Authors: Richard Johnson
Smokey shook
his head. “We aren’t killers. And you heard the guy, how could we have gotten
the vehicles moving?”
“Was
bluffing. Is why Charlie not good leader like Vlad. You hesitate, you die. So
does everyone depending on you. Act on instincts and survive.”
Charlie
gritted his teeth, fighting the strain of dehydration and his annoyance at what
was becoming a recurring issue. Katya couldn’t finish boiling the water soon
enough. “Listen, stop jamming me up, comrade.”
“Again, not
Russian. Besides, if Vlad jamming you up, Vlad jam you up so bad you have no
room for peanut butter on your toast.”
“I think
we’re talking about different things, buddy.” Charlie turned to his friends.
“It’s like Vidu all over again.”
“No idea what
that means,” the Bulgarian said. “Anyways… must go leave shit in woods. Vlad
prairie-dogging.” He walked away.
“God, that
guy’s a dildo,” Charlie said quietly.
Rob nodded.
“Yup. It was your idea to bring him along though, remember? I’m the guy that
wanted to beat his ass.”
“I still
think he can help us,” Charlie said as he waded to shore. “But if he keeps
challenging me on every single thing, then—”
“Ow,” Sam
said loudly. “Ow!” he screamed a moment later, as he was pulled partially
underwater.
Charlie dove
back into the murky drink as Sam flailed about in a panic, screaming that
something was biting his foot. After swimming the twenty yards to reach him,
Charlie grabbed the kid’s arms and pulled him towards the beach. As they
reached the edge of the water it became evident what had attacked him since the
creature was still firmly attached.
“Snapping
turtle!” Smokey exclaimed.
Sam tried
kicking it loose, but it wouldn’t budge. “Get it off, get it off!”
Butt naked,
Charlie grabbed a large rock and bashed the reptile’s head several times until
it released its powerful grip. A few more knocks and the ugly beast was dead.
Sam writhed
in pain. His foot was pretty chewed up, but he still had all his toes. “Ow. I
must have stepped on it.”
“I thought a
zombie had you there for a second,” Charlie said, then realized he was standing
naked in front of everyone. He covered himself with a shirt and looked to Katya
with a smile. “Keep that water boiling because it looks like we’re gonna have
turtle soup for dinner.”
“Wow, that
thing must weigh fifty pounds,” Smokey said as the Koreans came in with smiles,
also excited to have meat on the menu for a change.
“Yeah, it was
a nasty sucker. I’m glad I found that rock right away. I’m surprised Rob hadn’t
already bashed its…” Charlie looked around. “Hey, where is Rob?”
The jovial
giant had disappeared during the chaos. “I thought he went in the water to help
Sam,” Smokey said and shrugged.
That’s when
Charlie’s eyes got big. “The dumbass can’t swim!”
“Oh, fuck,”
Smokey said as they all jumped into the lake in a hurry.
Charlie took
the lead. “Everyone form a line and spread out, he can’t be that far in.”
A minute or
two passed and there was no sign of him as Rob’s friends frantically scoured
the waters. And then Ping raised his hand while shouting something
unintelligible. Sure enough, they pulled Big Rob to the surface and then
dragged him ashore with great effort.
He was pale,
his big lungs were full of water, and the rest of him was empty of life.
Charlie tried in vain to administer CPR, but simply didn’t know what he was
doing. Frustrated, he lashed out at Sam. “Dammit, why did you get in the water
anyways?”
“I just wanted
to go swimming, like old times,” he said and hid his face.
Katya
clutched the crying child to her chest. “Now’s not the time!”
Charlie
ignored her and tried mouth to mouth again before doing some half-assed chest
compressions. The others stood around in shock. Nothing worked. Precious time
passed and it became painfully clear. Viking Rob Magnusson, the man, the myth,
was gone.
Aedes
albopictus
, also known as the Asian tiger mosquito due to its distinctive
striped pattern, had been an invasive species in Illinois for decades. In
normal times the tiny creatures were plentiful, impossible to eradicate, and
sometimes deadly. Now with legions of zombies to feed upon and countless pools
of untreated water, the pest had become a plague of biblical scope.
