The Rise of Macon: A Zombie Novel (Macon Saga Book 2)

by Micah Gurley

  ***

  Kyle tried not to grunt as Grace worked the bandage around his ribs, though he thought she might be enjoying his pain. Maybe he was wrong.

  "You can cry if you need too," she said, looking at him with innocent eyes.

  He wasn't wrong.

  "I'll be fine thanks," he said, trying to show that the rib didn't bother him anymore. Juvenile, but he couldn't help it.

  "So now, you and black Hercules are shopping for bullets, even though there are thousands and thousands of diseased on this island.

  "His name is James and yes, but I hope we won't have to use them. I'd like to look at it like insurance, until we can figure out what's going on in the bigger world or if there's a world left at all. We have a radio but haven't had much luck getting responses."

  "And what if there is no help out there? What if this really is the end of the world?"

  Kyle looked at her, her eyes focused on tying off the bandage around his chest. She seemed mighty aloof about the situation, as if this were a philosophical discussion and not based in reality. He wondered if she had any family.Friends? Boyfriends? He wanted to ask all these questions and was surprised at that. It had been a long time since he was interested in a girl and he picked a bad time to start something new.

  "We'll survive. And you?"

  "I'll do more than survive, Kyle. Survival isn't enough. Aim higher."

  The comment annoyed Kyle. High talk from someone stuck in an armory for three days. Was she being funny? He was weighting his response when James appeared in the doorway. Kyle turned to him instead. "How's it looking?"

  "We have a bag full of Colt 45s, and two bags of ammo for them," James said, face expressionless. "Also five tactical 12-gauge shot guns with a few hundred rounds for them. No rifles. The three bags weight about 75 pounds each, that'll be all we can carry anyways".

  "Of course we don't have rifles. We're the Coast Guard, not some infantry brigade. The shotguns are for boarding ships," she said, putting the medical things away. She waved her hand to Kyle, indicating that he could put his shirt back on and walked right up to James. She took one of his hands in hers and looked up at him. "James, I want to thank you for taking care of my friends. I know they were sick and I wasn't sure I could have done it."

  James looked down at the petite woman, gave her hand a squeeze and watched her walk out. He looked back up and saw Kyle giving him an irritated look. For the second time in as many days, James started laughing.

  "I don't see what's so funny?" Kyle said tucking his shirt in, then walked out of the room.

  More infuriating than that, James didn't say a word about it, just laughed a little more and fell in behind him. Kyle knew why James was laughing, he was just irritated that James recognized it. He was glad Abe or Patrick wasn't there to add on. He needed to get his head on straight, which they did when he heard the sound of the diseased growling at the front doors. James had piled some of the moveable walls against the doors, then covered the remaining space over, so the diseased couldn't see inside.

  "We can't go out the front," Kyle said thinking out loud. "The windows are an option, but they'd slow us down pretty bad. The back it is then. But how? They’re surrounding the whole building." Kyle looked back over the large room, full of cubicle walls, then turned to James. "We have to spend the night here. We need to plan tonight and I don't want to do this in the dark." He stopped talking as he looked again at the movable cubicle walls. He turned to James and smiled."James, do you like mazes?"

  James listened to Kyle talk to himself, hearing the ideas flow from him. He didn't say much. Didn't need too. He trusted Kyle and that was that. He wasn't sure what a maze had to do with this, but Kyle was anything but boring. He watched as Kyle walked away, planning to ask Grace more questions about the small boats they'd be using. James laughed again and followed.

  ***

  "I can't believe we're going to do this.It's bat shit crazy," said Grace shaking her head back and forth, trying to reason with Kyle. "I mean, zombies are not going to follow a maze."

  Kyle looked up from where he was tying two of the cubicles together. "They're not zombies, they're not dead. They bleed. If you get one in the heart, it'll keep going longer than normal, but it'll eventually die. I think it will at least. The problem is, most times we've needed to stop them immediately. Anyways, it'll work, I think. They'll go for the path of least resistance and this way we can draw a lot of them inside before we go out the back."

