“Back at the start of this you slapped me for going back to help a group of people being attacked outside a grocery store. Waiting for that Army sergeant, I realized we can't afford to stop for everyone. We're already gonna have your buddy pretty pissed at us for showing up with Walter and especially Stacy. I'm still not sure how you're gonna convince him not to shoot her outright.”
“Joseph, I'm sorry. I've changed you. In some ways you were right. We should be trying to save people. The ones we can. And what do you mean 'How I'm going to convince Hanse?'”
The apology stunned Joseph. “Mike, you haven't changed me. All this other shit has.” Joseph pulled out the money from the cadets' pool. “I bet 'never,' I nearly got us all left on the front porch as lunch trying to save Stacy. And I'd do it again.” Small tears formed at the corner of his eyes. “I'd rather not have left those people to die like that, but Mike, I've realized we have to be alive to save people, and they have to be alive to be saved. Those people back there, they were already dead. Maybe when we get to Hanse's place we can figure out how to save the world. But we gotta get there first.”
Mike looked Joseph in the eyes. Joseph wasn't sure what he saw there, what ghost haunted Mike. He felt sure he didn't want to know but at the same time already did. Joseph grinned, already making the mental left turn to avoid breaking.
“And seeing as I got Stacy the first stay of execution, I figure it's your turn. Besides he's your buddy. I consider myself lucky to have the invite to ranch.”
The two men started to smile, “Just thinking ahead,” they said.
Neither of them missed the sound of shattering glass. Joseph pulled his hatchet from his belt and took off right behind Mike toward the sound. “Walter!” Joseph shouted, as much stating a fear as trying to distract whatever might be in the area. Yelling might seem like a dumb idea, but like a military operation, the first noise ends the necessity to maintain silence, so you might as well.
The prefab restroom sat a hundred yards from where Joseph parked the bus. Mike covered the distance in seconds, slamming into the door and bouncing off. He prepared to kick the door before realizing the sign clearly said pull. “Fuck.” Mike yanked the door open as Joseph rushed up.
Joseph charged through the door Mike held open. His speed kept him from getting many details. Adrenaline surged through his system as his brain registered the ashen remains of a young man with neck bones showing standing over Walter. Time slammed to a hardly perceptible crawl as Joseph launched himself to tackle Walter's assailant. He had enough time to push the hatchet handle toward the zombie's mouth.
The flying tackle took the zombie off its feet. Its focus shift from one meal ticket to another as it landed on its back. Joseph popped to his knees keeping his free hand on the thing's neck. He swung the hatchet, striking with the blunt end while his brain automatically ignored the abnormal sensation of vertebrae grinding beneath his hand.
An older woman missing half the meat of her arm stood up from where she had knelt to try to bite Walter's leg. Joseph completely missed the movement. He had his hands full finishing the one he attacked. It never entered into the equation there might be another zombie or that Mike wouldn't step in to deal with it. Two weeks of constant fighting for every breath with the same people provides a confidence that the people you're fighting with will pick up the things you miss. Joseph had seen himself do it for Mike in the house where he acquired the CDs. Right now, his first and only instinct called for him to save Walter; Walter and Mike would do their parts from there.
Walter, still coughing from his sudden introduction to the concrete floor, saw the woman stand up. He kicked hard with both legs, catching her knees bringing her face first into the floor. Mike saw the old woman go down, and Walter slowly rolling to his feet. He also saw a third zombie crawling from under one of the stall walls.
Joseph felt the butt of the hatchet crush through the skull, and the body he had pinned go limp as he heard the deafening roar of Mike's shotgun. Ringing followed the blast. He shook his head and stood confident the encounter ended with the gunshot. Mike yelled something only barely audible through the ringing. Joseph turned his head to follow the shotgun barrel.
Walter had the undead woman by the neck and jaw. She had grabbed his shoulders in the start of what resembled a demented image of a lovers or family embrace. Joseph couldn't see Walter's face or hear what he growled at the thing trying to get its teeth into his neck.
“..Fuck you all!” Walter yelled. With his free hand he grabbed its blood-caked hair. Finally his twisting took its toll on the muscles and tendons in the thing's neck. Joseph heard the POP as its neck broke, severing the spinal cord. The sudden dead weight jerked the head out of Walter's grip, dragging the forehead along his chest, smearing blood tinged drool down his jacket. Walter brought his knee above his waist and stomped on the side of its head.
Walter turned to the nearest sink and began washing his hands. Joseph looked at his own hands. Blood dripped from the blunt side of the hatchet, a small rivulet ran down the handle, over his hand and formed a single bead, trying to break free and drop to the floor. He decided it would be best to wash up as well.
Mike stood behind them. Joseph couldn't really hear his friend breathing, but didn't doubt the heavy breaths of frustration.
“Walter, what the fuck happened? What the hell was that all about?” Mike didn't mean to yell, but the enclosed space amplified his voice.
“I came in here to use the bathroom,” Walter said, carefully washing the blood from his hands. “They surprised me. One of them,” he looked at the three bodies and pointed his chin at the one Joseph tackled, “that one, came through the window as I tried to put her head through the wall.” His chin jerked toward the one with the broken neck.
