Concussion
, he thought.
He heard Jonese below him, first talking and then shouting. Michael was almost to the top when he stopped and twisted to look back down. Two more runners had fallen into the washout, and Jonese was trying to fight them off the men he had dragged out of the Humvee. Church was propped against a tire, unconscious from what Michael could tell. The largest body had to belong to John, also out cold. The only other body moving was Waters, and he was only moving one arm, sluggishly.
“Oh God─” Michael choked, knowing he couldn’t help. He bit back a scream and jerked the rope, forgetting his pain and pulling himself to the top.
Rabbit reached out a hand and grabbed Michael by the wrist, heaving him to the pavement and to his feet in one move.
“We need to get back down th—” Michael started to say, until he saw Kasey on the ground with a runner snapping at her face, Jonah stomping on the skull of another, and Mia and Jake methodically firing their weapons into what seemed to be a never-ending tide of death.
“Jesus…” Michael said, suddenly very dizzy and swaying on his feet. Rabbit grabbed him with his free hand and jerked him around to face him.
“What’s the situation down there?” he asked. When Michael didn’t answer, or show any sign of hearing him, Rabbit shook him hard and asked again. “
What’s the situation down there?!
”
“Uh…Willis is dead. Jonese got the others out but─” He looked at the scene playing out around him, then looked down into the washout.
“
Fuck
,” Rabbit spat.
Jonese began screaming.
November 24th
The sun was starting to burn away the fog. In most cases, that would have been a good thing. In our case, however, it only revealed how royally screwed we really were. I was still pinned to the blacktop with a deadhead snapping at my face, Mia and Jake were still throwing lead into the stream of runners converging on us, and Jonah was still fighting up close and personal with whatever slipped past the other two. The only new development was the noise of gunshots coming from behind my head in the direction of the washout. I couldn’t twist around to look, though I guessed it was Rabbit trying to help those below, which meant that more runners had slipped past us and fallen down into the gulley.
Something had to give. We couldn’t keep this up for long. I
knew
I couldn’t; after trying to wrestle my way out from under the runner, I’d given up and resigned myself to simply holding it away from my face, which resulted in drained energy and numb arms. If it hadn’t been for that, I’m sure I would have noticed that there were two guns firing behind my head.
“Hold on, Kasey!” shouted someone.
I thought it might have been Jonah. There was screaming coming from the pit, and a barrage of gunfire, so I couldn’t quite make out the voice, let alone distinguish it above the guttural shrieking emanating from the runners attacking us.
“Jake, on your right!” Mia screamed.
“Sonofa
bitch!
” Jake answered with a squeal.
My heart began racing. The runner on top of me felt it and reacted accordingly.
“Jonese, grab the rope!” Rabbit yelled.
Someone wailed in the washout.
“I can’t shoot the bastard without hitting him!” Michael shouted.
Was that Michael?
My heart tripled its pace. The runner quickened its snapping.
“Fuck, just shoot!” Rabbit answered. The gunfire behind me became erratic. I heard Jonah groan and cuss.
“We gotta fall back. Now!” Mia’s voice was desperate.
“Fall back
where
?!” So was Jake’s.
“Damnit!” I yelled into the face of the runner that’d had me pinned for the better part of five minutes.
Everything was falling apart around me. My friends were seconds from being
torn
apart and all I could do was wiggle and squirm beneath a dead asshole that slightly resembled my senior prom date. I caught myself getting mad at my friends for leaving me in this predicament. I really couldn’t blame them. From the sounds of it, they had their hands full. They couldn’t help me if they were dead, could they? I took one last breath, positive it would be my last, and shoved again as far as my arms would go. Why, I’m not sure. It was like bench pressing without a spotter. What would it accomplish?
Turned out, it accomplished quite a bit.
A few things happened all at once. An eruption of screams and shouts surrounded me, which was unsettling in and of itself. Gunfire immediately ceased, nearly stopping my heart with the sudden blanket of silence. And the dead weight that had been pressing against my arms was gone. Just like that. Gone. My savior hadn’t been one of my friends. It had been one of the…new things. I only caught a flash of it as the thing pounced in and latched its arms around the runner, simultaneously carrying itself and the deadhead off me and onto the ground several feet away. Like an eagle swooping in for the kill.
“What the hell?” I sat up with a stupid look on my face.
I swiveled my head, locating everyone in seconds and making sure we didn’t have anyone down. Everyone’s attention was on the new arrivals as they systematically destroyed the dead. Only Rabbit had his eyes turned in the opposite direction, down in the washout. His face mirrored the rest, however; he was horrified.
It was sheer chaos. Mia and Jake were jerking their gun barrels back and forth, unsure what to shoot or whether they should open fire at all. Jonah was hurt; his left arm hung awkwardly at his side, most likely from a dislocated shoulder. Michael stood between him and Rabbit, which confirmed that it had indeed been his voice I’d heard earlier. The new things─ they’d slaughtered the runners with cold intent. They weren’t even sneering as they ripped dead flesh with their bare hands. Their physical appearance only reaffirmed my opinion that these things weren’t dead, not like the rest. They moved like living beings as well. Except their faces. Those were blank. Stoic.
“Terminators,” I whispered to myself.
Clearly, I was in shock. I stared at the bedlam around me, certain we would be next, and, after seeing the Terminators in action, knowing without a doubt that we wouldn’t survive. I didn’t notice hands on my shoulders, and then arms wrapping around my arms and chest, until Michael rested his forehead against my neck.
He was crying.
Once the Terminators moved away from us and began tearing their way through the main mass of runners down the road, I called out to my friends, “Huddle up!”
