“Why?” Gable asked. “I mean, we all know they act different, and there are theories swirling around about the reasons…everything from the fact that a child’s mind is in such a high state of development, to it simply being a matter of normal zombie crap in how they act out of instinct or some such thing. But why on earth would they not have teeth?”
“Children lose their baby teeth. Those are not rooted and come out quite easily. Whereas, our permanent teeth have roots and are more…attached would be the best way to put it,” Vix explained.
“I still don’t see what any of this has to do with Dolph,” Mike said with a shake of his head.
“Those children have massed in the Waterloo,” Vix pointed in the general direction of the massive domed building. “There could be hundreds from what Randi and I saw. If that is the case, Dolph’s army could grow even larger, and the children, as we have already covered, are different. They might be able to exploit some weakness or another. If we run now, there has to be someplace else we can make our stand.”
“Perhaps we could open the gates of Buckingham and lure them around the body of Dolph’s undead army. They could come right at the flank and expose Dolph’s people to the radiation,” Paddy piped up.
“And in a few years, perhaps even a decade, once the cancer takes hold…all our problems would be solved.” Vix shot the man a nasty look and shook her head.
“But the rumor is that head shots don’t drop them,” Paddy pressed.
“We can’t base our defense on rumors. We need something solid,” Vix snapped.
“And that is exactly why we need to hold our ground here,” Mike exclaimed, pointing to Vix with a nod of the head. “You are making my point for me. Right now, we have the bottom three levels of stairs torn out. The zoms won’t be able to reach us. They certainly won’t be able to topple the building even if they do make it past the outer defense.”
The sound of a siren brought the conversation to a halt. Everybody ran to the side of the building where the alarm was coming from and looked out towards the east. The massive herd was still a fair distance away. The siren cranked up again, and they all realized that it had been from a northern post that it originated.
“Mother of God!” Paddy gasped.
“It is like something out of those Mad Max films,” Vix managed through her suddenly dry mouth.
Arrayed out in a massive semicircle was a collection of vehicles that looked like they were conceived in Hell. Many had implements of destruction mounted in front or jutting from the sides.
Mike was looking through a set of binoculars, his mouth open and moving without any sound coming out. He handed the binoculars to his left and now Gable took a look. One by one, each of them were given the opportunity to get a better look and confirm that it was even worse than they had imagined.
In the front of this mechanized army were a dozen squat and blocky looking machines with tall smoke stacks that belched black streamers into the air. They each had a long pole jutting from their front with a box—or at least something in the shape of one—at the end.
“Sound the full alarm,” Mike said with almost no emotion. He turned to Vix. “For what it is worth, I would have argued against leaving here to the very end, but now…” He turned and looked back out at the army of the living just to their north and then to the wave of undead coming from the east. “We should have run. This is a fool’s errand, and I fear we may have all suffered from delusions of grandeur.”
“Worst pep talk ever,” Gable muttered as he edged past them and into the stairwell.
Everybody headed down the stairs into the belly of the building. The clang of the warning bell could be heard through the concrete walls and sounded almost like a death knell to Vix as she tried to process all that she had seen.
Her mind quickly rushed to draw comparisons to the war machine that Hitler had sent with a fury to try and crush England. The man’s hatred for Churchill notwithstanding, the German dictator spent too much of his resources trying to do something close to impossible: break the English spirit.
There would be nothing of the sort this time around. The only real similarities were that the invaders were led by a madman. The good old English spirit had been crushed by the living dead a long time ago. Now it was simply about human beings trying to survive. Only, it seemed that those intent on trying to rebuild a good life would now face those who had an insatiable need for power and control.
As in the Dark Ages, and the Medieval Era, it would be might that carried the day, and those who found themselves in power would grow drunk on it more often than not. Despite all the wonders wrought by technology in the Twentieth and Twenty-first centuries, there was one thing that science could not improve: humanity.
It was still a flawed and often ugly creature. It was prone to extremes; when leaning towards good, it brought the likes of Mother Teresa, Nelson Mandela and Bob Geldof. However, there was the other side of that coin. Sadly, it looked like those bent on evil held a distinct advantage.
“I got you something,” a voice said from behind, causing Vix to start. She turned to see Paddy standing with a wrapped package held out in front of him.
“I don’t think now is the time for gifts,” Vix said absently as she watched everybody that had joined them file into the large conference auditorium.
These people had abandoned their little villages and walled communities in the hopes that they would be able to make some sort of valiant stand against Dolph. Most had come due to her influence. Now, each of them represented a life that she was responsible for seeing snuffed out; probably in a horrible manner if what they’d seen from the roof was any indication.
“I think it is the perfect time,” the little man said with a wink.
Vix opened the package, only half paying attention. Her mind was already imagining the horrors to come. It had arrived at the conclusion that running now would only delay the inevitable. She did not doubt that there were patrols set up all around their location. Dolph wanted them dead and he would not leave a hole in his net for anybody to slip through.
She untied the string and opened the package to discover an Irish flag. At first she was confused. Her mind had gone so far off the rails that she had actually forgotten their wager. She looked back at Paddy who was still smiling.
“Really?” She cocked an eyebrow at the man. Surely that was not his priority at a moment like this.
“A bet is a bet.”
“You are as mad as a hatter,” she hissed, her voice dropping to a whisper as a few of the people filing in past her shot concerned or confused looks in her direction.
Paddy opened his mouth to say something, but Vix held up her hand to silence him. An inspiration struck. It only strengthened as she saw the same expression on every single face. These people already knew. Of course they did, word traveled fast, but a person only need look outside to the north or east to know what was happening.
