Rise and Walk

by Gregory Solis

  She fell to the floor and crawled in utter terror towards Veronica. Nikki didn’t know what to do. Somewhere in her mind she remembered that blood loss was a bad thing. What do I use to stop the bleeding?, she wondered frantically. She saw the little canvas pack that Tony had made for her to use as a pillow the night before. The Oh God mantra had silenced.

  “He stuffed it with bandages,” she whispered.

  THIRTY-SIX

  The men saw two tattered creatures on the road about a half mile from camp. Mason avoided the first one with a swerve but Tony wasn’t so fortunate. The thing caught him on the helmet with an outstretched arm. Tony was clothes-lined off his bike at twenty miles an hour, sending his cycle to the ground five yards away. He landed with a jolt that made him instantly grateful for the protective vest. The creature leapt on Tony, mouth first. It brought its monstrous teeth down onto the shoulder pad of his plastic armor. Tony lifted his heavy helmet and saw the creature trying to bite the plastic. He made a high pitched sound of wonder at his luck. He slipped his hand behind the thing and grabbed its belt, his other underneath the creature’s armpit. The gear he wore made his movements more difficult, but he managed to pull with one hand and throw with the other, pushing the frenzied creature off. He rolled to his knees and stood. Tony stomped down with his heavy boot on the creature’s head several times, without looking at the result. He had to eliminate the thing as a threat but he didn’t want to see the gory event. After a few strikes, his foot became unsteady as it slipped about the greasy tissue. Tony turned to see the other creature approach. Mason was behind the thing accelerating his throttle. He stuck out his leg stiffly and sent the ghoul over the side of the road into the unforgiving rocks of the hillside. Mason pulled in close.

  “Are you okay?” he yelled over the sound of his engine. Tony nodded in his helmet and walked forward to his bike, scraping the foulness from his boot on the dirt. Lifting the heavy Yamaha, he mounted it, checked the shotgun’s barrel for debris and made sure it was secure. Mason glanced at the smashed face of the creature that Tony had dispatched. The distorted remains were thick with horrid pulp. He putted his bike in first gear stopping next to Tony. Mason killed his engine.

  “Take off your helmet,” Mason said.

  Tony removed his helmet and looked questioningly at Mason. He was sweaty but didn’t appear to be having a crisis, under the circumstances.

  “What’s up?” Tony asked without a hint of instability.

  “I just wanted to see your face, make sure that you’re okay.”

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” he smiled, “asshole tried to eat my pads.”

  “You did a number on its head, sure you’re okay?” Mason said removing his helmet. He was worried about all the violence his normally peaceful friend was dealing with. This wasn’t practice anymore and Mason wanted to be sure his best friend was all right.

  “I tried not to look; just made sure I hit him,” Tony said reluctantly.

  “Let’s coast down in neutral, sneak in quiet.” Mason put his helmet back on and dropped his hand on Tony’s shoulder pad for encouragement. They engaged the neutral gears with the engines off and let gravity pull them down the hill.

  The two motorcycles glided silently into camp. Mason’s senses were at full alert. He pulled his bike in front of the truck and leaned it on the bumper. Tony stopped his bike near the picnic bench and tore free the twelve-gauge from the handlebars. Looking over the rise he could see what looked like people wandering around the greater camp area. He knew they all were no longer alive by their gait. Dismounting his bike he looked around the camp. The coast was clear. He set his shotgun down and went into his tent. Grabbing a duffel bag of his clothes and setting them on an ice chest, he picked up the chest and carried it to the back of the truck. He knew that the girls would be hungry so he grabbed what he could. Tony picked up his shotgun and threw the pile of Mason’s clothes from the table into the truck bed. He looked around to see if there was anything else.

  Mason opened the driver’s door carefully and popped the hood. The metallic clank of the release sounded very loud in the quiet camp. Something stirred in the brush on the other side of the truck. A low moan was heard as branches started to move. Tony jogged over, switching the shotgun’s safety off while he moved. Mason put his hand out to stop him.

