American Revenant (Book 3): The Monster In Man (3 page)

Chapter 4

From his hiding spot just
inside the tree-line, Rick was able to watch the main armory building, as well
as most of the Huckleberry Park area. 

Through his rifle scope
he stared at the parking lot surrounded by a fence hung with zombies.  That
confused him, as well as causing him some concern.  The type of men that could
do that, no matter their intentions, were the type of people that would do
anything to survive.

Panning his scope over
the upper lot he noticed several vehicles sitting close to the front door.  An
older pickup truck, a severely battered off-road vehicle, and to his surprise
he saw the yellow VW Arianna had taken when she had run away from the camp.

As he watched, two men
exited the front doors of the main armory building and stood in front of the VW
for a moment, talking.  The distance was too great to hear anything, but he
could see one man gesticulating, waving his hands at the road, toward the
gardens and beyond.  The other man, obviously a subordinate, nodded his head
several times, possibly affirming orders. 

Both men wore battle
dress uniforms, though the one nodding had on an olive-drab t-shirt, which Rick
found unusual, not because the man was out of uniform, but because the shirt
appeared to be clean. 

The gesticulating man had
an M16A2 slung over his shoulder, while the other cradled an M4A1.  Both wore
side-arms, as well as long-bladed knives. 

The men finished talking,
and the one wearing the suspiciously clean shirt climbed into the VW while the
other stood watching for a moment, scanning the armory compound.

Rick smiled when the
driver of the Beetle pulled up to the stop sign and flicked on his turn signal,
knowing the act was habitual. 

Taking his eye from the
scope, Rick watched the car make its way through the park, following the
twisting drive all the way to the park exit.  The VW returned within minutes,
slowly making its way back to the armory. 

Shortly after the driver
went back into the building, the man he had been speaking to earlier came out and
walked over to the large detached garage.  He entered the building through a
small door on the side, and moments later the huge bay door was rolled up from
the inside.

Rick was surprised to see
a long line of people exiting the building, many with gardening equipment in
hand, while two people carried fishing poles.  Through the long-range scope it
was easy to see a difference between this group and the men walking behind them
with rifles.

The men and their clothes
were clean; the men themselves looked well fed and well rested.  Arianna was
easily recognizable to Rick, but he was appalled by her appearance.  She was
filthy, her hair matted in places.  Her clothes were torn; though she seemed
unconcerned that one breast was showing through a rent in the fabric of her
shirt.  Her face was bruised and swollen; both upper and lower lips were split,
surrounded by crusted blood. 

Though clearly alive, the
bedraggled group’s shuffling gaits and blank, apathetic stares were all too
familiar; they might as well be zombies.  

He pulled back from the
scope for a minute, relieving his eye and his back from the hunched position he
was cramped into when looking through the eyepiece. 

As the group reached the
garden the two with fishing poles veered off toward the small pond, followed by
one of the guards.   The rest were tasked to work in a large garden very close
to Rick’s position.  He could watch them easily without the aid of the scope.

Rick fought to keep his
eyes open, as watching the work detail was exceedingly dull until one man
dropped the garden hoe he had been using and clutched at his chest.  Everyone
in the garden turned, with several moving to help the fallen man until one of
the guards lifted his rifle, admonishing them to stay back.

The men holding rifles
simply stood there, making no moves to help the man obviously having a heart
attack.  Rick saw them turn to look at each other, one saying something to
other, who laughed loudly at the comment.

It wasn’t long before the
older man lay still, one arm flung out to the side.  White, foamy drool dripped
down the side of his face, forming a small puddle in the deep green grass. 

Still the guards stood
there, watching, waiting.  Rick could not understand why they did not put a
knife into the man’s skull before he turned.

Rick sat silently,
anticipating the moment when the man would turn.  He did not have to wait
long.  In less than a minute the old man began to twitch, his arms jerking
spasmodically, head thumping on the ground.  It was not until the man sat straight
up, as if he had a rod shoved in his back, that the guards finally acted.  One
man pulled a knife and walked toward the now-zombified garden worker, when the
other snapped his rifle up, placing a single shot into the forehead of the
creature.

Rick heard the one with
the knife shout, “What the fuck, man!”

The shooter just stood
there, looking back and forth between the body and his fellow guard.  The
knife-wielder was still berating the other man and waving his hands at the dead
body when Rick heard someone start up a motor at the armory.

Both men grew silent,
looking back toward the armory when they heard the engine fire up.  The truck
pulled up right next to the two guards, and Rick heard the driver asking “What
the hell is going on?  You two dick-shits know better than to go firing off
when you can use a blade to handle just one of them,” he said, gesturing to the
body.  “Greer is already pissed about those pricks out in the country; you two
jack-asses wanna make it worse?”

