Chapter 7
Carlie rushed towards two zombies on her
left: one was rail-thin and clad in green swim trunks while the other was
dressed like a yachtsman in a blue tunic. She cleaved open the head of the
swimmer with a swift vertical strike. Then she pivoted on her bare feet and
struck the other one across the neck with a slash that partially separated the
head from the shoulders, sending the beast into a wave that had just rolled in
beside her.
Carlie knew that she had to keep striking
and moving and not provide any opportunity for a creature to grab her. It was the
same tactic that she had used for years in personal protection training—to
remain static in combat is to invite the reaper. Slice, spin, and move, then
repeat. She did it without thinking, her skills honed from a decade of training
and street application and further refined to match the unpredictable movements
of this new scourge of the earth. Carlie spun to her right and clipped another
zombie across the hamstrings, causing it to crumble to the ground. Before she
could finish it off, an arrow whizzed by her waist from Jared’s bow and sunk
into the temple of the beast, toppling it over.
She heard the familiar clatter of metal slicing
through unyielding flesh and knew that Shane and Matias were dulling their
blades in a similar fashion.
Carlie bent over and grabbed a handful of
sand and flung it into the faces of the two approaching creatures in front of
her. They paused in confusion for a moment, scratching at their eyes long
enough for her to drive the tip of her rusty machete into the forehead of the
nearest zombie. As she struggled to free her blade from the nearly limp
creature, the other one pawed at the air for her. She used the swaying zombie
with the blade in its head as a shield as she kept dancing in a circle to keep
the other one away until she yanked her weapon free. Carlie rushed forward and
delivered a vicious arcing slice above the left ear, removing the entire
skullcap and dropping the beast to the sand, whose granules instantly transformed
from tawny to pink.
She gulped in air and looked around, her
heart punching through her chest. Carlie could see that there were at least two
dozen more creatures still left. Carlie glanced at a body that had just slumped
down by her feet and saw the zombie’s head had a tiny bullet wound in the side.
Before she could inspect it further, a creature pawed at her from behind,
grabbing her shoulder with its puffy fingers that resembled greasy black
bananas. She ducked and spun around, slamming her machete into its ribs and
then stomp-kicking it into the surf, its ropy innards uncoiling in the salty water.
Carlie rushed over towards Shane and saw
two more zombies drop from precise headshots, the bullet wounds hardly making a
dramatic exit in the skull. She knew it must be from a low-caliber rifle and
she wondered if the person pulling the trigger was the same one who had left
the canned goods at their camp. Carlie, Shane, and Matias were standing with
their backs to each other amidst a scattered array of severed heads, limbs, and
lifeless torsos as the remaining zombies closed in around their human triangle.
“Let’s back up and draw these things
further away from the others,” said Matias.
As they started to retreat towards the
incline where Carlie had previously noticed freshly dug sand, a series of rifle
shots rang out from the canopy to their right. She hadn’t noticed the sounds
before because of the battle but now the low-velocity crack of gunfire was
clear. Within seconds, three creatures were down. Only four remained and Carlie
and the others kept moving back, drawing in the remaining corpulent freaks.
Another round of gunfire and the nearest zombie dropped to the sand, its head
oozing out burgundy fluid onto the ground near a small blue crab that scurried
up to the carcass.
“Three against three—I like these odds
better,” said Shane, who rushed forward and sunk his soiled blade into the left
temple of a long-haired creature dressed like a waitress. Matias and Carlie finished
off the remaining zombies and then stepped back to examine the battlefield,
their chests pumping furiously and rivulets of sweat running down their
blood-freckled hands.
The majority of headless corpses were
strewn along a fifty-foot stretch of beach as seagulls and crabs greedily made
their way to the bodies. The sun glistened off the crimson granules of sand,
making the beach seem like it was covered with miniscule gems.
Carlie glanced over to the shoreline and
saw Amy was still safely surrounded by Pavel and Jared, who were standing with
their crude bows poised at chest level. She knelt down and thrust her dripping
blade into the sand and looked over to the treeline for any further movement.
“Looks like .223 or maybe .22 magnum
rounds,” said Shane, poking the crumpled head of a zombie with the tip of his
blade.
“That didn’t sound like a .223 though,”
said Matias.
“Well, we won’t have to wait long for an
answer,” said Carlie, pointing her machete to a cluster of bushes near the
forest, fifty yards away, where a lone figure with a scoped rifle had stepped
into view.
