This Rotten World | Book 4 | Winter of Blood

by Morris, Jacy

  "Masterson's not fast enough," Allen said.

  "Remind me to eat as much fatty shit as I can," Brown said, "so I don't get chosen for this bullshit again. I'm freezing my balls off, man."

  Allen heard their complaints. He felt them in his own chest. The cold, the fear of the dark, the chance that they might not make it back, they were all there. They were all real. His head scanned repeatedly from side to side, scanning the environment around them. His lack of peripheral vision due to the goggles was maddening.

  "If you're cold, all the more reason to move faster. You'll heat up quicker that way."

  The dead moaned around them as they moved through the night. The dead in the distance didn't seem to notice them as easily as they did during the day. That meant they had the advantage over the Annies at night. It was good to have an advantage for once.

  His breath plumed in front of him, lime-green. He was sweating now, but it was a good thing. His body was warmer. The Annies ahead were facing away from him, following the same trail that they followed.

  "Got a couple up ahead," he said. "Brown, you take the one on the right. I'll take the one on the left." They moved towards the Annies, getting within three feet before the dead reacted to the crunch of snow.

  Allen swung his hatchet and buried the blade in the side of an Annie's rotten face. It fell to the ground, still. He turned his head to the right to see Brown trying to pull his own hatchet free from the corpse at his feet. The momentary pause had brought some of the Annies closer to them. Allen looked behind him. When they tried to return to their home base, they were going to have to lose their tail. Still, it ought to be easier to lose them in the dark than it was during the day.

  He pulled his hatchet free, the blood looking like oil in the night-vision goggles' display. "Let's move," Allen said, and they were galloping, dodging the dead, their breathing rasping in their ears as Allen pushed the pace. He wasn't the fastest of the soldiers, but he could move when he had to. He was slowed some by the view of the world through the night-vision goggles. They made his progress awkward, and though he was seeing a fairly good representation of the world around him, it was off in an almost imperceptible manner. He didn't trust his steps, didn't trust that split-second delay if he were to move at full speed.

  Soon, they came upon the end of another tail, this one presumably that of the woman. They were spread out, the Annies at the end losing interest in the dark.

  "Let's flank 'em," Allen said. There wasn't any sense in going through the entire tail to protect the woman leading it. They could move around to the side and pick off anything that got too close to the woman.

  Brown and Epps followed his lead as they rushed behind an office building, sprinting to get ahead of the tail. Wherever the woman was going, she was going to bring a world of hurt down on whoever was waiting at the end of her rainbow. They emerged from behind the building, and in the distance, he could see the woman pushing ahead, her steps stumbling and clumsy. The dead forged on behind her, just as clumsy. But the dead didn't tire. They didn't give up.

  The woman must be exhausted. The detail of the night-vision goggles wasn't great, but he could see her breath pluming into the cold, night air. He could see the shine of her sweat-covered face. Her bare scalp steamed in the night. She had been on the move all day, and now she was flagging. She had pushed herself to the limit, and she was going to pay for it.

  "Alright, get my back," he said. Brown and Epps stood back to back behind him. There were only a handful of Annies in their immediate vicinity, certainly few enough that Epps and Brown could keep them off of him for a second or two.

  Allen raised his rifle and sighted down the barrel, adjusting for the awkwardness of the night-vision monocle. His first shot missed, and he cursed at himself, as the expelled gas from his rifle hissed in the night. "Shit, missed."

  He sighted again, making a few small adjustments. He squeezed the trigger, and the Annie's head exploded, its body falling into the snow. The sound of metal blades breaking bones rang in his ears, but he focused on his job. The woman stumbled again, and he lined up another shot, squeezing the trigger. He had it down now. He dropped another Annie, giving the woman the time and space she needed to get to her feet.

  She passed behind a tree, cutting off his line of sight. He turned to Brown and Epps and said, "We gotta move." Then he was running again, ignoring the bodies lying in the snow. They moved through a copse of trees in front of an office building, and he finally caught sight of the woman in the distance. So far, she hadn't noticed them off to her right. It was too dark for her to see very far without a NOD like his own.

