A Shrouded World - Whistlers (25 page)

I was looking from the slope to the bikers. Trip didn’t bother with the precaution and just headed up. Blind luck, cloak of invisibility, and/or blinding light from guardian angels, I don’t know which, but he made it up without attracting any attention. Jack was rubbing his eyes with his thumb and index finger, shaking his head. There really wasn’t a more apt way to show what we were both feeling.

“You’re next,” Jack said.

I grabbed the RPG and decided to pull a ‘Trip’ and just go for it. No sense to stopping and seeing if they were watching. If they caught my movements, I would hear the cries of alarm and then the revving of engines soon enough. I looked back after I got to the crux. Jack was doing the same pained expression. I shrugged my shoulders.

I had to stop Trip from crawling onto the side of the I-beam that was directly exposed to the oncoming bikers.

“Yeah, that makes more sense,” he said as he got onto the side of the beam I directed him to.

I looked back to Jack, who was watching the bikers. They were all back on their rides and getting ready to come our way. There was no way he could make it without being spotted. He waved to me with his hand to move. I quickly got behind Trip who had wriggled a good ten feet out onto the beam.

“That’s far enough,” I told Trip.

If I didn’t tell him, there would be a good chance he’d cross the entire structure and come down the other side.

“Where’s Mack?”

“Jack?” I assumed that’s who he was talking about, considering there were only the three of us, and I guess maybe all the others that lived in Trip’s head as well. “He’s going to have to stay where he is for now.”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

“Yeah, me either, Trip.”

I could just make out the back of Jack’s legs as he pivoted around the bridge support as the bikers neared. The reverberations off the steel became almost unbearably loud as the multitude of motorcycles approached. The steel vibrated from the sound. For a moment I could sympathize with Quasimodo as he sat in the bell tower of Notre Dame. I expected a crescendo of noise that would eventually start to tail off as they came through and passed on by. In a perfect world, that is what would have exactly happened. Not this world though, no. The group of bikers bunched together under that bridge and revved their engines even louder before shutting the machines down.

“Oh no,” I said, letting my head tap against the rusted metal.

They were stopping to take a break. Jack was in a world of hurt if any of them decided to check things out. I suppose even we would be screwed if they went past our beam and looked back and up. At least Jack had the ability to fire effectively. I’d be hanging my rifle over the side firing wildly.

Trip hadn’t moved or spoken in a minute or two, which was approaching a world record for him. I then heard a rhythmic breathing. He was asleep. I wasn’t sure if I was alarmed that he might become startled and roll off, or become startled and blurt something out loud, which would get us seen, or if I was just plain thrilled that he was asleep and quiet. It was a fine line with him. I just had to hope whatever unseen force kept him alive was working diligently now.

The things below us were getting off of their bikes. They were not fanning out; they were, however, starting to coalesce on Lucy. Some were taking off their masks. What I saw was horrifying. If what I was looking at had been human once, that certainly wasn’t the case anymore—at least, not from my angle anyway.

I could see the tops of their heads, which were a wrinkled mass of white. Skin folds large enough to lose a cigar in dominated. Tufts of hair stuck out at odd angles and in random places. I couldn’t see what they were doing, but the sounds of animalistic grunts and the rending of tissue from bone combined with the lip smacking crunch of matter was all I needed to know. They were eating Lucy. Humans, night runners, and even zombies didn’t eat zombies; this was something altogether different. That they didn’t like sunlight was evident from their skin tone and the heavy clothing they wore from head to foot to block out its harmful rays.

Were they experiments gone terribly wrong?

I didn’t think so, the changes to their physiology were just too fantastic for the human body to have endured or sustained. We were dealing with a whole new threat here. Trip snored on, oblivious to it all.

I’m half a step from following Mike and Trip up the embankment when I glance over at the riders. They are coming down the road, and coming fast. Mike is looking down at me, and I wave him off. My options at this point are extremely limited. I hope that the bikers just drive on through, but my gut tells me that it isn’t going to be that easy.