Sharpshooter Gus smacked one on his forehead a little too late, and then wiped
the blood off his hand. “Gotcha,” he said and itched at the growing welt.
The prison
guard had continued manning the observation tower after the apocalypse much as
he had before it, with shoot to kill orders and a hard-on to carry out those
orders. But he had become a bit more vigilant since the night of Marquell’s
escape. Gus claimed a pack of zombies had finished the gang leader off, and
since nobody was able to prove otherwise, that was that.
A cloud moved
ever so slightly from its position blocking the moon, and Gus discovered that
another invasive species, also from Asia, had come out that night. Only this
one was even deadlier than the first. Nearby, Chinese troops began massing
behind piles of rubble and battle-worn tanks. Even worse, through his
high-powered binoculars, Gus could see mobile artillery rolling into place.
It was time
to get to work. The sharpshooter put half a tin of Redman chew into his mouth
and set his AR-15 into firing position. Then he hit the buzzer and alerted the
entire prison of the impending attack. They had known it was coming for days,
and the prison occupants had prepared as best they could. But after seeing the
forces arrayed against them, Gus already knew what the outcome would be. He put
his headphones on, turned Garth Brooks up, and began blasting Chinese soldiers
from five hundred yards.
Inside the
prison was a flurry of activity as the guards and their families took up
fighting positions and dug in. Like the Alamo, all parties realized there would
be no quarter given. Unlike the Alamo, where the defense was led by the likes
of Davey Crockett and Jim Bowie, a gorgeous socialite with steel nerves and a
rock-hard body commanded the prison garrison.
Heather
McCabe took to the intercom as mortars landed like tiny meteors all around the
compound, blasting away at the structures and killing inhabitants by the
handful. “Now is the time we’ve prepared for,” she said quietly, then cleared
her throat before speaking in a more authoritative manner. “We’re ready. We
survived the plague, we survived the riots, and we’ll survive this. It’s time
to teach them a lesson they’ll never forget. This is our prison, and more
importantly, this is our country! Now fight with all you have, and know I’ll be
right here fighting with you.”
A raucous
cheer went up in all corners of Richard Daley Prison while two Chinese tanks
rolled towards the outer fence, with scores of People’s Liberation Army Marines
trailing behind. Heather rose from her office chair and sprinted into the
hallway as more explosions went off and the lights flickered ominously. She
could hear the tanks moving closer even from deep inside the complex. Time was
short.
Meanwhile, Gus’s
targets were moving steadily closer to him and he was now able to potshot the
soldiers much more rapidly. However, the pair of tanks had closed to within two
hundred yards and would breach the perimeter within minutes. Then it would be
game over. Not only that, but the explosive rounds were getting closer to the
tower as the mortar teams zeroed in on his position.
Gus stopped
firing, spit, and grabbed his walkie-talkie. “Release the hounds,” he said, and
then landed a spurting head shot on a crouching soldier.
Another alarm
sounded and the outer gates swung open. In an instant, hundreds of hungry
cannibals that had been trapped between the outer and inner fences streamed
towards the advancing Chinese. Most of them were immediately cut down by small
arms fire, but a dozen plowed into the ranks of the attackers, creating a
temporary moment of mayhem.
But the
zombies were just a distraction.
BOOOOM
!
A disabled
tractor-trailer stuffed with fertilizer and thousands of ball bearings blew up
next to the tanks. The force of the mega-explosion sent body parts flying,
knocked the treads off both tanks, and shook the entire prison.
Iraq War
veterans can come in handy if one ever needs to make I.E.Ds. Luckily the prison
had several on staff that could take the homemade explosives apart and put them
back together in their sleep. The Chinese military had failed to anticipate
this capability, and their cannon fodder paid for it dearly.
Next, several
dozen defenders emerged from a safe house a block away in a surprise counter-offensive,
making their way towards the self-propelled 155 mm howitzers parked half a
mile away. If those bad boys went live, it would be all over but the crying.
