My legs buckled and my head swam from getting to my feet too fast. I grabbed the tree next to me for support, just as the zombie’s hand wrapped around my ankle. I kicked his hand away, turning in time to see him getting to his feet.
I wasn’t playing around anymore. His mouth was stuck open from the knife. Now was my best opportunity to kill him, while he couldn’t bite me. I lunged, knocking him onto his back near a large, moss covered rock. Skin sloughed off his neck each time I smashed his head into the stone.
I didn’t stop until it caved in. Gooey matter clung to the boulder, while half-congealed blood pooled in the muddy water surrounding it. He lay motionless and truly dead, arms sprawled at his sides. There was a handgun resting in a holster under his arm. I hadn’t noticed it when he attacked. His sweater was striped tan and blue, but thick mud blended colors together, effectively masking the dark leather of the shoulder rig. I leaned down and unhooked it. The bottom half of the gun wasn’t as dirty as the top.
After wiping it clean, I recognized it as one of my favorites. I’d used a Glock .40 many times before. Its weight was familiar in my hands, and it had a full clip.
I yanked my knife from his mouth, making sure it was as clean of muck and blood as I could get it. I took the holster, too, since it would make storing and accessing the gun easier.
My lungs burned from exertion. My muscles protested each movement, but I forced myself to stand anyway. I ignored the pain as best as I could, but limped slowly down the path.
If there was one zombie, there were probably more. Still I hoped he was a fluke. One that had floated in from the sea and hadn’t made it to the living yet.
All the hopeful thinking distracted me from the hodgepodge fence in front of me. I came inches from running into it, since the section blocking the path was created from thin wire. It was almost as tall as me, which put it at six feet. Traveling into the forest on either side were sheets of tin, wooden boards, or anything else that could be added to the barricade. Sections were lashed together with chains and ropes. I needed to get over it, but curls of barbed wire or boards with nails protected the fence.
I gave the section in front of me a hard tug, but it didn’t budge. There was only one thing to do: follow it until I found a weak spot.
My breath came out in white puffs. My muddy, wet clothes chaffed as I maneuvered around the bushes and stumps pressing against the fence.
On the other side, there was nothing but more forest for at least fifty yards. Then I smelled it. The ripe scent of rotting flesh. My grip tightened on the Glock. No groans or shuffling, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any undead beyond the thicket of bushes now surrounding me. I tried to see through them, but they grew too wild.
I hate rhododendrons
, I thought, as their plastic-like leaves and spiny twigs slapped against my face.
When I cleared the immediate area, I saw the source of the stench. A small figure was torn in half on the other side of the barrier. I couldn’t be sure if it was a him or her. All of the skin was peeled off, the bones and flesh chewed. Yet the size of the skull and remains couldn’t hide that it had been a child. Two bullet entry points rested side by side on the front of its skull, hairline cracks extending outward.
The body was fresh, which is what disturbed me the most. There were no signs of it freezing over or having the chance to melt into the ground. Thin ropes of intestines trailed out from the torso, congealed blood still coating them. Whatever—
whoever
—ate the kid did it within the past day or two. And since the body was on the other side of the fence, it meant there was an opening somewhere and there were undead beyond.
As for the bullet holes…Was it a mercy killing? Or was the kid killed post-consumption? I scolded myself for trying to put the pieces together when the facts were obvious. I had a challenge ahead of me.
I had no choice but to keep following the fence and searching for an opening. After another uneventful fifteen minutes of treading through muck and getting scratched up by sticker bushes, I found a weakened area. It was a chain link section tied to two adjacent wooden barriers constructed of miscellaneous wood. If I cut the ropes, it would be easy to push the fence down and get in.
It took forever to saw through each rope and undo their loops around the posts. I had to put every bit of my strength into pushing and pulling the fence until it dislodged from the mud and toppled inward. The metal wire clanged loudly and quivered when it hit the ground.
What was done was done. I paused to listen for any unwanted attention and heard nothing but a light breeze rustling the plant life. Above, the sun was at its zenith, burning bright white in a clear blue sky.