  She was moving again, and the dead bubbled along behind her. He scanned the tail that trailed after her, a line of shambling monstrosities of every shape and size, some tall, some fat, some things that used to be children. He didn't have ammunition for all of them, so he picked and chose the targets close to her.

  He heard the grunt of Epps as he chopped down another Annie. He fired again—another hit.

  "We gotta move," Brown said.

  Allen turned his head, scanning his surroundings. Their own tail had caught up to them.

  "Alright, let's sprint around that building," he said, pointing to a large square warehouse, "come out on the other side, and see what we can do." They ran again, their bodies and legs rested from their brief halt in the action. It was slower going now that they were off the broken snow trail. He pushed through shin-deep snow, scanning the way ahead. He felt the time now. Every second he didn't have eyes on the woman felt like an eternity. He shoved an Annie out of the way as he passed. Brown and Epps took a wide circle around it, not willing to waste time and energy until it was needed.

  They rounded the corner, and Allen's breath caught in his throat. The woman stumbled backward through the snow, fending off the grasp of an Annie that had closed on her. He took sight immediately, not even pausing to think. He squeezed the trigger, hoping that the muzzle flash didn't alert the dead to their location. His breathing was faster now. It had messed up his shot. Instead of taking off the damn thing's head, his shot had exploded in the Annie's shoulder. The woman looked in their direction, searching, though she couldn't see anything. She knew they were out there now.

  "Keep fighting, dammit," he muttered as he lined up another shot, trying to slow his breathing enough to keep his aim true. He squeezed off another round as the woman fell backward. The Annie fell on her, but it was still. He watched as she tried to push the body off of her and regain her feet. But then he didn't have time to watch, as more of the dead closed on her position. He feathered the trigger of his M4, dropping the dead a few feet in front of the woman. The snow around the bodies was covered in black ink stains.

  He was out of rounds for the rifle. He ejected the magazine and placed it in his pocket. Then he slapped another one in. The woman finally extricated herself from underneath the dead Annie, and she got to her feet. She looked over in their direction briefly, and then she took off running.

  "She's on the move," Allen said before lowering his rifle. He looked at Epps and Brown, just a quick visual confirmation that they were alright. He saw their own tail getting within the danger zone, an imaginary five-foot zone that set alarms ringing in Allen's head. "Let's go."

  They picked up the pace, moving through the snow to catch up with the running woman. Allen alternated between keeping an eye on the woman in the distance and keeping an eye on the path they were running. Their path wasn't as smooth as the woman's as she was on a street. Their own path meandered through parking lots and the industrial green spaces that surround a line of office buildings on that road. Trees broke their path and the occasional fence.

  As they hopped a chain-link fence that separated two parking lots, he breathed a small sigh of relief. The fence could cut off their tail and give them more breathing room. After he took the time to climb over the fence, he looked for the woman. She had gained some ground on them. He scanned in front of her, and he said, "Uh-oh." The wom
an was running right into a wall of the dead. They were on the move, meaning they were alerted to the woman's presence.

  He rushed forward, closing the distance between himself and the wall of Annie's. If he didn't thin them out, the woman was going to get crushed between her tail and the dead ahead of her.

  "What do you mean, uh-oh?" Brown asked.

  "Got trouble," he said. He tried to slow his breathing, taking deep breaths. His heart pounded in his ear. This was going to be difficult. One, two, three. The woman looked in his direction again, but she was able to move forward and through the wall of the dead until one of them grabbed one of the straps of her backpack.

  "Son of a bitch." He took the shot, and for the second time that night, he missed.

  The woman spun out of the backpack, Annies closing in on her.

  "She's in trouble," Allen said.

  "Well, that's it, man. Tejada told us not to be heroes."

  "Fuck that," Allen said.

  "I knew it. I fucking knew it," Epps said. "This always happens when I'm around you."