Chapter 8
The man slung his rifle and slowly walked
forward. He moved gracefully but with purpose, his gait narrow, like someone
used to gliding along sylvan trails. His pepper-flecked gray beard was neatly
trimmed and his skin was dark brown. A wiry figure, no more than five foot
eight and one hundred and forty pounds, Carlie figured. He wore faded khaki
shorts, leather boots, and a green cotton pullover shirt with a brimmed hat. It
looked like he had just stepped out of an Eddie Bauer catalog and she marveled
at his neat appearance.
“Please back away from that sand
formation,” he said, waving his hand furiously. “Quickly, before you do any
further damage.”
Carlie and the others gave each other
dismayed looks and then glanced around at their feet. She looked at the man,
raising up her shoulders and scrunching her eyebrows together.
“What the hell are you talking about?” she
said.
“Please, Dios Mio, move away from the
mounds,” he said with an edge to his voice, motioning them to follow him a few
feet back from where they were standing.
“That area that you so carelessly stumbled
onto is the nesting site for leatherback turtles, whose eggs are buried by the
hundreds under the sand.” The man leaned forward to inspect the beach and then
shot a searing glance at the others. “Thank heaven I was nearby and got here in
time to prevent you from destroying this precious site.”
Shane rubbed the thick whiskers on his
chin. “Yeah, right, thank heaven.”
Carlie looked back down the beach,
examining where the battle had begun and where they ended up. “Is that why you
waited so long to start dispatching those zombies—because we were getting too
close to this nesting site?”
His angry expression had eased as he saw
the mounds were unaffected. “Forgive me but it looked like you had things under
control when it all began. I would have intervened if any of you were in grave
danger. This turtle nesting site however is another story. This island is one
of two regions in the world where leatherbacks lay their eggs,” he stepped
towards the others and stretched out his hand. “And I am the caretaker of this
island. My name is Alejandro Bestizo.”
Carlie reluctantly shook the man’s hand and
examined the .22 magnum rifle. “I’m not sure if I’m supposed to thank you or
not.”
“Were you the one who left us the canned
goods and supplies?” said Shane.
“That’s right,” Alejandro said, looking beyond
them at the approach of Jared and Pavel who were carrying Amy on the makeshift
stretcher. “Though it looks like you may need more than that.”
“She’s got a pretty high fever. She took a
fall on…”
“The bamboo, I know,” he said. “I saw it
happen just after you arrived here.”
“You’ve been watching us this whole time?
Why didn’t you offer a hand?” said Jared.
“It is just me alone on this island. I
didn’t know what kind of people you were. I was hoping I might provide you with
a few goods and that might give you the energy to push on to the mainland.”
“What mainland?”
“Over that way,” he said, motioning over
his left shoulder. Alejandro looked over the group, staring at their haggard
appearance, gaunt cheeks, and torn clothes. “How long have you been living like
this?”
“What’s the date?” said Matias.
“It’s October 8.”
“Damn…I didn’t think we’d been gone that
long,” said Shane.
“We punched out of the
Farragut
around
September 2,” said Carlie.
“Where are you all from?” said Alejandro.
“I figured maybe you washed up here from one of the cruise ships near Cancun.”
“Cancun—Mexico?” said Carlie. “We’re off
the coast of Mexico?”
“I thought we were somewhere near the
Caymans,” said Matias.
Amy began moaning and thrashing on the
stretcher. “Come,” Alejandro said, waving his hand and turning towards the
jungle. “Follow me back to my lookout and we can talk more from there, and I’ll
see what I can do for your friend.”
Chapter 9
The wind was ripping through the large
metal culvert beneath the two-lane bridge where Eliza, Willis, and Adams were
holed up. After waiting several days near the wreckage of Air Force One, they
realized that rescue was not coming. Adams suggested making their way north in
the hopes of encountering a settlement or a small National Guard facility that
might still be operational. After six days the constant movement north along
rural roads and small towns at the mercy of the ever-changing weather was
wearing on them. Though they had outfitted themselves with suitable clothes and
footwear they’d scavenged along the way, their bodies still ached from the bite
of the cold at night, the food deprivation, and the unrelenting wind which
seemed to taunt them at every bend in the road.
The three of them had just finished
sharing a can of tuna when Eliza heard the familiar sound of shuffling feet
moving along the concrete bridge above. “Sounds like that big group of biters
we saw off in the distance near that town to the north,” she whispered while
resting her hand over the rifle slung in front of her chest. It felt at once
comforting and unfamiliar, as she had only received a few minimal lessons in
usage from Willis prior to departing.
