Endworld #28 Dark Days

by rebel4477

  “You counted that quick?” Helen knit her brow. “What are they doing? They’re just standing there.”

  Ares grunted. “Strange. Usually zombies keep on the move.” He put a hand in one of the large pockets in his tunic and checked his magazines. “I have two hundred rounds. What about both of you?”

  “I have two clips in my pistols and seven spares,” Helen said. “That makes one hundred and twenty-six.”

  “Sundance?” Ares said when Sundance didn’t answer.

  “I’m not sure.”

  Ares turned. “Are you kidding me? You came out in the field without knowing how much ammo you have? You usually carry about seventy rounds.”

  “I was kidding,” Sundance said. “That’s exactly how many I have.”

  “You should pack more,” Helen said.

  “He probably thinks he doesn’t need to,” Ares said. “Those Grizzlies of his were some of the most powerful handguns ever made.”

  “That’s it exactly,” Sundance said.

  “So adding it all up,” Ares said, “gives us a total of almost four hundred. Plus Helen and I have our blades.” He stared thoughtfully at the listless zombies. “Go for the head and make every shot count. We’re bound to miss a few but it can’t be helped.”

  “It will be like killing chickens in a slaughter house,” Sundance said.

  Helen snorted. “You mean like in the old days? How would you know?”

  “There are chickens and then there are chickens,” Sundance replied.

  “You sure are acting weird today,” Helen said.

  “Enough about chickens,” Ares said. “We’re going to take these mothers down so they don’t pose a threat to anyone at the Home.”

  “I hear that,” Helen said. “I’ve had nightmares where zombies kill my daughter. I can’t stand the suckers.”

  “Let’s go,” Sundance said, and started down.

  “Hold on,” Ares said. “What do you think you’re doing? I’m in charge. I say how we go about it.”

  Sundance shrugged. “I didn’t mean anything.”

  “We do this as a Triad, as we’ve been trained,” Ares told him. “We’ll slip down without them catching wind of us and take it from there.” He moved past Sundance and glided down the slope with supple ease.

  Helen followed, saying as she went past Sundance, “What’s gotten into you today?”

  “I’m the same me I’ve always been,” Sundance said, and trailed after them. At one point he raised his right hand with his forefinger straight out and his thumb up and mimicked shooting Ares and Helen in the back.

  The zombies stayed in silent ranks, their arms limp, their eyes closed.

  “That’s so weird,” Helen whispered when the three Warriors crouched near the valley floor.

  “Ain’t it, though,” Ares said. “We’ll have to let Blade know when we get back. It could mean something.”

  “It’s almost as if they’re sleeping,” Helen whispered.

  “Why would the dead need to sleep? It has to be something else,” Ares said.

  “They expend energy, the same as we do,” Sundance said. “When they run low on food and need to conserve, they go into a state of hibernation.”

  Ares chuckled. “Figured that out on your own, did you? I never took you for the brainy type.”

  “He’s full of surprises today,” Helen said.

  “Whatever the reason for them standing there like that,” Ares said, raising his AR-15, “it makes it easier for us.” He slowly straightened. “Quietly now. You know the drill.”

  “I can’t wait to start the killing,” Helen said.

  Sundance glanced at her and then at Ares. “Me either,” he said.

  CHAPTER 17

  The firing range was situated in a remote part of the compound. Once a month the Warriors were required to practice, no exceptions.

  On this particular morning Alpha Triad was taking its turn. Blade had just emptied half a magazine into stacked bales of straw on which the silhouette of a life-size human target had been painted. Since paper was at a premium, they improvised.

  Geronimo was the spotter, and he confirmed that all of Blade’s slugs had penetrated the torso area. “A good kill,” he said. “Yo-yo is up next’.”

  Hickok was leaning against a pine, his thumbs hooked in his gunbelt. “Keep those eagle eyes of yours peeled, redskin. Blink and you’ll miss poetry in motion.”

  “I’ll miss you missing?” Geronimo said.

  Blade moved aside and Hickok took his place.

