by Micah Gurley
Kyle wasn't sure if it was an answer or a question. "Do you like this nick name?"
The man seemed stunned. He looked at the ground, then to Rich, then back to the professor who held his gaze without flinching. Nobody had ever asked him that question. He felt compelled to answer. "No, I never liked it."
"What's your real name?"
"Terry Grinnky"
"Well Terry, let's dispense with the nick names shall we? I'm Kyle and this is James. Now what did you see?"
Kyle turned his piercing gaze from him and Terry felt relieved, as if he'd been sent to the principal. Who was this guy? "It's probably nothing, but if you look at where the land meets the sky, you can see a dark line across it. I swear I saw it move a little. Just a little, but it was there."
Kyle took the binoculars and scanned the horizon. The sun had risen in the sky and it was almost noon. It was a clear day, with blue skies in Carolina. A golf day. Kyle took his time, but didn't see anything. He put down the binoculars and looked around outside the fort. It was clear of diseased.
He started walking, glanced at James. "I need to go have a look."
"No."
Kyle turned his head at the man. "James, I need to know what's out there."
"I understand, but you're not going. Jasmine's orders," James said, his face devoid of humor.
Kyle laughed anyways, and started to let James have it when Terry spoke up. "I'll go."
Kyle stopped, and looked from James to Terry. "You can't go alone, company policy."
"I'll go with him," said Rich, nodding his head.
"Okay, take one of the smaller trucks, it's faster. I need to know what Terry saw. If you see any danger or you're in danger, don't engage. Come back and let us know. James, let's get the generator fired up and get the radios passed out, just in case. Get Eric and he'll let you out."
The three of them turned and disappeared down the stairs. Kyle looked back at the horizon but couldn't see the black line without the binoculars. There could only be one thing that was so big it caused the horizon to look like a black line. He heard shouts from behind him, the movement of the fort coming alive again, and he hoped he was wrong. If not, it would be a fight.
***
Kyle stood in the middle of the parade ground, his eyes drawn to the motley group standing around him. There was tension in the air, but no panic, no hysteria about the meeting being called. A meeting that could only mean bad news. There were seventeen of them now, not including kids. Twelve men and five women, who looked up to Jasmine much more than Kyle.
Kyle walked among the group, giving words of encouragement, sharing a joke or responding to condolences about Abe. He pushed the pain and memory of his brother away for now, he couldn't handle it. Everyone had seen Rich and Terry come back to the fort and head directly towards Kyle. That, along with the generator being fired up and all the things Eric had dumped in the middle of the parade ground, had everyone curious.
"Here's what we know," said Kyle, drawing everyone's attention. "Terry and Rich scouted a sizeable group of diseased headed this way. They couldn't find the reason, but that's immaterial right now. There're coming and we need to get ready. Jasmine, can you take a few people and get all the magazines loaded and up to the wall?" She nodded. "Good, we'll go over a battle plan in a few minutes but I want Eric to introduce a few things. I'd hoped to have more time to practice with these but there's no time now. Eric."
Eric left the make shift line that had formed and walked next to Kyle, where he pointed at a pile of wood on the ground. "These are wooden shields." He had to stop as everyone started talking. "Let's get through this please. Ok. There are eight of them and they'll be used at the top of the wall to push the diseased back and to keep them from biting us."
"Who's going to carry them?"
Kyle stepped forward. "They aren't light, so it'll have to be the eight strongest of us."
"You've lost it boy. Shields?" said Old Ben, rubbing his age marked face in frustration and thought. "But it might work, especially since we don't have any bullets for the guns."
At this news, the group started talking again, looks of horror upon their faces.
"That's not true Old Ben," said Kyle, irritated at the old man for his loose words. He knew these people needed confidence now, not fear. "We have thousands of round, but the supply isn't bottomless. Look guys, I'll be honest, there's a lot of them, but they're braindead. We aren't. We'll get through this, but we have to work together."