  Allen sprinted forward. He heard the reassuring crunch of snow behind him. Brown and Epps followed. Through his NOD, he saw the woman bring up her shotgun. Don't fire it, don't fire it, don't fire it. But he was not a telepath, and the flare of the shotgun briefly blinded the display of the NOD. The boom cut through the night. As the display resolved and he could see the world again, he saw the woman stumble away from her backpack, from the food that she had risked everything for.

  He put his rifle to the side, letting it hang from its strap, and he pulled his hatchet free. "Gotta get that bag. Epps, you get the woman. Let her know you're alive before you approach. Don't wanna get filled with buckshot."

  "Got it," Epps said.

  "Brown, you and me are gonna get that bag. Hope your swingin' arm feels good."

  "I hate you so much," Brown said.

  "Hate me later. Help me now."

  They rushed forward, swinging at the front end of the horde. He didn't go for kill shots; he couldn't afford to have his hatchet become lodged in the brainpan of one of the dead. He knocked the Annies down to his left and right. His breathing sounded loud in his ears. He chopped and chopped, swinging at arms and faces. There was no artistry to it, just savagery. He screamed in the night, the fear of those gleaming white teeth sinking into his flesh sending him into overdrive. It felt good to knock them down. It felt good to bash their heads in. This one's for Day, he thought as he pounded another Annie to the ground.

  He was standing over the backpack when he heard a strangled grunt to his right. He leaned down and scooped up the bag, backing up and spinning to see Brown pinned underneath one of the Annies.

  He rushed over and brought his hatchet down on the back of the Annie's skull. He swung too hard, and as he tried to pull the hatchet free, the blood-soaked handle slipped from his grasp. He squatted down and pushed the body off Brown, abandoning his weapon.

  "You get bit?" he asked quickly as he saw Brown's wide eyes and panicked face.

  "Don't know," he said, getting up off the ground. They turned and ran. There would be time enough later to check their bodies for wounds, but right then, they were still alive, and there was still a shitload of dead heading in their direction. He scanned his surroundings, and saw them streaming from every direction. The woman's shotgun blast had brought them all. This place was crawling.

  He spotted Epps dragging the woman along twenty yards ahead, a hatchet in his free hand. The lady stumbled behind him. She was on her last legs. As he and Brown ran to catch up, he noticed small splotches of black on the snow. Someone was bleeding…

  Allen didn't speak of it to Brown. He would find out soon enough. They quickly caught up to the encumbered Epps, and Allen took the lead, unslinging his rifle and clearing their way. He wasn't worried about ammunition now. He was worried about survival, about finding a way out of the mess he had gotten them into. Tejada had ordered them not to sacrifice themselves, but he was not sacrificing himself, none of them were. They would get through it.

  "Which way?" he called to the woman.

  "Straight ahead, take a right at the next street. We're almost home."

  Allen nodded. He saw the stop sign on the corner, jutting up out of the snow. "Can we go up and around? Come back to it? We gotta lose this tail."

  The woman spoke with shaky, exhausted words. "Go… a… block… up. There's a street."

  Allen looked back over his shoulder. Brown and Epps were carrying the woman now, each propping her up with one shoulder under her armpit. He had to slow his pace, but the promise of safety loomed ahead.

  They passed the street that was their destination and continued forward for a long, cold block, dodging between the pockets of the dead. The dead all moved now, driven into action by the sound of a shotgun blast. The ones in the distance, blinded by the night, were ignorant of their passing. But the Annies close to them swung and faced them.

  "Alright," Allen gasped. "This is the hard part, then we're home. We gotta go as fast as we can and lose these bums, or else we'll be trapped where we are. I'm gonna need you to put your feet on the ground and run as if your life depended on it, because it does, and that means our lives depend on it too. Can you run?"

  "Yes," the woman rasped.

  "Good. Epps, Brown, you go as fast as she goes. She falls, you pick her up. I'm gonna clear out anything in front of us."

  "Check," Epps said.

  "Affirmative," Brown said.

  Then they were running full-tilt through the snow. Allen paused every now and then to line up a shot and take down one of the dead with one of the precious rounds from his M4. He would be sad when he was out of ammo for the rifle. It was the best weapon that he had ever had.