“Nice,” Gus
said when he saw his own guys working quietly towards the target. Then he got
back to his own task at hand as stray bullets raked the tower from several
directions. More Garth Brooks, more killing.
While the
fighting picked up, Heather grabbed her beloved dog along with two heavy bags
and began making her way through the prison in a hurry. She passed crying
women and children along the way, and paused just long enough to tell them what
they wanted to hear. Sadly, it was all bullshit.
Heather
opened a final door and walked outside to where a bright yellow Bell 204
helicopter was waiting for her on the basketball courts, gassed up, blades
spinning, and ready for takeoff.
The pilot
named Jake, a grizzled vet, hopped out and tossed the dog inside before helping
her with the luggage. He wasn’t happy, and shouted above the sound of the
blades to let her know just that. “I told you we were already close to our
weight limit, now you show up with all this shit?”
The
recreation building behind them burst into flames and the windows shattered,
sending glass flying all about. “I don’t think we should be arguing about this
right now!” Heather shouted back.
“Do you want
to crash two miles out because the damned helicopter is off balance? Pick one
and toss the other.”
“Fine,” she
said and chucked a large green duffel bag to the ground. It clanged loudly and
stopped right in place.
As the two
finished their bickering over maximum gross weight capacity, a garbage truck
crashed through both outer fences and Chinese soldiers swiftly followed through
the opening, demonstrating that they had some tricks of their own. Guards shot
at them from the rooftops, but the sprinting soldiers quickly spread out and
found hiding spots. Soon they were mounting effective counter fire and dropping
the guards one by one.
They pressed
their advance, then noticed the smell of gasoline too late. The overgrown and
parched grass ignited with the help of a Molotov cocktail, and many of the
Chinese marines suffered horrible burns. But the flames died down soon enough
and more troops kept pouring in.
By this time
Gus had already retreated to a rooftop farther back and continued to tear up
the opposition with blistering and accurate shooting. When the helicopter rose
up behind him and he was momentarily face to face with Heather, Gus was equal
parts surprised and pissed. And so he did what any self-respecting merchant of
death would do in a similar situation: he lit that sucker up.
Jake was
forced to pull back hard as AR-15 rounds peppered the windshield and
effortlessly zipped through the back of the helicopter. The dog barked wildly
as tracer fire followed close behind while they sped off, and it became clear
both sides were shooting at them in earnest.
Gus watched
the chopper disappear into the night and swatted another mosquito as it landed
on his nose. “Gotcha.” Then an artillery shell exploded on top of the roof and
the talented sharpshooter was instantly obliterated, leaving behind nothing
more than a stain and a funky smell. The thunder rolled as the firing
continued.
Initially the
Chinese command had sought to use the prison as headquarters and didn’t want it
destroyed. But when their artillery was threatened by a surprise counterattack
from tactical shotgun-wielding prison guards, the decision was made to light
the place up. And so they ground it to dust with barrage after barrage, knowing
that each explosion would draw more of the infected to the area. But the
zombies were incapable of strategy and trickery, and so were much more easily
dealt with.
Heather saw
the heavy blasts in the prison and knew right away that the battle was over. So
she turned around and focused on the empty black sky in front of her, striking
the faces of those left behind from her thoughts. In their hour of need, she
had left them to die. But above all, Heather was a survivor, and she just didn’t
give a damn.
“What was in
the bag you threw out, anyways?” Jake asked as he adjusted several instruments
on the panel.
“You don’t
want to know,” Heather said flatly. “Trust me.”
“Well, now
you have to tell me,” the pilot pressed.
“Gold. Lots
and lots of gold.”
“And the one
you kept?” Jake asked, his thick eyebrows furrowed in amazement.
“Dog food.”
Charlie put
his clothes on and joined the others as they stood around on the beach. The
only noise anyone could hear was the sound of weeping and the infrequent waves
lapping at the sand.
That was,
until Vlad emerged from the woods with a quizzical look on his face. “What all
that commotion? You trying to get zombie rave going?”
