Beyond the Barriers

by Timothy W. Long

  The next event would be burned into my brain for as long as I live.

  Lee pushed Haley down. She fell back on her behind and stared up at him with something approaching rage. Her eyes were bright, and something should have clicked in my head, but all I saw was the girl who had helped us.

  The gun boomed across the silent morning. A few seconds ago, the birds had started to call to each other again, making their plaintive cries, each struggling to be heard. I also wanted to be heard. I wanted to scream my rage, wanted to yell against the injustice, but all I could do was sit there, defeated, while Lee put a fucking bullet in the girl’s head.

  She was gone, and I think part of me fled as well.

  I stared, unable to think, unable to even make a sound. I was in shock, but it faded to white-hot rage in a few seconds. In that time, something happened.

  The dead had arrived.

  I backed up on my ass as an army of the things broke from the cover of the trees. They lurched and drooled blood as they set eyes on the living. Lee turned his gun on the nearest and fired. One of the zombies spun to the right but recovered, turned to face us, and lost the back of its head to a bullet.

  There were five, no ten—there were fifty of them. They moved toward us, intent on our flesh. One of the ghouls broke from the trees and paused to study the scene. I looked at him and knew it was the same bastard that had taunted us at the camp. He snarled when he saw me, then his eyes went to the girl’s corpse.

  Scott helped me up, and we backed away. I was filled with rage over Haley’s murder. My body and soul hurt, and I was angry and exhausted.

  The undead came on and were killed. The men and women around us moved with precision as they fell back to their vehicles. One of the campers had only one door, and they ran for it, covering each other as they entered. I wished I had a gun in my hand, but I was so exhausted that I probably wouldn’t have been able to lift it.

  I studied the soldiers dumbly, wondering if any had been at the ambush last week. They moved like pros now, not like the heartless scavengers that had tried to take our weapons and gear.

  Scott and Jack moved me between them. We were forgotten, left behind by the men with weapons. They were swarming their vehicles, firing as they went, but they didn’t get all the undead.

  The ghoul obviously had some time to plan and act. His line of zombies moved from the other side of the road. A canvas covered truck left, with a female soldier half hanging off the back. She tried to grab a hold of the back of the Jeep, but missed and fell off. One of the men reached for her. He had a frantic look on his face, as the driver gunned the engine and the car took off, only to smack into a pair of dead, knocking them to the side.

  Lee was clinical. He moved backwards, covering his crew. He fired slowly, accurately, and when he ran out of rounds, he just as calmly dropped the magazine into his hand, put it in a pocket, and came out with a fresh one.

  There were too many of them, and they were everywhere! Their moans chilled me to the bone; their calls for us, the living, made my heart race. We had come so far, so very far in the night, and we were back where we started. Back among the dead.

  We stumbled, and I went down first. One of the soldiers had gotten turned around while he sought targets, and we all crashed together. I fell on top of him, and I didn’t even think about my actions. The gun was there, on the ground, and I picked it up. It was a small-caliber handgun, but it would take out the dead just as well as a hand cannon.

  “Get the fuck off me!” the man screamed.

  Jack grunted and moved back. Scott was first on his feet and pulled me up. The guy struggled to get up, but the strap from his rifle was wrapped around his shoulder, and he fell flat again.

  I should have just left him, but I offered my hand, and he took it. With Jack’s help, we staggered back toward one of the vehicles. It was surrounded by the dead things, but the guy with the gun started shooting. I dragged the pistol up and put one in the side of a creature’s head. It fell off the back of the car with one hand clutching the guy it had been trying to bite. The man struggled and pushed but was dragged off the back. His screams were furious.

  Lee called orders as he made it to the large trailer. Guns sprouted along the sides where the windows had been. There were slits in the sides, and metal plates slid out of the way to allow more guns to point outward. Shots rang up and down the road as the vehicle lurched forward and smashed into a couple of the dead that were trying to climb to the roof. They groaned as the big RV pulled away and ground them into the dirt.

