S.W. Tanpepper's GAMELAND, Season One Omnibus (145 page)

But there are fewer zombies than before, maybe half as many. The rest seem to have lost interest and wandered off.

“
Ready for what?” Reggie answers. “It's not like they're suddenly going to start stampeding.”

“
For the blast.”

“
Oh.” He pauses, then says, “I thought you told Brother Walter you wouldn't use the rifle.”

“
Screw that. I said it mostly to get him to agree to help.”

“
Not even sure why you care what those people think. The whole bunch of them are whacked in the head. Brother-this and Sister-that. Calling the Undead Children. They're nuts.”

“
We need their help. Here and now, and then afterward when we go back to Brookhaven. Kelly needs him.”

“
You, too. Don't forget that.”

How could I?

“
Which reminds me,” I say. “Don't get bitten. I'll kill you if you do. At least one of us should be able to go home.”

“
We'll all go home.”

All except Ash and Jake.

“
We could've used Kelly here. The brah was a killing machine back there.” He goes quiet for a moment, realizing his mistake. “I'd even take Micah right now.”

“
I don't trust him as far as I can throw him.”

“
He sure put up a fight when we tied him up.”

“
You did the right thing.”

“
Yeah, but it still kills me to think of him like that,” Reggie says. “I just keep thinking about all the time we spent at his house…”

“
Don't go soft on me now, Reg. He's a traitor. You know it, I know it. He betrayed us.” I spit these last words out, but I can't seem to put any real venom in it. I want to hate him. And yet I can't seem to hold onto that hate.

“
He did save our lives, Jess.”

“
And you returned the favor by keeping Arc's Players from eating him after the network crashed, so you're even. He should be grateful that we're not feeding him to them now.”

He lets out another deep breath, but doesn't argue.

Another minute or two passes. I'm antsy. I want to see Eric. I want to know that he's okay.

“
I wish I'd thought of pinging him before I left to get you guys,” I say, and I reach back into my pocket for the Link to check the time again. How can the time pass so slowly? “I didn't think about it then. It's too late now.”

Reggie takes my hand. It's warm—sweaty, but also warm and comforting—and he holds it for a moment before giving it a squeeze and letting it go. “We'll get him, sister. He'll be fine.”

“
It's just—”

But there's a flicker of light and the dull concussion of the grenade from somewhere off to our left, followed by the sound of debris sifting through the trees. It's not as loud as I'd thought it would be. I'm suddenly afraid it won't be enough.

“
He's early,” Reggie says. “Let's just hope it wasn't accidental.”

But now we can hear them—Brother Walter and Sister Jane—yelling off in the distance and the clamp that has been tightening around my chest loosens a little. We watch the Undead in the wan light that filters through the trees from the complex's flood lamps, watch and wait as they begin to draw away by ones and twos. They turn slowly and move in the direction of the noise, moaning plaintively, looking for all the world like they're reluctant to abandon the prey they've already trapped.

A man in the tree is worth two in the bush
, my mind cackles.

“
Shut up.”

“
Shh
,” Reggie hisses, giving me a strange look.

Some of the zombies stop and turn toward our hiding spot, and for a moment it seems that they might start returning. I hold my breath. Finally, they resume their slow migration toward the shouts.

“ ‘
Shut up?' ” he whispers. “What was that about?”

“
Nothing.”

We wait until the distant shouting stops several minutes later, indicating that the first Undead have emerged from the forest and have reached the far end of the compound. They should be far enough away so that we can finish whatever needs to be done here and be gone if they decide to come back.

“
I'm seeing six,” Reggie says. He points them out, the ones that stayed behind. They stand at the base of the tree, bumping into one another. Only one of them is dressed in the black and gold uniforms of the Omegaman Forces. It's a wonder any of them escaped from the burning helicopter. Or maybe this is the one that fell out before the crash. How did it get out of its harness? How did that first one get out so that it could attack the pilot?

“
Wonder why these didn't leave with the others,” Reggie asks. “Seems strange.”

I shake my head in the gloom. “Who knows. But let's give them another minute or two, see if they go.”

“
If we wait too long, the others might come back. I don't want to be up in the tree when that happens.”

“
I don't think they will. But don't worry.” I pat the rifle. “I'll deal with the ones that didn't have the good sense to stay away.”

“
And if they come back all at once?”

“
They won't,” I tell him. I try to sound confident. “They won't remember.”

“
You don't know that,” he argues. “They— Wait… Finally. That's two more gone. But, damn, here comes another one.”

“
Just passing through. See? We're down to four again.”

“
Which aren't leaving.”

I grip the handle of the machete in my hand. My palms are sweaty and I don't know how effective I'll be fighting with my side as sore as it is and my head and neck feeling like someone rammed a steel rod down my spine. I've felt worse, that's for sure. But what's worse is I'm beginning to forget what it's like to feel better.

I glance over at Reggie and I have to chuckle to myself. We're a sorry-looking pair, me with a chunk of my side gnawed off and him with a bruise the size of Rhode Island running down his hip and thigh. He's still favoring the leg, but other than that, he's managed to come through all of this—the past two weeks—remarkably unscathed. Unbelievably unscathed.

“
There's another one gone. We're down to three.”

“
Nope. Still four.” I point. There's one hanging back, a barely visible shadow only slightly less black than the deeper darkness surrounding it. “Another Omega.”

Plus how many more that we can't see?

“
Looks like four is the magic number.”

“
Two for each of us. No problem.”

“
You ready, then? Enough procrastinating.”

It's your brother out there in that tree. It's your move, Jess.

I stand up. Reggie follows suit, wincing. I reach out to steady him. He gives me a wry smile that makes his face look almost manic in the faint light.

