I look, fear gripping my heart as I see the shuffling, moaning mass. They’re still a quarter-mile away, but that doesn’t matter. Tym and I go silent, and the three of us scramble for cover in the rubble.
“Great . . . just what we need,” Lance whispers as he peeps over the brick. “Honestly, who invited zombies on this little trip of ours?”
Chapter 11
Cerena
Zombies.
I hate zombies.
Okay, they’re not the thing I hate most in the Scorched Earth—that particular dishonor is reserved for werewolves—but zombies are definitely in my top three.
There are many things that suck about zombies.
First, they’re relentless. At their fast walking pace, you can easily out-jog one . . . for awhile. But they never stop. Eventually, a human will get tired, their muscles will start to slow, and their body will start to need water or food or rest.
A zombie doesn’t. It’ll just keep coming after you.
Second thing that sucks about zombies? For some reason, they move in packs. I don’t know why. They’re supposed to be brainless, or at least non-sentient, but for some reason, some metaphysical magnetism pulls them together, and zombies like to congregate into hunting packs. Not that they hunt effectively. Like I said, they’re non-sentient, but when fifty or sixty of them form a mass of rotting humanity, they can easily wipe out a whole town.
Third, they’re hard to take down. There are only four ways to stop a zombie. You can destroy the brain, you can electrocute the body and fry the nerves, you can decapitate it and then deal with the hazardous head . . . or you can sort of obliterate the entire body with a large shockwave, like a massive explosion might cause. None of which are exactly easy to do.
But the biggest reason I hate zombies? Zombies are the product of our ancestors’ final nipple twist of a gift to us . . . fallout. Yup, it was radiation that mutated the brain to cause zombieism, and once the first zombies were created, the disease became transmittable. And somehow, unless a zombie is fresh off the ground and turned, they always find a way to wander their undead asses into the red zones, making them shambling contamination spreaders.
So if a herd of zombies attacked your town, you have to make sure you have plenty of decon meds, that your filters are fresh, and that none of the corpses land anywhere near your water supply. In my time as a Huntress, I’ve already found three villages that’d been abandoned because of zombie attacks.
And now we had a herd in front of us.
“What do you want to do?” Lance whispers, all trace of his teasing forgotten as we confront the issue in front of us. He slips off his traveling pack, and the rest of us follow, stashing them against the wall. “The chance of them seeing us if we try and retreat—”
“Too high,” Tym finishes. “How big is the herd?”
“I couldn’t tell . . . at least a dozen, maybe two?”
I wince. That’s getting too big for my taste. Three or four, I can take down without a sweat. Two dozen, even if we divided it three ways, makes eight apiece. Not cool.
I look at our weaponry, making a tactical evaluation. My swords are good for taking out zombies, but my power gloves aren’t bite-proof. I’d seen Tym turn his hammers into vampire killers, so I knew he was covered, but Lance . . .
“What’ve you got besides that Gauss rifle?” I ask. “Just the knives?”
Lance nods, and I curse under my breath. Knives are great against most things . . . but they’re about as useful as a rock against zombies. Still, with that Gauss rifle . . .
“Okay, here’s the plan,” I whisper. “Lance, I want you to find a spot, get low, and start thinning out the herd. How many rounds do you have?”
“Not enough for the whole group,” Lance whispers defensively. “Hey, you know how expensive Gauss rounds are? Non-radioactive appropriate steel’s a bitch to find.”
“Do what you can,” I whisper, unsheathing my second sword and handing it to him. “You blunt this thing or damage it, though, and I’m going to be really, really upset.”
Lance nods, and I look at Tym. “We take anything that gets close until Lance is done shooting.”
Tym nods, and slowly, we slide back out of our cover, looking down the street. Lance kneels by the edge of a brick building, bringing his rifle up to his eye, while Tym and I stay ready.
The advantage of a Gauss rifle over old-fashioned firearms is huge. First, they’re fast. The idea is simple. Take a slug of steel or nickel, or even a natural magnet, and use a series of electromagnets along the length of your barrel to accelerate the slug up to hypersonic speed, roughly Mach 6 or so.
