Beyond the Barriers

by Timothy W. Long

  The strangest thing in that strange day happened. A plane buzzed overhead. It was a small Cessna—something I hadn’t seen in a good long time. The tiny craft dipped low, slowed, and scanned the camp. I crouched down and took aim, just in case. But what in the world was I going to do? Shoot down a potential ally? If it held friends of Lee, then that might be a different story, but I doubted his ragtag group could muster up a pilot and organize flights to find him. It was only fifteen hours or so since I had kicked his ass out of the truck.

  What did the airplane signify? Was there an organized base of some sort nearby? Maybe they were getting ready to fuel bomb the sight and I was about to join my enemies in a massive pyre.

  Some of the dead paused in their aimless ambling. They looked up and considered the propelled bird, and then moved along again. I marked five or six right away and began to build up a map in my head. The topography of the piece of land left minimal cover. Lucky for me, I wouldn’t need it. Our plan was simple. I would provide a distraction to draw in the Z’s, start cutting them down, and then the guys would come in and take care of stragglers. Once we had most of them gathered close, it would be a slaughter.

  That was the plan, but I knew from past experience that no part of a plan went as intended once that first shot was fired.

  I skirted farther into the trees as the plane roared away in the distance. The wind shifted, and I got a whiff of the dead, the dying, and the rot of those left in the cages. Some had been forgotten or refused to do the bidding of the ghouls. Their lifeless bodies clutched bars or lay curled up. One, a woman, judging from her frame and remaining clothes, clutched a child to her chest. Her body was wasted, head covered in pus and scabs. Her desiccated arms latched onto the smaller person in a death grip. The child, who appeared to be about three, squirmed in her embrace. His eyes, green and glowing, shone with malevolent intent. I shuddered and moved in.

  There was a group of them standing over a still body. They had torn off most of the person’s flesh, one arm, and part of a leg. I counted seven or eight of the things and decided it was a good place to start.

  Slinging the rifle over my back, I checked my two handguns. I patted each magazine on my chest as I confirmed where everything lay. On each shoulder, a pair of green eggs sat. I had taken the time on the ride over to wrap the metal parts in strips of cloth, so they didn’t clink when I moved. Two came free in my hands.

  The pin came out with a click that sounded as loud as a gunshot in my head. Well it was too late now; I was already moving away from cover to deliver my first volley.

  With a large stride, I came out from behind a huge oak and swung my arm forward. The grenade flew in an arc that fell just short of the undead. After I popped the other pin, I moved one step closer. This one landed just to the side of one of the zombies. It looked at it, but nothing stirred in that brain. Nothing to tell it to move, jump, or just get the fuck out of the way. It stared at it like a curiosity.

  The first explosion ripped the air in a ball of hate and high-speed shrapnel. I was already behind the large tree, trying to make myself as small as possible. Pieces of metal accelerated by the explosion whizzed past me, as did chunks of the dead. When I peeked around the corner, a scene from a nightmare greeted me. Some had been blown apart, while others had lost limbs and were still moving on the ground. There wasn’t much blood, owing to their strange physiology, but they still came apart just like normal humans.

  One, bereft of its legs, crawled away, so I shot it first. Gun up, forehead sighted, the stock hammered into my shoulder as I put the thing down. Then I aimed and fired until I had finished most of them off.

  I moved farther along the camp perimeter. The zombies were on the move, too, looking for the source of the explosion. They came off the ground, rising like ghostly apparitions. They moved in slow motion at first, but faster as they sensed something was up.

  How could the dead sense anything? They might have reacted to sound or to the explosion, but they couldn’t see me. Still, I felt like they were looking right at me, like their eyes were burrowing into my soul.

  It was the ghouls. They had to be stopped. I had to eradicate them and free their hold on the masses before me.

  There were a few, then there were a couple more, then dozens of them. They came at the woods with their lumbering strides, slack jaws, and empty eyes. They came in their masses with the stench of the earth surrounding them. Flies buzzed around them in clouds as they feasted on blood and any exposed viscera they could find.