I lift the machete and, as one, we step out to confront the four remaining zombies guarding Eric's tree.

Except, as I can now see, it's not just four anymore.

 

It turns out
that there are actually eight zombies, not four. Four more step out of the shadows the moment we attack.

Ambush!

That's the word that comes to my mind. As if they'd been waiting for us.

Ridiculous, my rational side counters. Zombies don't plan ahead.

But that's what it seems like, and my steps falter because now I'm not so sure that this is the best plan anymore. What if there are more of them?

But there aren't. It's just the eight—

Just eight?

—
and, besides, it's too late to stop now. Reggie's already out there, hacking away with his knife like he's clearing heavy brush. If he's noticed the others, he doesn't hesitate, just wades into the pine-needle cushioned clearing and takes the head off of one before I even get myself moving again. Then dispatches a second just as quickly and quietly.

In the flickering light I catch fragmented glimpses of the battle. Beams filtered through the trees from the distant flood lamps. The ever-dimming glow from the crash. They give the scene an almost surreal feel, like one of those old silent black and white videos we've seen in school. It almost feels like we're playing some retro version of
Zpocalypto
. The only difference being, in this game it's either win or die. Win and we go home. Die and we become one more piece for the next player to try and kill.

I land my first blow, a slice to the side of the head of a particularly grotesque zombie that flays half of its skin off. The exposed eyeball glistens in the wicked light, a pale gray orb like a tiny moon in the ravaged nightscape of its face. A second blow sends the flap spinning away. It slaps up against the tree, then smacks to the dirt, sounding like a heavy pancake.

It doesn't seem to be affected at all and avoids another swipe as I sweep past. I swing my arm back to take advantage of the exposed neck, but miss. My whole body feels miscalibrated. Worse still, the effort is reawakening the injury to my side.

Reggie appears to be faring better. Another zombie goes down and stays down. That's three for him. But then I hear him grunt in pain as he decapitates his fourth with a vicious swipe of his hand. He stumbles, catches himself, keeps going.

I step forward and under the arms of mine, sweep my hand forward and thrust the machete up and across its throat. This time the strike is true. The thing makes a strange, wet, gurgling sound, and its head hinges to the side. A jet of putrid, black lava spews out of its neck and pours down its chest. A final swipe finishes it off. Five down. Three to go.

And two of them are Omegas.

The remaining Player steps directly into the point of Reggie's knife, as if impatient to get the fight over with. It jerks and falls, nearly pulling Reg down with it. Reggie's face twists in agony and he goes down onto one knee. As if sensing the opening, an Omega swoops in.

“
Look out, Re—!” I start to say, but that's all I manage to get out. The last zombie steps into a shaft of light and becomes fully illuminated for a moment. It's massive. For a split second I think it's the same monster that attacked me and Micah a few days ago. I see Micah dangling from his shoelace from the fence, kicking and screaming blindly at the growing horde of Undead as the behemoth waded through them to reach us. I remember Micah's irritation turning to panic when he realized just how big and powerful the thing was. We'd fled then, running until our lungs burst. Micah had laughed. He'd had that crazy wild look in his eyes, like he'd been enjoying himself.

But this isn't the same zombie. That one back there had been an IU, half-bald, the hair on its scalp worn away. I remember its bone-white fingers wrapped around the metal link of the fence, the blackened scabs—the torn beds of its fingernails, stained with the blood of whatever prey it had managed to capture and eat.

This one is fresh, thick in the neck, ropy muscles bulging beneath its black denim shirt, the hard lines of what was once a man in his mid-thirties at the time he was conscripted. A murderer, possibly, or a rapist.

Do they remember? Do they retain any of those old sadistic feelings? That viciousness?

Reggie tries to get to his feet, but he's having trouble. And that mountain of a zombie is descending upon him.

“
Look out, Re—!”

The Omega strikes me from behind. It feels like being slammed by a bus. The force of the blow sends me sprawling ten feet over the ground, knocking the air from my lungs. An inhuman howl fills the night. It's soon matched by another. Then the forest is suddenly alive with howls and moans.

I scrabble to my hands and knees and see Reggie roll just as his Omega throws itself at him. The look in his eyes tells me enough to get me moving again: he's in extreme pain, weakening. He's not going to last much longer.

They're fast. Incredibly fast. We manage to get them between us, but I can see Reggie's in trouble. He's putting almost no weight on the one leg and hopping more than walking as we circle them looking for an entrance. They turn along with us, as if each of them had pre-arranged which of us to eat.

“
Come on, you dead piece of shit!” Reggie hisses. “Let's get this over with!”

They both attack at once, as if on cue. Once more I step beneath the sweeping arm of the zombie. Behind me I hear a smack and a grunt and the harsh rustle of leaves. Reggie's down, but I can't help him. The CU hammers my back with its fist as it passes, a glancing blow but hard enough to alter my trajectory and send me slamming into the tree. I blink away the stars, but I can't seem to focus. The thing steps toward me, ready to grab. I drop and spin around the trunk. The tree shudders when the zombie slams into it, and the monster howls again.

I step around the tree and see Reggie and his attacker scuffling in the dirt. They're matched, size for size, strength for strength. Reggie's ability to think may not be a strategic advantage; nothing is as dangerous as pure animal instinct and a mindless drive to hunt.

I keep the tree between me and the other zombie, hoping to catch my breath. Branches rustle overhead. I duck, expecting a new attack. The next moment my head explodes as I get slammed into the ground. The thing grabs me around the neck and begins to lift me up, raking me against the rough bark of the tree. The vise-like grip tightens. I feel the strain in my spine. Try to kick. No leverage. Try to disengage. Fingers like cold steel. Too…strong…