  We made it to the side of the military vehicle. It was surrounded, but we cut down a few in front. Scott moved like a man possessed. He had a look on his face I hadn’t yet seen on him. He was mad—beyond rage. Swearing, he jumped into the car and kicked one of the dead away from the driver’s side. He picked up a small machine gun, looked like an MP5, and jacked the chamber back to check the load. The zombie he had pushed off the side of the truck was replaced by a black guy with part of an ear and cheekbone missing. His mouth moved like he was talking, but he was probably imagining meat between his jaws.

  Scott stuck his boot in the guy’s chest, and calmly held him back while he took the magazine out of the gun, as the dead man peered inside. Satisfied, he jammed it home, raised the gun, and blew the thing backward with a tap to the head. Scott didn’t waste ammo. He aimed and fired—one shot per zombie. Aim, fire, shift. Aim, fire, shift.

  “Let’s go, man!” Jack screamed. He plopped down in the back and tried to look everywhere at once.

  There was a large-caliber machine gun mounted above us, but it wasn’t like the movies, where I could just hop on the gun and start firing. The gun had to be checked and loaded.

  The soldier with us jumped in the back of the car beside Jack and fired as fast as he could, but we were surrounded. Scott sat down and handed me the MP5. “There are a few shots left. Make ‘em count while I get us moving!”

  He cranked the keys, and the truck roared to life. I held the gun in unsteady hands and shot the zombies as they came at us. Another truck roared past us, with one of the dead hanging from the back while the gunner on the big .50 caliber tried to take aim. The driver turned, pulled a pistol and shot the thing in the face, but his car was pulled to the right, and he clipped our truck then ran off the road, into the bushes. They were swarmed in a matter of seconds, and their screams went on for a long time as they were eaten alive.

  “So sick of this shit,” I muttered as our vehicle lurched forward. One of the dead was just ahead, so I stood up in the tiny space, held onto the front windshield, and shot him in the head. Scott swerved slightly, but we still pulped the zombie.

  There were more of them ahead, at least a dozen, and we didn’t have enough momentum yet to escape them. If we were going thirty or forty miles an hour, we might be able to barrel through them, but we were at a crawl. Scott punched it and knocked a few out of the way. The soldier with us stood up, changed his magazine, and then started shooting at everyone ahead of us.

  As we made our slow progress through the human barrier, we met with more and more resistance. The dead surrounded the car and reached for us, clawed for us. The stench of rotted meat was disgusting. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to shoot them or throw up. The rotted dead were everywhere, and I was once again struck by how obscene they were. The things were an abomination. Up until now, I had been willing to recognize that they had been us, they had been human at one time. Now they were just mindless monsters worthy of only a bullet.

  I shot as many as I could, and we broke free. I was already starting to feel better, a new reserve of adrenaline welling up from beneath my exhaustion. Every muscle ached, but I was in my zone now. I had a weapon, and we had a vehicle.

  As we broke through the last of the dead things, Lee caught up. I heard a thump and glanced behind, taking my eyes off the enemy for a split second. Lee was flopping in the back of the truck, trying to climb onboard with us. He had his upper body over the back of the vehi
cle and strained to get in.

  The man who had helped us get to the truck leaned over the back of the seat to help Lee. His upper body hung to one side, one leg dangling over the edge of the spot where the rear door should have been. One of the zombies got lucky. They grabbed his foot and tugged, pulling the man off balance.

  Another latched on as Scott turned and pointed his gun. I could tell that he wasn’t going to get a good shot, though, because one of the soldiers was in his line of fire.

  I shot one of the zombies in the face when it got too close, then I leaned between the seats and offered Lee a hand. He seemed surprised. He had his other hand in the back, gun over the seat as he fought for purchase in the bumpy ride. His cammo shirt rode up to expose a burned wrist and a tattoo of a devil surrounded by a yellow flaming pentagram. Instead of taking his wrist, I grabbed his pistol.