  They moved forward, curling around a block, Allen clearing the way.

  "This is it," the woman said.

  Allen turned and clomped up the porch steps of a townhome with a wraparound porch. At the door, he paused and spun around. Epps and Brown carried the woman up the stairs, and Allen scanned the road behind them.

  "Get us in there," Allen whispered to the woman.

  She pulled a chain from around her neck and placed a key in the lock to the front door. Allen put a hand or her hand before she turned the knob. "Are there any surprises in there for us?" he asked.

  "It depends… on what you mean… by surprises," the woman said between air-sucking gasps.

  She turned the knob and stepped inside.

  Allen let Brown and Epps go in first. He scanned the street one last time with the NOD. There. He saw one. He put it down quickly, regretting the loss of another round of ammo. But he wasn't taking any chances. That was an order from Tejada himself. With the street empty of Annies, he backed into the townhome and closed the door.

  Chapter 12: Keep Your Brains Off the Photos

  She couldn't believe it was ending. It was over—her life. How long did she have left?

  Mercy led the soldiers down into the basement, struggling to find the lantern in the darkness. She felt one of the soldiers squeeze by her, as if he could see, and then the lantern flared to life. She squinted at its brightness, wondering if it were somehow brighter than usual. She held her hand up to the light and looked at the source of her despair, a circular impression in the webbing between her thumb and index finger. Neat rectangular wounds dripped small amounts of blood. But, as she had come to learn, it wasn't the size of the wound that mattered. It didn't matter if the dead took a chunk out of your arm or merely scratched it; the end result was always the same.

  The soldiers looked at where she was looking, at her hand, and she saw their faces drop. She smiled at them. They had tried so hard to save her, but she knew her time was up.

  She reflected on the long road that had brought her here, the losses she'd suffered, her husband, her parents, a dozen other people she had thought to be safe with. She thought of how far she had come, learning to survive, learning to scavenge for food, for weapons.

&n
bsp; Mercy had been a nothing, a nobody, just a waitress at the P.F. Chang's down the road, working for tips and washing her hair three times in a row on the weekends just to get the smell of Chinese food out of her long, black hair.

  When the trouble came, she had been reporting to work, oblivious of the signs around her. Her townhome, her castle, her stronghold, had been nestled between two other townhomes. Her neighbors were seldom seen nerd-types with dark skin. She had the distinct impression they were Intel employees, foreigners brought overseas for their ability to code. She had served the type plenty of times at P.F. Chang's.

  She had been oblivious to the signs of trouble, the ambulance and police sirens that had been sounding all damn morning. She even cruised past a car wreck in the middle of the road, using the shoulder to get to work. She didn't look at the carnage. She had made that mistake once. It was one of the few times in her life that she had ever seen a dead body. It had been twisted and mangled, the edges of the wounds looking like raw hamburger meat soaked in blood. So now she knew better.

  Mercy didn't listen to the news or the radio. She didn't listen to anything. The antenna in her car had broken off in the carwash, and she always hated how negative the news was. Her husband was always asleep as she left for work. His job at the water treatment plant gave him some odd hours, but they made it work. At least they had weekends off together. Still, it always seemed like one of them was going while the other one was coming during the week.

  At the P.F. Chang's, she didn't notice the lack of parked cars. The restaurant was located in a fairly busy shopping area known as the Streets of Tanasbourne, a new-school shopping center designed as a response to the death of the shopping mall. The shopping center was filled with high-priced boutiques that attracted a high-end clientele. It was filled with shit that people didn't need, clothing that you couldn't wear to a barbecue, jewelry that would get you robbed in her neighborhood, perfumes that cost more than she earned in a week. The funny thing about the shopping center was that none of the people that worked there could afford to shop at the damn place. All of her customers came in three varieties, pinched-face bitches with their noses in the airs, spoiled-rotten teenagers wielding their parents' credit cards, and self-important men with wandering eyes and thirsty leers. She hated the men the worst.