  “No noise,” he whispered as he pulled out his sword. The whisper wasn’t quiet enough. The shattered specter of a man emerged from the foliage. It jerked its rotting head and looked at the men. Mason widened his stance and waited. With a silence shattering growl, it charged. Mason thrust his sword into the oncoming creature’s collarbone, sidestepped and directed it to the ground. He stepped on its chest and pulled his sword up, out of the body. It flailed its arms and raged louder. Mason lifted his sword high and drove the steel chisel tip into the thing’s right eye. The Katana blade broke through bone, cleaving its putrid grey matter. Mason pulled his sword free and wiped the tip off on the creature’s shirt.

  Tony began to hook up the jumper cables. Leaving the battery in the milk crate, he attached the cables to the proper poles. He ran around and jumped into the truck, placing the shotgun back on safety and laying it next to him. He slammed the glove box closed and removed the keys. Placing the keys in the ignition, he turned them. The engine cycled weakly then caught. The truck started.

  Tony looked out the window; the dead were attracted to the sound of the engine. Mason pulled his bike out from in front of the truck while stuffing the jumper cables back into the milk crate. Looking back towards the truck, Mason froze. Tony removed his helmet and stuck his head out the window. What he saw horrified him. He now knew what had given Mason such pause.

  A male child came crawling up the hill into their camp. It topped the grade and now looked at Mason. The boy’s chest looked like it had been scrapped away with a wood rasp. Dried dark ooze congealed over the remnants of its torn pajamas. The little creature just stared at the motionless Mason. Tony pulled the shotgun up and extended it out the window to his friend. The creatures from the campground were drawing close, but Jack didn’t seem to notice.

  “Kill it dude,” Tony said offering the gun. Mason looked at his Katana for a moment then drove the blade in the ground. The sword stood straight up, seeming to vibrate. He moved the three steps it took to reach the truck, never taking his eyes of the child. Mason didn’t blink though his eyes began to water. The bloody creature growled at his movement. Deciding that the man before him was food, the boy let out a nasally pig’s wail and began running.

  In one motion, Mason spun the shotgun around, clicked off the safety and fired. Six high velocity steel pellets spread out in a tight pattern from the barrel, turning the oncoming boy’s tiny head into a thick dark mist. The body ran headless for two more steps, then collapsed. Mason looked away, into the sky, and cried out. The boy was too much. A kid, a child, turned into one of those things. Something so innocent transformed into a monster. He hurt for the boy in a way that he couldn’t feel for an adult. He was angry that he had to destroy the creature, even though he knew he was right to do so. Mason turned and punched an angry dent into the side of his truck.

  The dead drew closer. One shirtless ghoul made its way down the dirt path to camp. Mason pumped a fresh round into the shotgun and fired, blowing it back several feet. He handed the shotgun back through the window. Tony pumped the shotgun and took aim at an approaching corpse. He fired and hit it in the shoulder from ten yards. It spun around and fell. Mason walked to the back of the truck.

  “We have to get moving’!” Tony yelled, pulling three shotgun shells from his pocket. What the hell is Jack doing? Tony wondered. He fed the shells into the bottom of the weapon one at a time. Opening the door he stood up, leaning out of the truck, to see around the camp. Mason returned with a sleeping bag and spread it over the body of the boy, covering him completely. Tony could see a ghoul shambling in the trees to his right. He aimed over the cab of the truck and fired, blasting away its forehead.


  Mason said a silent prayer for the boy. He retrieved his sword from the ground, replaced it in the scabbard on his handlebars and mounted the bike.

  “Let’s get the hell out of here,” Mason said to Tony, then kicked his starter. The two men pulled their vehicles out of camp, followed by many bedraggled ghouls.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  The pounding and shaking of the shack had been replaced with the wet echoes of tearing flesh. Muffled moans and cries sounded through the full mouths of the undead. Nikki tried to push the loud slurps and chewing out of her mind. She unraveled a package of bandages and pulled up Veronica’s shirt. On the left side there was an eggplant shaped bruise. The center of the wound had a little blood yet it appeared more like a deep scrape. Nikki expected a large bloody mess. Knowing nothing about the type of wounds a shotgun makes, she pressed the thick gauze to the injury.

  Veronica felt the pressure in her half conscious state. Through the miasma of pain and shock that clouded her senses, she forced herself awake.

  “What happened?” she asked opening her eyes. A frantic Nikki put her finger to her mouth in a shush gesture. She was shaking with panic but was trying to bandage Veronica’s wound. Why am I alive? Veronica asked herself. Putting a hand to her side she felt that she was intact. The injury stung like hell but wasn’t bleeding. Stings like hell? She lifted her head and had to stop herself from laughing.

