Deadman's Switch & Sunder the Hollow Ones (37 page)

“Well, I see one,” he whispers. His breath is a ghost on the glass, flitting into and out of view. “It's standing on the lawn, looking the other way.”

Facing
the other way, I want to tell him.
Not looking
. Anyone who's peered at an Undead's blackened cataract eyes up close knows they don't see like we do. They don't
look
. Maybe their eyes work in some other way we don't know about. But they don't use them to look.

It's a moot point whether or not they can actually see with their eyes, or if they sense us in some other way. The fact that they can sense us is all that matters.

“There's another one across the street. And…another. Still, a lot fewer than I'd have thought.” He turns back and checks his Link. “Three-forty. Dawn is still two hours away. I wonder where they all went. Do you think maybe they've gone back to their holes?”

“Yeah, because they're bored,” I say, maybe a bit too grumpily. “Slow night with no one to eat. Seriously, Micah, who knows what makes them do what they do. They could be having a pool party somewhere for all we know.”

He turns and gives me a strange look, as if to say,
Don't go crazy loco on me now
. The thing is, I'm wondering the same thing about him.

“Just let's go, okay?” I tell him. “I'll take out the one on the lawn. You can keep an eye out for the rest.”

“No way. I'm taking it out.
You
keep watch.”

It's actually a relief to hear him say that. What if it's Cassie's mother or father standing out there? Would I be able to quiet them? Or would I choke?

He quietly turns the handle. It makes a soft grinding noise, like it needs oil. When the cylinder is fully rotated and clicks dully, he pulls the door open, then checks around the corner at the rest of the porch before stepping out onto the landing.

Then he's gone, slipping down the walkway as silently as a cat, as smooth as oil. Metal gleams in the moonlight. He turns when he reaches the zombie, but the thing doesn't even have a chance. The dried overgrown grass makes a crunching sound, whispering complaints at Micah's unexpected intrusion. But the zombie stands perfectly still, its chin raised slightly, exposing its neck.

There's a
shing
and the thing slips silently to the ground. It lands with a muffled
thump
and is dead before I'm even out the door. Micah raises his blade again. It arcs down one more time, entering the back of the Undead man's head at the base of the skull.
Crack!

With a single swift movement, he twists the blade, wrenching apart the vertebrae and severing the cord. Then he pulls the knife free. I suddenly get that strange familiar sensation again, the one where it feels like I've seen him do this before. I know it's just from watching him play
Zpocalypto
. The same catlike movements. The same unfocused look in his eyes, like he's seeing something I can't, something in his VR goggles.

But there are no goggles. And no amount of playing—especially in that crappy VR setup he owns—could prepare anyone for the ruthlessness of the act I just witnessed.

He wipes the knife off on the back of the monster's shirt and nods at me.

I join him on the sidewalk, kneeling beneath the feathery heads of the unmown grass.

“Let's hope they're all that easy,” he whispers.

It bothers me that Kelly and the others haven't pinged. I wish they would. It's killing me not knowing what happened.

“So what do we do?” I say.

“We go.”

“No, I mean, which way.” I wasn't part of the earlier planning, so I hadn't seen the map. I don't know which route they took. “Walk or run?”

“Can you jog?”

I nod.

“Good. It'll be the quickest and quietest way to get there without draining ourselves.”

“Quiet's good.”

“I don't might fighting if it's only a few. We can outrun them if we have to.”

“You forget what it was like back in Long Island City. They don't tire.”

He shakes his head. “No, I remember. They were fast, but that was different. It's night now.”

“They're not reptiles.”

He frowns at me, puzzlement on his face.

“They're not, like, cold-blooded and stuff. I don't think temperature affects them.”

He chuckles. “I wasn't thinking about that. I just meant that there's more noise right now to mask our sounds.”

