DEAD: Confrontation (8 page)

Rolling the other direction, I struggled to my feet. Under the trees, the snow was only a couple of feet deep. I did my best to try and regain my bearings. I had slid down far enough that the trees blocked me from being able to see Death Alley or our cabin.

Tryi
ng to orient yourself in a snow-covered landscape is bad enough. Trying to do it while your brain feels like it is vibrating is another thing entirely.

I was able to locate where I had been perched once I thought to visually follow the trail of my slide down the hill. (I told you my brain was rattled.) I had to concentrate real hard to try and picture the view from where I had been in order to get what I hoped was a general direction back to where Jon and the others were making life difficult for the would-be raiders.

I started making my way down. I knew that Jon wanted me up on the ridge, but there really was no way that I would be able to make it back up from here. It was hard enough following the trail. Plus, I would be a big dark spot in a sea of white for anybody to take a shot at.

Once I reached the bottom and could hear the sounds of the creek, I had a pretty good idea where I was
and made for the footbridge. The picnic grounds at the bottom of the hill would allow me to come in from the back of the cabin. I would have to move through the paths we dug out which meant that I was probably going to encounter more zombies than I would like. The other problem was that none of my people would know it was me.

I considered staying put and seeing if anybody came my way, but as I climbed up onto one of the picnic tables, I saw something that made my mind up for me.

I’d had no idea where Jon put everybody exactly. I knew that he had us all on the perimeter so that when the raiders came, they would be in a sort of crossfire. Apparently he had put Fiona in this area.

From up o
n the picnic table, all I could see was where the snow was torn up by what had to have been some sort of chase and scuffle. Fiona was pinned to a tree, the hilt of a sword jutting from her chest. A few feet away, a figure was on its back, a group of five zombies feasting on it. This had been recent. The only reason I could make that guess was because steam was wafting from the body that was keeping the small group of zombies busy.

I hunched down to try and make as little of a presence as possible. I was only slightly less concerned about the zombies as I was the possibility of encountering a raider.

Being under this canopy of trees, there was still plenty of snow—a few feet—and we had only cleared a pair of trails to get to the stream that cut through the campgrounds
. That meant that, from where I’d come in and crossed the stream, I would have to wade through the thigh-deep snow until I found one of those trails. From there, I would see about making it to the cabin.

As I reached the edge of the picnic grounds the snow began to get deeper. I was beginning to see just how woefully unpr
epared we were for this sort of thing. All of our preparations were about how to deal with all the worse-case scenarios when it came to zombies. How, in all of our meetings and preparations had we glossed over the possibility that living humans would be the greatest threat?

Of course we had always at least brought it up, but it seems that we really never laid out a plan for this sort of event. That was when it struck me…

Arrogance.

At some point, we had decided that we were a potent enough force that we were safe. Add in the inclement weather and we’d done a fantastic job of painting ourselves as the kings and queens of the mountain. After all, we had Jon, Jake, and J
esus. We numbered close to twenty which made us a force to reckon with. It was becoming very clear that perhaps I was not the man for the job of leader.

As it was, I had deferred to Jon the moment things got ser
ious. There was no pretense about who was in charge right now. Jon had assigned each of us a task and set us to it. The little bit of the battle I could observe gave me the distinct impression that we were, at the least, holding our own. At best, maybe we were repelling the raisers.

Dr. Zahn’s words sprung out at me.
“From what I’ve heard and the very little that I’ve seen, it is a possibility that this is the same group that wiped out Serenity Base. No disrespect to you, sergeant, but Serenity had better firepower and equally competent soldiers.”

Thoughts of
‘Who do we think we are!’
bounced around in my head as I reached the edge of the picnic ground and peeked out from the gloom of the tall pines. I knew that the access road was not far in any case. So even if I did have to try and slog through the snow that was now just above eye level, it would not be very far. We had shoveled out the access road that ran parallel to our trench all the way around the hill that the place we called home sat perched upon.