Katya pointed
to Rob’s motionless body. “There was an accident.”
“Oh, fuck
Vlad’s life. Can’t even drop log in woods without major calamity.”
“He didn’t
even scream for help or anything. He just… disappeared,” Smokey said amidst
tears.
Vlad shoved
Smokey aside and dropped to the ground next to his old adversary. “This not way
for warrior to die.” He placed his hands on Rob’s barrel chest, pushing
forcefully and with speed as if he were beating him up in the process. “Come
on, big chicken.” Pump, pump, pump. “Come on, big chicken!” Pump, pump, pump.
He slapped Rob’s lifeless face multiple times. “COME ON BIG CHICKEN!”
Rob had been
going towards the glowing light and the smell of baby back ribs for what seemed
like an hour. He could unmistakably hear Vidu talking about scuba diving with
Abraham Lincoln and Blake complaining about his retirement fund going unspent.
Just a few more steps and he would be on the other side. Was that a bucket of
hot wings and a pitcher of Pale Horse Ale glistening in the sun?
Vlad punched
his old adversary in the gut and Big Rob spit out a massive lungful of water
before grabbing Vlad’s throat and choking him with the strength of a panicking
beast, letting out a roar.
Vladimir
struggled to break the man’s iron grip, but still cracked a smile. “Little
help, please,” he managed to mumble and everyone grabbed at Rob’s arms, prying
them away with great effort.
Rob rolled
over and puked up more of the greenish water while Vlad massaged a purple
throat and spit on the ground several times. “Breath smells like depressed
dog’s butthole.” Rob puked again and Vlad continued, “Anyways, welcome back to
land of living. Choke me again, and you’re headed right back the other way.”
“Fuck you,”
Rob said between gasps of air. “And thanks.”
“How the hell
did you do that?” Charlie asked, impressed for once with the newest member of
their group. “I thought he was dead for sure.”
“We have lot
of drownings in Bulgaria. Many dumbshits, believe it or not. Most important
thing? Never give up.”
“I think I
owe you an apology,” Charlie added. “I guess I should take your opinions more
seriously. Except for the killing strangers part. And about your ideas on
fashion. I mean, your haircut sucks. ”
“At least he
has hair,” Left-Nut said from the peanut gallery.
“Agree to
disagree on last point, but sure,” Vlad said.
Smokey helped
Rob sit up and gave him a hug before shaking Vlad’s hand. “Now that you two
made out like I knew you would, you can stop with the aggression. What do you
say?”
The two
former combatants agreed, and Charlie knew he had some making up of his own to
do with Sam. He took the boy under his arm and walked him away to apologize in
private.
“It appears
we’re all one big happy dysfunctional family once again. That means it’s time
to eat,” Smokey said.
Even though
he had just drowned, Rob agreed the instant he saw the plump turtle. “I’ll wait
a bit, but I’m down. Never eaten turtle before.”
“And I’ve
never cooked it,” Katya said. “Maybe just cut some pieces and boil it for
stew?”
Vladimir
twisted his mouth into a deep frown. “Not acceptable. Propane grill in van. We
have turtle steaks in half hour. Get grill going and Vlad start carving
turtle.”
“I’m on it,”
Smokey said and headed over, taking the opportunity to bogart a joint along the
way. The skill was one he’d always had, and even now something that came as
second nature.
Soon everyone
had settled down and Vlad set about to deliver on his promise of expertly-cut
turtle steaks. First he hung the turtle upside down to let it bleed out, then
scrubbed it with the hot water. After removing the shell and guts, the fatty
meat went straight to the grill. The smell of it sizzling up was different from
what everyone was used to, but their mouths were watering just the same. It was
meat after all.
Rob pondered
his near-death experience while Katya tended to Sam’s injured foot and the
others engaged in small talk. Everyone was in good spirits and seemed to be on
the same page for once. Even better, the fiasco with Crazy Pat was all but
forgotten.
