This Shattered Land - 02 (10 page)

 “Think
you’re up to taking on the river today?” Gabe asked.

I
looked up, and immediately regretted it. “Sure.” I replied. “Let me finish
getting some food on my stomach.”

I
chomped away at my breakfast until I managed to get the whole thing down my
gullet. Right about the time I swallowed the last bite Gabriel stopped by and
deposited a big plastic cup of cold water on my bedside table.

“Drink
this, take a couple of pain pills, and be ready to go in an hour.” He said.

“Hey,
what about tea?” I asked. “I saw you boiling water.”

“Hot
water’s on the stove. Knock yourself out.” He said, and shut the door to his
bedroom.

“Thanks.”
I grumbled.

A
couple of minutes later, I heard huffing and puffing coming from Gabriel’s room
indicating the start of another brutal round of calisthenics that he put
himself through every morning. Push-ups, sit-ups, squats, mountain climbers,
eight counts—he even had a pull-up bar welded to the wall. He was at it for the
better part of forty-five minutes. I had my own routine, but I usually
preferred to work out in the evening. The rigors of daily life in the Carolina mountain
country are taxing all by themselves, and even though I had not set foot in a
gym in nearly three years, I was still in pretty good shape. I had lost a good
deal of muscle mass, and I was not as strong as I was before the Outbreak, but
what I had lost in power I more than made up for in vastly improved endurance.

Once
my plate was empty, I grabbed a mug from the cupboard and poured some hot water
over a bag of tea. The caffeine helped me wake up and cleared most of the fog
from my head. Three glasses of water and four Ibuprofen later, I actually
started to feel alive again. The pounding in my head subsided, and I briefly
debated taking a quick bath, but decided against it. The bed underneath me was
just too damn comfortable. It was vital that I spend a little more time with
it.

Gabe
finished his morning routine and emerged from his room. Sweat drenched his
clothes and sprayed everything within a few feet of him as he walked around the
bunker gathering a bucket, a bar of soap, and a sponge. He tapped the laptop a
couple of times and activated the water heater above the shower stall in the
corner. I heard a hissing sound, followed by the metallic babble of water
filling the tank. Gabe half turned to look at me over one shoulder as he
squatted in front of the computer.

“You
taking a shower this morning?”

I
shook my head as I sat up. “No, I’m good.”

He
nodded and clicked a few keys to shut the water off at two gallons. I stumbled
out of bed, got dressed, and buckled on my web gear before climbing the ladder
to the surface. The morning was bright, sunny, and probably only about forty
degrees. My breath issued forth in a pale mist as I walked toward the cabin. A
quick glance beyond the western fence line showed me that someone had been nice
enough to push the corpses from last night over the edge of the cliff. I was
grateful for that. The effort probably would have set my skull to pounding
again.

Bright
sunlight warmed my back as I approached the gravel driveway that arced in front
of the cabin. The Glovers had clearly been up and moving for a couple of hours
at least. Sarah was replenishing the stack of firewood beside the stove with
split logs from the front porch while Tom and Brian were cleaned a couple of
rabbit carcasses on the plastic folding table they brought with them from their
old camp. A small cast-iron pot of water dangled over a fire nearby, slowly
coming to a boil.

“So
which one of you Elmer Fudd wannabe’s murdered Bugs Bunny?” I called out as I
walked toward them.

Tom
looked up and grinned, patting his son on the shoulder. “That would be this
guy. Got ‘em this morning out by the tree line. There was a whole bunch of them
munching on some clover over there. He got these two before they ran off.”

Brian
looked up and smiled. His delight was slightly disturbing, being that his hands
were covered in blood and there was a pile of rabbit guts on the table in front
of him. I guess there was still a bit of the old world squeamishness left in me
when it came to children. When I thought about it for a moment, it made perfect
sense that Brian should learn to clean and dress wild game. This was, after
all, the way humanity had survived for countless millennia before the dawn of
civilization. If the human race expected to survive, kids would have to start pulling
their weight. 

 “Dad’s
been showing me how to clean them.” Brian said. “He says we can use the hides
to make Mom a pair of slippers.” He held up a pair of bloody rabbit pelts.

