by Wimer, Kevin
“Ken and Roger are working the back gate,” Ron yelled as he quickly stabbed another walker that had banged into the fence, covering himself in a gory mess as he yanked out the knife and turned and looked at Hector who eyes were wide and horrified, “Go and find the two of them and sound the alarm . . . We are about to be overrun!”
Hector felt his legs going weak with the words Ron had just spoken. He stood there for a moment unable to move while looking at the sea of undead heading towards them and the fence that had been constructed to keep people out—the living not the undead. Ron stepped away from the fence and slapped Hector across the face and then shook him like a child to get his attention. He told the man to get ahold himself and to get his ass in gear and get moving—this is what they had trained for. Hector turned without saying a word and ran for the back gate. He passed the meeting house and briefly thought about running inside to tell Tex what was going on but quickly decided against it. He had to get to Ken and Roger. He had to sound the alarm to alert the entire camp that they were in deep shit. Graceland was about to be overrun by the walking dead and Hector knew there wasn’t a second to waste. Hector ran past the meeting house and around to the backside of it and into the rear courtyard that had a series of other buildings surrounding it. He was running like a bat out of Hell. His heart was thudding in the center of his chest—visons of the undead eating and killing those he loved and cared for filled his mind and pushed him to run faster.
Hector was in mid stride when he stumbled and fell to the ground. The impact of his body hitting the hard-packed earth caused the air that filled his lungs to be forced out. He groaned with pain while gasping for air. His lungs burned like the fiery flames of Hell—he hadn’t run this hard since the night of the outbreak. He rolled over and onto his back and gasped for air. It was then that he heard a gunshot—a split second later one gunshot turned into many. Hector rolled over onto his side and forced himself back to his feet. He wasn’t sure where the gunshots were coming from but guessed them to be coming from the front gate. It was after all where the infected had started to gather. Hector stumbled forward a few steps before his legs felt strong enough to run. He ran around a building and into the open. The back gate wasn’t that far away—he had one more set of buildings to get around and then he would be at the back gate. The sound of gunfire echoed as it bounced off the walls of the buildings—causing him to wonder where it was actually coming from. It grew louder with each passing second. Hector’s mind raced with thoughts—visions of undead breaking through the gates and swarming the citizens of Graceland filled his mind as he ran forward.
Please Lord, let me get to the back gate in time. Please let Ken and Roger be there and please let them be alive. Hector prayed as he entered an alleyway between the two buildings behind the meeting house. He was in mid stride when a moaning hiss of a sound stopped him dead in his tracks. He looked over his shoulder and could see nothing. He turned back around and found two walkers had entered the alleyway in front of him. The first of the two looked at him with hunger in its eyes and hissed an angry load moan as it began to slowly move forward—teeth gnashing together. Hector reached for the gun on the side of his hip—he fumbled to find it but remembered that he had taken it off to make breakfast. He cursed as he began backing up and away from the two walkers that were now heading towards him—arms outstretched and teeth gnashing together. It was then that an angry moan behind him alerted him that he was now trapped. Hector turned and found a pack of walker’s blocking the rear alleyway entrance. He was alone and trapped and knew that no help would be coming for him.
Hector felt like a trapped rat as his heart raced. He turned and looked at the walkers in front of him and then at the walkers behind him. He reached for the hunting knife on his belt and unsheathed it. He narrowed his eyes in anger—mostly at himself for not having his gun and for allowing himself to become trapped between the two buildings. He gripped the knife in his hand—nervously moving from one foot to the other. He looked at the pack of walkers behind him and then at the ones in front of him. He was outnumbered and knew there was no good outcome to the situation he now found himself in. Hector took a breath and then let out a scream of anger. He wasn’t going down without a fight and without taking a few of them with him. He turned from the pack behind him and raced forward—knife in hand and screaming at the top of his lungs. He began lashing out with his knife—striking the first walker in throat. He angled the blade of his knife up and towards the brain stem. The walker lifeless body fell to the ground as he jerked the blade from its neck. Hector stumbled backwards as he prepared for the next one in front of him. It was then that a hand grabbed him from behind. He spun around to find a walker angerly gnashing its teeth together as it lunged for him. Hector felt his heart skip a beat as he quickly thrust the blade of his knife in an upward motion—repeating the way that he had killed the last one.
The body of the walker fell at his feet—its milky white eyes were lifeless as they looked up at him. Hector took a step back and away. It was then he felt not just one set of hands grabbing at him but multiple. Hector spun on his feet and began thrusting the knife wildly into the pack of undead. He screamed and cursed as he thrust the knife—hoping that each blow was a deadly one. Hector felt the warm sticky goo of both blood and brain matter covering him. He didn’t stop. He kept thrusting the blade of his knife—screaming a new set of curse words with each thrust. His voice echoed off the walls of the two buildings—as did the angry hisses of the walkers. The alleyway was quickly filling with more walkers—more than he could handle by himself. Hector’s mind wasn’t ready to accept defeat, but his body was. He was wearing out. He felt a hand from behind grab him and pull him backward. The hand was powerful and forceful. Hector tried to turn and kill the walker that now had a hold of him, but he was unable to do so. He could feel his feet starting to go out from under him. He was being dragged to the ground and to his death. Hector’s body was about to give up and allow death to have him when his mind allowed him to have one last surge of energy.