I hadn't really noticed it before, but he's right. The crickets are loud tonight, a high-pitched buzz that I'd totally blocked out. And there's frogs, too. The night is actually louder than it was during that first day we were on the island, when there was only the soft whisper of the breeze coming through the buildings.

He stands up, offering his hand. “Highway's around the corner at the end of that road. We get back on it and go east. Three, three and a half miles. Might get there in an hour jogging.”

“Assuming there's no trouble.”

Micah's eyes gleam in the moonlight.

“Yeah,” he says. “Trouble.”

 

Jogging would be
a lot easier if it weren't for the packs on our backs. Even before we reach the cross-street, I get irritated with the damn thing bouncing around on my shoulders and pull it off. Micah does the same, claiming it's making too much noise. We jog, swiftly and silently, rolling our feet from heel to toe to minimize the noise. I have the pack in one hand, the shovel in the other, and a knife tucked into the waist of my jeans behind me. I've slipped the pistol into a pocket of my backpack, which is held closed by a Velcro flap. I don't want to risk losing it. Or it falling into anyone else's hands like it did yesterday.

The highway looms ahead of us in the moonlight and we make our way to it, successfully managing to avoid drawing the attention of any Infecteds. I catch sight of at least a half dozen. They're mostly just standing there staring at the moon or wandering off in the other direction. Even the ones that see us are too slow to give chase.

The highway had been built up higher than the surrounding ground, presumably to aid in drainage. Flooding had become a major problem here in the past few decades, especially since hurricane alley shifted north. We get these torrential rainstorms in February and March that drop two feet of water in a twenty-four-hour period. Monsoons.

Rising sea levels is another issue, though less so this far from the coast. A lot of the beachside roads were flooded during the first melt-off a couple decades ago, dooming many of the towns to a soggy, mosquito-ridden death. But I don't really think about all this right now. All I care about is that the berms flanking the road make it that much harder for zombies to get up there.

We reach the eight-foot chain link fence in no time. I throw the pack and shovel over, where they land with a soft thump in the grass on the other side, and I begin climbing. Micah helps me, since my shoulder and wrist are still sore. We try to make as little noise as possible. But the rattling of the chain link still draws a few IUs out. They appear out of the deeper shadows between houses and from underneath long-abandoned cars. They crawl out of collapsed sheds and garbage heaps. I hang from the fence for a moment, then drop into the shadows beneath me, hoping I don't land on a rock and twist an ankle.

After I recover my pack, I keep a wary eye on the Undead as they shuffle toward us.

“Let's go,” I hiss.

Micah's at the top and swinging his legs over the side before the closest one gets to within thirty feet of us. He sits on top and chuckles at me.

I gather up the shovel and do a quick check up and down the line of the fence. The grass is tall enough to hide a person—at least as high as my waist—though not so high as to hide anything that might be walking upright through it.

Micah drops his pack and the knife. I reach over to pick them up. “Out of the way,” he says. “I'm going to jump.”

“Just climb down,” I tell him, growing irritated. It's like this is all a game to him now. He saw what happened to Jake back there, and yet he actually seems to be having fun. “You're going to break your ankle.”

But he ignores me. He digs his heels in and pushes himself off. The wire sags beneath his weight, then bounces back. He arcs out, then jerks suddenly back, a yelp of surprise coming from his mouth. His body slams against the chain link, where he dangles upside down flailing his arms.

“Smooth move,” I tell him, reaching up to help. “This is why I just say no to shoe laces.”

“Just cut the damn thing!” he says, looking mildly embarrassed. Serves him right.

I reach up just as the first zombies reach the fence, and I get a good whiff of one before sticking my nose into my armpit. The things start to hurl themselves at the wire, desperate to get to us.

“Hey! Ouch!” Micah shouts at them. He kicks his loose foot out and knocks one away.

“I don't think that's going to help,” I say warily. “Just get the hell down from there.”

“Would if I could.”

They try to reach through and grab him, but the wire snags their fingers. A few poke through, brushing Micah's exposed stomach. He smacks them away in disgust.