Glancing from Mike to rapidly approaching motorcycles, I wonder if Mike will help if I’m discovered. Do I really even want him to? We’re grossly outnumbered, and the only thing we have going for us is that I didn’t see them carrying any weapons. Again, that doesn’t mean that they don’t have any, only that I didn’t see them. If I am to die in this God-forsaken place, I want Mike to survive in the off chance that he could somehow get a message to Lynn and the kids. At the very least, that would give them some closure. How he would do that is beyond me, but then again, so many things are. And having spent days in this world, I’ve come to realize that anything is possible. If I do manage to make it through these next few moments, I’m going to make sure that I trade more information with him in the unlikely event that he can let them know.

I angle around the stanchion to try and stay out of sight as they draw nearer.

Keep moving, you bastards
, I think. The ground trembles from the sound of their approach.

As much as I would like to keep them in sight, I don’t dare show any of myself. However, if I do get discovered, the leader is going to be the first to go down. That’s always a risky move as it could either throw them into disarray or spur them on. It’s been my experience,
however, that it will cause a measure of fear in the ones following. After all, they’re the leader for a reason.

The thunder of their approach is damn near deafening, especially with my hearing. I’ve learned to tune that down to an extent, but there is only so much you can do about a volume of noise such as they are creating. The sound of advance changes. Even without seeing them, I know they are slowing down. This is the absolute worst thing that could be happening.

Fuck you, world
, I think.
I hate this miserable, rat-infested cesspool
.

Sure enough, they come to a stop not more than twenty feet from where I’m standing, their bikes idling in the underpass, echoing off its concrete and metallic structure. Then, all goes quiet as they shut down their bikes, leaving only the faint whisper of wind above as it blows through the bridge’s superstructure.

Did they spot us? If so, they don’t seem overly cautious with their approach
.

It could just be a coincidence. After all, it is a shady place to rest. I wait to see what transpires, hoping to hell that Mike can keep Trip under control. It would be just like him to yell “hi” from his overhead perch.

Holding my M-4, my finger resting on the trigger guard, stroking the selector switch with my thumb, I risk a peek. The leader quickly comes into view. He’s pulls off his mask and my finger tightens at what is revealed. I’ve been dealing with night runners for seemingly ever, and even zombies for the past few days. Dealing with those aberrations couldn’t prepare me for what I’m seeing; and I think it would be preferable to dealing with either or both of them. At least I knew them.

He has the skin the color of copier paper, with huge folds of skin from his head to partway down his face. It almost completely covers where his eyes should be. The thing’s nose
is pushed flat against his face, leaving only a small opening in the center. The ears are non-existent, the skin pulled tight where they should have been, leaving nothing to indicate it ever had them.

As if that
isn’t enough, below those changes, the skin turns from an alabaster white to a charcoal black. Looking at him, I think shooting him would be the most humane thing I ever did.

Is
this creature this world’s equivalent of the night runners or zombies? Did something happen across all worlds to create creatures of their own?

Pulling back out of sight, with my pulse racing and my heart pounding, I take a deep breath to ward off the panic threatening to rise up. Here is yet another creature, and I sincerely doubt they’d want to buy the first round, or any round thereafter; unless it was as a toast over my dead body
. I’m not overly enthusiastic about the thought of meeting my end only to be strapped to the ass end of a bike and pulled down the highway. Of course, I guess I wouldn’t care a whole lot – I’d be dead – but the thought of it sickens my stomach.

If the things on the other side of the pillar were once human, they certainly
aren’t anymore. The disjointed way they move argues against their ever being human.

Shit, I bet they’re faster than a snake as well. That would just be par for the course
.

I sneak another look. As if things couldn’t become more surreal, the thing’s black maw of a mouth opens, revealing rows of tiny, yellow, serrated teeth. It picks up the zombie Mike had killed with ease. That lets me know
that, even though the creature looks sickly, that isn’t necessarily the case. It has strength. The zombie must weigh somewhere in the neighborhood of a hundred pounds, but he picks her up like she was some kid’s discarded toy.

