Elements of the Undead: Fire (Book One) (16 page)

Cesar carried a similar weapon, although a slightly beefier version. They also carried pistols in case they were overrun. Everyone carried one extra bullet, just in case. The guns were a last resort. Firing a shot was akin to ringing the dinner bell.

As the soccer mom drew closer, she raised her hands like a baby seeking its mother and ground her teeth. She raced at Megan, a flesh-seeking missile full of deadly intent. Megan stepped to the side at the last second, removing herself from the woman’s direct path. Cesar stood ready to assist. The creature was slow to react, and by the time it realized dinner had moved, Megan was behind it, bringing her spike into its skull with a satisfying crunch.

They took extra care to sterilize their weapons at the end of each engagement. As far as they could tell, the two surefire ways to get infected were to be bitten or to get infected brain matter into an open cut, or in an eye.

“Nice!” Cesar said. Megan couldn’t help feeling a flush of pride at her handiwork. There was more shuffling from the aisles beyond the registers. More moaning.

“Inbound,” Pringle said through clenched teeth.

Next up were two young boys, no more than ten years old. They were faster than the woman, dashing out of the coffee aisle, pausing briefly to fixate on the raiding team, and then scrambling forward. Cesar held up two fingers. He pointed once to the right and once to the left. Then he swiped them straight ahead. A kill box. Megan and Pringle were to funnel the creatures into the center where they could concentrate their efforts. They used the ends of their poles to force the ghouls together, and then with a flash of their blades, sliced the tendons behind their knees. The creatures tumbled to the ground and began thrashing in frustration. With a stern look, Pringle stepped forward and smashed both diseased heads with his aluminum baseball bat, pulping both skulls on the dirty linoleum floor.

They all paused to catch their breath. Aside from Pringle’s wheezing, the store was silent. No more moans. No more undead.

“Here, zombie, zombie,” Pringle chanted, like the child he had just destroyed might have before he had been turned. “Come and get us.”

Cesar gave him a wry grin.

“Cesar?” Kevin sounded alarmed. Cesar held up his hand, motioning for him to wait.

“We’ve got company,” Kevin insisted, the urgency in his voice unmistakable. That changed everything. Megan spun around and dashed through the front door.

Undead were swarming the parking lot, filtering through abandoned cars by the dozens. More were arriving by the second from all directions. Megan’s bowels turned to water. Her pulse skyrocketed. “Cesar?” She croaked.

This was their worst nightmare. This was how the best-laid plans became suicide missions. It was all in the numbers. Fighting one undead was easy. Pop it in the head and down it went. Fighting two was a bit more of a challenge; it could even be fun if you had the right mindset. Fighting dozens, and she noticed even more coming around the northwestern corner, was damned near impossible. They never gave up, never retreated. Their manual weapons lost almost all of their effectiveness when faced with more than three or four. It was time to bring out the guns.

But guns were only so effective. It required a perfect headshot to drop a zombie, and this became exponentially more difficult when they encountered a runner. Up to about three or four meters, Megan could make the kill every time. Beyond that, her accuracy fell off a cliff. And she wasn’t alone.

Cesar looked over his shoulder into the maw of the store and then back out to the rapidly-filling parking lot. “We’re leaving right now,” he announced. “Everybody out! Go! Go! Go!”

They scattered for their vehicles. By this point, zombies were everywhere, blocking the exits, a seething mass of flesh-hungry monsters with one thing on their mind: Dinner.

The truck roared as Cesar swung around looking for space to build up some speed. They were going to have to drive through the crowd, Megan realized with a sinking feeling. Kevin was straddling his motorcycle when one of the creatures reached for his shoulder. Megan watched in awe as he ducked down, drew his shotgun and placed it against the creature’s face. Its head disappeared into a gray-black mist, and the corpse tumbled away. Kevin re-holstered his gun, and ducking and weaving as he searched for a way out, he sped off through the mass of creatures.

“Here we go,” Cesar growled. He punched the accelerator. and the tires squealed in protest. Megan pushed back in her seat, grabbing the armrest with one hand and her pistol with the other. The first couple of undead went down with no problem, bouncing off the hood and tumbling to the side. Then, suddenly, in front of them was a dense cluster moving as one toward the truck.

