by Micah Gurley
Kyle, dumbstruck, stared at his friend. Awesome? A sudden desire seized Kyle to shoot Patrick in his Mohawk, but he remembered he had no gun. Pity. He looked at Patrick and said, "I think..." his voice was hoarse and scratchy. James handed him a canteen of water and he took a small sip, then another. He waited a minute and then took a gratifying large couple of gulps that tasted like liquid gold. "Thanks. Patrick, I think next time we'll switch places."
Patrick burst out laughing again. "No way man, that was crazy. Awesome, but crazy. Besides, Jasmine would kill me if I did something like that."
The mention of Jasmine brought Abe back to Kyle's thoughts, and then he remembered the door.
"The door’s closed?" he asked, knowing it must be for Patrick to be here, but still he needed to hear the answer.
"Yeah man, it was a tight thing for a minute, but when they all started going after you, we had enough people to slam it shut. Dude, that door's heavy! Anyways, your brother cursed you up good, that boys not the saint he pretends to be. He grabbed me and told me to go help James. I think he wanted to come, but maybe his shooting isn't that great?"
Kyle relaxed at the confirmation of the sealed door. They were safe, at least for a while, but he felt a little guilty about his brother. He'd get over it. Kyle reached out and grabbed Patrick's arm, squeezing it a little harder than necessary, and pulled himself off the ground. He felt light headed for a minute and didn't let go of Patrick.
James spoke up for the first time. "Let's go down stairs so you can get some water and relax for a minute. You need a few minutes after that."
"Ah, I'm fine, just fat and out of shape," Kyle said, letting go of Patrick and flicking him in the head. "Guess I need to change that."
On the far side of the fort, the three of them began to walk around the inner wall, back towards the main gate. As they walked, Kyle noticed the sun breaking the horizon across the ocean that lied a hundred yards away. Beams of orange and yellow light shot out and crawled across the land, the promise of warmth a welcoming hope. Keeping his eyes away from the moat, Kyle noticed for the first time a light, almost sparse, trickle of...ash. It floated softly down on their heads as they walked, a reminder that the world burned.
"Is everyone still at the gate?" Kyle asked Patrick as they walked.
"They were when I left, but they were getting more magazines also. We ran out."
Kyle stopped at this and turned to Patrick. "How many magazines did we go through?"
"Not sure, but it couldn't have been that many if we ran out them, right?"
Kyle didn't answer, but turned back around and kept walking. He hoped they didn't use many. Bullets were a commodity now.
"Patrick, get everyone back up, we need to take care of the rest of them."
"Copy that," answered Patrick seriously, a strange switch from his usual responses. Patrick jogged ahead and left James and Kyle walking behind them.
"Wasn't sure you were going to make it," James said stoically.
Kyle laughed. "You and me both. And thanks, I owe you."
James, in his typical fashion, just gave a slight nod but didn't say anything. The two made it to the top of the wall, which stood above the gate. Kyle looked down and couldn't help but notice all the diseased roaming the moat, their growls of frustration breaking the peace of the morning. There were over fifty near the bridge, and more wandering the moat. Kyle could have sworn there were thousands of the things when he was down there. Just his mind freaking out.
"We need to burn the bodies afterwards," James stated.
Kyle agreed, but didn't relish the idea of going down there again and stacking them. He also didn't want a human bonfire just outside their walls, but there was no way they could move that many up and out of the moat.
The sound of the scuffling feet on the stairs announced the others coming. Kyle and James turned to greet them. Abe walked up and handed Kyle's rifle to him. Kyle gave his brother a smile, but Abe shook his head, like Kyle had forgotten to make his bed. The others joined the group chatting and commenting on the diseased that walked around in the moat, groaning and reaching their hands up in the air. Many of the diseased were bloody, but even more had burn marks in various spots of their bodies.
Kyle hit the eject button, popped his magazine out, checked it to make sure it was full and reinserted it into the well.
"It's full," Abe said in irritation.
"Just checking little brother," replied Kyle, knowing that would just piss him off. "Okay guys, we need to clear out the rest of these diseased and then burn them.