Charlie sat
back and watched everyone while chugging down water like he would have once
done with beer. Sobriety had been a bit boring, but if he hadn’t made the
change, it was likely none of them would still be alive.
As he took it
all in, a large, skinny dog poked its head out from the nearby forest, drawn by
the powerful smell of the grilling meat. The German Shepherd’s ears were back
and its ribs told the story of extreme hunger.
Before
Charlie could say anything, it left the tree line and headed their way. That’s
when he saw the leash attached to its neck, and the owner attached to the
leash. She was a tall woman wearing a torn sun dress and faded Phish shirt. He
guessed she was one of the vanished picnickers. She also happened to be a
zombie.
The pair made
their way towards the camp with haste, hungry for different types of meat.
Charlie rose to his feet. “Um, guys, look alive.”
Much faster
than its owner, the dog practically dragged her behind as they neared the
group. Rob was weakened from his ordeal but still strong enough to take the
woman down with one swing of his bat. Bloodied but not dead, the woman
struggled to rise, and he hit her several more times. A woman that loved
Widespread Panic concerts, quinoa salad, and stray animals was finished.
“Losing my
touch,” Rob said and reached out to pet the dog. It promptly clamped its jaws
down on his hand. “Son of a bitch!”
Angered at
the attack on its owner, the German Shepherd went berserk, growling and barking
as it circled Big Rob. It also had the taste of blood on its lips and was
clamoring for more of the same.
Rob poked at
it gingerly, not wanting to hurt the dog even after it ripped a good chunk of
flesh off his left hand. But it just kept barking.
“Must kill
it,” Vlad said forcefully. “Too loud.”
Rob shook his
head as he nudged the starving canine away. “I can’t do that, it’s a dog for
God’s sake.”
The Bulgarian
sighed, took a hit from a joint, and grabbed his knife from the grill. “Vlad
not squeamish.”
“Hold on,
I’ll make it leave,” Smokey said and grabbed the pot of boiling water. He
tossed the hot water at the dog’s hind quarters and scored a direct hit,
causing a severe burn but saving its life. The dog forgot about her beloved
owner and took off for the forest it had come from, shrieking in pain.
“Seriously?”
Vlad said with an icy stare. “Better catch before it brings every zombie in
state to our barbecue.”
And so
Smokey, Vlad, Charlie and the Koreans chased after the dog before it could
further ruin their cookout by getting them all killed. They were too late.
As they
neared the edge of the forest, a zombie in a tight cheerleading uniform burst
from the shadows. Then another and another.
“Nice,”
Left-Nut said. Then a varsity football team, a special needs water boy and
three hundred literally die-hard fans erupted from the woods as well. A whole
town, to be precise, and they were headed right for Charlie and company. Crazy
Pat had sent them into an ambush.
The Koreans
paused to fire every round they had left and then took off, throwing their
weapons away. But Pong had waited a second too long and they were right on his
heels. He stumbled on uneven terrain, and that was all it took. They dragged
the young man to the ground and tore into him without mercy.
But his death
bought the others a couple of precious seconds as the mob stopped to feed on
the tragic figure. As he reached the camp, still smoking his joint, Vlad
grabbed the vodka and propane tank while the others kept right on running down
the gravel road. They had nowhere in particular to go, but were going there in
a hurry.
Half a mile
down the road they spotted a sign for an old graveyard right off the beaten
path. Rob was wheezing, Sam was hobbling on his injured foot, and the zombies
grew closer by the second. “Go for the graveyard,” Charlie said and pointed
into the overgrown thicket. “Maybe there’s a fence or something.”
The others
followed, but Vlad stopped running and turned to face the incoming horde. He
looped his belt through the vodka bottle’s handle and stood shoulder to
shoulder with Rob.
“Keep
moving!” Charlie said, though he recognized the look of determination on both
of their faces.
Vlad set the
gas tank down and drew his knife from its sheath while Rob cracked his neck and
took a deep breath. “It’s go time,” he said and nodded to the Bulgarian.
