DEAD: Reborn (20 page)

Everybody had binoculars up and we were all looking for any signs of movement; zombie or otherwise. The place seemed completely deserted. That just did not seem likely to me. After all, if there were other faction
s here like we had been told, then I would expect them to hit this place. If for nothing else, then to see what sorts of supplies they could come away with.

Also, there was the whole “what happened to all the people inside who turned into zombies” thing to consider. The bottom line was that we should be seeing some sort of movement down there. We were not. That had me concerned.

“You think somebody knows we are coming?” one person asked.

“Anything is possible,” Jon said. “However, I seriously doubt it.”

“Why are we seeing absolutely
no
movement?” I asked. Maybe Jon or Jake had some insight that I was lacking.

“That is the sixty-four thousand dollar question, isn
’t it?” Jon breathed. “We should be seeing at least
some
zombie movement inside the compound.”

The big gates were wide open. And while it is possible that many, if not most, of the zombies wandered out, at least some would probably still be there. And if any of the other factions in the area came, then the huge nozzle mounted on the caged cart with the barrels of napalm or whatever it was that allowed that thing to spew a jet of liquid flame would be long gone. It was clearly visible through the open gate.

“Well, it doesn’t look like we are going to get any answers from here,” Jon announced, climbing to his feet.

We all followed suit. As a unit we moved for the entrance. The first dozen or so yards, we fanned out. Each of us had our M4
up and ready. While we were still in the conservation mindset when it came to ammunition, this was one of those times where you wanted the safety and security that only a firearm could provide.

I was the third one in from the left. As we moved, I had my head on a swivel trying to look every direction at once. Maybe it was just dumb luck, but I was the first one to
spot movement. Somebody—or something—was up on one of the roofs inside the compound. I only saw a brief flutter of shadows, but I knew movement when I saw it; and I sure as heck knew the difference between a fluttering piece of debris, and that of a person.

“Jon!” I hissed.

“What?” he answered, raising his hand for everybody to halt.

“Blue and red building on the left…movement on the roof.”

“I didn’t—”

The sound of a single rifle shot cut off his sentence.

11

Vignettes XL

“I can
’t believe that I am riding a bicycle,” Vix laughed as the trio sped down the long gradual hill formerly known as the A10.

“Didn
’t you ride one when you were a kid?” Gemma asked, a smile plastered across her face and eyes wide.

“Do I need to tell you how long ago that was?” Vix yelled over her shoulder, still keeping her eyes forward.

As they raced along, enjoying the long, gradual slope after what had seemed like an eternity of going uphill, a few walkers could be seen pushing their way out of the rubble from some of the flats that lined the street.

All around them was the sprawl of suburban London. The stone façades all melding into a tan and brick blur that became indistinguishable. The only thing that broke up the scenery now was the occasional building that had been burned down to a blackened skeleton.

“How long before we are free of the city?” Harold asked.

“I thought you would know better than us,” Vix replied as she drifted over closer to ride beside the young man.

“Just because I lived in the city does not mean that I am familiar with every bit of it. I can’t say that any of this is familiar at all.”

“Well, if things hold, we should be able to be free of this soon,” Vix said as she let her gaze drift ahead. The tilted sign that they sped past indicated that the M25 was
nine miles ahead.

She only had a very limited recollection of where that would lead them. She recalled a few trips as a child and if her memory was correct the cottage out in the country was just east of Lo
ndon along the M25. She could not swear to it, but it was the best they had for now.

“Can we stop for a snack soon?” Gemma asked as she cruised up alongside to put them three abreast.

“I think that would be a good idea,” Harold chimed.

“We will stop at the M25 roundabout.” Vix pumped the pedals a few times to push ahead of the other two. She didn
’t like it when they got bunched up like that. It made her uncomfortable.

As they cruised past a few walkers that were still in the act of turning around when they shot by, a scream sounded from off to the left that caused just exactly the reaction Vix dreaded if they rode close to one another. She only wavered a bit. Howe
ver, behind her, Gemma swerved enough to clip Harold. His bike tilted and then the front tire caught something and turned sharply, sending the young man flying over the handlebars.

Harold slammed into the side of a parked car with a metallic crunch. His armor, while very good at protecting him from a bite, did nothing but amplify the jarring collision. He landed in a heap and was still. Three walkers were coming around the car for him seemingly oblivious to everything but the meal that had just landed at their feet.