"Bloody hell, we're going to burn them down there?" asked Edmund with a look of revulsion on his face.
"Have to," said Kyle, "unless you have a way to move them out of there. But we can dig a pit in the moat for the bodies."
"Not it," said Patrick and everyone laughed.
"Okay, let's split up and each walk one way around the wall. They're not going anywhere, so take your time. We don't need to use up any more ammo than we have to."
The group split up, and Kyle held back Eric, which meant his protégée Edmund stayed behind. Kyle said, "Eric, we need to get that bridge out of there, or make a way to make it smaller. Take Edmund with you, since his rifle work probably isn't that great."
"Hey," the young Brit interjected, "I'll have you know, I shot them right proper. Must have gotten at least five of them."
"No kidding?" scoffed Eric. "Regular Wyatt Earp here."
"Excuse me for not being born with a gun in hands like you Yanks. We British are a more civilized people."
"I've told you boy, I'm no Yankee," growled Eric, turning on the pale kid.
"Okay, you two get started on that." said Kyle, regretting getting this started. How did these two become joined at the hip? "Have Old Ben help you also.”
The two nodded and started down the narrow steps, still arguing about something. Kyle turned to Abe, who was waiting for them. They had some diseased to finish off.
***
Abe closed the facet, picked up the pail of water and carried it to the edge of the parade ground, the designated place to wash. The ground had turned to slush, the ice of last night giving way to the sun's warmth. He set the bucket down, cupped his hands, bringing the cold water up to his face. He cringed as the freezing water touched his skin, but rubbed himself anyways. He needed to clean himself, rid himself of all he'd just seen and done.
For thirty minutes, the group had killed the wandering diseased trapped in the moat. He couldn't get the images, sounds and smells out of his head. It seemed more like murder than survival. They just stood there, their milky eyes looking up, hands upstretched, as one by one they fell with bullets in their heads. The diseased didn't run, didn't hide, just growled, thrashed and scratched the walls until their fingers dangled from pieces of skin.
Blood. Blood was everywhere, it coated the bottom of the moat like a plague of horror. The worst thing about the diseased, apart from them trying to kill you, was that they weren't dead. They breathed, moved and ate all with a beating heart. Abe didn't understand it, but he'd seen it himself. What could make them act like that and still be alive?
Walking slowly along the top of the wall, aiming down into the moat, Abe had seen one man, whose hands were completely burnt off. His arms were pure black, except for veins which leaked red blood. His face and hair were burnt completely off, with one eye still open and following him, as Abe had put the red dot on his head and ended him. The back part of his head exploded in blood and bone, then he fell to the ground, still bleeding as his breathing stopped.
Abe doused himself with water again and scrubbed his arms, head, ears and eyes, anything he could reach without stripping. Not enough, but it would have to do. He was late already. He'd hung back to collect himself, using being filthy as his pre-text. He needed to get going. He emptied the rest of the water along the side off the wall, set the bucket down and walked back across the empty parade ground. He noticed James standing, back towards him on the top of t
he inner wall. He'd said he didn't need to be in the meeting and volunteered for watch. Abe looked back towards the door and hurried through.
He walked through the small opening in the plex-glass that used to separate the tourist from the recreation of an officer’s life. The mannequins had moved out and Patrick's family had moved in. Abe took a seat on the wooden floor, joining everyone else there. The kids played in a far corner of the room with Eric's dogs playfully biting them.
Abe saw Kyle mouth the word late to him, then give a smirk and turned away before Abe could reply. Idiot. Even at the end of the world, family could still get under your skin.
Before the meeting started, Abe took a look around the room they were in, or casement as Kyle called it. It was twenty feet long and had a solid wood floor. Kyle told him the rooms were surrounded by over four feet of stone and brick. All of the casements were vaulted, something to do with engineering, but to him, the shape seemed like a Twinkie.
