Zombie Fallout 12

by Mark Tufo

“Any part of you think this could be a set-up?” Winters asked.

  “Is what a set-up?” BT asked, he sounded close to being out of breath.

  “A kid is leading us somewhere,” I told him.

  “Leading us where?”

  “Don’t know, and right now I’m not flush with options, and stop talking and do more running.”

  He grunted a deep, “Fuck off.” Their gunfire had trailed off, as trying to slow down the vanguard by firing some shots into the group proved wholly ineffectual. Much better to flat out run.

  A tall man came running out onto the street ahead of us, wrapped his arms around the boy’s shoulders, and was leading him off the street. The boy was adamant as he pointed toward the four of us coming their way. Even from this distance, I could see the man tense up. He spoke something over his shoulder; three people came onto the road, all with handguns. In terms of firepower, we had it over them–or the ones showing, anyway–but that wasn’t how I wanted this to play out. The man’s evident surprise led me to believe the kid was acting on his own, trying to get us to safety, and that this wasn’t some elaborate ruse. I was still running, but I had my hands halfway in the air, holding my rifle.

  “Winters,” I urged the sergeant to do the same. Tommy had Gary in his arms, so he wasn’t pointing anything.

  “Far enough!” the tall man shouted as we neared.

  “No can do…about to have a few thousand zombies here.”

  He fired a shot over my head; might have been a good ten feet over, didn’t care. I take extreme offense to any high-speed projectiles deliberately sent my way. I leveled my gun on him.

  “Try it again! I’ll fucking drop you in a puddle of your own making.”

  I had pulled up short as had Winters; even Tommy adjusted Gary so he could with one arm bring his rifle to bear. We had a standoff, but if bullets started flying the advantage was all ours; the pistols were out at about the extreme of any accuracy. Besides ourselves, the only other I cared about was the boy. I had no desire to see him become a casualty of war. I was happy the man had the wherewithal to push the boy behind him; it gave me an inkling of his character. Not enough I’d trust him with my life, but an advance, nonetheless.

  “Heard…a…gunshot…” BT managed to get out during deep breaths.

  “We’re fine! Just get your ass moving.”

  “Who are you talking to?” the tall man asked.

  “Backup, followed by not backup.”

  “What does that mean?” he asked, then I saw his eyes go wide. I would imagine he just saw the enormous black man round the corner with seven others of my team. That was fairly impressive in itself; his jaw dropped when he saw what was making them move so fast.

  “Lyle! Get in the church now!” the man commanded.

  “Dad, what about them?” He was pointing at us.

  “What did I tell you son? Not every stranger is a friend you haven’t met yet.”

  “My name is Lieutenant Michael Talbot! I’m part of a group out of Washington.”

  “DC?”

  “State.” I clarified.

  “Long way from home.”

  “You have no idea. We’re on a mission, got attacked. Our plane was forced down…we had to jump before we were ready and it’s been a downhill slide ever since.”

  The man looked at the three he was with. “Follow us.”

  “Jason?” the lone female questioned him.

  “What makes you think they’re not going to come anyway? This way, if you’re coming.” And without waiting to see my response, they left.

  “What are we doing?” Winters asked.

  “Gonna go soak up some of that New York hospitality.”

  “This is what passes for hospitality on the East Coast?”

  “This is actually pretty good. Only got shot at once. BT–we’ll make sure to keep you in view. Just a little farther.” I didn’t really know how much more we had to go but he sounded like he was on his last legs; I had to give him some hope.

  “Kirby, get your ass up here!” BT roared.

  “Shit! Got a couple falling behind. Winters, Tommy, go. They went into the church. I’m going to help them. Go! That’s an order!” We were next to Saks Fifth Avenue, and Lyle and Jason, with the others, had just gone into St Patrick’s Cathedral. I was alone for the moment, and I was waving them on. “A hundred yards past me and into the church, BT. Do not stop. I’ll pick up the stragglers!”