  She laughed. "A maze!"

  Kyle turned back around, finished what he was doing and then rose slowly. He found himself split between wanting to kiss or kill this girl. Was she trying to get under his skin?

  "If you have any better ideas, I'm all ears."

  "A maze it is then," she said nervously, looking over the hastily built maze. Grace wouldn't have admitted it to him, but she was scared. She'd been scared since this whole thing started. She didn't like to show her fear, learned not to in her male dominated job, but it was still there.

  "Everything's ready," James said from the hallway that led to the backdoor.

  "Copy that," Kyle responded. He turned towards Grace. "You have the keys?"

  "I do."

  "Okay, me and James will lead, unlock-"

  "I'll unlock the door and lead them through the maze," James said, cutting into the conversation. "You can't move that quick and you'll be needed at the back door anyways. I'll grab the last bag and follow."

  "James, no, I can move just fine."

  James bent down, picked up one of the black tactical bags, moved around the maze wall and handed the bag to Kyle, who looked down at the bag and back at James in defiance. He reached for the bag, but James quickly moved it to the other side of Kyle's body and dropped it. Kyle reacted without thinking, grabbing the bag from his injured side and then letting it slam down instead of catching its weight. Just trying to slow its weight felt like someone stuck a knife in his side. Kyle looked back up in anger, but James just stood there, not saying a word. He didn't need to, his point had been made.

  "Fine, we'll clear the path."

  James nodded and then replaced the bag by the back door, grabbed a shotgun, slung his rifle and moved towards the front door.

  Grace watched the confrontation, thinking Kyle wouldn't let his pride go unchecked like that. She was surprised when he gave in so easy, without a fight or a harsh word. She'd seen more than her share of men deny common sense, just so their pride wouldn't be hurt, especially in front of a woman, but Kyle just let it go and that was that.

  She followed Kyle to the back door, where they both picked up their weapons and waited for James to start the show. Her hands shook. The noises from outside were almost enough to send her running. The sickness that had taken her friends, which had turned them into mindless killing machines, raged just outside the door. She watched Kyle, but his confident movements and actions made it seem as if he weren't feeling the same feelings at all. Screw him, she could do it if he could.

  ***

  "Five seconds," James yelled from across the building. James' rifle was slung across his back, having decided to go with the shotgun for this part. The matte black, 12-guage Mossberg 500 had a pistol grip, which James felt comfortable with. It was also very loud, something he needed now. It held eight cartridges and James had plenty more stashed on his body if he needed to reload, which he didn't plan on. This would have to be quick.

  James pulled away the last of cubicle wall he'd placed in front of the glass doors and threw it to the side. The surface of the doors were crammed with the diseased, pushed against it like wallpaper from hell. Flecks of morning light snuck their way through the small cracks, not covered by the grey skinned diseased plastering the surface of the doors.

  James took a few steps away from the door, raised his shotgun and fired. The glass exploded and dozens of infected fell through the door frame onto the glass covered lobby floor. Having rehearsed this a dozen times, James backed up a few steps, already kno
wing where he was going. The first diseased to fall was never allowed up, as others behind clawed and pulled their way forward and over their fellows. James watched the jam of diseased, and wondered how many there were. Too many and this probably wouldn't work. James waited until the first one regained its feet, then fired again.

  Buckshot ripped apart the diseased standing in front of James. Its head vanished, blood vapor and gore covering those behind, which had regained their feet. Calmly, James turned and jogged down a long aisle they'd constructed, jumping a set of chairs stationed in the middle. The blood covered diseased followed in their anger, their arms in limbo between reaching out and keeping their precarious balance. The sound in the room grew as more and more diseased came through the door, their hoarse throaty growls blending with those already present.