Both men replied by
shaking their heads.  “Alright then, you two jack-monkeys can load this damn
body, I’ll take it to the burn pile.”

The body was thrown
unceremoniously into the back of the pickup by the two guards.  The driver
pulled away, not seeing the man behind him giving him a one-finger “fuck-you”
salute. 

During all of this, Rick
noticed that two more men had appeared outside the armory building.  Both
seemed to be on duty, walking a set perimeter that gave them sight of both the
grounds and the highway.

He heard the sound of the
truck returning before he saw it, watching as it parked in a space right in
front of the main armory doors.  The driver headed for the front door, stopping
as he reached for the handle.  Rick kept the scope centered on the man,
wondering why he was hesitating.

Suddenly the man shouted,
pointing toward the highway, in the direction of the ditch where his friends
would be hiding.  The two guards walking the perimeter came rushing to the
front corner of the building, facing south.  Rick was unable to see what they
were seeing, but he could tell that they were agitated.

Unexpectedly, the guards
shouldered their rifles and began to fire in the direction they had been
watching.  Rick saw the driver of the truck run for the door of the armory,
jerk it open, and stick his head in, as if he were talking to people inside. 

Rick’s heart began to
pump hard in his chest.  He settled in with his rifle, easily placed the
crosshairs on one of the men firing from the armory and drew several calming
breaths.  He couldn’t shoot with any accuracy if his heart was pounding so hard
that his hands shook. 

He focused on the target,
his finger tensing, bringing the trigger nearly to its breaking point when he
realized that the shooting was one sided.  If his friends were being fired
upon, they would certainly be returning that fire every chance they could. 
Rick could hear nothing coming from the direction of his friend’s hiding spot.

Swiveling his rifle
slowly, Rick sighted on the area where he knew Gordy and the others were concealed. 
Before he could get a clear sight picture it was obvious what the men from the
armory were firing at.

The overgrown brush and
high grasses along the ditch and the edge of the highway blocked much of the
view, but Rick could see what appeared to be the heads and shoulders of
twenty-five or thirty zombies walking down the road. 

Bodies fell, disappearing
from sight as they dropped past the sight-blocking bushes.  Watching through
the high-powered scope, Rick could see the bodies jerk as bullet after bullet
tore through them.  From their distance the men seemed to be having a hard time
getting a good head-shot to take the creatures down, though Rick saw a couple
gut-suckers lose their heads in a gory splash and spray as several
high-velocity rounds found their mark.

Half of the zombies fell
quickly, though Rick could not tell if all of them were dead when they went
down.  He glanced back toward the armory, seeing that five more men had joined
those already outside, making eight people firing down on the approaching pack.

It
wasn’t until he watched as first one, then another, and two more of the undead
crashed through the overgrown bushes into the ditch, that he began to feel real
fear for his friends.

Chapter 5

           
The men hunkered down in the ditch
could do nothing but listen to the increasing sounds of gunfire, and wait. 
Blood and bits of flesh dripped from the foliage above them, a grisly testament
to the unseen carnage.

Jimmy had pressed his
back hard against the concrete, hoping to stay low and quite.  The other two
men followed suit, and now lay as still and silent as possible, though they
wondered if the undead would hear them at all over the rapid firing of the
guns.  They took no chances, lying completely still, inhaling and exhaling as slowly
as possible.  Each man feared that the hard hammering of their heart would be a
dead giveaway.

Three pairs of eyes were
staring hard at the canopy of overgrown grass and bushes above them when the
first zombie crashed through, coming down on top of Jimmy.  A second fell, then
a third landed across Gordy’s legs.  One last undead fell, landing face to face
on Dean, who had only a second to throw his arms up, using his bite guards
protect his face.

Jimmy’s right arm was
pinned beneath the dead thing; it was on his right hip that he carried his
large Cold Steel Recon blade.  The zombie snapped at the arm locked under it,
biting only the deer-leather guard.  Jimmy could feel the immense pressure of
the jaw forcing diseased teeth into the leather. 

He groped around with his
left hand, leaving the creature to gnaw at the tightly wrapped guard.  In the
back of his mind he vowed to always have a knife within easy reach of either
hand. 

His fingers closed around
something solid, he wrapped his hand around it tightly, just as he heard Gordy
grunting quietly a few feet from him.

Gordy reached beneath and
behind himself, grabbing for the Extreme Ratio dagger he had moved from his
boot to his belt.  Two zombies were pulling themselves up his legs, vying for
first rights at his soft flesh.

The dagger came loose
from its sheath, and he leaned forward to ram it in the skull of the zombie
that was just then moving to bury its face in his midsection.  He couldn’t get
enough leverage to yank the thin blade back out, leaving it for the moment as
the other zombie reared back, getting ready to sink its teeth into the meat of
Gordy’s thigh.