I kept hearing brief exchanges of gunfire, but it had died down considerably in the past few minutes. I wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or a bad one. Were my cohorts overwhelmed and taken out? I already knew that at least one of “my” people was dead. What was worse, I didn’t even have a moment to spare to mourn her loss. And if I didn’t get back into the fray,
I might never have a chance to do much of anything besides freeze.

I quickly realized that, without a shovel, I was not going to make much progress. And no…there were no shovels just mag
ically sitting nearby for me to grab. I had to basically clear stuff out of my way by hand, tossing it behind me as I went. It was like digging in the sand as the tide was coming in.

Like an idiot, I thought I could just push my way through. Snow has this ability to condense so that, after a while, it is like concrete. Who knew? (Probably people who lived around lots of snow all their lives.)

I heard a baby cry that sounded way too close and stopped everything to look around. The zombies that had been chowing on the raider that murdered Fiona now appeared interested in fresh prey…namely me.

I quickly discovered that I was not in a position to really get into a melee with the handful of undead coming after me. My only real
defense was going to be risky, because there was little more than just my body width in this little snow trail I’d been creating in my efforts to get out of the picnic area and hopefully to aid my friends.

Pulling my machete from my belt, I tried to
gauge my chances of success in fighting my way back to the picnic grounds. My little tunnel looked strangely crowded as the half-dozen or so zombies filed in to come for me. Nope…I wasn’t going back that way.

I decided to take the initiative and lunged forward, trying to jab the tip of my blade into the eye socket of the lead walker. It was almost a
complete disaster as I caused a mini cave in of part of the wall of snow on my left side. All of a sudden, I was up to my waist in the frozen powder. Fortunately, so were the zombies.

I sheathed my weapon and started moving away.
Shoving back, I managed to create some wiggle room and eventually force my way back from them. The one I’d stuck was acting as a dam and the others behind it were making all sorts of raspy hisses and moans as their arms flailed in their futile attempts to reach me. That caused more snow to come crashing in on them. They weren’t going anywhere until spring thaw.

I had to use a lot of energy to get in a better position on the snow that was packing down under me as I wriggled my way forward once more. I felt my
hand shoot out into open air…just as the snow on both sides collapsed down on top of me.

My best guess is that I caused the side wall of the path we’d dug out and maintained to collapse which spewed me and
a few truckloads of snow into the path. For a moment, I could not tell which way was up. You would think it should be obvious, but I am here to tell you that you can absolutely lose track of direction when you tumble end over end for several feet and are unable to see sky or ground.

I finally clawed my way out.
My entire body felt sapped of strength, but I had to push on. I was beginning to doubt that these were the same raiders that had hit Serenity Base (mostly because they had burned everything they could and wiped out an entrenched military unit and we were still somehow miraculously alive). However, these folks were not sounding like they were ready to give up yet and I knew for a fact that they’d suffered some losses. There was still a fight happening all around me.

Instantly, it seemed like the gunfire had regained its earlier intensity. I heard somebody yell something, but I couldn’t make out what was said, nor could I tell if the voice was familiar or not.
I looked around to try and get a better idea of where I was. That is when I saw the two figures running along the backside of our cabin. They both had handguns drawn. I had enough time to wonder just how much ammo they might still have at their disposal when it became obvious that they had spotted me.

One of them skidded to a stop and brought his weapon up. I didn’t remember hearing it, but I know I saw a flash. In my mind’s eye, it was a massive fireball.
I imagine that was the same sort of mental trickery that still made that first encounter with Ed outside the living room window of my apartment seem so vivid.

A puff of snow exploded on my left. I suddenly understood the deer-in-the-headlights phenomenon. It wasn’t that the cre
ature was too stupid to move, it was simply a matter of being so scared that your muscles refused to respond to any signals sent by the brain.