“Why didn't you just shoot them? That's why we have guns. Or beat their heads in? That's why we have hammers.”
Walter shook his hands off, checking them for residual blood or other bits. “It's not like it matters, I'm immune.”
“How would it not matter if one of them tore your throat out? And how do you figure you're immune?” Joseph said, calmly washing his hatchet.
“Stacy's immune. Her mother turned, so I must be immune as well.”
“That's bad logic on too many levels. You can't afford to be taking these kinds of chances,” Joseph said, continuing to wash his hands.
“Let's get back on the fucking road,” Mike stormed out.
***
The wood took until well after dark and an entire pack of matches to catch. Once a spark caught hold, the pile of leaves and branches blazed up into a crackling fire readily.
Lily spread her sleeping bag a couple feet from the crackling and popping fire. She kept the rifle and her pistol close. The warmth and flickering light of the fire quickly dulled Lily's senses and lulled her to drowsiness. It only took a moment for her to drop into sleep.
Clouds trailed in front of the moon, blocking what little light the thin crescent might have offered through the foliage. Lily's fire had burned half way down, but it still cast enough flickering light to see about ten yards out, except on the windward side of the tree wall which lay in deepened shadows.
Three pairs of yellow eyes burned in those deep shadows, each pair briefly visible in the narrow gap between tree trunks. Lily woke up scared. In her dream she had made it home to her parents only to be attacked by a mix of zombies and wolves. As they circled and attacked the wolves and zombies blurred into a single horrible darkness that stank of rot. Lily woke just as the monstrosity tried to shove shadow stuff down her throat as she screamed. It took a few seconds for the floating eyes reflecting the fire's glow to register. She scrambled to free herself and her rifle from the twisted mess of her sleeping bag.
Frying pan and fire!
Lily rolled to her knees before she finished freeing herself from the warm, tangling embrace of the sleeping bag. Better to be on her knees and able to do something than still struggling to free herself when the wolve
s lunged. She had no doubt they would attack. Desperation or a rabid aggression drove them to follow her this far. Her sole fear was the wolves would attack before she had any way to defend herself. Once on her feet with the rifle in hand, she could drive them off or kill them. But if they caught her on her back...
The apparently floating eyes behind the trees narrowed as the alpha wolf barred its teeth and snarled. Wolves don't attack all at once, but they do coordinate their attacks to keep animals several times their size off balance and disoriented. No one knows exactly how wolves establish their tactics, but when you're trying to fight three or four of them, you aren't terribly interested in anything more than staying alive.
Lily didn't see the wolf jump at her exposed side. Instinctively she brought her arm up to protect her face as some seventy pounds of wolf slammed her to the ground. Teeth sank into her arm as claws raked her collar, cutting her even through her shirt and jacket. Sensing her panic, the wolf on top of her shook her arm violently, trying to open a clear shot at her throat while digging with its front legs, shredding her jean jacket and sweat shirt. SHIT! As much as it hurt, Lily struggled to force her arm deeper into the wolves mouth and simultaneously keep her arm in front of her face.
With her free hand she felt for a rock or stick to bludgeon the vicious wolf's head. She smacked something hard with her palm. In her haste to grab the object and swing it at the wolf, she failed to notice the layer of sleeping bag between her hand and the hard object she failed to recognize as her pistol. The sleeping bag acted like a safety net, yanking the pistol back out of her hand as her weight pinned the sleeping bag to the ground.
“Get off me, you bitch!” Lily yanked her arm toward her face as the wolf bit down harder. At the same time she brought her other hand over her head and down on the bridge of the wolf's nose. It growled more fiercely and gnawed on her trapped arm. She reached out, driving her thumb toward the monster's eye. Bloody gel squirted from the eye as she gouged it, grabbing the animal behind the jaw for additional leverage.
Her well faded sleeping bag trapped her in the fight with the first wolf, but, while she wasn't aware of this fact, it saved her from the attack of the second one. It raced from the shadow opposite the first wolf as she hit the ground. She steadily kicked to free her legs from the binding material and so she could push or trap the wolf. With the material of the sleeping bag, the second wolf couldn't figure out where to grab her and twice grabbed a mouth full of material by mistake. Finally the Alpha wolf rounded the trees and made to join the attack on Lily's head.
The injured wolf, suddenly blinded by pain let go of her arm and scrambled to get away from Lily's agony causing, eye stealing, thumb. Lily threw her elbow against the wolf's head as it stumbled from her chest. It crashed against the alpha wolf and startled the third, giving Lily two precious seconds.
She freed her legs and rolled out of the sleeping bag, putting her back to the fire. At her feet was the rifle. There was no time to go for the lighter pistol which she would be more accurate wielding with one had.
Adrenaline's a great drug. Her body's automatic release of the ultra hormone had slowed her perception of time and given her the strength to gouge a wolf's eye; now the wonder substance let her grab the rifle with both hands despite what should have been crippling pain. Lily and the voice in her head yelled incoherently as pointed the weapon at the wolves and started pulling the trigger.