The hard part comes in the rounds. If they’re not perfectly cast and perfectly made, they’ll either atomize as they hit Mach 6, tumble and fly uncontrollably, or blow up in your rifle barrel.
Also, firing a Gauss rifle is like a giant finger pointing its way back to you. A piece of steel flying through the air at that speed leaves a trail of burning air behind it, along with a very tiny vacuum that is filled by the air around you. Combine that with a Mach 6 sonic boom . . . well, Gauss rifles aren’t for sneaking around.
But when you can reach out and put a flaming hole in something’s head from up to two miles away, you learn to live with the drawbacks.
And Lance is amazing. His first shot somehow takes out three zombies, their heads all lining up just as he squeezes the trigger and exploding in a fountain of radioactive goo.
Lance works his bolt, loading the next slug as the herd turns and heads toward us, Lance dropping another five before he finally misses a shot because a zombie tripped on the sidewalk. Before he abandons his rifle and gets up, the herd’s been cut in half.
“How’s that?” he asks as he picks up my borrowed sword, ready for what’s left. “Can’t believe I missed one.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll pay for your reloads,” I grunt as the first zombie comes into range. We fight aggressively, penetrating deep into the herd to break up their numbers and scatter them, making them easier to take care of as we reach the end of the block and turn.
I don’t know how many I kill. All I know is the forms, the thrust, the shiver down my arm when my steel bites through decayed bone to swirl inside brain matter, and the gristly thrum as I sever heads from necks. My shoulder aches. I can’t go light on zombies or just deflect. There’s no letting the blade do the work. This is effort, and hard effort at that.
Tym is amazing. With a hammer in each hand, he swings, the heavy heads crushing skulls or knocking aside attackers like they’re made of bamboo, sending them tumbling into each other for Lance to finish off. Lance, even though he isn’t used to my sword, fights hard as well, the two of them complimenting each other’s attacks to create a bubble of impenetrable violence around them.
“Down!” Tym yells as he turns toward me, and I duck, just fast enough to feel one of his hammers come flying through the space my head would have occupied a split second earlier. I hear a wet smacking sound and turn to see two zombies fall, one of them with their head obliterated while the other tumbles backward from his companion’s momentum. In all the chaos, I hadn’t seen them. I’d been so focused on the ones in front of me. I skewer the zombie on the ground and spring back to my feet, taking out another.
“This herd’s a lot fucking bigger than we thought!” Lance grunts as he yanks my sword out of another skull. “We must have seen just the front edge.”
“Or you can’t count!” Tym growls as he swings his hammer again. He’s trying, and his blows are still killing with one shot, but I can see the sweat starting to form on his forehead, the way the veins in his arms and shoulders are pulsing with effort. He’s getting tired out.
So am I.
Whatever size this herd is, it’s massive, and if it lasts much longer, we’re going to be in trouble. “Make a hole!” I yell. “That tower!”
Tym and Lance nod, Tym kicking out to knock a zombie down while we push again. To our right is a tower next to a metal building,
a large FD on the front of the building and a decayed hulk of what looks like a large red truck on the inside. The tower is our target, and as soon as we can, we take off sprinting, gaining a few precious seconds on the rest of the herd that’s still coming after us.
The rusty ladder barely holds me, but Tym and Lance use the crisscrossing support beams to climb the sides, scrambling up and out of reach of the diminished herd as they get into range. We pause, a safe ten feet above their reach of the zombies, all of us panting.
“You know, Cerena, I am not getting paid enough for this job,” Lance says as we find the platform and he lies on his back, panting. “Seriously, I could have pulled security on a cattle drive instead.”
“Yeah, well, you looked like you were having fun,” I gasp, coughing the dust out of my lungs. “Shit . . . remind me to take some anti-rads when we get our packs again. I don’t want to breathe this shit in.”