A
couple of bullet holes perforated the skins right where the heart and lungs
would have been. The kid’s marksmanship impressed me. Rabbits are fast, and it
takes a sharp eye and a quick trigger finger to bring them down.

“That’s
very thoughtful of you Brian. Do you know how to clean the hides?” I asked.

“Not
yet, but Dad said he’ll teach me.”

I
looked up at Tom and cocked an eyebrow at him. “Where did you learn how to do
that?”

“My
old man was one of those survivalist nuts.” He replied. “Used to take me and my
brothers hunting and camping all the time when I was a kid.” Tom’s eyes grew
distant. A reminiscent smile crossed his face. “Those were good times, back
before Mom died. Dad was still happy in those days, and he just loved being out
in the woods with his boys. Taught us all kinds of stuff.”

Tom’s
smile lasted a few seconds more, and then slowly faded, replaced by the same
hollow-eyed sorrow that I saw on my own face every morning. He looked down at
his son, and brightened a little. At least he still had his wife and his little
boy. That’s a hell of a lot to live for. Brian gave us both a quizzical glance
before picking up his knife and going back to work on the rabbit.

“You
guys heading out this morning?” Tom asked.

“That’s
the plan,” I replied, taking a deep breath, “I’m just waiting for Gabe to
finish getting ready.”

“Had
anything to eat yet?”

“Yeah,
I’m good.”

I
heard the door to the cabin close, and looked up to see Sarah smiling as she
stepped off the porch.

“How
you feeling this morning?” She asked.

I
shrugged. “None the worse for wear.”

Sarah
stepped closer to me, her eyes doubtful as she got a better look “You sure? You
look kind of pale, and your eyes are all bloodshot.” 

I
gave another shrug by way of response and strolled off toward the front gate.
Better just to walk away from that conversation. Truth be told, I didn’t feel
so great, but I had work to do and I was not about to let a stupid little
hangover slow me down. A couple of cardinals took off in a burst of flapping
wings and tail feathers when I reached the fence. I crossed my arms over one of
the rails and rested my chin on them as I stared out across the meadow.
Something moving through the forest just beyond the tree line caught my
attention. I squinted and covered my eyes to get a better look, hoping it was a
deer and cursing myself for not grabbing my rifle. A few seconds later, the
figure resolved itself and stumbled up the steep mountainside crashing through
low hanging limbs and undergrowth. I cursed. Just another infected. I was about
to draw my pistol and walk out the gate when I saw more movement behind it. I
cupped my hands over my eyes to shut out the sun’s glare.

What
I saw coming up the hill made my blood run cold.  

“Oh
shit, not good.” I muttered under my breath.

I
turned and walked quickly back toward the bunker. Sarah saw the look on my face
and went on alert as I approached.

“Eric,
what’s wrong?” She asked.

I
pointed back behind me. “Infected, lots of them, headed our way.” I gestured at
Tom and Sarah. “You two go check the gates, make sure they’re locked down tight.
Brian, go get your gun and one of those big green boxes of nine-millimeter
ammo. There are extra magazines in a black box next to the rifle rack. Bring it
up here and load up as many as you can. Tom, Sarah, when you’re done with the
fence, get a couple of M-4’s, some ammo, and the big bag of spare clips hanging
from the wall beside the salt barrels. Start loading them up. I’ll go get
Gabriel.”

Tom
and Sarah looked out toward the tree line just as the first few infected
emerged into the clearing. Their faces went pale when they saw how many walkers
were bearing down on us. Trees swayed and branches shuddered as the undead
passed beneath them, crashing like waves against an ocean wall. Birds took to
the air in flapping, squawking bursts while ghouls scrambled and heaved beneath
them.

“Oh
my God.” Sarah whispered, reaching out for Tom. It was the first time I had
ever seen her look rattled. Brian’s face went still, the rabbit lying forgotten
on the table in front of him.

“Guys,
come on, we need to move!” I shouted at them, clapping my hands. They jumped
and looked at me with wide frightened eyes for a moment. Sarah was the first
one to get her head screwed back on straight.