  “Rock salt,” she whispered. She lay back for a moment and listened. The noises seemed to come from the far corner of the shack. There was no more pounding, just the sickening sounds of an ungodly feast. Bending up to a sitting position was out of the question, the pain was far too intense. She rolled over, got to her knees, and rose up with Nikki’s aid. Looking at the corner she saw the overturned bench that Nikki used as a makeshift reinforcement. Lance was gone. Grunts and growls of rage caused Veronica’s imagination to assume that there was some fighting going on over food. The things were fighting over his body. Nikki drew the pistol from her pocket, looked at Veronica and pointed to the corner. Veronica understood. The undead were busy eating, when they were done, they would want more.

  Nikki remembered what Tony had told her about the pistol. To keep a running count in reverse of how many bullets she had left. The gun was fully loaded, she had fired once. That left six bullets, one in the chamber and five in the clip. There were four more, rounds, as he called them, in the extra clip in her pocket. She had fired the gun at Lance but shot to low. Tony said that could happen, that she should correct for that the next time she shoots. Her fear had gone away just a little. She wasn’t frozen in place now. She had a fighting chance and she was going to take it. The horrible feasting sounds began to die down. The quiet gave her hope that the things might be satisfied. The way her luck was going, she knew that she had to be ready to fend off an attack. Veronica seemed fine. Bruised and scraped up, but she was alive, bringing such an incredible relief to Nikki.

  A dull thud hit the wall. Veronica leaned over and picked up the .410 shotgun from the floor, ignoring the pain in her midsection. She pulled two shells from her pocket, inserted one, and palmed the other. She checked the watch. It read ten minutes after eight; help was a long way off.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Mason flew up the uneven mountain roads. He was moving a lot faster without a passenger. Tony followed making better time in the truck. He was more confident driving a vehicle as opposed to a motorcycle. The Chevy’s modified engine and well made suspension handled the grade with ease. They had left the growing number of ghouls converging on their camp far behind now. All they had to do was collect the girls and the spoiled hillbilly and they could be off. Things were looking up.

  The pounding resumed, growing more intense by the moment. The creatures must be able to smell us, Veronica thought. Then it occurred to her, what if the men don’t make it back? Cold sweat ran down the back of her neck. Veronica couldn’t allow herself to think that way, she had to do something. Looking around the room she saw various tools sprawled across the floor in the opposite corner. She knew the bench wouldn’t hold if enough of the creatures concentrated their efforts there. Veronica wondered how many there were. The pounding was spread out now, surrounding the shack from all sides. They would have to fight the things off until there were no more or help arrived. She bent to Nikki’s ear and spoke as low as she could.

  “We have to fight them off. Shoot for the head. When you’re out of bullets, use the shovels, the pickaxe, anything you can,” she whispered. Nikki looked at her with brokenhearted fear, but somehow, she nodded. The pounding continued.

  Behind the tool rack, underneath the hanging shovels, a four foot plank creaked as a female creature’s small fingers found purchase through the slats. Veronica heard the squeaks as old nails were pulled slowly from the two by fours. The space grew as disgustingly thin fingers wormed in. They pulled to the tune of mounting moans. The plank gave way, its master falling in a sudden shift of momentum. A four foot wide opening had formed in the single plank’s absence. The missing board was too low for a good shot. They only saw the chests and shoulders of three creatures. Veronica raised her weapon. Nikki nervously brought the pistol up and pulled back the hammer.

  “Wait, let me,” Veronica said with authority, pulling her own hammer back. She was afraid that both she and Nikki would shoot at the same monster and waste precious bullets. Finally, a creature bent its head down and reached in. Veronica took a step, not wanting to accidentally hit the wall and make the space any larger. She aimed the shotgun just eight inches from the creature’s pruned face and fired. Three small nails and two bolts were driven by the expanding gasses generated in the gun, into the creature’s temple. He fell back, his arm sliding out of the hole like a retreating eel. Veronica backed away a step and opened the shotgun. Another creature shoved its distorted jaws into the break in the wall, growling, trying to bite at the air. Veronica removed the spent shell and placed another in the gun, snapping the breach closed. Nikki moved in front of her and took aim. The small pistol barked a loud pop as Nikki’s shoulders jolted with a sudden flinch. Blood erupted from the creature’s ears as the invading bullet created massive overpressure within its skull. The thing fell.