  We lurched ahead, free of the zombies, and Scott put the pedal to the metal as we screeched up the winding road. There were a few of the dead on the road, but Scott did a good job of avoiding them. I admired his resolve not to smash into each one like a piñata, which might have damaged the truck. The last thing we needed was to be stuck.

  “Let go of that gun!” Lee yelled, but I ignored him and pried it loose. Jack held onto him so he couldn’t get into the seat; his legs hung over the back of the truck like zombie bait. I didn’t care if one of them took him. I was just as likely to put a bullet in his skull after what he did to Haley.

  “Scott, pull over as soon as we’re free. Lee and I are going to have a little chat.”

  “Does the chat involve tossing his ass off a cliff?”

  “As much as I know we need to keep other humans alive, it is pretty tempting.”

  Lee stared daggers at me. If he had the gun, I was sure he would have shot me right about then. The scar that ran up his cheek was livid as he ground his teeth together, and I swore I could smell the stench of death on him. How I wanted to shoot him and be done with it.

  “At least let me sit in the seat like a big boy. I hate having my ass hanging out for the zombies to latch onto.”

  “Do you think Haley felt that way, too? Think she’d like to be sitting with us, instead of lying in a pile of blood, you son of a bitch?”

  “Hey, son, she was changing into one of them, and you know it. Everyone knows that when the eyes go green, you shoot. We don’t need any more of those ghouls in the world. They’re already convinced they’re stronger and better than us. I did her and you a favor. It’s time you recognize what’s right in front of you.”

  “What’s in front of you, Lee, is a fucking gun, and it’s pointed at your face. Do you really want to keep justifying killing the girl that helped us escape? A girl, Lee, a seventeen-year-old girl!” My hands shook with rage as I lifted the gun and pointed it at his forehead. My finger fell across the trigger, and I wanted to apply the pressure it would take to fire the bullet into his smirking face.

  “You going to shoot one of your own? Are you going to shoot a survivor?” he challenged me.

  “Is that the same choice you’ve offered the people you dragged out of homes? The people your men raped and killed?”

  He didn’t even acknowledge my questions. He just stared at me like I was speaking a different language. I hated this man, and I barely knew him.

  “Do it,” Scott said.

  I glanced over, and his eyes were just as livid as my own. Jack looked between us, but I couldn’t read his expression. Maybe, like me, he was exhausted and sick of running.

  “Scott, pull over, please,” I said, deciding I couldn’t kill Lee. As much as I wanted to, he was right.

  Scott came to a halt and took the MP5 from my lap. He looked at me and winked, signifying that whatever I chose, he was behind me.

  “Get out,” I said simply.

  “You gonna just shoot me here, and leave my body for the goddamn zombies? Takes a real man to do that, you know—to step forward and take care of business. It takes a man with guts. You sure you’re up to the challenge?”

  “Get out of the fucking truck. NOW!”

  Lee stared at me for a while, shook his head, and then slid out of the back seat.

  It was much quieter here, a mile or so from the death and destruction. There were a few birds chirping, and noises from the bushes surrounding the road. A lazy cloud picked that moment to drift over the sun, setting the road on fire as diffuse light scattered across the ground, faded, and then reappeared.

  I pointed the gun at his face and thought about all the reasons I should let him live. He was one of us, as disgusted as I was with him. He was a human, and we were an endangered species. I thought of all those who had passed into the night since the uprising of the dead, saw their faces, and felt a sense of loss.

  Would one more death change anything? Then I pulled the trigger.

  Shock registered on Lee’s face as the hammer smacked against a dry chamber. I stared at him then at the gun. With a cry of fury, I tossed the pistol into the bushes.

  I reached across the back of the seat, grabbed him by the collar and pushed. His precarious position, ass in the air, meant he had no purchase. He flopped off the truck and landed in a heap. I heard the air hiss out of his body when he struck. .

  “Go join the dead. I hear they’re recruiting.”

  “Coward. Come back here and face me. Come back here! This isn’t over!” he screamed as we drove away. He was on his hands and knees, hand pressed to his stomach.

