The Rise of Macon: A Zombie Novel (Macon Saga Book 2) (16 page)

"Read about it? Kyle and James just did it a few days
ago."

"Oh yeah," said Patrick. "But I was talking
about to attack people."

Kyle, ignoring the conversation, lowered the binoculars and
handed them to James. "Looks like a former colleague is back."

James took a look and passed the binoculars on to Patrick,
who was anxiously tapping him on the shoulder.

Kyle removed his rifle, laid on the ground and turned on
the EO-tech attached to his AR-15. He placed Neil in the red dot and slowed his
breathing. Neil was almost a hundred and fifty yards away, not an easy shot. Kyle
shut everything out of his mind, closed his senses to everything except Neil,
who still held the air horn raised in his hand.

The rifle boomed in the silent December day and Kyle raised
his eyes to find Neil on the ground. He wasn't dead. Kyle hadn't wanted to kill
him, just silence that damn horn. Not that it would do any good, the horde was
coming. Neil had done his work well.

Kyle stood up and watched as Neil hugged his arm to his
stomach, leaning over, as if protecting it. Neil looked up and laughed. Even
from this distance, the group heard the cackling high pitched sound of Neil's victory.
Then Neil started to walk towards them.

Neil made quick time across the even ground, despite being
shot in the arm and having a small limp. As he got closer Kyle saw a man
transformed.

Neil, always meticulous in his appearance, even to the
point of vanity, seemed a shell of what he'd been. His clothes hung loose and
torn on his thin frame. He seemed more scarecrow than man. He walked closer,
stopping in the shadow of the fort and lifting his head in triumph.

Neil looked up, his bloodshot eyes tracking until he
spotted Kyle standing at the top. "I've returned with my brothers for you
Kyle. Now justice will be served!"

Kyle didn't know what to say. He was beyond rage at what
this man had already put them through, and now this lunatic was raving about justice.
This would kill all of them, and for what?

 "Why?" Kyle called out, "why would you do
this?"

Neil answered in another manic laugh, his grasp on reality
gone. He pointed his blood soaked hand at Kyle, his face twisting in hate.
"You broke all the rules and left your post. You deserted and then you
sought me out and killed all that I had built. You're the guilty one, and now
you'll answer for it."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Kyle
yelled, his normally controlled temper flaring at the gibberish of this lunatic.
"We didn't seek you out. We didn't even know where you went after you
tried to ambush us!"

"Lies, Lies. You're a liar Kyle, but I knew that
already. Now I have killed you." Then, before anyone could react, Neil
pulled a handgun from behind his back, placed the weapon in his mouth and
pulled the trigger. The back of Neil's head exploded, the ground behind him
covered in blood and brain. Neil's body crumpled, his limbs folding in on
themselves, as he hit the ground without a sound.

"Bloody hell," said Edmund, not taking his eyes
from the morbid scene. "Did that just happen?"

"Good riddance to that psycho," Eric said,
focusing everyone's attention to him. "Alright people, we still have work
to do and less than an hour to do it. Let's get back down to the
courtyard."

Under Eric's not so gentle prodding, everyone moved back to
the courtyard. Kyle remained standing, staring at the body of Neil, knowing
that Neil might be right. He probably did kill them.

Chapter 16

The desperate last minute organizing of rifles, magazine,
shields, swords and radios all took place around the group listening to Kyle's
battle plan, which caused more than a few to look at him with incredulous faces.
All the defenders, minus the kids and a young girl caretaker, stood on the
inner wall facing out.

Kyle stood, his friends next to him, and looked out at the
fields around the fort. Doubt and terror rippled through the group, kept at bay
by the slim hope of surviving. Individuals, at different times, peered over at
Kyle to find his face calm and collected. Reassured, they turned around and
settled themselves, waiting for it to start.

 The open ground in front of the fort, over two hundred
yards, gave him the space he needed to make his plan work.

They'd need all of it.

Kyle looked away from the tree line to find Grace standing
beside him. His heart raced as he looked down at her. Her green eyes, like
always, captured him. She looked up, concern flowing from her pale face. Words
caught in his throat.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. He didn't know why
he said it.

"For what?"

He almost laughed. "I don't know, for bringing you
hear I guess. I wish-"

"Kyle, don't. There's nowhere I'd rather be. Well…
that's not true exactly."  She laughed. "Let's just make it through
today and then we can talk more."

He smiled, relieved. "Deal."

She nodded and walked to her spot in the line. His eyes
followed her and he had to shake to stop himself following her. He wished Abe
was here, but he couldn't think about that now. He wasn't done mourning his
brother, but it would have to wait.

Time was up.

Just emerging from the road, breaking into the open, were
the first of the diseased. Their shambling walk easily marking them for the
unnatural things that roamed this new world. They weren't fast, but walked
determinedly towards the fort.

"Prone positions," called out Kyle, focusing
immediately.

Six shooters laid down, taking position on the top of the
wide inner wall. They switched safeties off, aimed and found their targets. No
one fired.

"Aim carefully," Kyle said, walking behind the
line. These six were the only ones who could make the shot with any accuracy.
"Aim five yards from the beginning of the road, then move left with your
shots.