  I moved from tree to tree, keeping them in my sight at all times. I would stop and fire, drop a few, and then move. But for every one I shot, two or three replaced them. The camp had been infested with the bastards. If I had to put a count to them, I would have guessed three or four hundred. I did not have that many shots.

  Any minute now, the guys would come in blazing, flank the mass, and I would make for the shack and kill the green-eyed demons. The .50 caliber would ring out with its pulsating whump whump whump, and I would be able to complete my task.

  More were on the move, and I had to make a run for it. I came to a clearing and jumped to the side in an attempt to stay out of view. I was behind a copse, but it was overgrown with blackberry bushes. I had to skirt it, and this exposed me to their eyes. They moaned and howled for my blood, and I shivered in the warming day.

  Into the woods again. A branch to the face. Eyes closed as I brushed away the dry needles. Into a tree at nearly full speed. I struck it and nearly fell over, so I paused to catch my breath, smelling them on the air. They were close.

  On the run again. More undead to my right. I wrapped the rifle strap over my shoulder so I could draw my handgun. A guy broke through the trees with a woman in tow. They were joined at the wrist by handcuffs, and I almost laughed out loud at the sight of them both naked. Must have been an interesting story there—one I wouldn’t ever get to hear. One they wouldn’t ever tell, either, as I shot them both. The first shot pegged the guy and tossed him to the ground like a ragdoll. I managed to get the girl in the shoulder as she spun, and a second shot took the side of her head off.

  Moving again. There was a horde just ahead, so I unsnapped another grenade and threw it from my side, arm whipping out from my body. I kept moving as it WHUMPED behind me.

  As if in answer, a gunshot called out behind me, far behind me. What kept them so long?

  With the cavalry on the way, I decided to risk the open area. If they made speed in the truck, they would break into the open area in less than a minute.

  I was twenty or thirty feet from the mass of zombies when I came screaming out of the trees, rifle blazing, popping off as many rounds as I could. All high shots, so I would take the zombies in the head, if possible. Changing magazines on the run was an exercise in patience, as I had to feel the rounds into the gun.

  With a fresh round in the chamber, I blasted a couple that came into view ahead of me. One went down, but my second shot went wide, and I nearly ran into the second zombie. A front kick sent it reeling, and I passed the bastard, on my way again.

  The shack was ahead, and, all around me, the cages rose like a weird circus. Some still had humans in them. We had to have missed them in the craziness of the night before. God, had it only been a day?

  More shots sounded behind me—a mix of automatic and single rounds. That did not sound right. Then the big machine gun opened up, and I grinned as I shot another zombie. This bullet took it in the throat and must have passed through the spine because it went down without a sound.

  The shack was just ahead. I didn’t know what purpose it had before, but now it was my target. I knew it sheltered the ghouls and served as their base, because I had seen people brought to it, and they did not come out. No matter the purpose, I had a surprise for the building. Something I had been saving.

  I spun and shot, emptying an entire magazine. The group coming toward me fell, some now missing body parts. The violence of the bullets ripping into the mass was appalling.
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br />   Hitting the shack, I felt it rattle. I slammed into it again, then peeked around the corner toward the road that led into the compound. Jack and Scott should have been here by now!

  It would have been much easier if we had some way to communicate. Even an old pair of cell phones with Bluetooth units, but those hadn’t worked in months.

  Note to self: Get walkie talkies.

  Note to self: Kill everything with green eyes.

  The small building was constructed of corrugated steel. In the summer, it would have been a sauna. It was rusted on one side, and the few windows were covered over with wood and paper. I dropped into a crouch near one and tried to peer in by looking over my shoulder, but the coverings made it impossible to see inside.

  With my back pressed to the wall, I slid toward the door. The dead were onto me and on the move. They were closing in from all sides, and it looked like I might have just one shot at this.

  I ripped the last fragmentation grenade off my shoulder and stopped at the wooden door. When I hit the wall, then door popped open, but shut quickly from the force of my back striking the rickety building.