When the second shot was fired, I stepped back and consi
dered trying to wade through the snow that marked where I had come through on the path. My legs were already making that decision for me as I ran—such as it was; despite this area having been cleared by us and the trail established, the snow was still almost a foot deep here.

I was almost to the jagged hole in the wall of snow when another series of shots rang out and the snow in front of me b
ecame peppered with bullet holes. A part of my brain was saying to keep running. However, the part that gets people killed was telling me to look back.

Why do we always listen to
that
voice?

I am pretty sure all I did was glance. That was enough. But
it might also be what saved me…or at least added a few seconds to my life so I could at least see it flash before my eyes. I flinched when I saw the flash from the muzzle pointed at me. I felt something like a bee sting down the side of my head.

The next sensation was that of being
punched right on the collar bone. I toppled back into the pile of snow and lost sight of everything around me except the bluish-white body-shaped coffin of cold that I now lay in.

An opening in the clouds appeared almost directly above me and I could actually feel the warmth of the sun’s rays on my face. I waited for the angels to appear and convey me up to Heaven.

At least I hoped that was my destination. Then I heard the mewling of those zombies I’d left behind.

Nope. It doesn’t look like Heaven is in the cards.

4

Vignettes XXXII

Emily-zombie stepped outside. The others were on the move as the newest
sound rumbled through their deadened senses. None of them knew why, she no more or less than the others. Yet, sound sent a signal that drew her like a moth to the flame.

However, before she had taken the third step, she had fo
rgotten why. Her drive now came from no greater stimulus than she was already in motion along with those around her. If that split-second could be broken down, it would be that sound indicated something possessing the craved heat was close.

As Emily-zombie trudged along with the others, a tingle bloomed in that tiniest part of her mind that made her different from the others. That sound might mean something besides heat. It might mean…

The idea of death meant nothing. The emotion known as fear had no place in her to gain purchase because it could not be sustained. Yet, enough of that kernel of fear sent a signal to Emily-zombie.

Danger!

Once again, the word had no meaning, but Emily slowed down and let many of the others get past her. Something brushed her foot. It gave off no warmth. Looking down, it was the other…the one that made Emily’s steps bolder just because of its presence.

Mother?

Meaningless. Yet Emily-zombie slowed even more to match the pace of this one that pulled itself along on the ground. When one of the group stepped on her, Emily-zombie hissed and moved over it to shield it. Those around took no notice, but they went around the pair.

It was not long before another image bloomed. Moving was easier if the others cleared the way. The cold meant nothing. But walking through…
snow!
...was easier if a path existed for them to follow.

All of these images and words held their meaning for about as long as the flame created by a wandering magician that opens his wallet and ignites the
flash powder creating a momentary fireball that is gone in the span of a single heartbeat. Yet they were enough to alter Emily’s reactions. Those moments gave her the appearance of thought. Like the magician’s flaming wallet, it was no more than an illusion. Still, that was enough to make her different.

T
he pitiful creature at her feet that pulled itself along felt no gratitude. And if Emily were to wander off, neither would remember their time together as they travelled with this mob any more than Emily-zombie remembered that it was her banging on a car that had brought this particular herd together.

Emily-zombie walked. Never all the way in the rear of the group, never in front. There was something that kept her as close to the center as she
was able to be. And when a new sound came, the entire group oriented on it and moved. They became slower as those in front had to push against the wall of white.

At one point, the mob increased its speed as they poured out into an area where the snow had been trampled down. And now there was a steady source of sound leading them on. Every once in a while, Emily
-zombie was able to see a flash of warmth up ahead.

Now that the actual warmth was spotted, she began to move through any crease or opening in the mob to get just a bit closer. That warmth overwhelmed m
any of her other signals. She had to have it. It was hers.

Now there were sounds coming from many directions. At some point that one source of warmth vanished. Emily-zombie slipped back into simply trying to follow the sounds. She had no ability to determine that she actually doubled back on her path a half dozen times. She simply followed sound.