Hector could faintly hear the echoing sound of gunfire. The hissing moans of the undead mixed with the angry and fearful screams that Hector was now screaming. The static sound of gunfire was quickly being drowned out by the angry hiss and screams coming from both Hector and the undead. The men and women of Graceland were in a fight for their lives—so wasn’t Hector. Hector swiped and thrust his knife and with each of those thrusts he prayed that the men and women of Graceland would survive this fight and go on and rebuild the world that he knew he would soon be leaving behind.
CHAPTER 16
Tex walked across the meeting room—Chris followed closely behind him. The two men walked up to the table that the young man was seated at. Chris looked at him intently—his body tensed as if something bad was about to happen. He noticed up close how the young man looked much younger than he had first thought. He had guessed him to be in his late teens to early twenties—now Chris was guessing him to be in his early to late teens. The feeling Chris had had about the kid remained. It still gnawed at his gut and told him that this kid was trouble. The kind of trouble that could be deadly. Chris wrinkled a brow as he looked at the young man and tried to place him. He tried to figure out if he had met him before the outbreak as cop or if the two of them had met somewhere along the away during the outbreak. Deacon wasn’t the kind of man to take in someone of his age—to much grief and too hard to handle. Teenagers felt as if they knew it all, but the reality was, they didn’t know jack shit.
Tex cleared his throat as the boy scooped up a forkful of food and shoved into his mouth and began chewing it. He finished chewing his food and took a sip of coffee before looking up at the two men standing in front of him. The kid looked at them and then back at his plate and quickly scooped another helping into his mouth. Tex narrowed his eyes. The kid had an air about him—it wasn’t just a swagger of defiance or cockiness but something else. The look in the boy’s eyes was that of disdain. The kid didn’t mu
ch care for those in charge—authority figures in general. Tex knew the kid needed to be taken down a peg or two—it was tempting to do so right here and now but he held off in doing just that. You’ll catch more flies with honey. The voice of his mother hauntingly echoed through his mind. It was a saying that she had liked to use when he was just a child.
Tex looked at Chris and then back at the kid in front of him. He had dealt with men just like this kid—they always crumbled one way or another. Tex had seen the biggest of men break and the smallest of men thrive in the toughest of tough moments. It was those men who thrived in that moment you could count on—not some gym rat that looked as if he could bench press a dump truck.
“Hoss, do you mind if we sit and have a chat with you?” Tex asked, pulling out a chair and not waiting for the kid to answer.
Chris looked at the boy and then at Tex before pulling out his own chair and taking a seat across from him. He felt a spine tingly chill running the length of his body as he took a seat. The kid creeped him out. He wasn’t sure why, but he did. Maybe it was the look in his eyes, they were emotionless. His flesh was a pale pasty white—like he hadn’t seen the sun in years. It added to the creepiness the kid had about him.
“Last time I checked, it was still a free country,” the kid said as he shrugged his shoulders and looked at both Tex and Chris.
Chris looked at the kid and noticed his body language. He talked and acted tough but how tough was the question. He was just like every other kid that he had dealt with as a cop. The kids had a street toughness that wouldn’t last long in this new world. The walkers didn’t give two shits about how tough you talked. The bastard’s wanted blood and brains and wouldn’t stop until they got them. Chris caught Tex out of the corner of his eye taking off his hat and placing it on the table in front of him. He watched as the kid took another bite—cleaning his plate and then pushing the tray away from him. The kid looked at the two men and then sank back into his chair and crossed his arms—giving off the vibe of don’t mess with me. Tex was going to do more than just mess with the kid. He wanted answers to the long list of questions that now filled his mind. The kid needed to shape up or ship out. He needed to answer the questions when asked or Tex would march the cocky son of a bitch straight to the gate and give him a swift kick ass and tell him to be on his way.
“What’s your name?” Tex asked.
The kid looked at Chris when he answered.
“Samuel . . . but everyone calls me Sam.”
Tex nodded and took note at the way the kid had looked at Chris. He also noted how Chris looked at the kid. He didn’t know this little shit before them from Adam, but the kid somehow knew Chris or at least knew of him.
“Samuel, where did you come—”
The kid turned and lashed out at Tex, cutting him off in mid-sentence.
“Sam!” his voice echoed through the dining room, “You can call me Sam, not Samuel . . . Got it?” narrowing his eyes as he looked at Tex, “Are we good with that now?”
Tex could feel a smile starting to creep across his face. He had just chipped away a small piece of Sam’s hard exterior shell. The kid was starting to crumble and Tex was just getting started. Chris looked at Sam who stared at the two men with eyes of anger and hate. He could feel his muscles going taut as his mind raced with thoughts of what might happen. Chris was ready for the kid—ready to take him down if it should come to that.
