by Tufo, Mark
“Shut up, shutting up,” he said.
“Bugs Bunny?” I asked.
“Common mistake. Bugs won’t shut up. Rocky is the one that makes the comment.”
“Relevance?” Stenzel asked.
“Hasn’t stopped him yet. Okay, I’d hate to think Kirby is speaking for everyone, so here’s your chance. This is volunteer. My sons are trapped.”
“Enough said, sir,” Stenzel intoned. “No need to waste time talking about it.” There were head nods from the rest of the group.
“Staff Sergeant Talbot, Corporal Grimm, and Sergeant Rose, you’re all staying behind. I cannot leave this place undefended. Don’t question me on this; Gary, you’re still part of the walking wounded, Rose, I need you manning the explosives if need be, and Grimm, you’re the best on the machine gun. Keeping this place secure is just as important as what we’re going to do.”
I expected push back, but was happy when it didn’t come. They knew the urgency I was working with.
“Truck? Or are we hoofing?” BT asked.
“They’re two streets over—the truck will draw too much attention. Kirby, get us over to the mercantile district.”
“Point? Is it too late to change my mind?” He was smiling as we started moving quickly. We picked our way over the car and truck barricade; there was a small step ladder we used to get over the hastily built wall, and then we were down and moving with stealth. There was little doubt we’d be spotted, but the quicker we could get to where we needed to be without attracting any attention, the better. We ran across the street and did our first staging within the foyer of what was once a coffee shop.
“Winters, let the staff sergeant know that he needs to have someone on ladder duty. My guess is we’re going to be coming back hot.”
“I’m with Kirby; is it too late to rethink my position?” He had the radio in his hand, Kirby gave him a thumbs up. My point man was by the door, on one knee, rifle on his shoulder, keeping watch for zombies. “He says he’ll be waiting,” Winters relayed as he put the radio away.
“Zombies, sir,” Kirby whispered into his headset. “Make contact?”
“How many?” I was moving closer to him.
“Seven, so far.”
“Negative. Do not shoot. I don’t want to get into a battle here. Back exit—let’s go.” I tapped him on the shoulder.
“I could have gained a few on Grimm,” he said, reluctantly following us out.
I was the first one out the back door. It led to a small alley that was walled up on one end and went fifty feet before opening up to a roadway; it would be a great place for an ambush.
“All clear.” I ushered everyone out. Kirby moved out in front again. “Stay close,” I told him. Visions of Springer kept rising most unwelcomely in my head. If Kirby got into trouble, I wanted him to have all the support we could afford to extract him. With a building to our right and a concrete wall to our left and rear, in theory, all we should need to worry about was the front, but that didn’t prevent any of us from constantly looking around and up. I was waiting for the particular shit show of parachuting zombies and the joy they could bring.
Kirby held up a fist—we stopped immediately. He was only ten feet ahead of us, and as of yet I’d not detected anything. He then flattened his hand out and pressed down, motioning for us to get down, as well. Wasn’t like we had anything to hide behind if an enemy walked past this alleyway; didn’t matter what position we were in, we were going to be spotted. Still did it, though. Conditioned training is difficult to ignore, just ask Pavlov’s dogs. So there the five of us were, in a classic V, all of our rifles trained on the opening to the alley. Whatever turned that corner was in for a hell of a surprise.
Can’t say, even with all the screwed-up things I’d seen in my entire life, that I was at all prepared for what did come. It’s not often, or ever, that you see a life-sized vagina being chased by two penis-tiara wearing women.
“Fuck, I almost shot a vagina,” Kirby shook his head.
Tough to say whether the man wearing the lady parts costume was running from the women (and what they could possibly do to him with their headgear) or away from zombies.
“Door at the end. Go through the shop, get across the street, you’ll see a metal wall. I’ll radio to tell them you’re coming,” I said, standing. The man’s head was sheathed in pink, and I’m pretty sure it was supposed to be the G-Spot. I wasn’t comfortable talking to it…him, I mean.