At less than ten feet, it's hard not to hit a target so long as you are pointed at it. Her shots weren't accurate, but they did the job. The first round she fired hit the frantic, injured wolf just in front of its hind legs. She missed the two shots she fired at the alpha wolf. It backed up just the same. The third wolf caught two rounds in its flank as it tried to flee with the already injured wolf. Movement caught the corner of her eye, and she swung the barrel back around to the alpha wolf just in time hit it in the side of the head. It landed entirely too close for comfort. Lily finished bringing the muzzle around and put two rounds in the wolf's head, spraying gore through her still crackling campfire.
Lily dropped the rifle and cradled her injured arm and chest. Under more normal circumstances her arm would require a minimum of stitches and most likely a surgery or two to repair the muscles torn and cut by the wolf's teeth. Her meager supplies in the back pack didn't include much by way of first aid. Not that it mattered, she'd used most of the kit from her truck treating Brian at the start of the outbreak.
“Damn this hurts,” Lily really wanted to cry. She settled for gritting her teeth and telling herself to get a move on before the blood started drawing predators and scavengers.
Blood ran down her side as she emptied her backpack with her good arm. When she upended the pack and nothing but long forgotten pocket change rattled to the dirt, she realized in her hurry to pack her bag, she'd left her first aid kit behind, so what it might have still contained was a moot point. At least she had some antibiotics.
“Now what?” Lily dropped flat on her backside not unlike a small child throwing a tantrum. She had to force herself not to give in to emotion and kick the corpse of the wolf. Her gaze shifted skyward as she let out a frustrated sigh.
Improvise. We taught you several ways to do first aid without a kit. The thought came to her in her father's voice.
“Honey?” She vaguely remembered a rarely used fact about honey: in addition to being the only food that will never spoil, is antiseptic and can prevent infections. If she packed some among her canned goods, she could smear a healthy dose on her arm and chest before bandaging them. What meager foodstuffs she had left sat scattered around the twisted and stuffing leaking sleeping bag. Beef stew, ravioli, alphabet soup and mixed vegetables, but no honey.
What else was there? Seventeen years of hiking...I know there was something else.
“Dirt? No. That was just what we did as kids.” Lily considered the fire and for a moment gave serious thought to simply cauterizing the wounds. As much as it would hurt, the chance of infection remained just as high, if not greater.
Her dad's voice intruded on her thoughts again. How do you know you're traveling South? “The sun is setting to my right and I keep seeing moss on all the... MOSS!” Common tree moss, which has provided many a traveler (although possibly more from myth than fact) a directional guide acts as a natural hemostatic and antiseptic agent.
Lily was so tired, but she forced herself to get up and walk around her wall of trees, confident she saw moss growing there before she stopped to try to sleep for the night. A thick sheet of moss grew on the large central trunk. She ripped it from the tree as a single sheet and carried it back to the ring of light from her fire.
Her blood soaked shirt served as a bandage wrapped over the moss. A pair of socks, each sock split in half, became a final bandage and secured the improvised dressing to her arm. She settled for washing the cuts on her chest from the wolf's claws with water she collected from a stream not long after leaving the ranger tower.
She pulled her spare shirt on, picked up her food and the remains of her sleeping bag, took two of the antibiotics, secured her weapons and moved away from her camp after throwing dirt over her fire. Enveloped by darkness in the small hours of the morning, she set out to continue south. Now she had no choice; she had to return to civilization to find additional medical supplies to treat her injuries.
***
Clouds continued to darken the sky as Joseph kept the bus rolling along the empty road. Behind him, Mike randomly selected CD's and fed them into the player. He sat behind the driver's seat with his back to the window, turning through the pages of Joseph's CD binder. Walter, visible in the massive rear view mirror, held Stacy's hand and whispered to her constantly.
At forty and forty-five miles per hour, Joseph had plenty of time to avoid any unexpected obstacles. The drive from Roswell to Socorro took about half a day, especially when you included the two hour stop for SGT Boyd and the incident at the rest area. Joseph didn't want to know the time. He remembered breakfast a
nd for some stupid reason, not eating lunch when they stopped to wait for Boyd.
Two fat snow flakes smashed into the windshield. Joseph eyed them, befuddled. Another one hit the windshield between his eyes. Once again Mr. Murphy, I hope you're satisfied. He sighed.
“Hey, Mike?”
“What?” he asked without looking up from the lyrics he was reading.
“Seeing as it's now snowing, where do you want to stop for the night?”
“What?”
“We're about twenty miles from Socorro, it's snowing and the light is fading,” Joseph said. He hit pause on the radio.
Mike flipped the CD binder shut and turned to his window. Pine trees on the side of the mountain zipped past the window. “I'm not seeing any snow.”
“Tell that to the three flakes on my windshield.”
Mike looked at the flakes silently melting into three perfect drops of water. Another flake hit the windshield.
In Texas every driver in the state would have just forgotten how to drive. Whole cities would be shutting down. Then again, I'd be one of the crazies playing in a store parking lot somewhere.
Joseph smiled at the thought. Once in a while it's nice to have a thought that doesn't involve how to stay alive in the next five minutes.
Dead Man's Party Page 15