by Adam Bennett
“Sounds crazy, right?” a red haired boy asked as he walked by.
“It sure does.”
“Look.” Riley’s face was serious. “It takes five or six real bullets to drop a zed.” He patted the stock of his paintball marker. “One paintball breaks on their skin and it will drop to the ground in five seconds.”
“Dead?”
“Unconscious.” Riley tapped the KA-BAR knife strapped to his leg. When they drop, we go around and clean them up by slicing their throats. It’s much easier to do when they aren’t trying to rip our heads off of our shoulders.”
“I can’t believe it.”
“You will when they start dropping like flies,” Riley assured him. “Now let’s go save your friends.”
The sun was slipping below the horizon, throwing long shadows across the ground in front of them. Jim and the majority of Riley’s squad perched atop the two buildings, a small alley nestled in shadow between them. The plan was simple; four of the squad would run out and make a lot of noise. The zeds would hear them and give chase. They would retreat into the alley and climb the ropes to safety while those above sprayed the zeds with paintballs and immobilized them. After disposing of the fallen monsters, a fresh group would run to the rear of the store and pull them back into the alley to repeat the process. Once the zeds were disposed of, they would head into the store and retrieve Jim’s friends.
“We will resupply as well,” Riley announced as the first runner team strolled out of the alley to pull the zeds.
“I can’t believe paintballs will drop them.”
Riley unslung a second paintball marker and set it on the ledge in front of Jim. “Jim has never hit a zed with paint before,” he said. “When they get close enough, he gets the first shot. Understood?”
The group let out a low grunt, similar to the ‘oo-rah’ sound Marines made, but instead it sounded more like, ‘hell-yah.’
The runners stopped approximately eighty feet from the storefront and began yelling and making loud noises. It only took a moment for the zeds to turn around and notice them. Once that happened, the runners turned and sprinted as fast as they could for the alley. The zeds gave chase and ran very quickly in an attempt to catch them.
As they approached, Jim lifted the paintball gun and looked down the barrel at the lead zed. This is an expensive sniper rifle. These kids might not be using real weapons, but they’ve still invested thousands of dollars into their gear and equipment.
“Wait til he gets a bit closer,” Riley cautioned.
“I know,” Jim kept both eyes open, something a real shooter knew to do. “Paint doesn’t fly like bullets.”
“How do you know so much about paintball?”
Jim ignored the question and targeted the lead zed. Thumpt. A burst of compressed air sent a paintball flying from his barrel. It flew straight for the zed’s forehead and made contact with a loud, wet, smacking sound as the thin plastic coating broke and vegetable oil-based paint exploded all over its pale skin.
The zed tipped its head back slightly but kept running.
“Two,” Riley counted, “three…four… and five.” As if on command, the zed dropped to the ground in a ragged heap and slid to a stop.
“Well I’ll be damned,” Jim’s eyes widened in surprise.
Riley winked at him and looked at the area below. The rest of the zeds were in range. “Open fire!”
The spitting sound of paintballs filled the air. Twenty-five zeds chased the runners into the alley. Every one of them dropped before the three runners made it to the top of the ropes.
Jim laughed and raised his hand in victory but Riley touched his shoulder and shook his head. “No cheering just yet, my man.”
“Why not? The worst that can happen is you pull the group from behind the store without having to climb down and run them back.”
Riley made a tsking sound and shook his head. “I’m beginning to see why some of your friends died.” Jim frowned but Riley continued. “The worst thing that could happen is your shouting attracts a different, unknown group from somewhere unexpected. We run into it by surprise as we are moving to our next targeted group, and then my boys get their heads ripped off, which forces me to go back and tell their families that they died because I was an idiot.”
Jim flushed with embarrassment.
“Keep the cheering to a dull silence, if you don’t mind.”
“Sorry.”
“I forgive you.” Riley turned to his troops. “Fresh runners go pull the next group for us, please.”
Four soldiers rappelled down the rope. When they reached the ground, each drew an identical KA-BAR knife from their boot sheath. They moved quickly from one immobilized zed to the next, quickly bending down to slit its throat and then moving on. Like they’ve done it hundreds of times before, Jim thought.
The last zed to die was the first one that Jim had shot. The teenager took an extra moment to cut a lock of hair from the zed, smiling back at Jim and holding a thumb up as he tucked it into his pocket.
“That’s a souvenir for you,” Riley told him. “First kill memento.”
“I don’t want that.”
“You got kids or grandkids?”
“A boy and girl.”
“Give it to one of them, then. A Halloween treat.”
Jim knew his son would be thrilled.
The remaining pulls went as smoothly as the first had. They don’t waste many paintballs, Jim looked for stray smears of paint; evidence of balls that had missed their mark, but there were only a dozen or so on the walls in the alley.
“I think that’s all of them.” Riley made a circular motion with his hand and the rest of the squad descended to the ground. They naturally fell into formation which, Jim was certain, they must have practiced repeatedly.
“You have military personnel where you live?” Jim guessed.
Riley’s eyes flicked to Jim’s and lingered for a moment before looking back towards the target building. “It’s better for you not to ask questions like that, Jim. How ‘bout we get your friends and then send you on your way?”
