Winter Apocalypse: Zombie Crusade V

by J. W. Vohs

  Nobody said a word for several minutes as they watched the mostly peaceful Luke occasionally twitch. Finally, Gracie suggested, “We should check his heart rate again.”

  Charlotte dutifully took Luke’s left wrist in her hand and began counting. She shook her head after thirty seconds or so, then started over again. Then she repeated the process once more. “Thirty-four, the first one was thirty-six. I’m sorry.”

  Gracie shook her head in disbelief. “That can’t be right; try again.”

  Charlotte reached for Luke, but then drew back. His breathing became very rapid and shallow. He arched his back and made what could only be described as a feral howl. They all jumped back from his bedside, even Gracie.

  Zach instinctively put his hand on the gun he’d concealed under his oversized flannel shirt. He knew that Luke was supposed to die on his own. As far as Zach could tell, Luke had yet to slip away. Still, that sound . . .

  Luke’s entire body shuddered, then he didn’t move at all.

  “Is he breathing?” Zach whispered, still resting his hand on the spot where the gun lay hidden beneath his clothes.

  Gracie glared at Zach. “Of course he’s still breathing,” she whispered hoarsely.

  Charlotte reached over and placed her fingers where she thought Luke’s pulse should be, if he still had one. At first she felt nothing but the clammy coolness of Luke’s skin, then she moved her fingers a few inches forward and felt the steady beat of life coursing through his body. “He’s still alive,” she murmured incredulously.

  Zach couldn’t look at Gracie when he asked, “How do we know it’s still Luke?”

  Charlotte quickly took several steps back. “I’m not sure . . .”

  “Get back, both of you,” Gracie hissed. She bent over Luke and began to stroke his hair. Zach silently pulled out his weapon.

  “Luke, honey, open your eyes,” Gracie prodded in soothing tones. “I really need you to open your eyes.”

  Neither Charlotte nor Zach expected a response, but it was Gracie that cried out in surprise when Luke’s eyes popped open. They were coal black—the eyes of a hunter.

  As soon as Highway 30 came into sight, everyone on the chopper quietly hoped that the refugees would soon pass by. The ramp to the bridge was acceptably elevated on the north bank, but the southern approach was low and flat. Still, there was nothing any of the would-be rescuers could do about the structure now: they had a battle to fight. Everyone was raring to go as soon as the Blackhawk landed on the middle of the bridge; nine men, two women, and two dogs rushed from the bay doors and headed out to prepare defensive positions. Jack, David, and four more men headed to the southern, most exposed section of the span. Carter led three fighters, a dog trainer, and two canines ready for war, to the north.

  Everyone had a rifle of some type, mostly AR-15s, in addition to their usual assortment of weapons and armor. Perhaps the most important pieces of equipment the soldiers brought along on this mission were snow shovels. Six of the scoops were divided between the two groups, and everyone took turns clearing the asphalt beneath their feet. Jack wished they had time to drop trees and prepare some proper defensive positions, but Chuck had just warned them that the hunters were less than a half-mile away. The first of the boats carrying the refugees had already floated under the bridge, but the fleet was stretched out over hundreds of meters and wasn’t moving very fast. No matter what, Jack knew his team had to hold the flesh-eaters back for at least ten minutes, and then somehow safely retreat while in contact with the monsters.

  The fighters’ greatest advantage in the coming struggle was the deep snow drifts piled up to the west of the bridge, especially along the state-installed fence running parallel to the highway. Christy’s memory of the location had been spot-on. In spite of the impressive development of strength and speed in the infected as they consumed protein, they were still bi-pedal primates. The creatures would sink in the snow just as easily as a human. Jack, Todd, and a few others would make some head-shots as soon as the hunters appeared in the nearby trees and brush, but most of the team-members would have to wait until the creatures were quite close before firing. The drift would hopefully slow the monsters at just the right distance for all rifles to be effectively utilized.