There wasn’t a path to follow anymore, so I made do with trying to walk a straight line. I used a technique Frank taught me, using my knife to mark tree trunks with an X as I went. That way I wouldn’t start backtracking. It sped my progress up and I made it deeper into the forest.
That’s when I started finding more bodies. Men, women, kids. Whatever happened to the compound of people looked unintentional. An undead had to have gotten in somehow. This was too random. No one was being singled out.
They were all eaten beyond the point of returning. I’d already been feeling sick from my boat ride over. Seeing and smelling the ripped organs didn’t help.
Somewhere ahead, a bush shook. I saw a small figure weave between trees. It darted behind a larger trunk. It had to be a living being. No runner or slow would go
away
from me. Judging by the size, it was a kid. I knew how to play kids.
“Hello? Is anyone there?”
I tucked the Glock into the side pocket of my backpack then splayed my hands in front of me. The universal sign of peace.
Look non-threatening. Gain their trust. Simple
.
A pale face peeked out. Then half a body. A whole body. The girl stood twenty yards away from me. She’d been through hell and back, by the looks of her. I wasn’t sure what color her long parka had been before, but now it was the trendy dirt-and-blood shade so many people sported. She wore an orange and white hat with two knitted cat ears poking from the sides.
“I’m lost and looking for someone. Can you help me?”
I cringed when I said it.
Could you sound anymore like a pedophile? I have some candy and lost my puppy…What an idiot
.
But kids were dumb. Every news article on a kidnapping made me feel awful, yet I was never surprised when I read a follow-up story on how witnesses saw the kid get into a van willingly.
This girl was no different. She began a hesitant walk towards me, glancing behind her every few steps. They were wild animals—kids, that is—so I stayed still, trying not to scare her away.
When she was within ten feet, she spoke. “Are you looking for Minister Encler? Cause they strung him up.”
Her too-blue eyes were innocent, but sharp. A flash of memory hit me. Another child, just like her. What was her name? Jenna? Jenny? That’s it, Jenny. The girl who saved me in Startup. Blew a hole through someone’s head when I thought all was lost.
“They killed him?”
“Guess so. He was moving when I got away, but you know they turn into zombies. Who are you looking for? Pretty much everyone is dead.”
Pine needles and small twigs clung to her knit hat. A splattering of blood covered her right shoulder, spreading out towards her right hip. It looked like castoff from a gunshot wound. Her eyes were sunken and red rimmed. Those of someone who hadn’t slept in days.
This kid was too nonchalant. It was unsettling.
“I’m looking for my friend’s sister, Melinda, and—”
The girl cut me off. “Dunno if she is dead.”
“Okay.” I took a deep breath. “Then I’m looking for someone with dark hair and eyes named Blaze. She’s—”
“Oh, the witch? Yeah, she’s in the cage.”
I didn’t like either part of that sentence. The casual, matter-of-face way she said it didn’t help. When I looked at her expectantly, she stared back at me, clueless.
“A witch? What the hell does that even mean?”
Before she could answer, a symphony of ragged screams echoed through the forest. Runners. She turned to flee, but I grabbed her by the collar of her jacket and yanked her back.
“Let me go! They’re coming!”
“Tell me which way Fort Christian is and where Blaze is, then I’ll let you go.”
She twisted out of my grasp and shot off like a rabbit towards the fence. Now closer, the sound of runners made my hair stand on end. I had to make a choice—follow the girl, face the runners, or try to outrun them. Following her was counterproductive. I wasn’t willing to backtrack that much for a piece of information. If I made it to the camp, I’d find Blaze. Knowing more about the situation there would be convenient, sure, but not essential.
As for facing the runners, I wasn’t sure I had a choice. They’d hear me just as they tracked the girl.
A flash of bright blue passed between two trees in front of me. They were getting closer. I didn’t have time to consider what direction I’d go in, so I set off to my left. It was away from the runners, but maybe I’d run into the girl again.
Mud sucked at my boots and branches broke as I barreled my way through. The forest was old and overgrown, hindering me at every turn. My wet clothes made it hard to run. I felt rashes erupting all over my body from the fear.