  I pulled the pin and looked up briefly. Not a prayer exactly, just something I had seen done many times. If there was a God, he wasn’t here. The only thing here was the dead. Fuck the dead.

  As gunfire erupted behind me, I popped the door open. As I poked my head around the corner of the doorway, I could have sworn something splatted across the ground nearby. What the hell was going on out there?

  I would have to hope for the best, hope they got here soon. I didn’t have much time left.

  I tossed the grenade in the shack then ran. The space was small enough that the shrapnel should put it down. It did a good job, all right, lifting the building up slightly with its explosion. The flat roof shifted to one side, and then smoke rose as the building fell on its side.

  One wall went over, and the rest followed. A crumpled mass of old metal rang like a bell as it crashed to the ground. I picked myself up and went to the wreckage, hoping the confined space helped finish the job, but if any still lived, I would take them down with a bullet. I wanted this camp shut down and the green-eyed bastards eradicated from it.

  The rumble of a giant machine gun called, assuring me that the cavalry had finally arrived.

  A horde of zombies was on its way, so I slammed in a fresh magazine and opened up. From behind me came the sound of more groaning. They were calling for my flesh. Spinning, I dropped one that was too close—a woman missing part of her left arm and all of her right. Her ragged flesh hung like a nightmare, and where blood should have flowed, only bugs and maggots dwelled.

  After I shot her in the face, I bolted for the remains of the shack. Smoke rose from the fallen walls and made the air reek of explosives. I poked the gun under one sheet of metal that had fallen over a desk. It was bowed in the middle, making a weird little tent. I couldn’t help but think that it would have made a much better place to rest than our cage. I would have killed for such a place a few days ago.

  Scanning the remains of the walls, I didn’t see any legs or hands poking out. There were no bodies to be found.

  “Goddammit!” I yelled in frustration.

  Shoving aside one of the thin walls, I found the remains of a sparse room built atop a thin wooden floor. I moved more pieces aside, hoping to see bodies squirming around in the wreckage or lying unmoving.

  Setting the rifle down, I worked on the edges, but kept one pistol in hand. When one of the dead got too close, I would shoot it.

  The chance to escape with my life was fading as they arrived. They closed in from all sides as I worked to slide things aside.

  There were no bodies.

  The big gun opened up again, and I thought of Scott on top, shooting our former brothers and sisters down. I would have been horrified, but I would have done the same. I would have cleared them like weeds.

  My boot snagged on a ragged section of wood that stuck out of the ground. Stepping over it, I wrestled another piece of metal out of the way. I had to move my foot off the metal, then I stepped back onto the place I had cleared.

  There was a snapping sound, then a crash, as I slid into something. I reached out for purchase, for anything, but there was only the hard wooden floor to grasp at as I went down.

  A flight of stairs greeted me as I fell, and I’m pretty sure I crashed into every step on my way down. I tried to stay on my back, but I hit a railing and slid over to smash into the wall about halfway down. Clods of dirt smacked me in the face as my feet hit the ground. I lay for a few seconds just listening. The zombies above me moaned, while chunks of stair and earth fell all around.

  My body felt like someone had taken a jackhammer to it. My legs and back were bruised and sore to begin with, but now they were barely able to function when I told them to get me up. I reached for the railing, but it broke in my hand, so I had to sit forward and try to lurch to my feet.

  In my current state, I was as close to being one of the dead as I had ever been in my life. If one of them fell on me now, I doubted I would have the strength to resist. Then it would all be over.

  Struggling to my feet, I took in the room. It was much larger than the floor above. There were a few bodies here, but none of them moved. I trained the gun around me, sweeping it left and right in the poor light. Nothing rose up to threaten me.

  Parts of the walls were shored up with wood. I found a light switch and flipped it a few times, but nothing came on. Where the hell did I think the electricity would come from?