  He was right about that; it was far from over, but that was all later.

  * * *

  We drove for miles until we came to the outskirts of Vesper Lake. The road was blackened and scarred, and the same husks of cars I had grown used to were now faded shadows in the pale light. We needed a place to hole up, but the cabin was too risky this late in the day. The drive would take at least an hour, and I didn’t trust our gas supply to get us there.

  Every once in a while, the radio squeaked, but I didn’t take time to figure it out. Scott fiddled with it and changed channels. He listened and sometimes spoke into the old CB speaker, but he didn’t get a reply.

  We pulled off on a dirt road, which we followed until we came to an old farm. The house was blackened and gutted, but we found a barn in the back—more a slaughterhouse than anything else. The sign out front informed us that they sold quarter and half slabs of beef. I was so hungry I was pretty sure I could devour one if it appeared. I wouldn’t mind a juicy steak cooked over an open flame.

  We did a quick reconnaissance, but the place was long deserted. The remains of a man, or woman, in overalls, lay outside of the building. It didn’t twitch, so we left it undisturbed. There were no animals left, and the gates around the place were wide open. We didn’t bother with the house; it was obviously empty. The roof was partially caved in, and one side had disappeared in the flames.

  The place we called home for the night still bore the stench of things long dead. There was a bucket in the corner filled with a dried-out collection of organs and intestines. It was so desiccated flies didn’t even buzz around it. I took it outside and tossed it as far away as I could. Then I slid the long door closed and latched it with some bindings I found over one low wall that was probably used as a waiting room prior to slaughter.

  Jack sat in the back of the truck with his head drooped forward, chin on chest, as he snored like a locomotive. He was still covered in blood. I looked over the remains of my own clothing and thought of how much I would give for a change right now. My week in the woods and the cages had not been kind to them. My pants were nearly dry, but they were hard to move in. They were crusted with old salt from my sweat, mud from the woods, and all manner of things that I must have brushed into while on the run. Sniffing the shirt, I smelled my own stench; not a hint of Haley to be found. I hung my head and sighed.

  “Yeah brother, I’d cry too. You smell like shit,” Scott said. He had the same quirky grin as always, and I almost embraced him right then and there. It was my fault he wa
s stuck here with me, but he took it in good spirit, just like everything else. I hoped someday I would be able to make it up to him.

  “What the hell do we do now?” I said.

  “I don’t know about you, but I would love to get some rest, and then call in an air strike on the bastards that kept us in that cage. We left a lot of people back there.”

  “I know, but the army and air force are long gone. At least I think they are, unless you know different.”

  “I’m not sure. There were rumors of military survivors rebuilding in some cities. I heard the military had a safe city built up around Pittsburgh, but who knows if that’s true.”

  I went to the truck and rummaged around. There was a cover over the back, from the seat to the bumper, and there were boxes secured under the seat itself. After popping the latch, I sucked in my breath. Scott came over to look at the contents and whistled at the haul.

  “Who the …” Jack jerked up and nearly fell out of the seat. Scott and I chuckled and welcomed him back to the land of the living. He rubbed his eyes as he crunched over the straw-covered ground and joined us. His eyes went wide.

  Food!

  I found a bottle of Gatorade that had the lid screwed back on. It was full of water—clean, clear water. In a few swallows, I drank it down, not caring that it was warm. There was a case of the bottles, and we made a serious dent in them. There was no question about reserving some of it. We weren’t on a deserted island; we just had to scrounge for our meals, and when we found them, it was in our best interest to enjoy every bite like it was our last.

  Then we tore into a box of Cliff bars. I ate three before I came up for breath.

  We looked through the other boxes and supplies, stacking and sorting, compiling and discussing. There were enough supplies here for a half-assed plan that was forming in my brain, but we needed to do it right. We needed to plot, and we needed to trust each other implicitly. I needed help, for I couldn’t do it alone. As I stared from face to face, they must have known what I was thinking.