  “It’s a waste of ammo, pard,” Hickok said. “When do I ever miss?”

  “Cocky much?” Blade said.

  In answer, Hickok drew. His hands flashed so fast, his Pythons were out and level as if pulled from thin air. Both boomed simultaneously.

  Geronimo held binoculars fixed on the bales of straw. “Smack in the head,” he called out.

  Hickok grinned and twirled the Pythons in a dazzling display that ended with a grand flourish of spinning the revolvers into their holsters. Patting them, he said, “Piece of cake.”

  “For you,” Blade said. “Not for the rest of the human race.”

  “You know,” Geronimo said, “that’s a good point. It would explain a lot if he’s a mutant.”

  “How’s that again?” Hickok said.

  “Only a mutant could draw as fast as you do.”

  “Did your momma know she gave birth to a boy without brains?” Hickok rejoined. “I’m as human as you are, I’ll have you know.”

  “Me and the rest of the human race take exception to that remark.”

  Blade laughed.

  “Seriously,” Geronimo said. “The only one who comes close to you is Sundance, and even he’s not in your league.”

  “Aren’t you a daisy,” Hickok said. “What are you up to? The last time you paid me a compliment was six years ago.”

  “That recent?” Geronimo said.

  At the edge of the woods someone coughed and said, “Did I just hear Sundance’s name?”

  Lynx came out of the woods, followed by his fellow Bravo Triad members, Ferret and Gremlin.

  “Your turn at the range isn’t until tomorrow,” Blade said, slinging the Commando over his shoulder.

  “We’re not here for that,” Lynx said.

  Hickok said, “You’re out of kitty litter and want us to refill the box?”

  Lynx held up his right hand and one-by-one extended his fingers, each tipped by a lethal claw. “Have you ever been gutted, bub?”

  “Not this week,” Hickok said. “And if you ask me, you’re a mite touchy.”

  “Don’t pay him any mind, Lynx,” Geronimo said. “He doesn’t have one of his own.”

  Lynx turned to Blade. “You’ve always told us that if we sniff something out that puzzles us, we’re supposed to let you know.”

  “I’m to be informed of anything out of the ordinary,” Blade confirmed. “That applies to all the Warriors and everyone else in the Family.”

  “Then this qualifies,” Ferret said.

  Hickok walked over and draped an arm around his hairy shoulders. “Tell me something, weasel. Do you ever get fleas?”

  Ferret bared his pointed teeth. “I give good hickeys.”

  “Oh yuck,” Hickok said.

  Blade placed his hands on his hips and looked from one to the other.

  “What?” Hickok said.

  “This is serious,” Lynx interrupted. “We need to show you guys something.” He motioned and Blade fell into step beside him.

  The rest followed.

  “What have you found?” Blade asked.

  “Remember that night you three tangled with the shapeshifter?”

  It was just last week,” Hickok said. “The big guy ain’t that senile.”

  “We helped in the search but we never did get a lock on its scent,” Lynx reminded them.

  “And?” Blade prompted wh
en the cat-man didn’t go on.

  “We just found out that the next day someone found blood they couldn’t account for.”

  “A Healer came across it on her way to the Infirmary in C Block,” Blade said.

  “You never thought to show it to us?”

  “The blood had soaked into the ground,” Blade said. “And there weren’t any tracks for you to follow.”

  “Ferret and me don’t need tracks.” Lynx tapped a finger to his nostrils. “We can track anyone, anywhere, with these.”

  “Except the shapeshifter,” Hickok said. “You said yourself that your little nosey wasn’t up to it.”

  Lynx looked back. “Ferret, any time you want to rip his throat out, be my guest.”

  “No thanks,” Ferret said. “I’ve never been fond of the taste of ego.”

  Geronimo chuckled. “Ferret, you’re my new best friend.”

  “I suppose ,” Blade said loudly, and the others fell silent ,“ that in hindsight I should have asked for your help. But since you did lose the scent at the moat, and all there was was a red stain—-.” He shrugged.

  “You’re making excuses?” Lynx said. “Hickok must be right. You are getting senile.”