Great! They’re strong
, too. This just gets better and better
.

I should probably have guessed what was going to happen, but I wasn’t prepared for it. The leader’s mouth opens even wider, like a snake unhinging its jaw. It brings the
dead creature closer, covers half of the zombie’s face with its mouth, and rips the flesh and muscle off. The sight and sound of the flesh being torn off is enough to almost empty my, what was it, oh yeah, ‘Food Trip Enjoys’ onto the ground.

Fuck me!
Did they drag those torsos as a form of tenderizing the meat?

I’m
pressing hard on the trigger guard with enough force to damn near bend it. The leader is eating this zombie’s face as if he might be eating a lollipop. I mean, aside from all of the weird shit going on just a few feet from me, who in the hell eats zombies? I mean, fuck! Really!? I swear that if Mike hadn’t carted off the RPG, I would use it and take my chances.

Of course, they’re probably shrapnel-proof
.

The rest of the things begin clamoring for position as they tear into the zombie. Some of the others retrieve the carcasses they had been dragging behind. Watching them tear into the bodies, it isn’t hard thinking they are some kind of land shark that has been whipped into a feeding frenzy. Several times, one of the creatures is shoved or punched away from what they must consider a succulent portion. The snarling and sick sound of flesh being stripped from bone is almost too much to bear. But, I have to endure it. I mean,
it’s not like I really have a choice.

I still haven’t seen any weapons, which is a good thing. These things already know how to operate machinery, or at least a motorcycle. That means they have coordination. Those teeth and their apparent strength mean close quarters is a no-go. Feeling the weight of my M-4 is a comfort. I still have the advantage of range. Of course, I still don’t know how they would react to a bullet tearing into them. The night runners go down easily enough, and the zombies do with a head shot.

What will it take to put one of these things down?
I have no clue.

Two of the things start fighting over a zombie calf. I watch as this will be a learning lesson; giving me a clue of how they fight, their strengths and weaknesses. Ribbons of muscle hang down from a larger creature, his slightly smaller adversary just recovering from a punch that sent him sprawling to the pavement. The rest of the group isn’t paying any attention to the brawl happening just a few feet away.

The larger one suddenly folds over as if it had been punched in the stomach. The smaller one, upon rising, hadn’t moved a muscle. An impossibly darker stain forms and runs down the front of the larger one’s jacket.

Blood? Is it bleeding?

I quickly glance at the others, expecting to see one of them holding a weapon. They are continuing to feast on the corpses, growling and tearing flesh. I hadn’t heard a thing and, slowly moving my head so I don’t attract attention from a sudden movement, begin searching the bridge and surrounding area. There isn’t a sign of anyone around or a tell-tale wisp of smoke that would indicate a weapon had been fired.

Looking back to the two brawlers, I see the smaller one’s hand is upraised. I don’t see it holding anything, yet it must have shot. I don’t have the slightest clue how. The larger one collapses to the ground after being struck in the head with some kind of projectile.

Is it possible these things have the ability to produce a projectile like that? That’s some scary shit if they can.

The smaller one steps over the fallen one, pulls the calf from its chattering teeth, and begins eating. Twenty minutes later, having finished with the food they brought with them, they turn and begin tearing into the remains of their traveling companion. That’s worse than the night runners or zombies, neither of which eats their own. My only hope at this point is that lunch is over and they’ll continue on their way. Nope.

Of course not
, I think, watching them move about to find spots to settle into.
Is it nap time?

Looking around at the sparse cover, my position looks to be one of the more prime locations for a nap.

Dammit!
I think, not relishing the idea of going into a fight without having a clue about my adversary.

I had to learn about night runners the hard way, the different kinds of zombies as well. I’m just not in the learning mood at the moment.