  I staggered around until I found a shelf in the back. Feeling along it, I came across something round and hard—a flashlight. After I hit the button, a dull light cut into the gloom. Dust fell from above, as did more chunks of earth. What was this room for? Had someone built it as a prison, or just a place to work and escape the heat during the day?

  As I scanned the room, a shape moved into my light, and gleaming green eyes transfixed me. My body went cold with shock, and goose bumps rose across my chest. A ghoul stood right before me.

  “Hello,” it hissed, emitting breath as foul as any sewer I had ever smelled. I didn’t give the ghoul a chance to say another word. I tugged the gun up and shot it twice. Once in the throat—almost a reflex shot—and once in the cheek. I meant to shoot it in the center of its forehead, but fired careless in my shock.

  At this range, nearly point blank, the ghoul was taken off its feet and fell to the ground. Well there was my revenge, just as pretty as you please. A ghoul shot down and me the victor. Weep for me, world; the greatest victory I could ever hope for was at my feet, and I still felt empty inside.

  Then other bodies on the floor moved. Why didn’t I check them when I first tumbled down here? Probably because my brain was addled from the fall.

  I don’t know how many there were in the room. Three? Ten? Instead of wondering, I started shooting. They howled for my blood as they closed in. I shot one in the forehead, and then rocked my elbow back into someone’s face as they grasped at me.

  I stepped on something and slipped. Only when my foot slid off it did I look down and recognize the shape. A skull. Another ghoul came from the right, sliding off the ground like a shadow. I barely saw it until the eyes gleamed with intent. Green, angry, and dead, but cunning. I planted the barrel in its face as its hands reached for me. They brushed my shirt, questing for something to hold on to. I fired, but my aim shifted as I was rocked from the rear by another of them.

  Gunfire from above told me my friends had arrived. Hope at last.

  “Down here!” I yelled, lashing my elbow back, but I missed my target. I adjusted my aim and fired again. The shape fell away, but I didn’t know if I’d hit it. There was no sound. My ears were completely numb, felt like they were full of cotton. The noise in the room when I fired was overwhelming. Each shot was now muffled, like I was shooting underwater. I hated that I had lost one of my best weapons—my hearing.

  I backed up until my legs hit the stairs.
A piece of the building had fallen so that it partially blocked my view. Light streamed in from where I’d found the entrance.

  My shoulder and back ached from the fall. I had banged my hip pretty hard, and it throbbed to my heartbeat. The pain was refreshing; it reminded me that I was still alive, and it kept me focused.

  I shot another one in the chest, and it fell back, then I fired at another shape before the gun jammed. I was surprised it had lasted this long without getting stuck. The weapons were in good shape, but not all that well taken care of. “Way to go, Lee, still fucking me over.”

  Dropping the rifle, I drew the Desert Eagle from under my arm. It was a heavy gun—big and nasty. When it spoke, it did so with authority. I didn’t have time to inspect everything carefully, but I was pretty sure it was a Mark VII. It held eight rounds of the .44 caliber variety instead of the modified .50 I had fired a few times. That gun took even fewer rounds, but it would probably take down a bear. I didn’t need to shoot anything that large, but the weight was reassuring.

  It was good to know that if I did fire off seven rounds, I had one left with my name on it.

  The ghoul behind me got up again, snarling and drooling blood from a busted lip where my elbow struck. I spun, leveled the nearly foot-long gun, and shot it. The gas-powered auto-loader worked like a dream as it propelled the massive .44 load down the long barrel. It sounded like someone had tossed an explosive at my feet, and it did the job. The ghoul didn’t so much fall back as he was blown back into the wall. Not a headshot, but I think the gun did enough damage to justify not aiming.

  Fuckers were everywhere. I tried to get up the first step, but missed it and scraped my chin as a hand closed on my ankle. Cold, questing fingers that felt like they were coated in slime wrapped around my leg. I spun and stomped down, missing the wrist but smashing the forearm into the ground. Aiming where I thought the thing was, I fired another load, then another as I shifted the aim based on the flash. If I hit it, the round went in probably near the shoulder. My next shot was right in the brain.