“Okay, asshole,” refusing to call him Sam, “Now that we have that settled,” Tex looked across the table at the kid who was now more pissed off than before, “Why don’t you tell us where you came from?” pausing for a second to allow the edge in his voice to sink in, “Have you been with any other group of survivors since the outbreak?” looking at the kid who now looked at him with his eyes narrowed and jaw clinched—grinding his teeth and working his jaw muscles, “Six months is a long time for anyone to be out there alone . . . I doubt that anyone could do it for very long . . . Everyone needs help in order to survive this shit storm that we are in.”
Tex noticed something within the kid’s eyes—it wasn’t just anger. It was acknowledgement. He hadn’t been alone—another piece of his hard exterior had just crumbled. The kid was trying to play Texas hold ‘em with a true son of Texas—it was a mistake and one that Tex would capsulize on. The kid had a good game plan—if that game had been played on anyone else but him it might have worked. It was insane to think that one person could survive this hellish nightmare of a world without help. Tex knew if it was not for Graceland and the people of Graceland, he would be dead. He would have died a few days after the outbreak. It had been Carl and Brandy who had saved him. The three of them had saved Cubbie and Lailah. It wasn’t long after that that the five of them had found Ron and Ken. Ron had been former military and upon his retirement he had moved to the small community of Broadway to open a military surplus shop. The group had started off small but quickly grew within the weeks and months after the outbreak—strangers who had become family.
Tex listened to the kid as images of those within the camp began to fill his mind—images that now numbered a few hundred.
“Like I said last night, cowboy . . . I am from Harrisonburg . . . I lived there with my parents for sixteen years . . . I was a student at Harrisonburg High School when the world went to shit,” Sam’s voice seemed to crack at the mention of his parents, “I don’t know why I have to keep telling you this. You were there with your friends when they questioned me,” a smile slowly crept across his face.
Tex looked at Sam as the hair on the back of his neck began to stand on end. It was the way the kid had answered the questions. It was the way he had mentioned the others from last night. Sam was toying with him. He was playing a game of cat and mouse. Tex didn’t like games. He had no time for them. It was then that his thoughts began clicking together and the fear of what might be happening set in. He looked at Chris and then around the room—it was as if his world was moving in slow motion. He hadn’t seen Cubbie or Lailah or Brandy—not since last night when they had found the kid wondering around at the front gate. Tex felt his heart flutter as it sank to the pit of his stomach. It wasn’t like the three of them to miss breakfast. It was a tradition that each of them had kept since day one—breakfast together.
Tex quickly turned back and looked at Sam. He was smiling from ear to ear.
“Now you get it,” Sam said with a chuckle of a laugh, “Shit is starting to click into place . . . isn’t it?”
Chris looked at Sam and then at Tex. He wasn’t comprehending what Sam had just said. He didn’t understand the situation. The look on Tex face told Chris that he understood and knew exactly what was going on. It was then that the alarm bells began going off inside Chris’s head.
“Tex? What’s going on? What is this asshole talking about?” Chris asked.
Tex took a breath. His greatest fear was coming true. He looked across the table at Sam who was smiling. He felt the rage boiling within him. It was a rage that he wanted to unleash on the kid. He wanted to kill the son of a bitch but knew he couldn’t—at least not yet.
“Who sent you?”
Chris felt his flesh prickle as it began to crawl with goosebumps. He could feel within himself that his worst nightmare was about to become a reality. Deacon had sent this kid to kill him and to kill anyone that dared try and help him. Chris was about to say something when the sound of gunfire stopped him. Tex kept his eyes on the kid while Chris leaped to his feet—rifle in hand and at the ready. Sam laughed as he looked at Chris and then at Tex. It was a quick and short outburst of a laugh.
“It doesn’t matter now,” Sam said, taking a breath and letting it out with a sigh of delight. His eyes filled with that same delight, “You can’t save her . . . and you sure as hell can’t save any of them,” looking towards the windows that lined the walls of the meeting house, “Hoss,” using Tex words against him, “It is because of you and that asshole beside you that everyone will die.”
The gunfir
e outside began to increase. Chris moved away from the table over to one of the windows. He looked on in horror—his eyes growing wider as the scene outside began to unfold. He watched as the undead began to fill the courtyard—killing those that dared try and fight them. Chris watched as a man was pulled to the ground and eaten alive. His heart raced as his anger boiled. The kid needed to die. Chris turned around and found Tex pulling one of his six shooters from its holster’s. It was the look in Tex eyes that told Chris what was about to happen. Tex pulled the hammer back and aimed the gun at the Sam’s head. Sam didn’t even flinch—his smile grew wider. It was as if he felt invincible. Sam knew the man in front of him would want payback—some sort of justice. He knew he was dead the moment he stepped foot inside the walls of Graceland. Sam closed his eyes and leaned his head backwards while holding his arms out to his side—welcoming what would come next.
Chris was about to yell for Tex to stop when the set of doors leading into the meeting house opened. He turned around with his rifle in his shoulder and his finger on the trigger. It was Cubbie and Lailah. The two rushed in—covered in blood and breathing heavy.