“Agreed.”
They moved towards the store, advancing a few hundred feet and then stopping to make certain the area was clear before advancing again.
“Pretty boring so far,” Jim said.
“This ain’t the movies,” one of the young soldiers said. “Boring missions give you the best chance of surviving.”
“Cut the chit chat.” Riley opened the lid to the hopper on his paintball gun and filled it with more paintballs. “Aaron, throw the door open while Karter scans left and Matt watches right. On my word.”
Three men walked forward and assumed their positions. Jim, Riley, and three others stood in front of the door. Riley raised his paintball gun to ready position. “Go.”
The door swung inwards to reveal an empty entrance. Riley tapped the shoulder of the girl beside him. She nodded and moved forward. After a moment, she gave a thumbs up.
“Move in, but stay alert.”
Jim followed the group into the building. It was a small variety store, or had been before the plague. Rows of shelves were arranged throughout. It’s too quiet, Jim thought. “Hello?” he whispered loudly as he turned a corner to check the next aisle for his companions.
Two things happened at once. Jim saw booted feet laying on the ground. It was obvious that the person wearing them was dead. As the realization came to him, a loud sound erupted from his right side and something heavy pushed him off of his feet and onto the ground, landing on top of him with a thud.
“Help!” he yelled loudly, his hands came up to push the zed’s mouth away as it drove forwards for his neck. Jim’s hand slipped on the creature’s greasy chin and his palm slid upwards onto the jagged teeth of its open mouth. He screamed in pain as the zed bit down.
Paintballs splattered against its forehead and neck. Through the pain, Jim pushed as hard as he could and counted to five. By the count of four, hands pulled the zed rou
ghly backwards and off of him. A second later, it was immobilized and Riley was standing over it, his chest heaving.
“Take it out side and finish it,” Riley helped Jim stand. “You okay?”
“No I’m not okay,” Jim could feel the blood pounding through his skull. “It bit me!”
“Relax, we’ll wrap it and get some polysporin on it.”
“It’s too late,” Jim reached behind him and removed the small revolver from its hidden holster. He raised it to his head. Hurry before I lose my courage. His finger applied pressure and he looked up towards the ceiling.
BANG!
Jim looked at Riley with wide eyes. Riley had pushed the barrel away from Jim’s head at the last instant, allowing the bullet to fly harmlessly into the wall. “Why did you do that?” Jim whimpered, as he sank to the ground, sounding lost.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Riley shouted. “You’re the idiot that just tried to kill yourself. What’s wrong with you all of a sudden?”
“It bit me.”
“Yeah, it bit you. So what?”
“I’m gonna turn.” Jim looked around the room with wild eyes. “I can’t become one of them.”
Riley paused for a moment and then laughed. “Oh wow. You think a bite will turn you into a zed?”
Jim frowned. “Are you telling me it won’t?”
Karter stepped forward and pulled the cloth of his shirt away to reveal a large white scar on his neck. “One bit me here about six months ago. Hurt like hell, but once it healed I was fine.”
“Serious?”
“Absolutely,” Riley lifted the leg of his pants and displayed a bite mark on his calf. “Most of us have been bitten, scratched, spit on, you name it. If that caused us to turn, I doubt there would be anyone left alive. In our camp, at least.”
Jim stood and examined his hand. It throbbed painfully but was not bleeding very much. “Where I come from, we believe a bite can transmit the condition.”
“Ever see it happen?”
“No.”
“Cause you kill yourselves if you get bit?”
“Yeah.”
“Damn, bro. Enough people are dying for good reasons, and your tribe is killing each other when you don’t have to.”
Jim felt sick at the realization.
“Looks like your friends didn’t find protection in here.” Matt pointed to the bodies Jim had stumbled upon.
“No, I guess not.”
“Is the interior clear now?” Riley asked.
“All clear!” half a dozen voices called from throughout the room.
“Okay, then. Resupply yourself with whatever you need, Jim.” Riley nodded to the well-stocked shelves. “Then we’ll escort you to the edge of town and get you on your way.”
“I can’t go back.”
Riley considered the statement and nodded. “They will be convinced you’re infected.”
“We are checked thoroughly when we return from the outside. They won’t believe that I’m not infected. I’ll be shot at the gates.”
Riley shook his head. “Stupid. Well, you’ve shown us that you’re pretty handy with a paintball marker. Maybe our crew will take you in.”
“I can’t do that either.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t leave my kids behind.”
“Damn.”
“Yeah.”
Riley considered his options for a few moments while the others stood silently. Finally, he nodded his head.
“Okay, Jim. Grab a few treats. It’s Halloween tonight, after all, and then we all head back to town.”
“What are you thinking?”
“This is above my pay grade. I’m gonna let the leaders decide.” He smiled. “My guess you’ll be allowed to you join us and that we will help you go back to get your kids so they can join you here.”
“Really?”
“If I had to bet on an outcome, yeah. Of course, you gotta be useful to the group. You have any talents to brag about?”
“A few,” Jim smiled. “I certainly do know about paintball. I used to work at Tippmann.”