  They neared the area devoted to crops. Tillers were hard at work, hoeing and pulling weeds and checking plants for disease or signs of mutation. Near the cabins young children played; tag, hide and seek, several girls were involved in hopscotch. A woman was hanging wash out on a line, a man worked at caulking the chinks in a wall . In the commons area several Elders were seated in a circle, talking.

  “Moments like this,” Geronimo remarked, “I can almost forget there was a war.”

  Lynx led them to a spot about midway between the cabins and the Blocks and pointed at the ground. “This is where you found the blood?”

  Blade only had to glance at the dark stain that was still visible, and nodded. “What about it?”

  Lynx squatted. He placed his hands wide to either side, bent, and lowered his nose so it practically brushed the dirt. He sniffed several times, then straightened. “We need to be sure,” he said to Ferret. “Double-check me again.”

  Ferret imitated him, sniffing even louder. “There’s no doubt in my mind. I’m surprised there’s any in yours.”

  “Doubt about what?” Blade demanded.

  “We were passing by this morning and we smelled the blood,” Lynx said. “We sniffed around and caught two scents.”

  “Two?”

  “One is the shapeshifter’s. It’s not strong. But then, it never is.”

  “We suspect he can control it somehow,” Blade said.

  “There’s a second scent,” Lynx said. “It took us a while to place it.”

  Ferret nodded. “There are over two hundred humans in the Home, and it’s not as if we have all their scents memorized.”

  “So we started sniffing everywhere,” Lynx went on, “trying to find that particular one again.”

  “And we did,” Ferret said.

  “Don’t keep us in suspense,” Blade said.

  Lynx straightened and beckoned and ushered them toward the cabins.

  “Just tell us,” Blade said impatiently when over a minute went by and they hadn’t.

  “We’re there,” Lynx said. Stopping, he pointed at a particular cabin. “That’s where the scent is strongest.”

  “Oh God,” Hickok said. “Bertha?”

  “No.” Lynx looked at Blade. “The other scent, the blood scent, belongs to Sundance.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Omega Triad had spent countless hours training in everything from hand-to-hand combat to small arms, from sniping to knife-fighting, from stealth to garrotting. They’d honed their lethal skills until they were the best they could be.

  Now, with Ares slightly in front and Helen and Sundance to either side, the three Warriors advanced to within a stone’s throw of the swarm.

  “Here will do,” Ares said. He stopped and raised the AR -15 to his shoulder and sighted. “Remember. Head shots until we’re out of ammo and then we finish them with our blades but let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  Helen grinned at Sundance. “That leaves you out. You’ve never carried one.”

  “I’ll use my teeth,” Sundance said.

  “Focus, people,” Ares commanded. “We start with the nearest and work our way through. Here we go.” He stroked the trigger. His AR-15 cracked and the center of a male zombie’s forehead dissolved. He fired again and a female zombie’s head snapped back, a similar hole in the middle of hers.

  Helen cut loose, her Caspians booming. Every shot dropped an abomination.

  Sundance glanced down at the auto pistols in his shoulder holsters. He smiled, and his hands flicked, and the Grizzlies thundered louder than the Caspians.

  Over two dozen zombies littered the ground before the rest stirred. Their undead heads rose. Their undead eyes opened. Their undead mouths opened, too, and they hissed and growled. Almost as one, they moved toward the Warriors.

  “Faster!” Ares cried, and picked up the pace, his AR-15 cracking in cadence.

  Helen had been grinning but now her face acquired a sober cast. Her eyes narrowed and her mouth became a slit and she fired, fired, fired.

  One of Sundance’s Grizzlies belched lead and a zombie’s cheek exploded. The other Grizzly roared and the top of a zombie’s head burst. Sundance laughed and took a few steps past Ares, shooting.

  “What the hell?” Ares said. He, too, took several steps , so that once again he was slightly in front of Sundance.

  Helen instantly compensated by moving forward so she was again to Ares’ left.