  “Five left and four in my pocket,” said the small blondee with determination. A large ghoul came into view. He was muscular and tall but through the hole, all Nikki could see was his broad chest and the filthy shirt he wore that read, “Paul Frank”. Bruised and bloody hands ripped free the plank above the hole making it taller. Nikki saw his damaged face. She recognized him from an English class at the JC. He was covered with what looked like deep burns but the flat top hair style was unmistakable.

  “Clark?” Nikki asked stunned. Veronica saw her hesitation.

  “I know him,” Nikki mumbled.

  Veronica moved closer, shotgun raised and put a tight pattern of scrap metal into Clark’s left eye. The back of his head erupted clumps of foul gruel.

  “Knew him,” Veronica said while replacing the shotgun shell. She put her hand on Nikki’s shoulder. “He’s not a he anymore.”

  Nikki looked shocked. She had a crush on Clark once. He was the best baseball player in her high school. Two more creatures broke her spell of remembrance as they moved enraged with hunger in front of the hole.

  “You take left, I’ll take the right,” Veronica said aiming. They both fired. At the range they were shooting, they had hit everything they shot at until now. Nikki, still shaken from seeing the reanimated corpse of someone she knew, missed her target completely. She stomped her foot in anger and concentrated. Another pop from her pistol and the creature was gone. Nikki was upset about missing but she resolved to try harder when aiming. Trying to remember how many bullets she had now, she realized that she had forgotten. Five then one miss and one hit. Okay, Nikki thought, three in the gun and four in my pocket.

  Reloading, Veronica thought that things might be all right if the creatures kept lining up for them to shoot. The monsters didn’t seem to ex
hibit any sort of organization or understanding. If the building could hold, they just might make it. As if to spoil her hopes, a powerful jolt rocked the bench at the other side of the room. It pushed in a few inches from the bottom, arms projecting through the gap it made.

  “Watch this side, aim for the head!” Veronica yelled pointing to the hole. She ran for the bench and pushed it back towards the wall, leaning her weight to hold it in place. The effort caused her a screaming pain in her bruised flank but she fought through it.

  Nikki carefully put a round through the forehead of an elderly looking male ghoul. She desperately wanted more bullets. She reminded herself that after one more bullet she could switch to the clip in her pocket, giving her four plus one in the chamber. Counting the rounds strengthened her resolve during the crisis but the dwindling number of bullets began to worry her.

  Veronica scanned the room. Staying on the floor with her back to the bench wasn’t the best use of her time. Nikki was going to need her help. Seeing the pickaxe, she had an idea.

  “Throw me the pick!” She yelled over the sounds of the attacking throng. Nikki had never seen a pickaxe before, and her expression showed it.

  “The big one that looks like a pointy axe,” Veronica said nodding to the rack.

  Nikki understood, but it would mean that she had to get close to the hole in the wall next to the pickaxe. She moved in and stretched her arm as far as it could go. Grabbing the handle from the tool rack, a short ghoul popped up in the space and growled. Nikki fired her weapon in surprise and hit it in the hand, dropping her hold on the pickaxe.

  “Shit!” Nikki said taking aim with both hands. She fired, collapsing the creature. Grasping the handle of the pickaxe, she lifted it off the rack. The pickaxe was heavy in her hand. She controlled its descent and tossed it towards Veronica. It skidded across the floor, stopping a foot away. Veronica stretched her foot out and snagged the top of the pickaxe. She flexed her leg; her contracting muscles doubling the pain in her abdomen. It dragged slowly towards her, enough that she could reach with her hand. Her next move would be risky but there was no choice. She placed the shotgun on the floor and slid it a couple of feet away. Forgetting her pain, she bolted up with the pickaxe allowing the bench to slide forward a foot under the pressure of the invading monsters. She kicked the bench hard, flushing it against the studs of the wall. Bringing the pickaxe high over her head, Veronica slammed the sharp end into and through the plywood floor very close to the bench. The pickaxe’s head locked the bench to the wall solidly. The more the beasts pushed, the stronger it held. Veronica retrieved her shotgun, staring at her work. It was indeed secure.