  He didn’t respond. We trained extensively for cardio, but there’s only so far you can sprint-none of us were marathoners. Everyone was reasonably tight except for Private Kirby and Private Harmon. The latter had a limp and the former was doing his best to keep those closest to her from dragging her down. I climbed onto a car hoping for some height and a somewhat decent firing angle, but these shots were going to be close. Private Autumn Harmon had been the last to join my team; I’d be damned if she was going to be the first to die. She’d lost her hat at some point, and her long auburn hair was just about tickling the nose of the closest pursuing zombie. If his arms hadn’t been pumping so much to gain speed, he could have reached out and yanked her head back. I had a window about the size of a dinner plate to shoot at. With a thudding heart and a moving target, I was taking my time lining up the shot. I hate to say “hesitating,” because that is what gets people killed in combat.

  BT and the others were a moment from passing me by. I let a bullet fly. The zombie behind Harmon was pushed to the side as I placed one high in his shoulder. His side dipped down and caused his feet to trip up; this was enough for him to take out the two closest behind him. They went down in a heap of arms, legs, and teeth. Kirby was reaching over to keep Harmon moving.

  “Private, go! I’ve got her. Run!” He looked to me, to her, the church and the zombies…must have been a lot of math he was calculating. Finally, he did as I asked and sped up. I took three more shots, giving her a few feet, but she was tapped. I could see it in her eyes; she wanted to give up. Maybe not give up–no one willingly goes into the teeth of the zombies–but she was at the end of her abilities and her injury was taking its toll.

  I jumped off the car and ran to meet her; felt like a relay racer waiting for the baton. I grabbed her by the side and we were off. She practically fell into me. “Hundred yards, Talbot…you’ve got this.” I growled, cheering myself on. My team was waiting on the cathedral stairs, firing the second we came into view. I could feel the air pressure around us ripple as bullets whizzed past. Harmon screamed out and I felt her jerk back. The zombie behind had won the hard-fought prize of a chunk of her hair. Could almost guarantee if we got back to Etna she was going to end up with a bob and a comb-over to fix or hide the damage done. Might even go with a buzz cut, if the length of what I saw in that zombie’s fist was any indication.

  “Move, Private!” At this point, I was nearly dragging her. If I’d had the time, I would have scooped her up.

  She had a response, but it was stuck in her throat along with her pounding heart and extreme fear. I stumbled as the back of my heel collided with what I suspect was a zombie’s kneecap. I grunted as I pitched forward; if not for Harmon attached to my hip, I would have gone down. We were less than twenty-five yards from perceived safety. BT had shifted his angle so he could better help mine and Harmon’s escape. It was going to be close for all of us involved to get into that church. Zombies were storming from every direction, converging on that one place. How they could be moving so fucking fast while they were so densely packed together defied some sort of law of physics, or some mathematical principle…I don’t know. Let me see if I can describe an accurate picture: let’s say St. Patrick’s is high ground during an immense flooding from a Tsunami. This massive rolling tide of water has rushed in and is blasting through everything in its way until it finally concentrates and coalesces on that last remaining high spot that it has not had a chance to wash asunder. That was the zombies. We were in just as much danger of being cut off from the front of the church as we were being dra
gged under.

  BT realized this, popped two more rounds my way before jumping back into position to get to safety. I took flight, hauling Harmon with me as we cleared the five steps leading up to the door. BT was next in line for our life or death relay race, mumbling, “Come on come on come on,” and patiently reaching for the baton. He grabbed my side and shoulder and flung all of us through the massive door. A large rope had been attached to a handle inside; four people were manning it and pulled it closed the moment we were clear. Not quick enough, though, to keep two zombies from entering with us. There wasn’t a thing I could have done as the three of us were sprawled out on the floor some ten feet from the entrance. Stenzel, Tommy, and Winters made short work of the interlopers. The sound of the shots reverberated throughout the cavernous structure for another ten seconds.

  Harmon was lying back against the cool marble foyer, her chest rising and falling at an accelerated pace. I sat up, as did BT; I clapped him on the thigh.

  “Thanks, man.”