“Hold on!” Cesar screamed over the roar of the engine, then he plowed straight into them. There was an enormous
crash,
and before she knew what was happening, the windshield was gone, and one of the things was in her lap. It thrashed wildly, its fetid stink choking her with every breath.

“Get it off of me!” Megan screamed, disgusted at the feel of rotten skin sloughing off as the creature sought purchase on her body. Cesar swerved back and forth, shaking the other creatures loose from the hood, finally finding a gap. They were out of the crowd, and except for the ghoul in the cab with them, they had a clear shot at the road. Megan was frozen in place, watching in detached horror as the creature in her lap tried to bite into her leg.

Formerly a large man in his thirties, the lack of arms, probably torn off during the impact with the truck, made him look like a fat mutant snake as he writhed around in her lap. It was only a matter of time before he got lucky and sank his teeth into her flesh. In a fit of panic, Megan placed her gun against the man’s temple, turned her head away, and fired a single shot. The report obliterated her hearing, turning everything to a low rush of muffled white noise. Cordite permeated the cab for a moment before it was washed away by the wind.

Cesar slammed on the brakes, and they skidded to a stop in the center of the southbound lane. Megan leaped from the truck, and hauled the corpse out by its feet, dumping it unceremoniously on the side of the road.

Then, as she climbed back into the truck, her heart nearly stopped. The entire side of Cesar’s face was covered in a sticky, black, syrupy-looking substance. Zombie brains. She felt herself go cold when she realized what had happened. Back-splatter.

Cesar blinked, put the truck back in gear and started rolling as soon as she was back inside.

“Oh, my God!” She reached for him, but he shrank away, not letting her get the toxic sludge on her fingers.

He shook his head. “You did what you had to do.”

“I didn’t…”she stammered.

He laughed, a high pitched chitter she had never heard from him before. “We all have to go sometime, Megan.” Megan’s heart fell as the words sank in. Cesar didn’t have much time, hours, at most. Probably less.

“Cesar. I’m so sorry,” she said again and again, repeating it as he drove, as if somehow it would undo things. They drove for the next fifteen minutes, weaving through town in a careful circuit designed to throw the undead off of their trail to avoid bringing them to their doorstep. Once they lost sight of the horde, Cesar slowed the truck and pulled to the side of the road. He shifted into
Park
and left the engine running.

“What are you doing?” Megan asked, alarmed. “We’re nowhere near home.” She knew exactly what he was doing, but she didn’t want to acknowledge it. Cesar didn’t answer. Instead, he leaned forward and rested his chin on his hands which were still on the steering wheel. He stared out at the desert.

The radio squawked. “What’s going on up there?”

Megan answered. “Nothing. Give us a minute.” She threw the radio onto the dash. A bead of sweat trickled from beneath the brim of Cesar’s hat. It rolled down the side of his face and vanished into the collar of his shirt.

“Cesar?” she asked tentatively.

“Megan,” he answered slowly. “I’ve had a good life. Better than anyone...”

“No! You can’t!”

He turned to face her with profound sadness blanketing his face. “I…
We
have no choice now. You know that.” Megan shook her head, flinging hot tears from her face. Gravel crunched outside her window; instantly, she turned and raised her pistol.

Pringle took a step back, arms raised. “Easy there, Megan. You almost—”

“Mike. Now is not the time!” She turned back to Cesar. “There’s got to be a way. Maybe you’re not even infected.”

“What’s this about infection?” Pringle asked, suddenly serious. He opened the passenger door and leaned inside the truck.

“I got splattered. It got in my eye,” Cesar replied without emotion. “I can feel it inside of me. It burns, deep down.”

“Maybe you’re imagining it?” She offered.

“No. I’m infected.”

“Holy shit, Cesar,” Pringle said. “How did it happen?”

Cesar glanced at Megan. “It doesn’t matter now.” There was a long pause as they all considered the ramifications. The truck rumbled, the engine clattering in the heat.

“I’d like to do it here,” Cesar continued. “This is my home.” Megan looked around. As far as places to die, she could think of a lot worse. They were on the outskirts of town, surrounded by low rolling hills studded with majestic saguaro, prickly pear, and cholla cacti. She bit back a sob.

“We can’t do this without you, Cesar,” she pleaded, sneaking a glance at Pringle.