“You got two
minutes and then you better come find us,” Charlie said and bolted into the
forest. Moments later he found the others picking their way through the
overgrown graveyard. A fallen fence, tipped over tombstones, and a toppled
caretaker’s home showed just how dilapidated the place was. But there was a
rather large stone mausoleum that appeared to be in excellent shape. Soon, the
friends were prying at the entrance door. It was made of iron, it was
incredibly rusty, and it was locked from the inside.
Charlie
pointed to a set of opaque windows eight feet up. “Smokey, help me boost Sam up
and see if he can get in there.”
The first
window was jammed shut, but Sam was able to work open the second window and
climb inside the dusty and smelly building. He slid to the floor and made his
way towards the entrance. With just the light from the opened window, it took
him a moment to find the door. Now he had to figure out how to unlock it in the
dark.
Meanwhile,
the bash brothers were having issues of their own – mainly, football-helmet and
shoulder-pad-wearing zombies. Rob was swatting them with his bat, but they just
kept getting right back up, and his wild swinging was keeping Vlad out of the
fray. Luckily the facemasks made it impossible for those particular zombies to
bite. But they were swarming the pair, and the other army of zombies closing in
had no such handicap.
Vladimir
formulated a hasty plan as he pointed to one of the zombie’s legs. “Rob slam,
Vlad jam.”
Rob nodded
and hammered the first football player’s kneecaps. The Bulgarian instantly
pounced and pushed his knife through the fallen teenager’s faceguard, burying
it to the hilt in the boy’s eye socket. Then he rolled over to focus on the
next one, already dropped by the other big guy.
This worked
great for the first few stragglers, but the main column was coming in and
bringing chewed-up death with it.
“Run?” Rob
asked as the multitude of zombies got within fifty yards, proving too
terrifying even for him.
Vlad stood
still. “One more trick up pant leg.”
The zombies
had closed to twenty-five yards. Vlad sucked one last drag off his joint and
spun the propane tank knob to full blast. He placed the cherry in front of the
rushing gas.
“
WOOSH
!
Flames shot
out ten feet as Vlad’s improvised flamethrower ignited without a second to
spare. He swung the tank back in forth to create a wall of fire and several
zombie cheerleaders burst into flames. But as their ponytails burned off
rapidly and their flesh sizzled, the once-adorable cheerleaders kept moving forward,
and it wasn’t team spirit on their minds.
Rob swung
wildly and knocked the trio of flaming teens backwards into the charging
throng, where they immediately set others on fire. More took their place and
Vlad torched them too while backpedalling away. Then his torch started to
flicker.
“Okay, now
run.”
A voice rang
out from the forest. “Sŏ-du-rŭ-se-yo!” It was Ping, shouting at them
to hurry.
They followed
the Korean soldier through the brush and into the ramshackle cemetery with
hundreds of zombies – some flaming – in tow. Charlie was standing at the
now-open entrance to the vast mausoleum and screaming profanity-laced
encouragement. Ping, then Vlad, and finally Rob shot through the opening as
Charlie slammed the door shut. They wedged several steel caskets from the
Victorian era against it and waited with baited breath while hands of all
shapes and sized pounded on the outside with little success. Charlie and the
gang were alive. And trapped. And in the dark.
A bright
light radiated outward and bathed the group in an otherworldly glow. It was
Smokey’s cell phone.
“I kept it
charged up for just such an occasion. Plus, I have Tetris on here. Time for you
fools to get pwned.”
Everyone
looked at each other in silence for a moment until Left-Nut realized something.
“Aw man, Pong was the one I was teaching English. Now I gotta start all over.”
Smokey turned
his light off, and the fists began to fly from all directions.
*
*
*
An hour
passed since the group had become entombed inside the mausoleum, and besides a
short-lived Tetris tournament complete with allegations of cheating, they were
starting to get unbearably bored.
Left-Nut was
nursing a black eye that nobody would fess up to, and that at least was a cause
for smiles. But the loss of Pong and their current predicament weighed heavily
on everyone. It didn’t help that five hundred zombies clamored around the
entrance to the mausoleum, pressing in tighter and tighter.