  He nodded. I stood up with Tommy’s help; BT was inclined to stay where he was a little longer.

  “Umm…Lieutenant, we have a problem.” Winters was looking behind me, not to the heavy door that was being pummeled; he was referring to something else.

  I turned; was looking at roughly thirty people, all holding a variety of weaponry that, if used, would spell the end of us all.

  “Hold off.” I had my hands half-raised, talking to my squad rather than the group of armed people in front of us. “If I put my weapon down can we talk?”

  “What about them?” The tall man motioned with his pistol.

  “Them? No, they’re holding on to their rifles. One of you gets an itch you figure needs scratching I’m going to make sure they can defend themselves and save my ass from getting shot. Hate getting shot; I consider it a rude gesture. But here, I’m going to offer some goodwill.” I lifted my rifle, attached to its tactical harness, up and over my head and gently placed it on the floor, rising back up with my hands held halfway high. “You’re not going to follow suit? Remember, you asked me to follow you,” I said to the man who seemed in charge. He looked left and right to the people with him before holstering his weapon.

  “First off, I want to thank you for allowing us in. For those of you I haven’t met, my name is Michael Talbot. I am a lieutenant in the Marine Corps; this here is my squad, and I’m in charge of them.” BT scoffed at that. “We’re on a mission that has gone slightly awry.”

  “Slightly?” the woman to the left of Lyle’s dad replied.

  The man halted her with a hand movement. “Jason,” he extended his hand, “Jason Vorhees.” He must have seen the expression change in my face. “I’ve heard it all–you don’t need to add to it.”

  I diplomatically kept my mouth shut. “Before we start talking, do we need to worry about them?” The pounding on the door remained constant.

  “Nothing is coming through there.” Jason seemed pretty sure of himself. The doors looked stout, but I don’t know if they were bulker-stout.

  “Sgt. Winters, check on the private here. Sgt. Van Goth, I want you and a detail of four to keep an eye on the door.” That left a few to keep an eye on them without having to say as much. “Gunney, I want you with me.” BT was just getting up off the floor. I noticed Jason and a few others involuntarily step back a pace or two; it was kind of hard not to when faced with the larger-than-life man. Pretty much exactly the effect I was hoping for. We meant them no harm and I demanded the same from them; any intimidation I needed to employ to keep them in check, I would use.

  “First off, little man, thank you for saving our butts.” I smiled to Lyle and gave him a thumbs up. He seemed pretty pleased with himself, even though he got more than a few dirty looks from the rest of the survivors for bringing strangers into their midst. We headed toward the dais of the enormous gothic structure. There were towering columns and pointed arch ceilings that soared above us, completely remote from the troubles below them. Intricate stained glass windows brightly depicting the stations of the cross lined both walls. The pews had been moved up to the front, marking the borders of their sleeping section. Off to my immediate left was what looked like where they must eat, but judging by a general look at the population here, they were not getting enough. They weren’t emaciated or lethargic, nor did they have that far-off stare of those consuming their innards to stay alive, but they were knocking on that door like they wanted to take a peek.

  “How many here?” I asked curiously while we were walking. Wasn’t quite sure how Jason would take it, like, whether I might be sizing them up.

  He looked over his shoulder. “Are you who you say you are?”

  “Who else would I be?”

  “I think he’s looking for confirmation that you’re not an asshole…Lieutenant,” BT finally added at the end.

  “Listen, I’m not perfect and sometimes I probably head into less than decent territory. My wife can attest to that. But we’re not here to cause your people any harm in any way. Just extremely thankful for the help.” We had got to the dais and took a left heading back to the refectory and what looked like the priests’ quarters.

  Jason opened the door to a small room with a large dining table. The chairs were oversized and had high backs covered with a plush, purple velvet fabric. I could not get gaudy out of my mind. Kept it to myself as Jason said a small prayer then sat.

  “The priest no longer here?” I asked once he was done.