  The team didn’t have long to wait to find out if their theories about the snow slowing the flesh-eaters had merit, as the hairy, scar-covered creatures began appearing between the trees in the distance. Todd’s rifle roared from where he’d rested the fore-stock on the bridge railing, and even at a hundred meters, everyone saw a large monster’s head disappear in a spray of black and gray. A ragged cheer went up from the waiting human warriors.

  Most of the first shots missed, but the startling result of the hail of gunfire was the evasive maneuvers many of the monsters began to display in response to the threat. Even in the middle of a fight, Jack’s brain worked through several possible reasons for the hunters’ behavior, and the most likely answer was also the most disturbing: the infected had learned that the loud report of discharging firearms meant long-distance danger to them. That might have been understandable if the flesh-eaters had run away, like any prey animal in North America would have done, from squirrels to polar bears. Instead, the hunters continued to move forward toward their human targets while seeking the least vulnerable routes forward.

  The end result of the new behavior was that few of the hunters took mortal wounds before reaching the combined barrier of the fence and snow-drift. For a few minutes, everyone thought that might be enough, as the creatures sunk to their hips in the white powder before being easily shot down. Jack, Blake, and David were all standing near the fence with their halberds, wreaking horrific destruction on the floundering monsters as dozen of bullets flew past to add to the carnage. The contrast of the blood and gore splattered across the glistening snow was both beautiful and horrific, though nobody had time to enjoy the view as the intensity of the assault grew with the steady arrival of more and more hunters who’d finally made it through the fields and brush near the river banks.

  As the body count mounted, Jack couldn’t help but feel as if he was back in the early days of the outbreak, fighting the slow, stumbling infected before they’d had the chance to consume the massive amounts of protein their bodies needed to fully develop. Indeed, after five minutes of fighting, there were at least a hundred corpses lying sprawled on the opposite side of the fence, with more hunters joining their dead pack-mates every few seconds. But these weren’t scores of the flesh-eaters of May running toward Jack and his team, they were thousands of creatures grown powerful through the killing and eating of humans and other large animals. Plus, they were becoming smarter every day.

  The first sign of trouble came when Jack finally heard Marcus and Todd shouting over the battle, calling for him and the others to get back onto the road. When he looked back to see what all the fuss was about, Jack saw that at least a dozen hunters had already flanked his position along the fence. They were charging from the southern edge of the small ramp leading to the bridge, and even as the waiting gunmen slaughtered the first wave, a larger pack could be seen forming for another attack less than fifty meters away.

  Jack led Blake and David back up to the highway, where the waiting soldiers waved them onto the bridge itself. As most of them had learned about bridge-fighting over the past few months, the narrowed fronts between the railings were excellent defensive positions. Of course, that was assuming the other end of the span was available for a retreat if needed, and a retreat-route was definitely needed now. Hundreds of hunters were now scaling the fence unimpeded, joining the other flesh-eaters gathered on the highway as they charged the thin line of humans now standing shoulder-to-shoulder with cold steel in hand.

  Jack stole a glance to the north, where he saw that the team on that side of the bridge was still shooting at monsters getting caught up in the snow and brush below the surface of the road. He could also see that the fighters were rapidly being flanked in the distance. Then
there was nothing to do but focus on his own situation as the horde was upon them.

  After spending the entire last day of the Battle for Vicksburg on top of a massive wall, his commanders insisting that he position himself where he could see and direct the fighting, Jack was subconsciously pleased to be swinging a weapon again. Everyone told him that he wielded the deadliest halberd in the world, even before the outbreak when he participated in SCA events, and this morning he felt no impulse to argue with those who made the claims. He was stabbing the spear-tip into foreheads and faces with every thrust, and using the hook to rip open skulls, necks, and cheekbones as he pulled the weapon back after each strike. When the opportunity presented itself, he would twist the halberd in his hands so the axe could be brought into play, each time chopping through hunter heads like they were overripe watermelons.