Vix skidded to a stop just as Gemma shot past and collided with two zombies that were crawling out from underneath a pile of rubbish. They went tumbling in a mass of odd numbered arms and legs. As they came to an unceremonious halt, Vix was torn on what to do. Her two companions were in opposite directions and both were in serious trouble. Immunity from the bite would not save Harold if he were torn apart. And then there was Gemma.

It was a blink of an eye, but that instant in time felt like a lifetime as Vix made up her mind and lunged to save Gemma. She vaulted off the bike and was at an
all-out sprint by the time she slammed into the armless zombie that had just managed to get to its knees and was about to strike like a snake with its head rearing back and its mouth open wide.

The impact was sufficient not only to knock the armless zombie away, but to send the one-legged zombie skidding into the gutter. Gemma did not move and Vix was not waiting to even check if the girl had broken her neck in the crash as she drew her scimitar and cleaved the armless zombie down the left side of its head sending broken teeth and liquefied brain flying. Her next move was a slight turn to the left as she brought the blade down on the back of the head of the one-legged zombie.

“That’ll have to do,” Vix huffed as she turned to see if she was not too late to save Harold.

At first, she felt her heart sink as the three zombies were all crouched down low over his still form. As she approached, she realized that they were gnawing impotently at the leather and
chain-link back piece of his modified suit of armor. As she approached, she was repulsed as the watched teeth breaking away and skittering down the lad’s back.

As she stepped in, one zombie actually turned to face her, its mouth open and displaying gaps where the dangerous chompers had once existed. A greyish tongue with dark splotches slit
hered out of its mouth and wiggled once before returning to the open maw of the zombie that began to mewl at her and struggle to its feet in an effort to get at this newest possible meal that had drawn its attention.

Vix shuddered at the horrific sight and then swung her blade. It came to a sudden stop just as it passed the bridge of the nose while cutting the skull in two. Using her foot as leverage, she jerked her weapon f
ree just as the other two realized that perhaps there was a more viable food option standing over them. In two quick strokes, heads tumbled away; eyes continuing to dart back and forth in their sockets.

She did a full circle to take in the carnage. Also, she needed to see where the next threat might be coming from. Gemma was stirring; that was a good sign. Harold let loose with a moan that made Vix wonder if perhaps she had not arrived too late to save him. Then he rolled over and let go with a few choice cur
ses. That answered that question. Now there was only one that remained unanswered.

Who…or what…had screamed?

***

“Dammit!” Juan cursed. He turned the key and the engine struggled but came to life. He looked at the gauge; it showed a half of a tank.

He popped the truck into gear and felt it struggle. Mackenzie had been insistent that they use this stuff called STA-BIL to keep the gas in the vehicles on the island working as well as all the gas that they stored. He had not been surprised to find some of the stuff in the stores stashed in Donna’s house as well as several of the others. Honestly, he would not have known what those bottles were for had it not been for Mackenzie.

Still, even though it was likely that the gas in the truck had been given a dose, he had no way of knowing how long ago. From the way it was acting…he figured that it was probably on the early side of the whole thing.

“Just get me a little further,” he coaxed the truck while patting the dashboard as if that would actually help.

He got a little nervous as the truck started to climb the win
ding hill. It began to struggle and sputter. Juan had his foot mashed to the floor and found himself leaning over the steering wheel despite the fact that that probably did no more good than the dashboard rub moments earlier.

At last, he came out of the entry way and found flat road. To the left was a winding road that was lined with trees on one side and houses on the other that looked as if they were jammed into every available inch of space the housing builders could eke out of the city blocks.

To the right was more of the same, but he could see the very bridge that he and the others had run across what seemed like a dozen lifetimes ago. That would be the direction he would find April if she made it up the hill.

Unfortunately, he also saw dozens if not hundreds of dea
ders turning to the new sound of the truck’s motor growling and laboring. Juan thought about it for a second and then decided to go ahead and shut the truck down. If it didn’t start again, it wasn’t like he couldn’t find a way down that hill on foot. Leaving it running was just a ringing dinner bell for deaders.