Twice her group passed a figure on the ground. It was not one of them, but it did not possess any heat, and therefore, it went ignored.

Her mob had broken into several smaller groups as some turned away, drawn by sounds from a
different direction. There were passages through the whiteness that allowed them to move easier…with more freedom.

Turning a corner in pursuit of the most recent noise, her group discovered three sources of warmth clustered together. Emily-zombie stopped, allowing the others to close in. The screams meant nothing. One of the sources separated from the others and came at Emily-zombie.

She stepped behind one of her own as a loud noise reverberated off the walls of the snow passage. She craved that warmth, but a signal had built and actually lingered.

Danger!

Her group fell on those three sources of warmth. Still Emily-zombie waited. Something made her hesitate. As the others tore open those sources, spilling more warmth out onto the…
snow!
...she moved in and joined.

One source seemed to stand out from the others. It almost seemed to try and offer itself to Emily-zombie. She knelt and plunged her hands inside, pulling as much of that warmth to her mouth as she could.

At no point did the sounds spewing from this source hold any meaning. She continued to feed despite the pleas.

“Emily…no…please, God…no…”

***

Aaheru
kept the nose of the ship pointed at the looming shore. His eyes searched the knobs, switches, and levers until they found what he had to assume was the throttle. When he reached a point where he felt comfortable that the momentum would carry the ship the rest of the distance to the great stone pier, he rang up ‘All Stop’ on the brass handled engine order telegraph.

Nothing happened.

Aaheru was confused. He knew nothing about the workings of a ship this size. He’d seen those he left responsible for such things perform the very same action. He had no way of knowing that, if there was nobody in the engine room able to answer up his request, then there would be no changes to the power or speed.

He grabbed the large oak wheel and spun it hard, hoping to veer to the left and avoid a collision. Despite his lack of knowledge, he knew well enough that he would not be able to avoid hitting the pier.

Glancing to either bridge wing, he noticed that he’d gained the attention of three zombies out one side and two out the other. One had been so savagely attacked that there was not enough of the face remaining to tell if it were male or female. He shuddered to think of what it must have felt like to have the scalp torn away like that and quickly put such thoughts out of his mind.

He was Aaheru…
Pharaoh of New Egypt. He would show no fear…certainly not to these slow, uncoordinated shells of his former subjects.

That thought was blazing in his mind when the right side of the ship caught on the corner of the concrete pier, tearing a ja
gged hole all the way down the side. The screech of metal being shredded like paper was tremendous.

The ship lurched and Aaheru found himself
airborne. His body flipped over the command station and slammed into the thick windows that ran the length of the entire bridge. He heard a crunch, and white-hot pain spread from his right arm just above the elbow, seeming to drive straight into his heart.

Aaheru looked up, trying his best to reconcile in his mind why the ceiling should be so close. As the pain drove back the cobwebs formed by the impact of the back of his skull against the window, he realized that he was underneath the counter that ran the length of the bridge. Somehow he had fallen to the floor and slid under that counter and now he was staring up at its u
nderside.

He habitually went to use his right arm to push himself out from under the counter and was rewarded with fresh pain intense enough to make him vomit on himself. He choked on some, but eventually
managed to regain his composure. This time he used his left hand and his legs to get out from under the counter.

He glanced down at his injured arm and could see the di
stinct mark on his skin where the bone was trying to push through. His arm was at such an angle that just the sight of it threatened to bring on another round of vomiting.

Struggling to his feet, Aaheru
had to overcome the hard list to the right that the ship now sat due to the water rushing in the gaping hole that stretched for several feet. It was after he had regained his footing that he felt cold dread clutch his heart. His eyes sought the doorways to the bridge wings, expecting to see those things coming for him.

Nothing.

The collision and subsequent grounding as the bow slammed into a sand bar had sent the undead flying. Some had flipped over the railing and landed on the open deck below. Others had been flung into the water, instantly submerging and vanishing from sight.