Abe saw Kyle move to the center of the room, drawing attention as he did. Abe noticed his brother had started fiddling with his ear whenever he was thinking. Kyle now sported a nice round hole through his ear, courtesy of Neil and his thugs. Abe guessed it gave his brother something to do with his hands.
Abe thought Kyle seemed older, more tired, which was too be expected, all things considered. His dark blond hair was unkempt and he hadn't shaved in a few days, something that always made him look older. But Kyle still carried leadership well, the way he talked to others, the way he took responsibility and made the hard decisions. Not always right, but even when he messed up, he owned it like a man.
Yeah, the last few days had been tough; first the disease hit, then getting to Fort Macon, a story on its own, and this morning they almost lost everything. Yeah, a hard couple of days.
Abe had to admit, this place, this fort was the perfect location to fight these things, these diseased. The moat surrounding the place was ideal, almost as if the fort was in Kyle's zombie guide to surviving. When a diseased dropped into the moat, it was simply stuck, there was no way to reach the top of the twenty foot high inner wall. Abe felt safer inside the fort than anywhere else so far, at least in this new world.
Kyle gave a little cough and began to speak, so Abe shut down his appraisal of the fort and listened.
"Big day huh?" Kyle said. A few people chuckled. "I don't know what to say, except, we're still all here and alive. Everyone did good. It was a close thing, one that, I hope, we don't have to deal with again, but we must be prepared for it, if we do. Anyone have anything to say on it?"
Jasmine jumped in, apparently waiting for the question. "But, what is the plan Kyle? We can't just stay here forever, can we? We need the police or the military. We need help."
Silence lingered as Jasmine finished talking, everyone looking at her or Patrick, who almost looked a little guilty.
"Jasmine," said Kyle gently, "I don't think there are cops anymore, at least, that can come and help us. And the military, who knows what's going on there? My plan is to find out what's going on and get help, but until then, we survive. I'm not out to wreak havoc on the diseased, save anyone across the country or restore order. I just want to keep everyone here safe."
"I know that Kyle, and I'm thankful we're here. I just want my kids to be safe. And I'm willing to trade Patrick for that."
Abe jerked his head at the offer. What? He looked at Jasmine, who was smiling at her husband. Abe began to see why the yellow haired, Mohawk wearing Patrick would marry her; she was funny. Still though, an odd group of friends.
Old Ben stood, his body popping like a bowl full of Kellogg's. "Listen here, I've got something to say-"
"You don't need to stand Uncle Ben," Eric said, watching his uncle struggle up from the cot.
Old Ben turned to face Eric, "Listen here you hairy barbarian, I'll stand if I want to and stop calling me Uncle. We're not kin."
Eric rolled his eyes, "You know you're my Great Uncle."
Old Ben rubbed his ancient hand through his pure white hair, "I know nothing."
Edmund, loving to hear Eric get put in his place, burst out laughing at Old Ben. "You know nothing?"
Eric, ready to lash out at somebody, turned to the young man from England. "You keep your yap shut Queen's boy, this here is American business."
"Now listen here," said Old Ben, drawing the attention back from the laughter infecting the room. "I think Kyle's got a good head on his shoulders, now he might be a Yankee, but-"
"I grew up not two hours from here," Kyle said with a smile.
"Actually," broke in Abe, "Mom was from Pennsylvania, so technically doesn't that make us half Yankees?"
"Hold on," Patrick interrupted in a slow southern draw, "Does that mean I'm a southerner now that I live here?"
Edmund stood and waved both his arms out. "You're all bloody Yanks."
"Confound it, respect your elders, I've got the floor," yelled Old Ben, his voice crackling. The group, torn between laughing and being aggravated, all turned to Old Ben. "That's better. Now, I was saying…Well, I must have said it."
Old Ben sat down, ignorant of the smiles aimed in his direction.
Kyle gave a small cough, and everyone turned back in his direction. Kyle looked at Eric. "Did you count how many rounds we went through?"
Eric gave a nod, then pulled a small piece of paper out of his pants. "Yeah, we used about two thousand rounds this morning, give or take a hundred. "Eric looked from the paper to see Kyle clenching his teeth.