  Jack had his Ranger-buddies and equally deadly brother in the small line with him, and they were calmly stacking up the creatures into mounds of gory corpses even though they were being steadily pushed back by the sheer weight of numbers pressing down on their position. From the nearby sounds of the fighting behind him, Jack realized that the northern team was also conducting a fighting retreat. They were all beginning to tire beneath the weight of their armor, and the exertion required to swing heavy, medieval weapons without regular breaks. Jack thought he was about to be forced to drop the halberd and pull his battle-axe as three hunters attacked him at the same time, but as if on cue, one of the trusty war-dogs slipped between his legs and began tearing at the flesh-eaters’ Achilles tendons. Within seconds, the trio of hunters were howling in pain and frustration as they fell to the snow-swept asphalt, where Jack left them lay as he took another big step backward.

  Finally, Jack heard Carter shout from behind. “Chuck’s comin’ down! Says the last of the boats went by a couple of minutes ago.”

  Jack killed yet another hunter by spearing it in the abdomen to push it away, then lopping the top of its skull off with a reverse stroke. “You and me cover everyone else?”

  “Damn straight!” Carter replied above the howls and shrieks of the monsters pressing in for the kill.

  As if on cue, two heavy ropes appeared in the midst of the fighters as Chuck brought the Blackhawk down to hover just fifty feet above the bridge. Nobody wanted to be the first to leave the others behind, so Jack began shouting orders for evacuation. David and Hector were the first to go, and the dogs scrambled into the brush to the east of the highway as they followed their now-flying trainer. Two by two the others were extracted, until only Jack and Carter remained. Lori and Blake had left their .22 autos behind, which allowed the veteran soldiers on rearguard duty to shoot two fisted when they pulled their own pistols they’d kept loaded for this very situation.

  The fighting had been touch and go for several minutes before Chuck had announced that the fleet was clear of the bridge, and he’d started lifting the soldiers out of the fray. From that point on, however, the .22s that everyone kept in their weapons belts had been introduced to the fight with devastating effect. Since the first days of the outbreak, Jack’s troops had included the small handgun in their arsenal of weapons, and the reliable pistols had saved the day on numerous occasions. This day was no different.

  By the time the ropes were lowered for Jack and Carter, at least forty dead hunters were piled up around the lethal humans, and most of the remaining creatures were wavering in their charge or already chasing the fleet downriver. Not all of the corpses had been put down by the two men, but what they considered a turkey shoot had been exciting while it lasted. They both knew that there was a point where their ammo would be gone, and they had no strength left to wield their medieval weapons. If they continued to push their luck with the ever-evolving infected, the day would come when their options were exhausted before their attackers were all dead. But as they grabbed the ropes for the short lift to the water below, Carter grinned at his oldest friend with a smile that said, “Not today, buddy.”

  Gracie’s mind went blank. She was hypnotized by the black eyes staring back at her own. Behind her, Zach drew his gun and looked pleadingly at Charlotte.

  “Honey, I need you to step away from Luke.” Charlotte gently took Gracie’s arm and tried to lead her away from the bed.

  A quiet, raspy voice croaked, “Gracie?”

  They all looked at Luke.

  “Hungry. Cold,” he whispered weakly.

  Gracie realized that Luke had started shivering. She quickly wrapped a heavy blanket around him. “I knew you’d come back to me, baby. Here, drink this.” She held a water bottle up to Luke’s lips.

  Zach tucked his gun away and looked questioningly at Charlotte. The older woman just shook her head and handed Gracie more blankets.

  Luke choked a little on the water, but his voice was stronger when he spoke again. “That’s better. Really hungry.”

  Charlotte offered, “I’ll make him some broth.”

  Luke somehow reached out and grabbed Gracie by her wrist. “Just get me some meat.”

  CHAPTER 15

  A few thousand feet to the east of the bridge ran Six Mile Creek. It wasn’t much of a waterway, and certainly wouldn’t slow a pack of determined hunters for long, but the stream ran across the flesh-eaters’ approach and was just below the final shallows in the area. It was on this tiny peninsula that David had instructed Chuck to set the team down after evacuation from the bridge. Miraculously, nobody had been lost in the fierce fighting on the structure. The martial capabilities of the warriors that made up Jack’s team, combined with the snow forcing much of the action to take place in slow-motion, had once again allowed the humans to kill a large number of monsters with no loss to themselves. After the southern battles of the previous few months, fighting in the Northern Midwest, and winning with no casualties, was a welcome change.