Making his way to the starboard bridge wing, Aaheru stepped out and was dismayed at how far away he was from the pier or shore. He would require a lifeboat.
Unfortunately, his right arm was going to make that almost impossible. And, if he were to manage such a feat, he would have no way to pilot the vessel to shore.

“My pharaoh!” a voice cried.

Looking around, it took him until the person had called out for a third time before he was able to spot the voice’s owner. It was Otmar Ali, the man who had discovered the attempt at sabotaging the ship. The heavyset man was at a lifeboat station with five others. They were busily freeing the small wooden craft and having a rough time of it as a dozen of the undead were closing in from both sides.

With a sharp twang, a metal cable parted and the small boat freefell the thirty or so feet to the water below. Otmar yanked a nearby woman and literally tossed her over the side. One of the people with him turned and threw one leg over the railing, but just as he was about to jump, one of the zombies caught him by the collar and yanked him back.

Otmar turned, and for a moment, Aaheru thought that the man would try to assist the poor individual who was screaming as his insides were being ripped from his body by the cluster of zombies that had fallen on top of the unfortunate soul. When the portly man simply kicked the closest zombie away and in the direction of the fallen individual without so much as a moment of hesitation, Aaheru knew he had just found his replacement for Ahi.

Four people, including Otmar, managed to make it over the side and to the water. One of those four, a young man wearing nothing more than his briefs, did not know how to swim. He flailed and thrashed about as the others climbed into the nearby lifeboat and paddled away towards the bow and Aaheru.

A hiss from behind him was the only warning that Aaheru got that one of those creatures was almost on him. He turned and had to lift his leg to avoid it being grabbed by the bloody and, for all intents and purposes, legless monster that was dragging itself along the tiled deck of the bridge.

The zombie had one leg gone just above the knee, splintered bone jutting out from the pulped flesh of wha
t had once been a shapely thigh. The other leg had been wrenched off at the knee; both wounds still showing the effects of the extreme violence that must have occurred for such heinous injuries. The head rolled up and the tracer riddled eyes of Ahmes stared up at Aaheru.

He saw no reproach or recrimination at having been aba
ndoned…just the blankness of death. Her mouth opened and she hissed again. This time, he struck out with a sharp kick that sent his would-be queen flipping over onto her back. The empty cavern where her womb would have been was far more convicting than her empty gaze. His child had been growing there. Now, it was an open wound that leaked the remnants of the few internal organs that had not been ripped out and feasted upon.

“Jump,
Pharaoh!” a voice called from behind and below.

For just an instant, he considered ending the suffering of poor Ahmes. Several more of the undead tumbled through the port bridge wing, stumbling over the door that had come most the way off its hinges.

Aaheru turned and swung his legs over the rail. He did not look back as he jumped. Hitting the water finished the job of thrusting the broken bone of his right arm through the skin.

Darkness came as the water covered him and pulled him i
nto its chilly embrace.

***

“Maybe we should wait it out here for a while,” Donna breathed.

Juan flicked an annoyed glance her direction. So far, Donna had done next to nothing but complain about how much there was to carry up the stairs despite not actually carrying anything. It seemed that every time he came down the stairs, she was sif
ting through one box or another and telling Frank the story behind a particular item and how it came to end up in said boxes.

“I am going back,” Juan said, trying his best to keep the irr
itation out of his voice. “Mackenzie needs me there and I will be at her side by tomorrow night.”

“The island really is the best place,” Frank insisted.
“You have to see it. They have a fence all the way around…and houses for us all. There are lots of people and everybody seems to help each other. It’s safe there, Donna.”

“
This
place has walls,” Donna insisted. “And there are houses
here
.”

Juan gave a “follow me” gesture with his eyes to Frank and headed back inside and down to get the last of the boxes. Once they were out of earshot, he stopped and turned on the young man.