“Yes, you can,” Cesar replied calmly. “You have to.” She opened her mouth to protest, but there were no more words. “You’re strong, Megan, stronger than you know.” He turned to Pringle. “And, Mike, you’re a good man despite yourself.” Pringle looked at the ground. “Megan, I want you to take over. You have to work together, to be strong, if you want this to succeed, if you want to survive...”

He was sweating more, his shirt growing damp. His skin was sallow, his breaths becoming shorter and shorter. He didn’t have much time left. Cesar forced a smile.

“Why not Mike?” Megan asked.

“Yeah, why not?” Pringle whined. “I’ve been here as long as Megan. I know the people. I know everything.”

Cesar shook his head. “Mike, you’re great at what you do. And you need to keep doing it. Megan... she has a special gift with people. They listen to her. But she can’t do it without you. Your role is essential to making this community work.”

Pringle didn’t respond for a long moment. Finally, he nodded, but something in his eyes told Megan this wasn’t the end of the discussion.

Cesar looked them both in the eye. “Okay, then. That’s settled.” He opened the driver’s side door and climbed from the truck. “I don’t want to put either of you through the trauma of killing me, so I’ll take care of it myself.” Megan moved to hug him, an involuntary response, but Cesar took a step back. He was already gone.

He proceeded to strip off his extra ammunition, his boots, and his radio gear, placing it all in the bed of the truck. He ejected all of the ammunition from his pistol except one bullet, stacking the cartridges in a neat pile on the seat. With a final nod, he turned and strode into the desert, vanishing into the brush forever.

Megan sniffed, wiped her eyes, and moved across the bench seat, taking her place behind the wheel. “You getting in?” she asked Mike. “It sounds like we’ve got a lot to discuss.”

Mike waved his arm at the other truck to let them know they could continue without him, and then climbed into the passenger seat.

With a last glance at the desert that had consumed Cesar, Megan put the truck back in gear and started driving north.

She couldn’t stand to hear the shot.

Twenty-Four

Private First Class Jimmy LaTour put a finger over his left nostril and blew gooey chunks of dirt-infused snot on the dung-colored rocks at his feet.
He jumped as a fast moving shadow flashed across the ground beside him. He looked up. It was only a hawk, riding a thermal on the hunt. For a second, Jimmy wished he was the bird, able to escape the bounds of earth and fly away. He chuckled at the thought.

The last time he had seen a plane was shortly after he had hooked up with Hollister’s crew. It had been a momentary glint in the heavens, hurtling from east to west before it was swallowed up by the late-afternoon sun. Where it came from and who was flying it, he would never know. He had dutifully reported the sighting to his crew boss, and then promptly forgot about it.

Not that it mattered anymore. Jimmy had long ago abandoned the idea of anyone coming to his rescue. Hell, if the US Army couldn’t even defend their own base, then what chance did anyone else have? He often wondered about the other soldiers in his unit, the men and women still in Afghanistan. Was it as bad over there? Were they still alive? Fortunately for him, he was on leave the day the world died, shacked up with his girlfriend Felecia in a cabin on Mount Lemmon. Felecia was gone now, dragged kicking and screaming from his pickup truck and dismembered before his eyes as they sat in a traffic jam at the main gate. Jimmy had managed to destroy the creatures eating her, but by then it was too late. He put two into her head as she began to claw her way towards him. From there, it was a frantic scramble on foot, ducking and weaving through the feeding frenzy and barely making it through the gate before it closed for good.

That hadn’t lasted long either. By the time the night was out, the base was overrun, zombies swarming through every building, looking for fresh sustenance. Jimmy had hidden. Like a scared little boy, he locked himself inside a walk-in freezer in the mess hall. There he waited.

The first challenge was the cold. That was solved at the end of the third day when the generators failed. Then the heat became a problem, exacerbated by the suffocating stench of rotting food and his own waste. Finally, when he couldn’t stand it anymore, when he reached the point where he figured it would be better to be eaten alive than to die like a trapped animal, he had ventured out. The zombies were gone.

Signs of the battle were everywhere, bits and pieces of corpses, morsels of discarded flesh, and pools of congealed blood. But no one else was alive, and no infected ones remained. He was alone.