come apart like the wishbone of a turkey? She imagined being ravaged right there, her entrails scattered across the trail.
These thoughts disappeared when she heard a short cry from behind. It was Charlie.
He had stopped climbing and was resting on his elbows. He’d succumbed to the pain in his bad knee.
“Come on, we have to keep moving!” Joe shouted.
“He has a bad knee!” Grace yelled.
Charlie pulled himself up on his hands and attempted to kick off with his other leg. He found a foothold and pressed forward, but when he tried to push off with his bad leg, he let out an anguished scream and collapsed to the ground.
“Charlie!” Grace shouted in despair.
He lifted his head slowly and stared up at her. She saw a painful surrender in his eyes and knew he was done. She knew he knew he was done.
Panicked, she moved back down the trail to help him. She grabbed him by the shoulder and tried unsuccessfully to drag him forward.
“Just go, Grace,” he said. His voice was soft and tired. He rested his head against the trail, and looked out over the cliff.
Ignoring his request, she grabbed his arm under his shoulder, attempting to pull him up the trail. It was like trying to move a dead body.
“Push!” she yelled.
Joe grabbed under his other arm and tried to carry him forward. Charlie tried to push again, but exhaustion and his weakened knee wouldn’t allow him to move.
“Just go,” he said again. The resignation in his voice made Grace realize for the first time that, if in fact she did get off the mountain alive, she might be doing so alone. She tried to fight back the lump in her throat.
“It’s okay,” Charlie said, “I’m just slowing you down.”
She stared back at him. Tears now filled her eyes. She heard Joe curse behind them. She looked past Charlie; the undead had finally caught up to them.
“Motherfucker!” Joe shouted. He whipped his body around, unsheathing his machete. He sat on the trail, his back toward Grace and Charlie. He hacked and swung at the undead, making devastating contact with the long blade every time. Blood sprayed in every direction. Hands, fingers, and other body parts shot away from the undead.
Grace saw the bulge in the back of Charlie’s shirt and reached for the gun; there were still bullets left. She pulled the pistol out from under his shirt.
“There are only four rounds left—you’ll have to reload!” Charlie yelled as Grace scooted down the trail to assist Joe.
He reached into the side pocket of his cargo shorts and pulled out a handful of bullets. He took the gun from Grace and replaced the empty chambers.
“Shoot at the heads!” he shouted as he handed the gun back to her.
Grace’s hands shook as she raised the gun. She took aim at the closest of the undead, a young man who appeared to be his early twenties. His eyes were bloodshot. Blood and pus oozed from his snarling mouth. She fired the gun. The round caught the man in the shoulder and stunned him, but only for a moment. Joe looked to his right, startled by the gunshot.
“The head! The head!” he shouted.
Grace took aim again and fired. This time, the bullet entered the young man’s head through his left cheek, and the back of his head exploded with brain matter, hair, and bone fragments. He fell to the side, off the narrow trail and over the cliff.
She shot again at another, this time striking a middle-aged woman in her temple. The woman had been crawling across the trail and lunging toward Joe. She immediately fell limp as the bullet ripped through her skull and destroyed her brain. Her body slipped and tumbled down the rock-laden trail.
Grace looked back at Joe. He was fighting off three more of them; they were attacking him from his left. Grace crawled along the rock, around Charlie, and tried to get in better position to take a shot. From where she was, Joe sat directly between her and the undead. Given her lack of experience with a firearm, she didn’t want to risk shooting him.
She stared down at the trail, navigating over loose rock, when she heard Joe let out a painful cry. She looked over at him; one of the undead, a young woman, was biting his leg.
“No!” she screamed.
She raised the gun and fired erratically. She struck two of the undead, knocking them off balance. Joe was able to take advantage while they were stunned; he drove the machete into one’s skull and sliced the head off another. Grace continued firing until the gun emptied. She’d managed to hit the third one, the young woman who had bitten Joe’s leg, in the head. The woman fell into a lifeless heap.
And just like that, it was over.
Grace sat there frozen on the trail. She stared, as if in a trance, at the bite on Joe’s leg. Joe, too, sat there, unable to move as he tried to process what had just happened. Nobody was supposed to get hurt, Grace told herself. This wasn’t supposed to happen. And yet, Joe’s wound was deep; blood pulsed out in a thick, deep crimson stream down his shin and over his sneaker.
“Here,” Grace said, “let me wrap it.” She pulled at the bottom of her shirt, attempting to rip off a piece.
“Don’t bother,” Joe said in a very sullen tone. He laid the machete across his lap, brought in both his knees, and rested his elbows. He sat there, motionless, with his arms crossed. Grace could only watch as Joe stared off into the distance.
“What happened?” Charlie asked. “We’re okay, right?”
Grace turned to Charlie. It hadn’t occurred to her unt
il then that, lying on the ground, face-down, he never even saw the woman bite Joe’s leg. She closed her eyes and slowly shook her head. “I think Joe’s hurt.”
Charlie looked from Grace to Joe. “He’s hurt?” he asked. Fear crept into his voice. He tried weakly to push himself up, attempting to plant his knee, but he couldn’t turn over. Grace took his hand and helped him sit up. Charlie could now see the carnage left by Joe’s and Grace’s efforts. He also saw the wound on Joe’s leg. He turned to Grace and opened his mouth to speak. She shook her head again. Give him a moment, Grace thought.
The three of them sat in silence. Fear raced through Grace’s head. What’s going to happen to Joe? How are we going to get to the summit? Should we just go back down? I hope Joe’s okay. We need him. Is Charlie going to be able to continue?
After staring at the ground for several minutes, Grace broke the silence. “I think we should head to the summit,” she said, “and see if we can get your leg—”
Joe stood abruptly and Grace stopped talking. He turned to face them, and Grace noticed that his eyes were wet; tear streaks meandered through the dirt, blood, and grime on his face. He held the machete in his right hand, the blade dripping with the blood of the undead.
“Why, is there a doctor at the summit?” Joe asked, his voice full of sarcasm. Grace averted her eyes from Joe’s, ashamed at her frail attempt to motivate him. “I might not even have ten minutes!”
“I’m sorry,” Grace said. And she genuinely was—sorry that he was wounded, sorry that she still didn’t quite understand the consequences of this, but mostly sorry for the relief she felt that neither she nor Charlie had sustained any wounds from the undead. Certainly, she never wanted to see Joe injured, but inside, she felt guilty, guilty that she was happy it wasn’t Charlie standing freshly wounded before her.
“I’ve got no chance now!” Joe shouted. His face turned red. He turned toward the trail and swung the machete, chopping at a small tree repeatedly.
Charlie slowly managed to get to his feet, favoring his good leg. He pulled Grace toward him and stepped back, giving Joe room to vent. Grace held Charlie tight as she watched Joe release his frustration. He cursed and yelled as he hacked at leaves and branches, savagely chopping the trunk until it broke in half. When the top of the tree fell over, Joe turned around. He looked out over the cliff and screamed out, the echo carrying long after he’d stopped.
Dead Summit (Book 1): Dead Summit Page 11