“I’m getting married,” one of the women offered as way of explanation.
“Any zombies following you?” It was difficult talking to someone with a dildo hanging down in front of their face.
“We got away,” the other woman said, she must have seen my eyes bobbing around as I watched her friend’s party favor, she kindly took hers off. “Some of our friends weren’t so lucky. Nothing is following us.”
“Go, get to safety.”
“Can we keep this private, sir?” The vagina, I mean, the man, came back around.
“Bags? Baggelli? What the…never mind. I don’t want to know. Get back to home base, for God’s sake get a uniform on, and stand guard with my personnel.”
“Yes, sir.”
“What the actual fuck?” I asked once they were gone.
“Could have been worse,” BT said.
“Yeah, maybe, but now I’m terrified that every time my wife and I are alone, I’m going to see that giant man-gina.”
“You’ve managed to screw up nearly every aspect of my life, Talbot, don’t take sex from me.”
“Yeah, like I planned that encounter.”
“Wait, wasn’t that something that was in the sex shop we raided? I thought it was a joke. Which one of you sick bastards brought that back to base?” he asked.
Stenzel sheepishly raised her hand.
“You’re all sick bastards,” I echoed BT’s words.
“Sir, you told me to…”
I gave her a stern look.
“It was my decision and my decision alone,” Stenzel said.
“Fuck you, Talbot. I swear to God if I even once close my eyes and I see that aberration I’m going to throat punch you.”
“Kirby, get us out of here,” I said.
We got the ten-foot spacing interval before moving to the end of the alleyway. He poked his head around, turned back to us and gave the all-clear. We were one street removed from where we needed to be. Behind us, the base had become too quiet. Could still hear battles being waged, but none were close, and somehow that made where we were that much stranger, shrouded in complete silence. We were moving cautiously down the street; Kirby was looking for the best route to cut across. I held us up when a small stone, a pebble, really, landed a foot or so in front of me. I looked up to see Tommy three stories up, waving his arms wildly.
He pointed in the direction we were going and waved his arms in negation, pointed to the other side and gave an OK symbol.
“Nice one, Kirby. Trying to get us killed?” BT hissed.
He started making more intricate gestures with his hands but I’d never been good at charades. “Anyone know what he’s trying to say?”
“Something under something?” Winters offered.
“Us under something?” I asked, shielding my eyes, hoping to get a better view of what he was doing.
“We’ve been spotted,” Kirby said.
I looked to the way we were about to head. A zombie was running for us full tilt. “Quietly,” I told Kirby.
“Shit. I just washed these clothes.” He quickly fixed his bayonet, as did the rest of us. We fanned out to offer support, should he need it. The zombie, while exceedingly fast, had apparently traded its brains in for that speed. It ran headlong into that metal spike, driving Kirby back a couple of feet as he absorbed the impact. I saw another thing I’d never seen before that day. Kirby had struck with enough force that the blade had gone completely through and the barrel was exiting the back. As he extracted the entire front end of his weapon from t
he zombie’s skull, I had a concern that there was enough debris in the barrel that it could cause a misfire.
“Stenzel, you’re on point. Kirby, do not fire that weapon unless you absolutely have to.”
“Great, brought my paperweight to war,” Kirby muttered. He popped out his magazine and the chambered round; within a few seconds he had the back takedown pin pushed out and the rifle folded in two. “Packed,” he said as he held it up to the sky and no light filtered down.
I debated for a moment with sending him back, but didn’t like the idea of any of us being alone. Didn’t know if he was safer with us or not, especially if he potentially couldn’t defend himself.
“I figured out what the staff sergeant was talking about,” Stenzel whispered. “Got two dozen zombies standing around a car; pretty sure I see a body underneath. Somebody as in still alive. Looks like a little kid.”
Whereas I was happy the kid was alright, I needed to know where Justin was.
“She sees us.” Stenzel was looking through her scope. “She looks pretty scared.”