Death was marching towards them, and it would not be denied. Only a miracle could save them. Miracles were for stories. They were forced into movies despite the improbability so that people could walk out of the cinema and feel hope.
Without another word, Vix handed the flag to Paddy and began tugging at the laces of her boots. Setting them neatly against the wall, she removed her socks and tucked them in before unclasping her belt. It took only a minute, and the last stragglers walking in gave her a wide berth and deservedly odd looks as they passed her in the entry alcove that opened to the auditorium.
Standing naked, she reached for the flag and had to snap her fingers to get Paddy to come out of his trance. The man handed the flag to her and she wrapped it around her shoulders before striding down the center aisle and towards the stage. After a wink over her shoulder, and in a clear voice, she began to sing.
“
Seo dhibh a cháirde duan Oglaigh, Cathréimeach bríomhar ceolmhar, ár dtinte cnámh go buacach táid, ’S an spéir go mín réaltógach
…”
“I’ll be damned,” Paddy said with a tear in his eye. “The lass went and learned it in true Irish.” Giving his pants a tug, he added his own voice to hers just as she reached the chorus. He followed her to the stage where Mike was standing with his jaw practically bouncing off the floor and his eyes bugging from their sockets.
“…
Sinne Finna Fáil,
Atá fá gheall ag Éirinn, buion dár slua,
Thar túinn do ráinig chugainn,
fámhórd bheith saor
…”
***
Chad felt helpless as he watched the zombie emerge from the snow. His eyes were drawn to the trench in the snow that it had created as it dragged itself along. She looked like she was one of the dome zombies. She was obviously fresh, relatively speaking when it came to most zombies encountered these days, and had been ripped almost in half.
He banked hard and made a straight-on approach with the zombie, hoping that Ronni could fight it off long enough for him to arrive. His wish was granted as he watched his daughter catch the woman by the throat and shove her head up and away as she tried desperately to move her legs. The problem with that came in the fact that the snowboard simply gouged up more snow which made moving all that much more difficult.
Chad arrived and ducked low at the last second, launching himself forward into the creature. He hit it solid with one shoulder and flipped it back. The downside came when he felt his board connect with something solid. Ronni’s yelp of pain informed him of what his board connected with.
As fast as he could, Chad grabbed the zombie and shoved it away. He was riding a massive adrenaline rush and barely noticed the index and middle finger of his left hand snap awkwardly to the right when they snagged in a rip in the heavy hemp shirt the zombie wore. Quickly ridding himself of his snowboard, Chad rolled over and promptly sunk almost to his waist in the white powder.
The zombie was mewling and pawing at the air as it struggled to roll back over and get at him. Fortunately, Chad had strapped on his belt knife. It had been a thing of habit despite the fact that they were supposedly in a secure area. Getting his feet under him as best he could, he heard the moans of several zombies to his right and whipped his head around just as three of them tumbled from the rocky crag just beyond the trees.
He looked over at Ronni and saw that she was finally making her way back up and could actually hop over and escape. Predictably, she reached for him.
“Dad! C’mon, let’s go.”
“You go now, I have your back. Tell Mark that there is a breach in their security. I will be right behind you,” Chad slapped her hand away as he scooped some of the snow away from where he stood.
“But—” Ronni began, only to have Chad cut her off with a harsh bark.
“I said go, young lady! Get help. I will be right behind you.” He already knew that was a lie as his eyes darted over just in time to see at least a dozen more of the undead tumble off the rocks and land in the snow.
With a scream of frustration, Ronni hopped her board to the left and nosed into the fall line that would bring her to the base of the run. From there, she would be within shouting distance of the compound. He watched her dip over the ridge and vanish; as soon as she was out of sight, he returned his attention to the creeper that was already within striking range. He reached out and grabbed it by the hair, yanking it close and driving his knife into its temple.
Now that the closest one was dealt with, Chad pulled his board over. He would need to wade over to the tree that was about ten feet away. Once there, he would be out of the snow enough so that he could step back into the bindings on his snowboard and then make his escape.
He had to duck walk his way up onto the snow, and his eyes were searching for the first line that would start him on his way. The sounds of the dead closing in had his heart slamming in his chest. When the pain came, he knew what it was instantly.
His left hand went numb and he felt like a thousand bees were stinging the entire arm. Chad fell to his knees but continued to try and crawl. The snow began to act like quicksand and he could not seem to make any progress. There was a sound that seemed to echo in his head. He knew it was bad, but his mind was clouding and he could not control his thoughts to get himself to focus on the situation.
A cold hand slapped the side of his face and Chad felt himself being pushed down deeper into the snow. To make it worse, his feet were now above his head. He knew that was bad, but he was helpless to do anything about it.
Something pulled him sideways and he could feel several hands starting to paw at him. He wanted to laugh as he was shoved back and forth to no avail by the growing number of undead that were now trying to get at him. And then the hands began to fall away. Yet, he remained face down in the snow and basically helpless to do anything. The snow was no longer melting around his face and it was compacting to the point where it was becoming harder to draw a breath.
Chad felt a sense of warmth and calm settle over him as things began to fade into a pleasant darkness. A very small voice in the back of his head told him to fight it, but that voice was so distant that it became easier and easier to ignore as the warmth seeped into every part of his being.
When he opened his eyes again, he was in a room that was partitioned off by heavy curtains. He tried to move and found his limbs unresponsive. He blinked and tried to speak, but his voice would not come. A familiar face suddenly loomed over his and smiled.