The chatter died down at Kyle's confident words, even Old Ben leaning in waiting to hear the rest of the plan. After a look from Kyle, Eric continued. "Now, as I was saying, these shields will be used with the short swords and some longer spears I've had made up. They'll do just fine. We have less than an hour, so listen up-"
A noise carried through the fort. A horn. It wasn't close to the fort, but its high pitch was easily recognizable. The sound was repeated and everyone looked around, as if the offending noise was hiding next to them. Kyle turned and ran to the top of the wall just as the horn sounded again.
Closer.
The sound of feet scraping, jostling weapons and curses, complaining about the narrow stairs, accompanied Kyle to the top of the wall. The group looked out over the killing ground surrounding the fort, until the horn drew their eyes to the beach side of the peninsula.
Kyle squinted his eyes as a man ran from the beach, through the sparse trees and to the ground in front of the fort. The man carried an air horn in his upraised hand, pointing it away from the fort, right towards the diseased.
"That's why their coming," said Patrick with an air of confidence.
"Figured that one out did ya?" Eric replied, beside him.
"Yep, classic zombie move. I've read about it."
"Read about it? Kyle and James just did it a few days ago."
"Oh yeah," said Patrick. "But I was talking about to attack people."
Kyle, ignoring the conversation, lowered the binoculars and handed them to James. "Looks like a former colleague is back."
James took a look and passed the binoculars on to Patrick, who was anxiously tapping him on the shoulder.
Kyle removed his rifle, laid on the ground and turned on the EO-tech attached to his AR-15. He placed Neil in the red dot and slowed his breathing. Neil was almost a hundred and fifty yards away, not an easy shot. Kyle shut everything out of his mind, closed his senses to everything except Neil, who still held the air horn raised in his hand.
The rifle boomed in the silent December day and Kyle raised his eyes to find Neil on the ground. He wasn't dead. Kyle hadn't wanted to kill him, just silence that damn horn. Not that it would do any good, the horde was coming. Neil had done his work well.
Kyle stood up and watched as Neil hugged his arm to his stomach, leaning over, as if protecting it. Neil looked up and laughed. Even from this distance, the group heard the cackling high pitched sound of Neil's victory. Then Neil started to walk towards them.
Neil made quick time across the even ground, despite being shot in the arm and having a small limp. As he got closer Kyle saw a man transformed.
Neil, always meticulous in his appearance, even to the point of vanity, seemed a shell of what he'd been. His clothes hung loose and torn on his thin frame. He seemed more scarecrow than man. He walked closer, stopping in the shadow of the fort and lifting his head in triumph.
Neil looked up, his bloodshot eyes tracking until he spotted Kyle standing at the top. "I've returned with my brothers for you Kyle. Now justice will be served!"
Kyle didn't know what to say. He was beyond rage at what this man had already put them through, and now this lunatic was raving about justice. This would kill all of them, and for what?
"Why?" Kyle called out, "why would you do this?"
Neil answered in another manic laugh, his grasp on reality gone. He pointed his blood soaked hand at Kyle, his face twisting in hate. "You broke all the rules and left your post. You deserted and then you sought me out and ki
lled all that I had built. You're the guilty one, and now you'll answer for it."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Kyle yelled, his normally controlled temper flaring at the gibberish of this lunatic. "We didn't seek you out. We didn't even know where you went after you tried to ambush us!"
"Lies, Lies. You're a liar Kyle, but I knew that already. Now I have killed you." Then, before anyone could react, Neil pulled a handgun from behind his back, placed the weapon in his mouth and pulled the trigger. The back of Neil's head exploded, the ground behind him covered in blood and brain. Neil's body crumpled, his limbs folding in on themselves, as he hit the ground without a sound.
"Bloody hell," said Edmund, not taking his eyes from the morbid scene. "Did that just happen?"
"Good riddance to that psycho," Eric said, focusing everyone's attention to him. "Alright people, we still have work to do and less than an hour to do it. Let's get back down to the courtyard."