Jumping out of the cab, Juan already had his machete in hand. The first deader was an arm’s length away and grasping for him with blood slicked hands. Ducking aside, he brought the blade down fast and jerked it away in a fluid and practiced move. He started jogging towards where April sh
ould emerge, but his eyes were looking for the person whose blood had gotten all over the deader. He knew it couldn’t be April’s. For one, she could not have made it up the hill before him, and for another, any zombie that could have snagged her sure as hell would not already be up here.

Some rustling just ahead got Juan moving a little quicker. He stepped over the guard rail and looked down the hill in time to see April lose her footing and slide down a dozen or so feet, bowling over three of the closer zombies.
She looked down and flopped onto her back, seeming to just stare skyward. She was giving up.

“Get your ass moving!” Juan bellowed.

April craned her neck and looked up at Juan. Even from this distance, he could see tears rolling down her face. She rolled back over onto her belly and started to crawl on hands and feet up the steep hill. Meanwhile, zombies continued to close in on where Juan stood. The ones trying to navigate the hill coming up were of no consequence. Anytime they tried to stand, they simply toppled over backwards and vanished from sight into the brush.

Juan spun to face the nearest deader and buried his blade i
nto its head. He kicked it away and swung again. He felt a slight surge of panic. There were simply too many for him to fight off. It wasn’t that he couldn’t handle his business, it was that there were just too damn many.

“You better find a faster speed or I’ll leave your ass!” Juan snarled as he had to shove one approaching deader into a group of five in order to buy himself a few precious seconds.

As he continued to hack and cleave, he began to doubt his choice. If he would have simply just climbed into the boat and left, his problem would be solved. Only…he knew the moment that he saw April come under attack that it was just not in his nature. He was already certain that he would be plagued with nightmares and guilt when it came to Kevin and Donna for the rest of his life. The last thing that he needed to do was add another face to the ones already haunting him.

April scrambled over the lip of the steep hill and hurried to her feet. Juan met her eyes and looked for any sign of what she might do. It would not have surprised him in the least if she would have bolted.

Grabbing the arm of the nearest zombie, she slung it into an oncoming cluster. Somehow, during all the chaos and her climb, she had lost all her weapons.

“Run for the truck and see if it starts,” Juan ordered. “I will be right behind you. If it doesn’t, break for that green water to
wer thing or whatever the hell that is over there.” Juan pointed and then kicked at a zombie on one side just before hacking at another.

April seemed to pause, then she turned and ran. Juan could not spare the time to follow her with his eyes. He simply conti
nued to move with his back to the ledge that dropped behind him as he swung his blade or kicked out at the next closest walking corpse that seemed to almost spawn out of nowhere. As fast as he dispatched one, three more seemed to take its place.

Juan heard the engine of the truck labor…cough…and die.

***

“Ann Ohneemus,” Kyle said as he introduced the stranger to his wife, sister, and brother-in-law.

“I am sorry to hear about your friend,” Mel said as she ushered the woman in and showed her to a chair. Kyle had told them about the poor woman, but Mel was not stupid; her husband was keeping something back.

“I only just met her really,” Ann said as she accepted the o
ffered canteen. “I was searching some of the houses for food when we sort of ran into each other.”

Mel sat back and listened as this woman spoke. She was keeping something secret, too. G
rowing up in a house where it was a given that you would enter the field of law enforcement, she grew up hearing stories about questioning suspects. When she chose to go into criminal psychology and become a therapist, her dad had not been thrilled. When she took a job at San Quentin, the state’s most violent prison, he had been even more upset.

“You have any idea how many of the residents in that place were sent down by members of your family” he had exploded.

“Good thing I took Kyle’s name when we got married then, huh?” she had said with a dismissive shrug.

She had logged hundreds of hours talking to the “problem” inmates of the prison. Coupled with her hobby—poker—and she became a human lie detector. The first time one of her co-workers had referred to her as “Polly” in front of Kyle, he had given her his famous raised eyebrow.

“Short for polygraph,” Mel answered. Kyle had not needed any further explanation.

Right now, this woman was pegging her BS meter.
Mel just wished that the woman would take off those mirrored goggles. Once she saw the eyes, she could be more certain.

“Well, why don’t you get out of those dirty things,”
Cynthia said. “We have a few things inside. I am sure that you will be able to fit into something.”

“You have been injured,” Ann said, stepping back towards the door.

“Not a bite,” Cynthia assured the stranger. “Actually, somebody took a shot at me.”