“Well, at least they can't bite you.”

He gives me a dirty look. “No, but I can still kick them.” He lashes out and strikes one on the forehead through the fence. It ricochets back and falls down. Micah starts laughing. “See?”

I reach up with my knife, more irritated than amused. He needs to get serious. I slip the tip inside the loop and try to saw through it. “Stop squirming!”

“They're touching me!”

“So?”

“So, I'm ticklish.”

“Ha ha. Very funny, Micah.”

“Just hurry up. I'm getting a head rush.”

“That's just oxygen going to your brain,” I snipe back. “Something it's been deprived of lately. And stop bumping into me.”

“Try climbing up.”

“Screw you. I'm not sticking my fingers or anything else through the fence here. They'll get gnawed on.”

I stand as tall as I can on my toes and thrust the knife out. I finally snag the lace, but I still can't get any leverage on it.

“Forget it,” Micah says, pushing me away. He plants his free foot on the fence and tries to get himself turned around. But his sneaker keeps slipping. “Okay, try pulling on me instead. The damn thing has got to break sometime.”

So I grab his shoulders and pull on him. Meanwhile the group of Undead on the other side of the fence has grown to about ten. More are coming, drawn by the noise.

“So much for making a quick getaway,” I grunt.

“Damn party-crashers.”

The fence starts to lean toward us from the combined weight of the zombies and us pulling on it. I let go, but Micah tells me not to.

“Dude, it's going to fall over,” I say, starting to worry.

He kicks at them again and shouts. I hear an edge creeping into his voice.

“Stop being so loud.”

“Who cares? They can't get us.”

Micah swipes at the arm of an especially emaciated zombie. It's somehow managed to get its entire bony hand through one of the openings. “Get the fuck away from me, you pervert!”

“Perv?” I say, laughing nervously.

I swing the knife at the arm, but it's flailing around too much and I end up hitting it with my fist instead. The arm breaks with a loud
snap!
I mean, it just breaks right off like a dry stick, right at the wrist.

“Damn, Jess.”

The stump just keeps jabbing through, trying somehow to snag a piece of Micah even though there are no fingers left to grab with. The ends of the bone glisten dully through the rubberized flesh.

“Dude, this isn't working,” I tell him. I kneel down in the grass below him and tell him to push up against my back to unhook himself.

I feel his hands skitter over the back of my shirt.

“Would you just hurry?”

“Your shirt's slippery.”

He ends up grabbing my ass by accident. Mumbling a quick apology, he pushes off. I stagger a little under the weight, glad he can't see the foul look on my face right now.

There's a loud rattle behind me. I look up in time to see the heads of several zombies jerk to the sides. Something behind them is pushing through, trying to get to the front. For a split second I think of Moses parting the—

Dead Sea

—Red Sea.

“What was that?” Micah asks.

I can't see it yet. But I know it's big. I don't answer. I just tell him to focus.

He pushes, grunting and swearing under his breath. I can hear him trying to unhook the lace with the toe of his other shoe.

The zombies in front suddenly lurch forward, their faces crushed against the fence.

“Hurry up, Micah!”

“What do you think I'm doing?”

There's a metallic
twang
as a wire connector holding the chain link to the frame pulls free. It whizzes past my face and disappears into the grass. Micah drops about a foot, hitting me and knocking me over. I fall onto my hands. The knife blade twists when it hits the ground and a bolt of pain shoots up my arm. It's the same wrist I twisted fighting Stephen in the tram. Micah slams back into the fence, spinning around and coming face to face with the IUs. They hiss at him and reach through.

“God, they stink.”

But I'm not thinking about what they smell like right now. I'm struck dumb by my first glimpse of the thing that cleared a path through the Undead. It's huge, a seven foot tall behemoth with shoulders as wide as a doorway and a head as large as a watermelon. It opens its mouth and lets out a wail that drowns out all the others.