“Right,
sorry. Tom, sweetie, go check the front gate.” She said, shaking her husband by
the shoulder. He came back to himself with a start.

“Okay,
I got it.” He said and sprinted off toward the fence.

Sarah
briefly clutched Brian to her chest and kissed him on the head before gently
pushing him toward me and running for the west gate. I grabbed Brian and half
dragged him behind me as I sped to the bunker. We climbed down the ladder and
made a beeline for the armory. Gabriel looked up at us from a short stool where
he sat lacing up his boots.

“Get
your ass back on the clock, brother.” I shouted. “We got infected coming at
us.”

Gabriel
looked up for a second, then quickly finished tying his boots.

“How
many?” He asked.

“Don’t
know. A fucking lot. Must be hundreds of ‘em.” I said as I loaded my rifle.

 Seconds
later, Gabe was buttoning up a bush jacket and strapping on his MOLLE vest. It
took the three of us maybe a minute to grab rifles and ammunition before we
climbed back up to the surface. Just as I emerged from the hole, Tom skidded to
a halt in the dirt near the hatch.

“Get
me a chain and a padlock!” He shouted, nearly frantic.

I
climbed from the bunker and stepped aside to let Gabe crawl out behind me.
“Why, what’s wrong with the one on the gate?” I asked.

“It’s
broken. I think it’s been cut.”

“Cut?”
I shouted, incredulous. “What the hell do you mean, cut?”

“There’s
no time, dammit! Where can I get another one?” He yelled, grabbing me by the
arms.

I
swore vehemently and dropped my gear.

“Come
on.” I said, and started running.

The
door to the tool shed burst open and slammed against the wall when I went
through it at a dead sprint. I ran to a metal bin on a shelf near the floor and
grabbed a length of heavy chain and a sturdy padlock. Tom snatched it from me
and took off hell-bent for glory back to the gate. I hurried back over to the
bunker hatch and retrieved the weapons that I left on the ground. Gabe was
already by the main gate with his big SCAR firing on the infected shambling
across the clearing. Tom shouted to him to stop shooting and move out of the
way. Gabe ceased fire long enough to step aside and let the other man wrap the
chain around the gate. The lock clicked into place, and Tom stumbled back
nearly tripping over his own feet. I reached the gate just as Gabe and Brian
opened up with their rifles again. A wide skirmish line of walking corpses had
emerged from the tree line, their ranks growing thicker as they stumbled toward
the fence. My heart dropped down into my stomach as I surveyed the wide field
beyond the trees and took stock of our situation. The horde emerging from the forest
was one of the largest that I had ever seen. The entire eastern end of the
mountain leading up to the cabin was an undulating tide of the walking dead. I
turned to Tom and Sarah, who were busy loading magazines for their M-4’s.

“Sarah,
take what you have and go to that end of the fence.” I said, pointing. “Shoot
as many as you can. Tom, I need you to stay here and load mags. Faster is
better.” He gave a quick nod and went back to work. Sarah loaded her rifle and
stuffed as many magazines in her coat pockets as she could fit before taking
her place on the firing line.  

I
propped the HK’s forearm on a fence rail and braced it between my thumb and
forefinger to steady my aim. The first walker my sights lined up on was an
older woman wearing the tattered remnants of a set of hospital scrubs.
That’s
strange,
I thought,
there isn’t a hospital for at least twenty miles.
I squeezed the trigger and blasted her brains out onto the rocky hillside. The
next one was a tall, powerfully built man wearing a set of bloodstained
coveralls and boots that hadn’t fallen apart yet. Either he had not been dead
for very long, or those were some good quality shoes. The red dot on my optics
blotted out his head as I squeezed the trigger again. He went down like a
puppet with its strings cut. I adjusted my aim and dropped another one. And
another, and another. Ninety rounds, and seventy or so dead infected later, I
gave Tom my empty magazines and grabbed a handful of freshly loaded ones. The
four of us poured lead at the army of walkers as fast as we could pull the
trigger, but it quickly became clear that we were fighting a losing battle. For
every one we destroyed, two more seemed to take its place.