Then I broke through onto another path. I went right, farther into the forest. Only a minute or two of running took its toll on me. I began to sweat and the cold air made my lungs burn.
I had to stop. I bent down, my hands against my knees, and coughed until the pain in my chest lessened.
Alone again. Could I really have outrun a handful of fast undead? I quieted my breathing, closed my eyes, and listened.
No, of course not. It only gets worse from here
.
There was motion behind me—far enough away that it didn’t concern me. Sounds of zombies seeking prey in the forest. But up ahead were different, faint screams. Living human screams with an intermittent gunshot. Apparently I planned a trip to Fort Christian during the worst of times.
Dr. Banks’ locket and the torn photo of Blaze weighed heavily in my pocket. I wasn’t going to let another obstacle get my optimism down.
Albeit at a slower pace, I made my way towards the sounds of chaos. This was it. The end of my journey. She might be dead, but she was there somewhere.
I’d found Blaze.
Chapter 24
Fort Christian reminded me of shanty towns I’d seen photos of in high school world culture classes. These places are, or rather were, some of the strongest examples of poverty, and it’s very upsetting. The settlement looked like nothing more than a pile of junkyard scrap. Except for one relatively well constructed building, none exceeded one story. There were at least twenty of them. Their roofs peeked out from behind a stronger, more solid fence than the one I’d encountered before in the forest, which must’ve been a preliminary perimeter fence. The primary fence circling Fort Christian was mostly constructed from metal with intermittent sections of wood. There were few gaps between its slats.
The gunshots and shouts had almost stopped entirely by the time I made it to the area. I was glad. The reduced threat of conflict was fine by me.
I peeled my backpack off, retrieving a power bar and my unfinished flavored water while I came up with a plan. I was surprised the pink pack hadn’t gotten me killed. It was a bright, shining beacon for crazies and potential living threats. However the undead didn’t respond to it, but I wasn’t sure they could see in color. Now I walked into a situation with potential alive threats, though, I decided it was time to drop it.
Shivers coursed from the top of my head throughout my body. I braced myself, biting down hard on the chewy power bar in my mouth and clutching the bottle. If I didn’t get out of there within the next couple hours, I’d die from the cold. How embarrassing would that be?
The shaking passed after I stomped my feet and windmilled my arms to bring back some circulation. My gaze wandered to the two story building in the center of town.
Its façade was different than the other shanties. Instead of being thrown together from a hodgepodge of materials, it was made of consistent sheets of wood, 2x4s, and had a shingled roof. Was it Minister Encler’s residence? Or a church? It was almost structured like a watchtower.
I wondered where a bunch of crazies would keep a cage. It could be on the outskirts of town, as some prisons were. Then I remembered the gallows and guillotines of medieval times, which were quite public.
Thus my plan developed. As soon as I got over the fence, I’d circle the outskirts of the town until I could get a good look at the front of the building. I couldn’t assess how bad it was in there until I covered some ground.
I checked my Glock and knife and hid my pack underneath some sticker bushes. I crouched low, keeping an eye out for anyone outside the encampment.
An explosion erupted near the front of town. I saw a plume of black smoke rise. The scent of burnt oil carried on the light breeze. A series of faint shouts, then groans, followed.
The area between me and the fence had been cleared of bushes and trees. I dashed across the expanse, stopping at the fence and pressing myself up against it.
The fence was even more formidable than I thought. The metal sections were welded together, and it contained only a few sections of wood. It was a good foot over my head, too. There was another important difference; no barbed wire.
If I could get footing, I could boost myself up enough to slide over. My leg throbbed just from the thought.
Maybe you could squeeze through farther on, or find something to climb on for a boost?
I was better off taking a quick look before trying to jump a fence and hurting myself even more. I trudged down a ways, keeping my shoulder to the fence.
“Help! Hey, help!”
My gaze focused farther ahead. Through thick mud, a man wriggled out from under the fence. Only his head and neck showed. His features blurred under a thick layer of dirt. He was five big steps away from me. The head disappeared, and two hands began clawing handfuls of earth out.