Under Eric's not so gentle prodding, everyone moved back to the courtyard. Kyle remained standing, staring at the body of Neil, knowing that Neil might be right. He probably did kill them.
Chapter 16
The desperate last minute organizing of rifles, magazine, shields, swords and radios all took place around the group listening to Kyle's battle plan, which caused more than a few to look at him with incredulous faces. All the defenders, minus the kids and a young girl caretaker, stood on the inner wall facing out.
Kyle stood, his friends next to him, and looked out at the fields around the fort. Doubt and terror rippled through the group, kept at bay by the slim hope of surviving. Individuals, at different times, peered over at Kyle to find his face calm and collected. Reassured, they turned around and settled themselves, waiting for it to start.
The open ground in front of the fort, over two hundred yards, gave him the space he needed to make his plan work.
They'd need all of it.
Kyle looked away from the tree line to find Grace standing beside him. His heart raced as he looked down at her. Her green eyes, like always, captured him. She looked up, concern flowing from her pale face. Words caught in his throat.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. He didn't know why he said it.
"For what?"
He almost laughed. "I don't know, for bringing you hear I guess. I wish-"
"Kyle, don't. There's nowhere I'd rather be. Well… that's not true exactly." She laughed. "Let's just make it through today and then we can talk more."
He smiled, relieved. "Deal."
She nodded and walked to her spot in the line. His eyes followed her and he had to shake to stop himself following her. He wished Abe was here, but he couldn't think about that now. He wasn't done mourning his brother, but it would have to wait.
Time was up.
Just emerging from the road, breaking into the open, were the first of the diseased. Their shambling walk easily marking them for the unnatural things that roamed this new world. They weren't fast, but walked determinedly towards the fort.
"Prone positions," called out Kyle, focusing immediately.
Six shooters laid down, taking position on the top of the wide inner wall. They switched safeties off, aimed and found their targets. No one fired.
"Aim carefully," Kyle said, walking behind the line. These six were the only ones who could make the shot with any accuracy. "Aim five yards from the beginning of the road, then move left with your shots.
Patrick led off, his rifle booming in the silence of the December day. A second later, another rifle joined his, then the rest of the six began to fire. Slowly, methodically, they began to knock down the diseased that broke from the road.
Kyle watched through his binoculars, his eyes held steady at the distant slaughter. "Control you're shots," he called out. He knew this was just the beginning and they couldn't waste a single round.
Kyle stopped at the end of the line, stepping over a stack of rifles that lay waiting to be used, as other rifles became fouled. Boxes of ammo lay beside the weapons, also waiting to be used.
In less than five minutes, two hundred diseased were dropped, creating a mound of dead four feet high and ten yards long. More came, pouring down the middle of the road like a giant anaconda of death.
"Cease fire, change rifles". The six shooters were handed freshly cleaned and oiled rifles, as magazines were passed back, to be reloaded by others. Jasmine, a well-trained shooter in her own right, helped the younger girls with the cleaning, giving instruction as needed.
"Oh my god, we're going to die!" one of the young girls said, horror displayed like a map on her face. Her body shook, her hands almost dropping the magazine she was loading.
A part of Kyle wanted to agree, his stomach clinching at the sheer volume of the diseased rambling towards them. They came in their legion, unaware of anything but the desire to feed, to destroy, to fulfill the purpose that had so cruelly been given them.
"No." answered Kyle. "We have a plan, we'll fight smarter and live to hear Patrick boast of his heroics." A few chuckles came from the small group, who turned to give Patrick good natured smacks on the back. Patrick, who had taken his wife's hand, grinned back, throwing a wink in for good measure. "Listen to my directions and follow the plan. Control your fear and give courage to those who fight with you."
Kyle paused, taking measure of the progress being made by the diseased.
"Alright, the warm up is over, it's time. Let's move to the position for the first part of the plan."
As one, the members of the group moved left along the wall, walking further down, away from the gate. They moved until the curvature of the fort almost caused them to lose sight of the coming horde.