“Nice long trip to the autodoc for you when you get back,” Lance teases, holding up my sword. “By the way, this thing is awesome. What sort of tech is in it?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I kill things with it. I didn’t make it. And compliments on the shooting.”
“Yeah, well, if those fucking Z’s bled on my rifle, I’m going to be very pissed. Cleaning zombie blood off that thing’s a bitch.”
Tym, who’s said nothing so far, sits up and looks down at the mass of zombies beneath us. “I count eleven left.”
“Thanks to you,” I point out. “How many did you put down?”
“More than I wish I had to,” he says quietly. “Poor bastards . . . I hope we sent them on to a more peaceful nonexistence.”
“Or just put them out of their misery,” Lance adds, finally sitting up. “So, what’s the plan, boss lady?”
I look down, seeing the group below me and glad that zombies can’t climb ladders. But while they can’t climb, we also don’t have an effective way of offing them from up here either. “Rest for ten minutes,” I finally say, looking around and seeing the gap between the building and the tower. “You guys think you can make the jump to the roof?”
“If we have to,” Lance says, chewing his lip, “but I’ll be honest, the idea of Tym’s big ass cannonballing onto a multi-hundred-year-old weathered roof doesn’t sound like the best way to get to tomorrow.”
He’s right. Tym’s at least twice my weight, and the bigger the weight, the bigger the impact. But the tower’s connected to the building by a relatively thick but rusty steel cable. If it were new, I’d feel comfortable hanging all three of us on it, but since it’s old, we’ll take our time. “Okay . . . here’s what we’ll do. Lance, you and I will get onto the roof. We can try this support cable if we have to and find our way down. I see a door to the inside, if anything. From there, we go around back and draw them off while Tym scrambles down. We meet in the middle.”
“A good plan,” Tym says. “Not too complicated.”
“Best plans never are,” I reply. “Eight minutes, then we go.”
It’s hard to wait those eight minutes. The moaning of the zombies below us is unsettling, to say the least. I’ve read reports that say the moans can even drive a person insane to the point of suicide, even if they’re totally safe.
Either way, we stay quiet, not that it matters since the zombies have a view of us, and I quietly count out the eight minutes on my fingers. The final time I get around to sixty, I sit up and move over to the edge. “Okay, ready, Lance?”
“Fuck, no . . . but I don’t have much of a choice now, do I?” he says, getting behind me. “Wait . . . I’ll go first. If I see you do it, I’m gonna get a case of the fuckin’ nerves.”
“What about the cable?”
Lance snorts. “Fuck the cable. It’s all or nothing. Tally fucking ho!”
He leaps, and the six-foot gap seems to yawn over his body as he flies through the air. Normally, I’d say an exhausted man his size, jumping from a narrow metal tower, would never make it, but there is a slight downward drop to the roof, and Lance just clears the edge, tumbling and rolling before getting to his feet. “I’m okay! Toss the pig stickers over!”
I blink, realizing he left my sword behind, and nod in appreciation for his forethought. I throw my swords, trying my best not to damage or bounce them while making sure they land cleanly, and Lance retrieves them. Walking to the edge, my legs suddenly feel unsteady, and I stop.
“What’s wrong, Cerena?” Tym asks, and I turn my head, looking at him.
“Can you boost me?” I ask. “My legs . . . I could use some help.”
Tym nods and laces his fingers together. “Put your feet in here. I’ll get you over.”
Aware of how much faith I’m putting in his tired shoulder muscles, I grab the railings of the tower for support and lean in, kissing him. He stops, surprised for a moment before opening to me, his beard rasping on my chin as I pull back.
“For luck,” I tell him, turning around and planting my hands on the railing. I lift my boots up, and Tym grabs ahold of them in each hand, squatting as I coil my muscles for a large jump. “Throw on three. One, two . . . three!”
It’s like I’m flying. I soar, higher and further than I ever could have jumped on my own, my body reaching out in a graceful swan arch that easily carries me over the gap. If I had another moment, I’d enjoy it, but the roof is coming up too quickly so I duck my head, rolling and getting the wind knocked out of me as I land on my back.