I was pretty scared and I wasn’t trapped under a car with a bloodthirsty enemy all around. I was weighing the odds of a full-on frontal assault. Four rifles against two dozen zombies; we had plenty of space between us and them, and as long as no more of them came, the advantage was ours for the taking. We could save the girl, but we could jeopardize Justin, depending on where he was.
“Shit.” I looked up to Tommy, unsure as to what to do. He kept making the underneath motion…of course, saving the girl was on the list of necessary things to do, but so was saving my son.
“Grenade launcher, sir?” Kirby asked.
“Not a chance, not with a civilian in the crosshairs,” I told him.
“Got trouble, sir,” Stenzel said from her position.
This whole thing was trouble; I couldn’t wait to see what else she could unveil.
“One of the zombies looks like she caught wind of something. Sniffing the air.”
“Take her out.” If she alerted the others to the girl, we wouldn’t be able to get to her before she was bitten. “Kirby, you stay behind us. The rest—as soon as Stenzel fires—we get in a line and do clean up.” We got close to Stenzel and I gave her the go-ahead.
The zombie’s head canted to the side as Stenzel’s crack-shot went in one temple and out the other. The resultant spray looked like an aerosol can had been violently ruptured. A thick hazy mist blew backward and soaked the side of the car in a macabre paint job. Wasn’t one zombie that didn’t turn our way; reminded me of office workers standing up from their cubes and looking to the siren voice of the manager saying they brought donuts. Never really seen a more interested group until this one. With myself, Winters, BT, and Stenzel shooting, we cut their numbers in half before they could even begin their charge and then they did something unexpected: they ran for cover.
It was such a human response, and it quickly occurred to me; soon we would be to the point where it would be difficult to tell who the enemy was until it was too late. An enemy that could hide in the general population. There was something to be said for armies of old, one dressed in brilliant red, the other vibrant blue, meeting on a battlefield, facing each other, duking it out punch for punch. Insane, sure, but you always knew who the enemy was. It was probably the Viet Cong that perfected the ability to hide among allies or, at the minimum, within frightened civilians, and I had the sinking feeling the zombies were fast-tracking to that tactic.
“Come on!” I motioned for the girl under the car to come to us. I didn’t think she would, too terrified to move, but she didn’t hesitate. “Hannah?”
She was out from under. She took a second to bend down and look at something underneath the car; I was wondering if it was her brother. The arm that shot out was too big to be the little boy. She grabbed hold and pulled. I moved forward, my heart surged: it was Justin.
“Let’s go!” I waved, covering their retreat.
“More coming!” Tommy yelled from the roof, though it would have been difficult to not hear the pounding feet on the pavement. Until you’ve experienced it, you can never really know just how unsettling, or maybe terrifying is a better word, the flat smacking sound as dozens or hundreds of footfalls echo off nearby buildings and to know that it isn’t some lazy summer 5k road race but rather a vicious enemy that has nothing but the worst of intentions. I’m not sure if it’s a primal fear, as I’m taken to understand that the only true things we are fearful of are loud noises and heights—and clowns, yeah, definitely clowns—so, it might not be primal, per se, but it definitely runs deep. The discordant bedlam, the sound of hot pursuit forces the body into an act or react scenario. Personally, I’m all about action, because reaction means that something bad has already happened to begin with. I’d rather force something than be forced. Slight distinction, maybe, but the ramifications can be profound.
Justin’s face had just poked out from beneath when he was wrenched backward, and Hannah pitched forward, righting herself just before her head bounced off the car. She planted her feet and was tugging, her head thrown back, her teeth gritted; she had both hands wrapped around one of Justin’s and was pulling with all she had. I was running to help; I was oblivious as to who was with me, though I could hear their rifles firing in cover. Hannah was losing the battle as Justin was pulled further under—any more and she was going to go with him. I contemplated diving, instead opting to slide. My feet connected with the car and I brought my arms up to grab Justin just as Hannah lost her grip and fell backward. She let out a small cry as she, most likely, bruised her backside. Kirby had come up, grabbed her, and was running back the way he’d come. Rifle explosions were happening all around me, but all I was focused on was that tenuous connection I had with my son. He was thrumming under the car like he was a giant battery-powered toothbrush left running atop a countertop.