  Fully fifty of the zombies had fallen but that didn’t stop the rest. They converged on the Warriors in a mass of teeth and hooked nails and glazed eyes.

  Sundance laughed and took another step and ejected a magazine and replaced it.

  Ares took a step, too. Leaning toward the man in man in grey, he shouted to be heard above the din, “Don’t break formation again.”

  Sundance glanced at him as if surprised and then nodded and yelled, “I got carried away.”

  Helen didn’t say a word. But she, too, took a step without breaking the lethal tempo of her Caspians. She did glance sharply at Sundance and for a few seconds her face wore a troubled expression. Then she had to concentrate on the zombies.

  Lumbering, lurching, shuffling, mouths agape to bite, stick arms waving and pumping, the swarm paid no more heed to the leaden firestorm than humans would to buzzing flies. The foremost ranks fell and those behind came on and then they were the foremost and they fell and those behind them came on and each step brought them closer, ever closer, to Omega Triad.

  Ares slapped in a fresh magazine and worked the bolt. He cored an eye, he cored a nose, he cored a forehead. He cored a throat, he cored a cheek, he cored another eye.

  Helen ejected a clip and jammed in another. She did it so smoothly and so quickly that there was hardly a break in her shooting.

  Sundance laughed and went on laughing as if their fight were the funniest thing.

  The closest zombies were ten feet away and they fell and the next rank came on and was only nine feet away and they fell and now only eight feet separated the snarling, groaning, drooling undead from their quarry.

  “On me!” Ares hollered, and backed up several swift steps.

  Helen instantly did the same.

  Sundance stood rooted where he was, laughing, his Grizzlies bucking in each hand.

  “Sundance!” Ares angrily shouted. “What the hell are you doing?”

  Sundance heard and looked and backed up so he was beside them.

  The number of downed zombies was in the scores. Undead lay in heaps and piles. And still they came, scrambling and clawing and climbing over those in front. Ungainly, preposterously uncoordinated, yet still they attacked. Unwittingly they had spread to either side so that the Warriors were the thundering eye
of an inhuman storm.

  Helen swung to fire into those coming from the left and Sundance, seeing what she had done, turned to fire into those coming from the right. Ares continued to pour fire into those in front.

  Over a hundred zombies littered the earth and only four feet of space separated the Warriors and their dead-but-not dead adversaries when Ares took a step back. Helen instantly did the same. Sundance, who constantly glanced at them now, followed their example.

  Half the swarm had been thinned when Ares, still shooting, took another backward step. Helen mimicked him. Once again, a few seconds later, so did Sundance.

  Reanimated corpses grasped and clawed and gnashed their teeth—-and were mowed down in droves.

  More than two hundred and fifty of the ravenous living dead had returned to the grave state from which they spawned when the Warriors reached the tree line and stood firm and wouldn’t be moved.

  They fired without cease. That their weapons hadn’t jammed was a tribute to the manufacturers of yesteryear.

  “Two mags left!” Ares bellowed as he reached for the second to last.

  “My last clip,” Helen let them know not seconds later.

  Sundance didn’t chime in.

  The zombies were far fewer but pressing forward to close and feed.

  Then the Grizzlies stopped blasting and the Caspians stopped cracking and last of all the AR-15 went silent.

  At least forty zombies were still standing.

  “Oh hell,” Ares said.

  CHAPTER 19

  In a smooth motion Ares slung the AR-15 across his back and drew his short sword. Forged by the Family Blacksmiths, it was an exact replica of a type of sword wielded by the Greeks of long ago.

  Helen shoved her Caspians into their holsters, reached up, and slid her machete from its sheath. She’d had it fitted with wooden grips that were longer than those found on most machetes so she could use it two-handed. Dropping into a stance, she held the blade in front of her.

  Sundance stared at his empty Grizzlies, and laughed. He took hold of both by their barrels and swung each a few times as if they were short clubs. “This has actually been exciting.”

  “You know the drill,” Ares said as the surviving zombies closed. “Back to back. If you get into trouble, yell.” He hefted his short sword. “Let’s do this.”