"Two thousand rounds?" asked Kyle, hoping the count was wrong.
"Or less," said Eric. "It seems, some of us got a little carried away."
Old Ben, shaking his head in disgust, nodded and spoke again. "Terrible shooting son, no doubt about it. It's a good thing they can't shoot back. But, I saw it coming. First time in a real fight, I imagine, people had the shakes and shooting ain't as easy as people think. And these people, ain't really people, they’re-"
"Zombies," Patrick insisted.
"Diseased," said Kyle.
"Whatever they are," finished Old Ben, "put the fear of God in some people here. Shaking you see."
Kyle took a minute and thought back to how many rounds they loaded on the trucks when they left. About 10,000 if he remembered correctly. A fifth of that was gone now. If they ran out of bullets, they were in real trouble; no way could they fight these things hand to hand.
Old Ben wasn't done though, he cleared his throat, a raspy attention grabber. "If we're running low on bullets, we could always hit up the Coast Guard station. I doubt the Coast guard ever got anything going in all of this. Everything is probably sitting there, maybe not a lot, but ready for the taking."
Kyle nodded at this, "Our AR-15's fire a .223 and the Coast Guard probably uses the 5.56 round. It'll cause some problems."
"I know that sonny, I been shooting before you was peeing in a diaper. The armory has M16s as well, maybe a few M4s, but probably the older rifles. Anyways, it's an idea. I'm just here for one last ride."
"I was hoping not to get into any firefights, but we can't afford to run out of bullets. I think we'll have to check it out. We're lucky that it's on this side of the Island. Okay, next is food. Jasmine?"
Jasmine pushed off Patrick, where she’d been reclining and keeping an eye on her kids. "We still have some cooked meat from yesterday, and a lot of food, which will go bad in the next two or three days. After that, we have some MRE thingies you stole from the Plant. We also have some canned goods and such. With this many people though, it will go fast."
"Thanks Jasmine," Kyle said, not feeling good about this meeting at all. "Anyone have any suggestions on this?"
"We could hunt and fish," suggested Eric, running his hand over his thick beard.
"Yes, probably long term we could, but I want to get settled and get this place safer before we send out hunting trips."
"Let's just go to the supermarket and grab a few things," volunteered Edmund.
"Another p
ossibility, but that may be dangerous. Is there an easy solution, one that limits our chance of meeting tons of the diseased?
The table was quiet a minute before Abe tossed his hat in the ring, "Are there any food warehouses we can get to?"
Kyle liked the idea and looked around the table. Jasmine spoke up, "I don't know about any warehouse on the Island, but there's that new Costco. It's a small one, as far as Costco's go, but it has a lot of food we could use. "
Patrick looked at Eric, "Hey man, could you hook your tractor up to one of the trailers at the loading dock? We could throw tons of stuff in there and just drive it back here."
"Of course it can, crazy hair," said Old Ben, "that's what's it's made for and I've kept it in good shape."
"Okay, that's a good option. Now, last thing, I know how I feel, but what do you guys think about bringing people here, who need help I mean? Remember, it's anarchy out there right now, and isolation is probably the safest policy until order is restored."
"Well, of course, we're going to help them Kyle Smalls, what kind of question is that," said Jasmine, as she got up from the ground. "Now, I know, for some reason, you have those three kids in Old Ben's cell down there, but we need to let them out. And help any others that might need it as well."
"In the boy’s defense, that cell was right comfy," said Old Ben helpfully.
"When I want your opinion old man, I'll withhold your fiber," she said heading towards her kids in the corner. Old Ben burst out laughing at the comment, his rasping laugh echoing off the brick walls.
Chapter 3
In the end, food and ammo were given priority. Already passing noon, everyone thought it a good idea to wait until tomorrow for the scavenger hunt.
Jasmine introduced the new residents of the fort, but Kyle and Abe didn't have time for a proper introduction. It could wait. The sun set early in late November and nobody wanted to be out in the dark, not in this world. The trucks needed to be unloaded and Kyle also wanted to check out the visitor center before dark.