Gordy took the only
opportunity he had at the moment and brought his left knee up as hard as he
could.  He felt bone crack, and had to fight a scream as a supernova of pain
flared in his knee, making him feel as if he were about to pass out.  The
zombie’s head snapped back, producing another sharp crack.  Its head lolled
oddly to the side, cervical vertebrae now broken and loose. 

Gordy reached forward,
grabbing for the handle of the knife still protruding from the other zombies
head.  With a burst of strength he did not believe he had left he yanked the
blade free and slammed it hard through the eye of the zombie still trying to
make its way to his vital areas.

Dean pushed back against
the zombie snapping at his face, knowing he could not let go to reach for a
weapon, even for a moment.  The others were busy fighting off their own
troubles, and he knew he needed to take care of this thing fast and quietly. 

Hating the thought of
what he was about to do, Dean let his hands slide up the decaying creature’s
face, skin peeling up under his hands.  His thumbs found the zombie’s eyes and
began to press inward. 

The feel of the slick
orbs under his thumbs made his stomach turn, and he thought for a moment that
he might vomit in the zombie’s open mouth.  He turned his face away as both
thumbs pushed through the eyeballs, popping the cataract glazed eyes with a
muted snapping noise.  He could feel vitreous fluid dripping down his hands and
into his upturned ear.

His thumbs passed through
soft, rotting flesh, stopping against the back of the orbital socket.  The
thing still pressed toward him, teeth gnashing, trying to eat his face.  The
fact that the digits of a man were buried in its eye-sockets did not faze it in
the least.  It knew Dean was there, and it wanted him. 

Dean continued to push,
trying to break through the superior orbital fissure at the back of the
socket.  He knew the bone could cut him if he pushed through, infecting him
with the sickness, but with no weapon at hand he felt there was no other
choice.  He had to destroy the brain or he was certainly going to die.

Just as he felt bone
begin to crack the zombie’s head was jerked backward, his thumbs snapping free
of the sockets like gruesome champagne corks.  He opened his eyes and looked up
slowly to see Jimmy lying next to him, his large blade protruding from the
creature's head.

Jimmy reached over,
laying his hand on Dean’s bicep as Dean began to shake.  Jimmy could feel the
bunched muscles trembling beneath his friend’s clothing. 

“You’re good man,” Jimmy
whispered into his ear.  Dean simply nodded, glancing at his Dad, who lay
unmoving, the zombies still across his legs.  The severe pain evident on
Gordy’s face was a relief to Dean.  It meant his Dad was still alive.

Watching through the hole
the falling zombies had created, Jimmy and the others could see several undead
shuffling past, bodies jerking as gunfire still popped nearby. 

They lay still in the
ditch, Dean with his zombie still half across his chest, Gordy with his legs
still pinned by the two that had attacked him.  Jimmy had rolled his off to the
side when he moved to help Dean.

Though the wait felt like
forever, it was less than five minutes before the last zombie shuffled past. 
When the sound of automatic gunfire stopped, the three men did not hesitate to
crawl back down the ditch toward where their car was hidden.  They knew that
someone would be coming to investigate and had no desire to meet them face to
face.

Jimmy tugged on his shirt
as Gordy pushed with his good leg, grunting with effort, sweat dripping down
his face, staining his leather collar with dark brown spots.  Dean low-crawled
behind them, surreptitiously watching over his shoulder to be sure they were
not spotted. 

He noticed the bloody
track they were leaving behind them, spattered gore rubbing off, leaving a
trail that was easy to follow along the concrete.  “Faster guys, we’re sitting
ducks in here,” he said, voice low but urgent.

Jimmy pulled, Gordy
sucked air and continued pushing with his good leg, Dean shoved from behind,
helping to keep their odd procession moving, inching away from the carnage they
left behind and the men he was certain were about to find it.  It would be easy
for anyone to deduce what had transpired in that ditch.

After several agonizing
minutes of pulling and pushing, Dean and Jimmy helped Gordy up the steep side
of the embankment.  With an arm draped over a shoulder the two men half
carried, half dragged Gordy toward the car waiting forty feet away.  They were
all exhausted, and fell into the De Soto, pulling in deep breaths, calming the
hard beating of their hearts.

“Dean, get the turkey
call out of your dad’s pants pocket,” Jimmy said as he slid out of the car onto
his knees, shotgun up and braced across the trunk.

Dean felt through Gordy’s
pockets until he found the small box turkey call Alex had given them.  Dean
thumbed the spring-loaded button, pushing as Alex had shown him, creating
sounds like a hen, to draw in tom turkeys.  He continued this off and on for
several minutes before slipping the call into his pocket.

Dean sat down beside
Jimmy, rifle standing between his knees. His only wish at that moment was a
long hot shower to wash off the sickening smell of the gore they had all been
splattered with.