Lance is right there, kneeling beside me. “Well, you gonna live?”
“Not planning on going anywhere just yet,” I whisper, holding up a hand. “That was cool.”
“Yeah, well . . . he was looking at your ass,” Lance teases, standing and flashing a thumbs-up to Tym. “But the spread-out cloak, like some bigass wing in the air? Yeah, you looked cool.”
I take a minute to regain my legs, getting to my feet and taking the sword Lance offers me. Turning, I look back at Tym, whose face is grave but ready. “Give us two minutes, or if you see the zoms move, head down.”
Tym nods and suddenly smiles. “Have fun.”
I nod and follow Lance across the roof, taking our time and watching our step. “What was that?” I ask as we move around a suspicious-looking patch of roof. “Have fun?”
“I dunno . . . Tym’s weird. It’s those demigods, you can never really trust them,” Lance jokes. We reach the other side of the roof, where the door inside is intact, but a swift kick from Lance’s boot handles that. “Ladies first?”
“Why, thank you.” I chuckle, leading the way down the steps. The building is empty but in good condition, and as we reach the bottom floor, we’re undetected. I look out at the zombies from the shadows and am shocked by what I see.
It’s Tym . . . dangling his feet just inches above the clutches of the tallest zombie. He’s partially sitting on the steel support beam, clutching the one above his head and taunting the crowd below. “All right, motherfuckers, you want something to chomp on? Come get some. Two hundred and fifty plus pounds of sweet meat here! All you can eat buffet, boys!”
His voice is loud but almost emotionless as he does it, and I let out a deep breath. He’s in control, there’s no danger that he’s going to go berserk on us. But what made him change the plan?
Whatever. Lance and I have to take advantage. “You ready?”
He nods and suddenly disappears, reappearing next to a zombie and skewering it before shimmering out again. I run quietly, stabbing two of my own, but as I turn to the last one, Lance appears a final time, swinging his sword and dropping it. “Done. Fucking dekita.”
I don’t know what the last word means, but I can see why he didn’t do it before. He’s exhausted. Tym drops down while I rush to put Lance’s arm over my shoulder, and Tym goes over to the ladder, where he picks up his hammer. “Sorry . . . they started shaking the tower after you jumped, and my hammer fell. I figured it was your best chance to catch them by surprise.”
“It worked,” I reassure him, not men
tioning that it was nearly suicidal as well. Lance stumbles, so tired he can hardly move, and Tym goes over to his other side, supporting him. “Come on, let’s get him inside. Some of the furniture in there looked like it still worked, and it’s reasonably secure. After that, we’ll retrieve our equipment. Good work today, both of you guys.”
“Yeah, well . . . I want some extra pay for this sort of shit,” Lance mumbles, grinning. “How about a booty bonus?”
I laugh quietly, exhausted too. “Lance, I think you’ll probably die still trying to get in my ass.”
“Is there a better way to die?” he asks.
Tym rolls his eyes. “Come on . . . let’s get you some sleep.”
Chapter 12
Tymond
Lance is only out a few hours, waking up just as the sun sets. The building, which turned out to be a fire department, is in decent shape after all these years, which I’m grateful for.
“You know, I never have understood,” Cerena says as we sit on the floor of what looks like it used to be either a meeting room or a sleeping area. There are several empty, rusted bedframes on one side but nothing else to really indicate what used to be here. “How is it that these old places haven’t all become wrecks?”
“From what I understand, most have,” I reply. “People used to live in homes that were mostly brick or wood, and those places have all rotted away, to the point we don’t see them as we walk. But buildings like this, they were constructed of steel and aluminum, and the concrete used in their construction was thicker, stronger. So they survived.”
“Huh,” Lance remarks as he gets to his feet. “I guess that just makes my Walmart theory all the truer. I mean, who’d want to make a market well-built? But an orgy temple . . . well, you see my point.”
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