“We’ve encountered more of them in the
last day since we started north,” said Willis. “Wonder why that is?”
“Not sure, maybe it’s the weather,” said
General Adams. “They might be affected by changes in barometric pressure just
like other animals, who knows.” He was rubbing his right knee, which he
explained earlier had suffered from too many airborne operations in younger
days.
They waited thirty minutes more after the
shuffling sound above had faded then they grabbed their packs and headed back
to the road. As Eliza stepped out past a row of low shrubs, she looked to her
left and saw the mob of undead ambling away a quarter mile in the distance. She
pushed the shrubs out of her way with her knees and made her way along the
blacktop in the opposite direction. To the north, she saw a cluster of six
homes and two barns on the edge of the small ranching community.
After a mile of brisk walking, they
rounded a bend in the two-lane highway and abruptly stopped, their cold faces
trying to squeeze out grimaces as they spotted another group of zombies moving
down the road in their direction.
“What the hell—is everybody just getting
out of a town meeting or what?” said Willis.
Eliza and the others retreated back a few
feet to a clump of wild raspberry bushes. She looked around but there was no
place to hide, only more low-lying bushes and a few fallen trees. The
farmhouses were a half-mile away and offered the only hope for cover.
Adams moved up alongside her. “We need to
bolt for those homes. There are too many of them to fight here in the open. Our
movement will take us on an angle away from the creatures but they’re gonna see
us for sure.”
As the three of them crouched low into a
sprinter’s position, Eliza heard a snorting sound. It reminded her of the noise
a deer makes when it senses danger. She peered out around the bend and saw a
lithe, yellow-faced mutant standing on the road. Its smooth, glossy head tilted
upward as it frantically sniffed the air. With its streamlined appearance and
sharp movements, it seemed totally different from the other creatures they had
observed. The other mass of desiccated zombies was still a hundred yards behind
it and she wondered where this unusual creature had come from.
Before she could say anything, General
Adams had already moved forward. Instantly the mutant swung its head towards
him and began bounding in their direction. It moved swiftly and had the gait
pattern of an efficient runner.
The three of them burst out of their
poorly concealed position and ran across the road through a gap in the barbed-wire
fence and into a grassy field, then swung to the right towards the distant
farmhouses. The thin mutant wasted no time and leapt over the four-foot-high
fence, darting towards them. The tangle of zombies on the main road sluggishly
readjusted their course and began following.
As they dashed across the meadow, Eliza
turned and saw the swift mutant only twenty feet away, its cat-like sprint
quickly closing the gap between them. Adams veered slightly to his right and
fired off two rounds at the creature but missed when it zig-zagged to their
rear. While Adams turned around to resume running, his left leg went into a
prairie dog hole and his ankle made a crunching sound. The man went down hard
under the weight of his pack.
Eliza and Willis stopped when they saw
Adams go down and turned to level their rifles at the creature, who had
returned to a linear movement. Its blinding speed overtook Adams and it tackled
the man, causing both of them to somersault forward into an anthill. Willis ran
forward, aiming his rifle at the tangled mass of limbs only to hear Adams
screaming as part of his throat was torn apart. As the ball of man and beast
came to a stop, the creature arched its bald head back, and opened its frothy
red lips to bellow out a piercing shriek, then spun its glistening face towards
Willis. Two rounds in the skull removed most of its forehead and it slumped
back onto the mangled body of Adams.
“Jesus Christ, no—this can’t be
happening,” shouted Eliza, whose grip was frozen on her weapon. “He can’t be
dead—no!”
Both of them stepped forward to look at
Adams. Willis gently turned the man on his side and removed his pack and
weapons while keeping an eye on the approaching horde of zombies staggering
across the uneven field fifty yards away.
Eliza looked down at the lifeless corpse
of the yellow mutant, noticing a black collar around its neck. Its muscular
frame showing through the torn blue t-shirt and black shorts resembled that of
a triathlete she had known at college. “What the hell is this thing? It isn’t
like the others.”
“Let’s go. We don’t have time to figure
this out right now. Let’s hope there aren’t any more like it.”
Willis grabbed her arm and yanked her from
the blood-soaked anthill as they continued running north towards the farmhouses
and out of reach of the ravenous undead.