"This is it, take positions," said Kyle, pulling his own rifle from around his back.
Old Ben moved beside Kyle, his blue jean overalls making him look like he just finished a day in the hay. "This going to work, son?"
"Of course, this-"
"I'm an old man Kyle, don't waste time giving me lip service, tell it to me straight. What are our chances?"
Kyle gave a humorless laugh. If there was one man without fear, one man who'd already lived a full life, it was Old Ben. "We'll be fine."
"Kyle-"
Kyle faced Old Ben, his blue eyes flashing, his voice stone. "We'll be fine, Ben."
"Good enough for me," said Old Ben nodding, knowing when to stop pushing an issue. He made his way slowly to the ground, his bones popping under the layers of denim. Kyle turned his attention back to the diseased, who stumbling and shuffling, were coming for them.
Those diseased who were in the open simply changed directions, cutting at an angle across the open ground to reach their prey. The new arrivals, emerging from the woods, spotted the commotion and tried to instantly turn right, but were met by an obstruction. They simply followed the obstruction along until it ended, then turned towards the fort. Kyle felt his tension loosen a little when he saw the route the diseased were taking. He hadn't been sure it would work.
The diseased came. They came clumped and huddled together as they walked, reminding Kyle of a black serpent. He could feel the tension and anxiety among his friends as thousands of milky eyes looked in their direction. A low moan, almost like a giant humming, came from the diseased, the sound getting louder.
It's time. Kyle's muscles spasmed involuntarily, his body pumping adrenalin for the fight to come. He didn't fear the wave of death that marched towards him, but failing those who stood beside him; that he feared. Despite the odds against him, Kyle felt calm at the coming tied, a peace almost. An odd thing, but Kyle didn't have time to ponder it. He needed to do this right, everything depended on timing. Now was the time. Kyle raised his binoculars and called out, "Remember your instructions. Take good shots and listen to me. Fire!"
This time everyone fired, except Kyle and the two teenage girls who would be swapping out magazines. The rifles barked in the hands of those on the ground, the sound, ear splitting and foreign in this machineless world.
"Keep your shots on the same spot," Kyle yelled. He needed to be heard, to reassure and encourage. The feeling of fighting alone was by far worse than what came against them. "Don't worry about the ones getting past, keep focusing on the same spot."
The line of diseased, predictably, moved as one, turning their death march towards the small group. At the monument, the first kill spot, the diseased died.
At first, only a few fell, but as the group focused in, hundreds died, creating a mound of dead. Some diseased were killed, but many tripped and were crushed by others who fell on them. It didn't matter to Kyle if they were dead or not, as long as they were creating his choke points for him.
"Aim right! Five yards!" Kyle's booming voice carried over the sharp sound of the firing and everyone shifted their fire right, leaving behind a five yard long mound of dead.
Kyle released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. They were doing it. They were acting just as he predicted. He watched through his binoculars as another mound of dead began to stack up, this next to the previous one. The diseased continued to come.
The diseased were doing what Kyle expected, what he hoped for. They advanced, only to meet the mound of dead, then turned to their right and following it until they were once again able to close on their prey. It would've been easier for them to walk at an angle, avoiding the obstacle, but these weren't thinking creatures. They moved on instinct, and Kyle used it against them.
"Aim right! Five yards!" he cried again. The group, listening to Kyle, shifted their fire and began to kill the diseased as they walked further around the earthworks of dead. Kyle glanced at the hundreds that had been missed, all heading straight towards them. He couldn't worry about them now. They weren't the threat, but damn it, it was scary letting them close unmolested.
"Don't worry about the ones heading here, focus on the mound!"
The call of people reloading sounded out as magazines ran dry and were replaced. James stood up and approached Kyle. "We're almost out of magazines for this section."
Kyle nodded, not turning his eyes away from the slaughter. Supplies had been place beforehand along the wall, according to the plan. Some of it had been strategy, but guess work had played a role also.