“There are a few more stores up ahead. We’ll check’em, and hopefully that’s all she wrote.”
***
Not even a mile up the road was a scene similar to the one they had just left in Gloucester. Empty vehicles lay discarded on both sides of the highway. These, however, weren’t wrecked or simply left behind. Most of the vehicles lay in positions as if they’d been tossed around; some lay on their roofs, some on their sides. One thing was clear: the survivors would be walking the rest of the way. There were few other options. Drive to Newport News, try back roads that may or may not be blocked or defended by other survivors like them—or not like them—or double back and call the mission a failure.
“We could find another car when we get over,” Cole offered. “This isn’t nearly as bad as Gloucester.”
“Not like we don’t have much of a choice.” Matt took in the flood of dead autos, rubbing his chin. “The rooftops?”
Cole nodded.
They each loaded up a backpack with ammunition and some of the bottled water they’d acquired from the gas station. Matt took a shotgun, and Cole took the .30.06. Matt snagged the keys and a pair of binoculars and they made for the beaten path.
Their luck held strong. As did each roof or bottom end they ran up and down like police K-9s chasing a suspect through a junkyard. Occasionally they’d have to risk ground travel, maneuvering around vehicles and scraps of wreckage like they were in some twisted, metal maze.
Soon enough they reached the end, and Matt ducked behind an overturned Honda sports car. He watched Cole jump down and land in a crouch behind a Mitsubishi SUV that, oddly enough, appeared unscathed, as if it were too good for the apocalypse. Several creepers roamed this part of Yorktown. They were mostly off the street, drifting in parking lots of businesses and various other buildings.
“What do you—”
The clatter of gunfire boomed ahead and silenced Matt. Gunfire that had a certain pop he easily identified from years spent at his friend’s gun club. He mouthed the words “AK-47” to Cole and pointed in the direction from which the shots came. Cole acknowledged him with a nod and pulled out his radio, then pointed to the charred skeleton of a Chevy Silverado about twenty feet up. Cole shifted his finger to a Suburban a few yards in front of Matt. “Seventeen,” Matt mouthed to Cole and turned the radio to that channel.
More shots sounded as Matt used the opportunity to take off. Cole swiftly followed. Most of the visible creepers were making their way toward the gunshots, not even noticing the two.
“Cole,” Matt said into the radio as his back rested against the wrecked SUV.
No response.
“Dude, you there?”
“Yeah.”
“Probably not military, man. That’s an AK, all day.”
“Oh, I know they ain’t military. Turn it to channel eleven.”
“Huh?”
“Just do it, man,” Cole’s voice hissed, “and for the love of God, don’t say a word.”
Matt flipped the dial, glancing over to see Cole nodding back.
There was a click, a little bit of static, and then an unfamiliar voice. “We’re still looking for him.”
“It would behoove you to find him, Clarence,” another voice responded.
“Listen up,” the first voice—Clarence—began. “We’re out here risking our asses while you sit on yours.”
“Sounds like a personal problem.”
There was a slur of words from what sounded like one of Clarence’s friends in the background. Matt used this time to pull out his binoculars.
“Well, you can tell Persius that we found some bait: a soldier, a doctor, and a Nubian princess—I’m sure he’ll like that.”
“He may, but you need to find G; that piece of shit’s got all our White Lady.”
Matt spotted the group northeast of their position. There were seven of them: four armed “guards,” who were no more than thugs in tattered clothes with bad attitudes, and three prisoners—a soldier in fatigues, a wiry-haired man in a dirty lab coat, and a black woman wearing jeans and a maroon jacket. Their exact details couldn’t be made out, but the scientist stirred up the image Matt had envisioned while driving back in Gloucester. One of the guards, a black man twice the size of Matt or Cole, maybe even bigger than the now-defeated champs rotting in John Robinson’s basement, pushed the soldier.