  Jason looked at me, a sadness in his eyes. “We were in the middle of a wedding when he turned. My daughter was marrying her high school sweetheart; they had just graduated college and were getting ready to move to Chicago. Both of them had good jobs waiting.” He paused and looked off to the side, water beginning to fill in the wells of his eyes. “She had just said ‘I do,’ when Father Callahan collapsed. She went to help him and he…”

  “We get it, you don’t need to continue.” I wanted to spare him the rehashing of a horrible memory and honestly, I wanted to spare myself from having to add another one to the arsenal of nightmares I already carried.

  “Her almost-husband Calvin, he beat that priest to death with the crucifix. Then he said he was taking Penny to the hospital. That priest…he…” Jason gulped hard. “He’d chewed through her face. She was unrecognizable. By the time we rushed to the door and were heading out to our cars, the city was a disaster. People screaming as others attacked them. Could hear sirens, gunshots, twisting metal and screeching brakes from any number of accidents happening all around us. It was a war out there and it was impossible to tell who was fighting for which side. Doctors attacking homeless, children eating policemen…none of it made any sense. I’m ashamed to admit it, but, I froze. My poor Penny was dying in Calvin’s arms and I locked up. He was running down the steps and I found myself backing into the church. I tell myself I did it to protect my son Lyle and my wife.” He stopped to look directly at me, a haunted expression in his eyes. “But that wasn’t it. I couldn’t think of anything but the terror that was coursing through my body, gripping my heart.”

  “You know the moment that priest bit your daughter, she was dead, right?” I said, trying to ease his pain.

  “I know that now; didn’t know it then, and still I did nothing. Calvin looked back once at me and I swear he felt betrayed–though he didn’t say anything, and then he just started running. I shut the church doors; locked them, too. Everything I’ve done since that day has been to try and make myself a better person, someone that wouldn’t cave in the face of intense circumstances. Someone my son can be proud to call his father. My wife hasn’t said more than two words to me since that day. We weren’t exactly the poster-children for a perfect marriage; that just happened to be what ended it.”

  “Jason, listen. I realize how horrible all of this, all of that, is and was, but you can’t blame yourself. This is all uncharted territory; there’s no way any of us can know how we’re going to react in a scenario that shouldn’t exist, t
hat doesn’t even seem possible. Everyone in that church back there, whether you meant to or not, they’re alive because you locked that door. Without a weapon of any sort you would have been lost with Calvin. A senseless loss in a world already overrun with them.”

  He nodded at my words, but I wasn’t a skilled therapist. Not even sure if I had scratched the bright shiny surface of his misery.

  He shook his head, trying to rattle the horrible thing from his mind. I don’t know why he told me what he had; maybe the guilt was so pervasive on his part that he wanted everyone he came into contact with to know him for the coward he thought he was. I’m sure there’s some sort of term for that, wanting loathing from others, but he wasn’t going to get it from me. In terms of the atrocities I had seen humanity perform on itself and others, he was at the lower end of the shitty spectrum.

  “Can you save them?” he asked. “Can you save them all?”

  “How many do you have here?” BT asked.

  “Eighty-two.”

  I hadn’t noticed half that when I came in. “Where are the others?”

  “Others?” Jason appeared to be exiting a dream.

  “You said eighty-two; my guess had you closer to forty,” I said, giving a quick glance over to BT. His eyebrows furrowed. It appeared to both of us that the man was on the verge of a breakdown. Why now, though? Had he just been waiting to recall his story to someone he didn’t know? To finally pass the torch, as it were?

  “Sorry. Started with eighty-two, have thirty-eight. Most were lost those first few days, trying to get home or gather supplies.”

  “Speaking of supplies, how is your food situation?” I probed.

  “Had a bit of luck there. The previous weekend the church had a food drive, was going to give the donations to the local homeless shelters for Christmas. We ate pretty well for the first couple of weeks and then we began to realize that help wasn’t coming and we couldn’t safely get out. We began to ration at that point. We’re down to a couple of spoonfuls of beans and half a bottle of water a day now. Most of the time, I give my portion to my son. Realistically, we can’t make it much longer. That, in part, was why I told you to follow me. I’m desperate, desperate, to keep him alive.”