  James watched as the diseased's milky eyes locked on him.They tripped on the chairs and went down thrashing. Time. Only time mattered. They created the maze to draw in as many as they could, but also to keep them from going to quick. A dozen diseased quickly tangled themselves in the chairs, their willingness to advance slowing them further. Seconds mattered. James again waited until the first one regained his feet, then he aimed for the legs and fired. Both legs were blown off, the woman dropping to the ground in frantic anger.

  Now came the tricky part. Would the diseased take turns or would they simply push through the hastily made walls? James turned and followed the eight foot section, his attackers feet behind him. He turned left, into a new aisle running parallel with the first one, and ran down it. The diseased followed, their steps seeming to get quicker to James, who felt the first crack of panic as he looked over his shoulder. He jumped another set of chairs and placed himself near the end of the aisle.

  They'd placed tall shelves between the aisles, so the diseased going down the first aisle wouldn't be able to see. Would it work? James raised the Mossberg and fired from ten feet into wave of attackers, three of them blown backwards, further creating obstacles. Then things went wrong.

  James finished firing, pumped the next shell into the chamber, mentally counting the shells left in the gun, and turned to run to the next stop, when the gray aluminum shelf started falling.

  Reacting instantly, James lunged to clear himself from the falling shelf, but only managed to get the top half of his body clear. His legs were saved from crushing, as the tall shelf hit the far cubicle wall on the way down, slowing its descent. The shelf settled on him, but wasn't too heavy. He could pull out of it. Too late. He felt and heard the diseased climb on the shelf, its flimsy back folding in on itself, pushing a piece of folded metal into his legs. James scrambled to free himself, reaching for anything to pull himself free. Nothing. He tried to turn over, but more diseased climbed on the shelf, pinning him tighter to the ground.

  James sighed. He regretted the ending, but wasn't sad to see it and prepared himself for what came next.

  Two large booms exploded over James and he raised his head from the carpet to find two black boots standing near him. James felt the weight of the shelves lighten.

  "Grab my legs and pull yourself free," Kyle shouted as he pumped another shell into his shotgun. Another blast of the shotgun sounded as James grabbed Kyle's boot with one hand, pushing the ground with his other. James pulled himself out quickly, the missing weight and leverage of Kyle's leg making it doable.

  "Let's go," yelled Kyle, backing up as James had regained his feet. He pumped his shotgun again, aiming in the other direction of the first aisle and fired into the converging group coming from that direction. James darted past as Kyle reached over, pulling another shelve into the path of the diseased. The maze was finished, now they just needed enough time to get out of the building.

  ***

  "That's the first shot, let's wait a second for them to chase the sound," Kyle said, one hand on the backdoor's push bar. He wondered if Grace would be ready for seeing these things outside, and then pushed it from his mind. Either she would or she wouldn't. Either way, this could go bad really quick.

  Kyle heard the follow up shot, waited another few moments, then nodded to Grace and pushed out the door, the morning's light instantly blinding him. Hadn't thought of that. He lowered his eyes, went through the door, clearing one side, then another. Clear. James' distraction had worked.

  "Let's go, we're clear," said Kyle, trying to keep his voice down. He reached back in the door and grabbed the black bag. His rib screamed in protest at the weight of the bag but he tried to ignore it, and put one food in front of the other, while keeping his eyes peeled in every direction.

  The distraction had either worked better than he'd expected or there weren't that many diseased around the building. The metal pier the Coast Guard used sat no more than twenty yards away and they were making good time. Kyle heard another shot from behind him, his stomach turning at leaving James behind to fight alone. They reached the pier a minute later and Kyle dropped his bag. "You go ahead, the pier looks clear, just make sure to check the boat first. Then, get it ready. I'm going back for James."

  Kyle didn't wait for protests, didn't allow himself to think about leaving her alone for the first time in this world turned upside down. He thought she'd be okay for the next few minutes. He had to get to James. He ran back, the shotgun in his hands, and entered the building looking for his friend.

  ***

  Kyle waited until the James passed him and fired again into the mob on their heels. He backed farther, back through a narrow hallway, and waited for them to catch up. He fired again into the run of death following him and two zombies were torn apart. He pumped the shotgun and fired again. A second time. A third time. He pumped it one last time and heard the click, meaning it was empty. He quickly turned and followed James.