“Get the fuck up, you pussy Army faggot!” Matt heard in the background through the radio’s speaker. Clarence’s voice then said, “Quit playin’ with the bait, Leroy. Damn. You gonna break them before we can use ‘em.” Matt adjusted his view and was looking at what had to be the leader, a pale white man with graying hair that hung a ways past his shoulders.
Matt realized that these people had a hunger of their own, and now that chaos reigned, they let it overpower them. The same people Han had warned them about. He had heard the term “White Lady” before. Even had the pleasure of meeting her on several occasions. From what he could gather, these four were looking for the one who stole their stash of coke.
And there were more of them, holing up somewhere close by. Someone or ones more important than these four lackeys. Persius, was it? Was that the name he’d heard over the radio? Was he the leader of this… this gang? Matt’s mind filled with all sorts of questions. Where were they hiding out? How many members did this faction have? Could there be more out there waiting for just the right moment to attack, possibly even waiting to take him and Cole hostage like these three unfortunates? He imagined for a moment what that would be like, and it didn’t take long for him to understand that these people had to die. They were distant relatives of the undead.
Matt continued to watch as the conversation continued.
“These dead fucks are everywhere,” Clarence continued. “We’re probably looking for a corpse. Ain’t many that could survive out here.”
“Persius wants the fucking coke! You’re useless without it!”
There was a click.
“Andre?” Clarence said.
Nothing but static.
“Andre!”
More static.
“Andre.” Clarence’s voice began fading. Matt watched the man pull the radio away from his mouth. “This pussy motherfucker—”
Matt grinned as Clarence slammed the device to the ground and nudged the “Nubian princess” with his AK-47, then turned his radio back to seventeen. Moments later the group was out of sight, having crossed the highway and heading toward a neighborhood. There were a few random gunshots, presumably directed toward the undead, and then silence. This part of Yorktown was again dominated by those that feasted on flesh and brains.
***
“There are two creepers about ten feet to your left, Matt.”
Matt immediately turned and took aim with the shotgun. Two boys, probably brothers, possibly twins—it was hard to tell as each was a maimed scar of what they’d once been—ambled toward him. His sights centered over the one on the left.
“Why you gonna shoot kids, especially when there are militant assholes out there like Mr. Clarence, Matt?”
He thought about it for a second then set the shotgun down and unsheathed his sword.
Some say twins share a soul in life. Well, these two must have shared something along their path of reawakening, as both dripped grisly, discolored tissue from their mouths. The first one lunged and collapsed as its head was severed from its body; the second growled and clumsily advanced. Matt brought his sword down through its skull, not pulling out until the blade sliced to the neck. He watched in fascination as the thing’s head flopped up and down, expelling brain matter and ichor as the body dropped. This corpse provided Matt with a humorous reminder of Pacman before it fully collapsed.
“There you go.” Cole walked up, still keeping an eye out in the direction Clarence, Leroy, and the others had gone. “Wasn’t so hard, now was it?”
“What do you wanna do about them?” Matt said as he drove his sword into the decapitated child’s head
for good measure.
Cole’s expression went from playful to deadly serious. He held up his rifle so that he could admire its beauty. “We kill ‘em, Matt. Kill ‘em all. Well, at least the ones holding the guns.”
“Now Kristin’ll get her assault rifle,” Matt thought aloud.
“Aw, gonna get her a little gift, are we?”
“Gonna get us all some gifts.”
***
The two followed Persius’s thugs into some high-end neighborhood, making damn sure to keep out of sight of both humans and zombies, which wasn’t an easy task by any means. Most of the area’s denizens had abandoned ship, taking their vehicles with them. Only luxury cars and SUVs well past their prime occupied the road. Occasionally one sat idle in a driveway.
Matt and Cole found themselves hiding behind a Lincoln minivan. Clarence and the others had stopped roughly a hundred yards ahead. It looked as if they were lost, though they hadn’t made any turns since traversing this road. Matt didn’t need the radio to hear how upset they were. From here, they could make out the curse words and snide remarks by gestures alone. Apparently this Persius guy meant business and didn’t want any of these losers back without his prize.