Everyone in the group laughed. “Are you kidding me?” Riley asked. “All our markers and balls are made by Tippman. They were a big supporter of ours before the fall.”
“It is Joe running things in your city, isn’t it?” Jim guessed.
“Yeah,” Riley admitted.
“Good. I think he will like the Halloween treat I have for him.”
“What would that be?”
“Well, since it seems that paintballs affect zeds, I can get you more.”
“Oh, my God, that would be awesome. We’re running very, very low on our stock. How many can you get us?”
Jim reached into his pocket and pulled out a small keychain. He picked one key and held it up. “This is a master key to the Tippmann supply depot.” He grinned. “I can get you millions of paintballs, and new guns too.”
Riley shook his head and patted Jim on the back. “Let’s get back to town. I think we are gonna make Joe’s Halloween better than he could have hoped for.”
Shawn Inmon hails from Mossyrock, Washington — the setting for his first two full-length books, Feels Like the First Time and Both Sides Now. By day he works in real estate with a side of public speaking; prior to that, he has DJed, sold stuff that you definitely wanted, cooked your hamburgers, fished for crabs in the Aleutian Sea, bought for department stores, and done business consulting. He is married to his high school sweetheart, Dawn. He is a father of five, grandfather of five and best pal of two chocolate labs named Hershey and Sadie.
SIGH
Shawn Inmon
If Eve was the Alpha, Talia was the Omega.
She just didn’t know it.
When Talia awoke on her last day on Earth, she had to peel a layer of rheumy crust away from her eyes before they would open. She coughed: deep and wrenching, the first of a series of coughs that would last twenty minutes or so and would clear her airways enough that she could breathe. She was twenty-six years old, but felt ancient.
She sat up, waited for the dizziness to clear, and saw that it was a lovely fall day. Those were not common where Talia was.
I’m sure I would enjoy the sunshine, blue skies, and warmth if I didn’t feel like I was dying.
Death didn’t frighten her. It had been her constant companion for six years. She had seen it visit so many others that she felt a little left out, and in any case, she was agnostic. She had seen nothing in adulthood to make her believe in any sort of higher power that cared for humanity.
She sat up in her sleeping bag and looked around to see where she was. She had finally given up traveling for the ‘day’ in the middle of a moonless, pitch-black night. Had she chosen to waste the batteries in her flashlight, in any case, its light wouldn’t have told her much about her location. She had simply unrolled her bag and lapsed into fevered unconsciousness.
Now she saw that she had collapsed into what had once been a farmer’s field. Without human stewardship, the years of wild growth had resulted in a cornucopia of plants both intended and accidental: wildflowers mixed with ragged stalks of corn, ferns mixed with fat orange pumpkins.
Pumpkins.
Talia fished around in her backpack and pulled out a blue notebook, bent and dirty from life on the road. Flipping through the pages, she found the homemade calendar she used to mark off the days. At the top of the page, she had written October, 2023. If you had asked her why she kept track of the days, she could not have told you, any more than she could have told you why she walked every day when it would have been just as easy to stay in one place.
She retrieved the stub of a pencil from her pack and put an X through one of the boxes she had drawn. Her pencil drifted over the last, unmarked box, tapping lightly against it.
Halloween.
Halloween had been her favorite holiday as a child. There was no need to be good, yet she still got as much candy as she could eat — a much better deal than the jolly ol
d elf’s blackmail. She loved everything about Halloween: the fall colors, the cold that pinched her cheeks on the way to school, and the decorations of witches, black cats, and skeletons.
Talia sighed. She had survived the last six years by always moving forward, never letting herself sink into nostalgia. Memory Lane: the road to certain death.
The lure of the pumpkins all around her, colorful and aromatic, was too much for even her steel-tempered willpower. She let herself lay back in her bag, breathed in the aroma as best her clogged sinuses would allow, and drifted.
Talia thought back to the last time she had gone trick or treating. She and her best friends, Madison and Cassie, had been fifteen. They had known they were too old, but they did it anyway. They had dolled up as zombie prom queens, using pillowcases for goodie bags, and had gone knocking on doors all over their neighborhood in one final rearguard defense against the tide of adulthood. They had such a great time, they didn’t even care that one of the middle-aged dads who answered the door had leered at them and asked, “Candy, little girls?” as though that were hilarious rather than crude.
She remembered her mom’s last Halloween. It had always been Mom’s favorite holiday as well, but her cancer-ravaged body was too sick and weak to let her hand out candy to the little ghosts and goblins. Talia had moved the couch so that her mother could see the front door, propping her on a bed of quilts and comforters. Seeing the little ones in their costumes had brought a smile to Mom’s face, maybe the last one of her life, which ended just a few days later.
And it had been Halloween 2017, just a year later, when the original news had broken about the virus destined to end mankind’s run at the top of the food chain. In part due to the timing of its appearance, the media had named the disease the ‘Reaper Virus,’ soon shortened to ‘the Reaper.’ At first, the World Health Organization and the Center for Disease Control had run their normal playbook, announcing that a vaccine was in development and advising everyone to take normal precautions against airborne pathogens. If people did so, they were told, they would be fine.