Patrick led off, his rifle booming in the silence of the
December day. A second later, another rifle joined his, then the rest of the
six began to fire. Slowly, methodically, they began to knock down the diseased
that broke from the road.

Kyle watched through his binoculars, his eyes held steady
at the distant slaughter. "Control you're shots," he called out. He
knew this was just the beginning and they couldn't waste a single round.

Kyle stopped at the end of the line, stepping over a stack
of rifles that lay waiting to be used, as other rifles became fouled. Boxes of
ammo lay beside the weapons, also waiting to be used.

In less than five minutes, two hundred diseased were
dropped, creating a mound of dead four feet high and ten yards long. More came,
pouring down the middle of the road like a giant anaconda of death.

"Cease fire, change rifles". The six shooters were
handed freshly cleaned and oiled rifles, as magazines were passed back, to be
reloaded by others. Jasmine, a well-trained shooter in her own right, helped
the younger girls with the cleaning, giving instruction as needed.

"Oh my god, we're going to die!" one of the young
girls said, horror displayed like a map on her face. Her body shook, her hands
almost dropping the magazine she was loading.

A part of Kyle wanted to agree, his stomach clinching at
the sheer volume of the diseased rambling towards them. They came in their
legion, unaware of anything but the desire to feed, to destroy, to fulfill the
purpose that had so cruelly been given them.

"No." answered Kyle. "We have a plan, we'll
fight smarter and live to hear Patrick boast of his heroics." A few
chuckles came from the small group, who turned to give Patrick good natured
smacks on the back. Patrick, who had taken his wife's hand, grinned back,
throwing a wink in for good measure. "Listen to my directions and follow
the plan. Control your fear and give courage to those who fight with you."

Kyle paused, taking measure of the progress being made by
the diseased.

"Alright, the warm up is over, it's time. Let's move
to the position for the first part of the plan."

As one, the members of the group moved left along the wall,
walking further down, away from the gate. They moved until the curvature of the
fort almost caused them to lose sight of the coming horde.

"This is it, take positions," said Kyle, pulling
his own rifle from around his back.

Old Ben moved beside Kyle, his blue jean overalls making
him look like he just finished a day in the hay. "This going to work,
son?"

"Of course, this-"

"I'm an old man Kyle, don't waste time giving me lip service,
tell it to me straight. What are our chances?"

Kyle gave a humorless laugh. If there was one man without
fear, one man who'd already lived a full life, it was Old Ben. "We'll be
fine."

"Kyle-"

Kyle faced Old Ben, his blue eyes flashing, his voice
stone. "We'll be fine, Ben."

"Good enough for me," said Old Ben nodding,
knowing when to stop pushing an issue. He made his way slowly to the ground,
his bones popping under the layers of denim. Kyle turned his attention back to
the diseased, who stumbling and shuffling, were coming for them.

Those diseased who were in the open simply changed
directions, cutting at an angle across the open ground to reach their prey. The
new arrivals, emerging from the woods, spotted the commotion and tried to
instantly turn right, but were met by an obstruction. They simply followed the
obstruction along until it ended, then turned towards the fort. Kyle felt his
tension loosen a little when he saw the route the diseased were taking. He hadn't
been sure it would work.

The diseased came. They came clumped and huddled together
as they walked, reminding Kyle of a black serpent. He could feel the tension
and anxiety among his friends as thousands of milky eyes looked in their
direction. A low moan, almost like a giant humming, came from the diseased, the
sound getting louder.

It's time. Kyle's muscles spasmed involuntarily, his body
pumping adrenalin for the fight to come. He didn't fear the wave of death that
marched towards him, but failing those who stood beside him; that he feared. Despite
the odds against him, Kyle felt calm at the coming tied, a peace almost. An odd
thing, but Kyle didn't have time to ponder it. He needed to do this right,
everything depended on timing. Now was the time. Kyle raised his binoculars and
called out, "Remember your instructions. Take good shots and listen to me.
Fire!"

This time everyone fired, except Kyle and the two teenage
girls who would be swapping out magazines. The rifles barked in the hands of
those on the ground, the sound, ear splitting and foreign in this machineless
world.

"Keep your shots on the same spot," Kyle yelled. He
needed to be heard, to reassure and encourage. The feeling of fighting alone
was by far worse than what came against them. "Don't worry about the ones
getting past, keep focusing on the same spot."

The line of diseased, predictably, moved as one, turning
their death march towards the small group. At the monument, the first kill
spot, the diseased died.

At first, only a few fell, but as the group focused in,
hundreds died, creating a mound of dead. Some diseased were killed, but many
tripped and were crushed by others who fell on them. It didn't matter to Kyle
if they were dead or not, as long as they were creating his choke points for
him.

"Aim right!  Five yards!"  Kyle's booming voice
carried over the sharp sound of the firing and everyone shifted their fire
right, leaving behind a five yard long mound of dead.

Kyle released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. They
were doing it. They were acting just as he predicted. He watched through his
binoculars as another mound of dead began to stack up, this next to the
previous one. The diseased continued to come.