“What do you wanna do?” Matt said, feeling a chill encroaching. He’d never plotted against the living. They were much smarter than the undead. For the most part, he reminded himself, and then shifted the weight of his backpack as he waited for an answer.
Cole thought for a moment, glancing to the group ahead and then behind. “We could try to flank them. You make your way through the backyards, and I’ll get just a bit closer this way. We’ll signal when we’re ready.”
“I only have pistols and the shotgun,” Matt said. “I’d need to be real close in order not to shoot one of their prisoners.”
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll start shooting, getting their attention—just make sure you end up ahead of them by at least a house before you signal you’re ready—and then you could come up from behind.”
“You sure you won’t hit the others or me?”
Cole nodded.
Matt couldn’t help but wonder if the prisoners would give them up if they spotted either of the two in their advance. He thought it was doubtful. They’d understand that they were being rescued, wouldn’t they? Even if the two were seen as a threat, it would surely have to be better than their current situation. “What if they… you know?”
“Then a lot of innocent blood will be shed today.”
Cole’s eyes were ice, which made Matt a little uncomfortable. Never in all their years as friends had Matt seen him so resolute.
Matt took in a deep breath, watching one of the goons push the soldier to the ground, and exhaled. “We can still back out or wait.”
“They need our help, man.” Cole said. “Wouldn’t you want to be rescued from those assholes?”
Matt mulled over the thought and decided Cole was right. If they died, at least they’d die heroes. The image, though, didn’t comfort him much. “All right, guess we ain’t got nothing better to do than rescue some people.”
“And get some assault rifles,” Cole said with a smirk.
When none of the thugs were looking in their direction, Matt and Cole split; Matt heading for the side of a two-story house with sky-blue siding, Cole making his way to a Range Rover in the street.
In seconds, Cole was out of sight.
Matt climbed over the first metal fence and dropped into a yard that had fallen to pieces well before the infection had been released. There was a disembodied hand floating in the center of the algae-ridden pool. The water was shit brown. He hated his imagination for even hinting at what could be down there.
Take a swim, enjoy the scenery, why don’t ya? Oh, never mind my dead aunt. She doesn’t bite. He grinned at the thought. Then he imagined what had happened to his aunt and the grin transformed into a frown.
The next yard had no fence. Matt crept up to the rear of the house and peeked around for a closer view of the seven. Their voices were a little clearer from here.
“Get on your fucking knees. If we can’t go back, then you all die,” a Latino man said, the butt of his AK-47 resting snuggly against his shoulder. Another man, a bit shorter and more out-of-shape, snorted. A younger white man couldn’t keep his wide eyes off the woman.
The hostages went to their knees while their captors laughed.
Tension built inside Matt as he made for the next yard. The more he thought about it, the more he couldn’t wait to pacify these bastards. Just to get a minute piece back of what had been taken from him.
A privacy fence at least a foot taller than him blocked his direct path. He tested the wood. It rocked back and forth, screaming certain exposure if he were to attempt climbing over. The damned thing was possibly rotted, detached from its main supports, and would cave in with his weight against it. Bye bye, surprise.
He stayed for a moment before following the fence to a back alley that separated the next few houses. A quick peek around the corner showed the area was clear. With a sigh of relief, Matt leaned his back against the fence once more, staring at the cloudy and pale sky. The snow hit his face, reviving the urgency he knew was at hand. A deep breath purchased a gulp tainted with rot so powerfully and suddenly that he had barely managed to force the bile back down into his gut.
A slug was chambered in the shotgun. Matt knew it wouldn’t be of much use right now, unless he wanted to announce his presence to the entire world. If he used it as a bludgeoning device, the round might go off, and that picture wasn’t pretty at all. Strapping it around his back, he unsheathed his sword once more. Much quieter. Much more efficient. Nothing to his left or his right, but the smell grew stronger by the second.