  James reached the door before Kyle, saw the remaining bag, grabbed it and turned to find Kyle almost on him, making wild gestures with his hand. James didn't acknowledge, just turned and ran with the bag. He'd pulled his handgun, carrying it one hand, while holding the bag in the other, the weight disparity not affecting him. James had felt panic before, he'd felt the fear of being chased, but this registered as a new experience. One of many in the last few days. He hit the pier and felt the metal construction shift slightly.

  He heard the thump, thump, of Kyle's footsteps behind him. Spotting Grace, James ran to the boat she requisitioned, threw the bag in the back and stopped Kyle as he ran by.

  "Sword."

  Kyle didn't question, but drew out his artillery sword and gave it to the big man. "Let me know when the boat's a few feet from the pier."

  "Right," said Kyle and looked to Grace, "how we doing?

  "I'm ready, cast off the bow line."

  "What?"

  "Cut the rope to the front of the boat," she said frantically.

  "Gotcha," said Kyle. He pulled out his knife, cut the rope and pushed the boat out a few feet. He heard the engines turn over and felt the power of them as they idled. He looked back to see James front kick a diseased in the stomach, then shove the sword through its face. They needed to move quick. "Get us four feet from the end of the pier."

  "No problems," Grace said, pushing the throttle up. The boat responded like it'd been waiting for its chance, and quickly pulled out and around the pier.

  "James, let's go," shouted Kyle. He watched as James grabbed the head of one of the diseased and slammed it back into those behind it. James let go and sprinted down the pier, jumping at the end and crashing into Kyle, who tried to break some of the fall. Kyle doubled over, his breathing blown from James' crashing descent. He tried to suck in air, but was having a hard time. He felt the small boat pull into the waterway and looked at James.

  "Bet you're glad I came back, huh?"

  James almost smiled.

  Chapter 11

  Abe pushed off the wall, stood up and waited in the darkened trailer. The trip back to the fort was, thankfully, short and without any quick turns, which would have made a mess of everyone inside the trailer. He'd b
een sitting next to Patrick and Rich, both of whom had a rather unpleasant smell. He figured he did also, but he didn't seem to mind it on himself. Whatever the case, he was ready to get out of the trailer. He felt Old Ben pull in a wide circle, stop, pull forward again, reverse the truck and finally come to a stop.

  They were trapped in the back until someone opened the trailer door from the outside, which thankfully didn't take too long. The sliding door opened, letting the dull November sun have its way with the dark. Billy was standing on the ground when it opened, and just as quickly scampered up and inside the trailer.

  "Sorry fellas, had to get the door open, but there are some diseased in the neighborhood. Would rather deal with them from up here."

  Abe knew how he felt. He'd had enough of getting close and personal with the diseased to last him a life time. He pulled his sidearm and moved up beside Patrick on the far right of the open door. Old Ben had backed the truck right to within a few feet of the moat, something which would allow much easier unloading of the food.

  They didn't wait long. The first diseased stumbled around the corner and slammed, chest high, into the back of the trailer. On reflex, everyone at the rear of the trailer backed up a step at the gruesome sight before them. What had once been a young man stood looking up into the trailer, half his face burned and missing. He looked like a piece of steak that'd been forgotten on the grill. The burnt and missing flesh gave prominence to his white gnashing teeth, which opened and closed, almost expectantly. The other half of his face, though not burned, remained blistered and red. It's one remaining eye, now milky white, stared into the trailer, in a feral display of the disease's transformation.

  Abe knew he could easily deal with the young man, but hesitated, he just didn't want to. He didn't want to get close to it. Didn't want to have to kill anymore, diseased or not. He wasn't like Kyle, and after this morning, he had to admit it to himself. He wondered if he was a coward to feel this way. But just because he didn't like it, didn't mean he wouldn't step forward and do what needed doing. He just didn’t enjoy it.