  “Feels good to be home,” Jack shouted over the noise of the rotors lifting Chuck’s Blackhawk after dropping off the last of the bridge-fighters.

  Carter snorted. “Seems to me that we left summer and came back to Arctic winter.”

  John had to add his two-cents-worth. “Guess that’s one positive thing about the zombie apocalypse: reversed global warming.”

  “It’s still November, right?” Tina wondered.

  “Yep,” Jack replied as he scanned the riverbank to the west. “I guess it’s possible that this much snow has fallen this early in northern Indiana before, but a blizzard like this has to be a record-breaker. And look at the river: no way it should be icing over this early.”

  “Hate to break up the meteorological philosophy class, but here come some of your wives.” John cheerfully announced. “And I’m getting cold just standing around in my sweaty armor, so let’s cut the chit-chat and get moving.”

  The relief on Christy’s face was evident as she glided her canoe close to the bank. “Hey guys, what are you doing out here; don’t you know there’s an army of hunters on the loose along the Maumee?”

  “Glad to see you too, baby,” David called back. “All your people are past the rapids now, right?”

  “Yep, still dry too. What’s the next step?”

  “Well, I think our safest bet is to stay on the river all the way to Defiance.”

  Christy didn’t like that idea at all. “That’s over forty miles away. We’ve got sick people, mostly elderly.”

  “I understand that,” David countered. “But we seem to have a big lead on those monsters right now, and we should try to keep it. Once we get past the confluence with the Auglaize River just west of Defiance, we’ll really have great protection from any hunters still chasing us from Fort Wayne. If we get jumped by a different group, we can lay up on Preston Island for days if necessary.”

  After a long pause, Christy finally answered. “Okay, but you tell Chuck to fuel up somewhere soon, and start meeting us near some of the smaller islands to evacuate the people in the worst condition. Actually, you get in my canoe and start protecting me and your baby; I don’t kno
w what you were thinking by running off to Vicksburg.”

  Deb was pulling close now, and Carter knew he’d be joining his wife on the river as well. “How’s my best gal?”

  “Don’t try to charm me, Carter Wilson; get in the damn boat!”

  With their losses the night before, the flotilla was towing several empty craft, so adding David and Carter was no problem.

  Jack was intently scanning the canoes slowly floating downstream as the Fort Wayne leaders finished their brief meeting. “Either of you two seen Andi?”

  Deb and Christy shared a furtive glance, each hoping the other would volunteer the news of Andi’s capture. The lack of response to his question alarmed Jack, and he asked again, “Where’s Andi?”

  Deb swallowed hard and lowered her head. “She was captured.”

  Jack thought he must have misunderstood. “She was what?”

  Christy elaborated, “She was captured by one of the Blackhawk crews when she tried to make her way to the evacuation docks. She was with a soldier from Middle Bass; he escaped and found his way back to us.”

  “The Blackhawks don’t land to capture people,” Jack protested, his voice rising. “There must be some mistake; what’s really going on here?”

  Deb tried to explain, “It doesn’t make sense to us either, but you can talk to Lieutenant Heder when we reach Defiance. He says he watched the chopper land and take her. I sent Heder to tell the last of our fighters to evacuate. He was supposed to bring Andi back with him. It was chaos, they were being overrun by the hunters, and they got separated.”

  Jack stared at Deb incredulously; his heart was pounding in his chest and he lost feeling in his feet and hands. “Barnes has never bothered to capture anyone before,” he argued.

  “We should learn to expect the unexpected from Barnes,” Christy replied. “Lieutenant Heder is the guy Luke saved from drowning during the fight in Buffalo. He got to a boat and barely made it back to us; he saw the guys grab Andi and take off.”