He was straining to keep himself out of the clutches of the zombies, one hand wrapped around mine, the other pulling on the exhaust line which was beginning to bend. I was now flat on the ground, leveraging my legs in the pull. I wasn’t sure what was keeping his arm from popping loose from the socket.
“Holy fuck!” came through my headset. I was aware enough of my surroundings to realize that wasn’t a good thing, if it ever was.
“Talbot, I’m with you, but we gotta go!” BT belted out.
I wasn’t entirely sure what that meant until I cranked my head far enough to see the maelstrom of a storm building and heading our way…and this tempest looked to carry a biting wind. I was getting pissed off—mad at the zombies coming, mad at the zombies keeping us there, and for some inexplicable reason, mad at Justin for being stuck, like somehow this was something he’d done deliberately. It was Winters that changed the tide of the tug for life going on under the car. He’d jumped onto the hood and was putting as many rounds as he could into the group huddled behind. I yanked hard one more time before he popped free. I’d had enough force that he zipped out like he’d been riding atop a mechanics creeper.
“Up! Come up!” Tommy was urging.
No idea what he was looking at. The alleyway we’d come down was a bit closer than the ladder he was pointing to, and it had the added benefit of not being in the direct path of the horde coming toward us. I’ve said it before but it’s worth noting again: it’s possible that not possessing a decent reasoning ability, the portion of a brain that formulates plans, could be a gift from above and not the defect everyone around me assumes it is. Seriously, when you don’t have to run every thought through that rational strainer, it makes your decision-making tree pretty straight forward, split-second, in fact. I helped Justin up. He looked pretty shaky, but, luckily, not overly bloody except for his face, a large gash above his left eye which was still running, the culprit, it was not from a bite and that mattered the most.
“The ladder, run!” I shouted as if anyone needed any convincing to get moving. I turned to make sure Kirby and Stenzel had heard and were reacting; the
y were already running. They’d been coming straight for us but veered off as my order came in. Safe to say we’d been snared in a trap. I didn’t feel overly bad about being caught; the bait I was retrieving was worth it. And, I wasn’t wholly convinced this had been set up, but rather just a confluence of crappy events. In the end, nothing else mattered except escape, living to fight.
Stenzel was the first to the ladder. She started to lay down suppression fire as Kirby got Hannah on; she was halfway up when he turned to see if he could help Stenzel.
“Up both of you go!” I said through the headset. If they stayed there, we’d have a waiting line to get up, and just like that line on top of Everest, this one would prove deadly. Stenzel ordered Kirby up and swiftly followed. We had a hundred feet to go, and the zombies had roughly double that to get to us. We’d win the horizontal foot race; the vertical was entirely too close to call.
“Justin, you first!” I shouted to him as we ran, first off because he didn’t have a weapon to defend himself with and, secondly, if either of us were getting bitten, it was going to be me.
“Keep running!” I ordered, even as I stopped. I was doing the trajectories in my head, we couldn’t make it, not all of us. I was shooting, hoping me being still and posing the biggest threat would pull the zombies away from my squad and family. I could only hope that none of them would do anything as foolish as I had. It seemed to be working as the group got further away, but still, running targets were always going to trigger a chase response. With that in mind, I headed back to the car. In terms of ill-conceived plans, this one would vie for a spot on the top.
“Talbot, what the fuck?” BT fairly growled.
“They following you or me?” I asked it as a question; he took it as a statement.
“You, but that’s not the point.”
“Really? This worked? Get up there and then save my ass!” I was close to the car.
“Up!” he said to those with him. I was busy opening the door and launching myself in. A zombie was kind enough to close it for me, a nice gesture, even if he almost slammed it on my leg. I was a whirling dervish, pressing the locks down. Within seconds the car was rocking, and not because anything fun was going on in the backseat. I was sitting up, rifle ready, but the last thing I wanted to start doing was blasting holes through the glass.