The diseased were doing what Kyle expected, what he hoped
for. They advanced, only to meet the mound of dead, then turned to their right
and following it until they were once again able to close on their prey. It
would've been easier for them to walk at an angle, avoiding the obstacle, but
these weren't thinking creatures. They moved on instinct, and Kyle used it
against them.

"Aim right! Five yards!" he cried again. The
group, listening to Kyle, shifted their fire and began to kill the diseased as
they walked further around the earthworks of dead. Kyle glanced at the hundreds
that had been missed, all heading straight towards them. He couldn't worry
about them now. They weren't the threat, but damn it, it was scary letting them
close unmolested.

"Don't worry about the ones heading here, focus on the
mound!"

The call of people reloading sounded out as magazines ran
dry and were replaced. James stood up and approached Kyle. "We're almost
out of magazines for this section."

Kyle nodded, not turning his eyes away from the slaughter. Supplies
had been place beforehand along the wall, according to the plan. Some of it had
been strategy, but guess work had played a role also.

Fourteen of them were shooting. For this stage, they'd been
given six magazines, with twenty eight rounds apiece. They'd just used a little
over 2,300 rounds. Didn't seem like a lot, but they didn't have a lot.

"Move them," Kyle said to James.

James, his voice deeper and richer than Kyle's, cried out,
"Move positions. Drop your magazines here and take your rifles to the next
position. Patrick, stay here, use the extra rounds for the magazines and fill
in the holes of the mound. Let's go!"

Except for Patrick, all the defenders of Macon picked up
and started moving back towards the center of the fort, then pushed past it and
continued on to the far side, almost opposite their previous position.

The group dropped down at pre-arranged positions, grabbing
the waiting magazines and took a breath, waiting for the signal.

Kyle nodded to James, who gave the order and the firing
started again. Kyle, feeling confident James knew what to do, took a position
next to Edmund and began to fire."

"I'm so bloody scared, I believe I pissed my trousers,"
Edmund yelled. Kyle thought his yell a little extreme since they were right
next to each other, but realized he was letting everyone know. Light chuckles
replied along the line of shooters, their firing never stopping.

"If I smell correctly, it was more than pissing,"
answered Old Ben in a raspy voice. More laughs. Kyle took it as a good sign.

"Aim left. Five yards!" James shouted from behind
him. Kyle finished his magazine, hit the release and inserted another one. He
stood up to view the earthworks of dead, its size growing as he watched. Soon,
it would cover the whole right side of the field. It was a five foot tall wall
of dead.

Jasmine, her purple tinted hair blowing in the cold wind,
joined Kyle, handing him a full magazine. "Kyle, why didn't we just stand
in the middle of the fort and kill them as they came in?"

Kyle glanced at her, his eyes never leaving the threat
still advancing on the fort. "I considered it, but that would have created
a mound of dead in the middle, with the diseased splitting on both sides of it.
I didn't want our focus split in different directions. This is about us
controlling the battle, not them.

Kyle was facing her when Patrick ran up, and he couldn't
help but notice her eyes light up in relief at the sight of him. Patrick made
it to them, his rifle tucked under his arm, and threw a bag of empty magazines
on the ground. For the battle, Patrick had perfectly formed his Mohawk, which
stood straight up, it's yellow clashing with the blue paint he'd found to color
half his face. "Ran out of rounds. Hey, sexy."

Jasmine gave a toothy grin. "Hey stud, how's it going
over there?"

"I tried to build the mound, it should hold for
awhile." He took a breath and leaned closer to Kyle. "The problem is,
when we switched sides the line of zombies just flowed forwards, not moving
where we wanted them to."

"I know," said Kyle, "couldn't be helped. The
moat will stop them, until we can deal with them. The ones exiting the tree
line will be the ones we target. How many are trapped in the moat now?"

"I'd say, easily a thousand."

Kyle grimaced. Too many. He hadn't expected the move to
cause that many to keep coming forward. A mistake, and a big one.

"Aim left. Five yards," James called out.

"Alright, we can't let them clump in one spot. We need
to spread them out." Kyle looked down at diseased in the moat, he had a
plan for them, but hadn't wanted to use it yet.  He would improvise. "Okay,
take Edmund and go back in the other direction, getting the ones in the moat to
follow you. When you're on the back side of the fort, start taking them out. They'll
be out of the way back there."

"Got it."

"Use handguns, you'll be close. Have Edmund run back
and forth, keeping them from-"

"I got it Kyle. Edmund, you're with me," Patrick
yelled, dropping his rifle and grabbing extra magazines for his Beretta. He
took a quick step forward, gave his wife a kiss, then took off in the other
direction.

"Aim left! Five yards!" James called again. Kyle
laid down, flipped off his safety, and finished off another magazine, trying to
fill the holes in the mound.

The calls of "out" ran among the group as the
ammo for their guns ran out.

"Drop your rifles, pick up new ones and head to the
stage three area." Kyle yelled, getting up and throwing his rifle down
next to the others being dropped. They had a surplus of AR-15s, just not the
ammo to go with it. This, at least, helped them to have clean rifles, not ones
that would jam with fouled barrels. They could clean them later, if they were
still around.