Then he heard it, much like he had heard it on the highway earlier: twigs snapping, leaves crunching. Then the moaning. Matt spun around and watched through the cracks between each plank of the fence. It was like watching some demented, slow-motion version of a cartoon.
The creeper struck the fence before Matt could tell it was even that close. It struck again and moaned loudly.
Two or three sections of the fence had gaps wide enough to fit the blade of his sword. When he lined up a zombie to stab that was exactly what he did. The weight of the thing could be felt through the blade, and when Matt pulled free the fence leaned and creaked to the point that it nearly toppled. He held his breath, eyes widening, then took off expecting to hear what would be the end of their surprise attack.
He ended up two houses in front of Clarence and the others in a matter of seconds, the fence still upright and holding.
“Cole,” he whispered into the radio as he crouched on the far side of a single-story brick rancher, “I’ve got them in my sights.”
“Took you long enough.”
“Yeah, well, you know me; always like to take the scenic route.”
“Yeah? And where’d that land you?”
“Two houses ahead of them.”
“The brick rancher?”
“Good eye.”
“Any creepers near you?”
Matt looked around. “No. You?”
There was a moment of silence between, but Clarence and the others seemed to have no problem filling the void with their taunting of the three prisoners.
“None near me and none near you, at least on the street.”
Matt glanced around the corner of the house and watched as the Latino man punched the soldier in his jaw. “I’m ready when you are.” He was a better shot with the pistol than the shotgun, yet the shotgun was a weapon of intimidation. The sword was practically useless in these conditions. Matt set it against the house along with the backpack, adjusted the strap of his shotgun, and readied his pistol. The P226 just felt more comfortable.
“Try and leave Mr. Clarence alive. Maybe we could get some useful information out of him.”
“Roger that. Leave the piece of shit alive; kill the rest. Good thinking.” Matt tried to sound confident, but knew h
is voice shook. Looking to his hand, he realized that wasn’t the only thing unsteady about him.
“On my first shot, stay wide and approach. I have a good vantage point. Leroy’s first; the other two are open game.”
“You’re the boss, Cole.”
“Wait for my shot.”
“Waiting.”
What took only enough time for Matt to toss the radio on the backpack and say a silent prayer felt like an eternity. His stomach turned as if on the most tortuous rollercoaster.
He glanced around the corner.
Leroy was in the middle of turning around and saying something to the others about bending the woman over before they shot her when his voice was overpowered with the loud crack of Cole’s first shot. The big man dropped to the ground, cupping his groin and screaming like a schoolgirl. His assault rifle clattered to the pavement, firing a round into a helpless garden gnome that was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“What the fuck?” one of the thugs shouted.
Clarence and the others looked in all directions. For a moment, Matt thought the man had seen him—luckily his gaze passed over him. Cole fired once more. The Latino man dropped. This one didn’t move, didn’t scream. Matt was sure the man was dead, and the blood pooling beneath him was reassuring.
Clarence and the younger man fired in the direction from which Cole was shooting. To Matt’s amazement, the AK-47 Clarence held was fully automatic. He took off in a sprint as the two unloaded their magazines. The three survivors caught sight of Matt. The scientist and the woman’s eyes went wide with relief and fright. The soldier simply stared at Matt and nodded.
He could have said “freeze” or something to that effect, but why? That would give the bastards a chance, and sometimes that was all it took.
Matt skidded to a halt about fifteen feet behind them and took one well-placed shot, hitting the younger male where his heart should have been. He dropped like his soul had been stolen by the devil himself, and Clarence didn’t even notice. Matt aimed another shot to the small of Clarence’s back, hoping to paralyze the piece of shit, but the bullet hit him in the ass. Clarence let out a ragged scream and turned around with his weapon ready. Before Clarence or Matt could take a shot, the man’s right arm puffed into a cloud of blood and a hail of bone shards. This time, the bastard screamed higher than Leroy the Schoolgirl and dropped to the ground. His hand still gripped the assault rifle, but it was clear that he had no control over its functions.
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