It took a moment, but gradually they turned their shocked expressions on me and began staggering my way. Michael tightened his grip around me without moving from my side. Rabbit dropped to one knee next to us, clearly beaten. Everything was silent down in the washout, so I was starting to get a very bad feeling what had happened.
“Come on, bring it in,” I said again, jerking my chin to Mia, Jake, and Jonah, gesturing for them to gather in as close around me as they could.
Jonah grunted and winced as he knelt, his good arm supporting his bad one. His face and clothing were streaked with brown goo. Jake and Mia looked as though they had fared better, but their eyes were wild and they panted like dogs.
Adrenaline crash
.
“Finger off the trigger, Jake.”
I stared at him hard, practically willing him to calm down. He did as he was told without a word, looking like a lost kid, but he didn’t sling his rifle. He held it at the ready, just as Mia was still doing. I took a breath and reached up to clamp my hands on Michael’s arms.
“Listen up. I don’t know what’s about to happen. But we do it together.”
It was the most cliché thing I’d ever said, and if it’d been any other situation, I’d have laughed myself stupid over it. I’ve noticed when folks are placed into no-way-out situations, the cheesiest shit always falls from their mouths. I was no exception.
“Here they come.” Rabbit’s voice was level and steady.
Michael withdrew one arm from around me, pulled his pistol, and straightened his arm out past my head, aiming at the squad of Terminators ahead of us. He pulled me tighter with his other arm. Rabbit was doing the same, along with Mia and Jake. Jonah was as helpless as me, so he simply turned his head forward and waited. My rifle was lying next to me, yet I didn’t bother picking it up. I didn’t see the point. We held our collective breath and watched the group move as one, first toward us, then stopping maybe forty yards away. They breathed hard from the assault, some were hurt and bleeding, though none of them were mortally wounded. I was severely impressed, to be perfectly honest.
Then, as suddenly as they had appeared, they turned their backs on us and moved off, jogging down the road and disappearing into the steadily fading fog.
After several moments, Jake broke the silence with a whisper. “Did a bunch of zombies just save our asses and then leave?”
“Those weren’t zombies,” Rabbit said.
“No shit. We tried to tell you guys that after the cow…thing.” Mia’s voice was only slightly raised, still as shaky as the others.
“Christ,” Michael breathed against my ear. He had lowered his weapon but was otherwise tensed against me.
“Those were men,” Rabbit said. Everyone looked at him then, especially Jonah. Corporal Adder, Rabbit to his friends, sounded very much like a man on the edge of a total meltdown.
“Those were
men
,” he repeated. “How were those men? They
ate them!
They moved like—how were they—where did—”
Michael finally released me, pivoted on the pavement, and latched his hands on the collar of Rabbit’s shirt.
“Stow that shit, Corporal!” Michael jerked Rabbit forward until their noses almost touched. “You will get a handle on yourself and this situation. Is that understood?”
Rabbit answered with an automatic, “Yes, sir.” He shut his mouth and drew himself up, forcing confidence we knew he didn’t really have.
I wondered again about Michael’s past, specifically his years in the Army, and how much he had told Waters. I wasn’t the only one who had noticed Rabbit’s reaction. It was one that was generally reserved for those who outranked you.
“Alright.” Michael let go of him and turned to face the rest of us. “We need to regroup. Pency isn’t that much farther. We’ve got things to do and we’re out of time.” He stood and winced as he rolled his shoulders.
“Let’s get to it.”
* * *
Once Michael’s head wound had been tended to, Jonah’s shoulder popped back into its socket, and Gus freed of his big metal prison, we decided to leave the Humvees behind. It would take too long to find a way around the washout, time that would allow more deadheads to find us. As Michael had pointed out, our destination was not much further, maybe only a few hours away by foot. So with backpacks filled, ammo bags slung, rifles and shotguns locked and loaded, we were ready to head out. Only three things stopped us.
John was dead.
Captain Waters was dead.
And PFC Church was dead.
Except they weren’t
dead
dead. Not at first. By the time we were loaded up, the three men had “reanimated.” I hate that word. Sounds like a Disney remake.
The six of us stood at the edge of the washout, staring down at the carnage. The bodies of the runners—or at least what was left of them—were scattered about the wreckage. Jonese was also down, for good. Seems his last shot had gone into his mouth. The Terminators had taken care of the deadheads in the washout, but not before the sonsabitches had taken big bites out of our friends.
John’s big body moved slower in death than it had in life. Granted, John had never been a track star. The runners had chewed through most of the tendons and shit in his legs. So he lumbered about, his steps disjointed and clumsy, his intestines and other innards jiggling just inside a gaping hole in his side, dangerously close to rolling out with each awkward move.
Waters and Church were in worse shape. Waters had been dismembered and gutted like a fish. It obviously wasn’t stopping the virus from trying to move the body though. While his clawing was frantic, the rate at which he was actually pulling himself along was so slow it was pitiful. He was trying to make that noise they all make, but his throat and lower jaw had been eaten. Church, who was repeatedly slamming himself against the dirt wall below us, reminded me of Two-Face. The left side of his body from the top of his head to his feet had been stripped of flesh, right down to the bone. What organs still remained in his body were poking out from between his ribs, as if the runner had been so manic in its attack that it hadn’t even bothered gutting him through the abdominal cavity. His bowels were indeed gone, regardless of the style of disembowelment.
It was a mess. Each time my mind tried to replay the events of what might have happened down there, to make some sense of it, my stomach rebelled and threatened to mutiny. But it was more than that. It was seeing John down there, turned into one of those things, helpless when he was attacked, no doubt alive and screaming as he was shredded. It made my heart physically hurt. He had fought so incredibly hard for all of us, for so long. Big John deserved a better death than the one he’d been dealt.