******
Hank
stood up next to the windows, staring through a set of binoculars he had pulled
from his pack. “Looks like they’re still sittin on their rumps.”
Looking
over at Rachael, Tom said, “You don’t have to do this.”
“I
know.”
“Just
go slow and keep your eyes open."
Hank
set down the binoculars and shouldered his rifle. “I’m headed up. I’ll use
the roof so I can cover both streets. Just keep your asses tucked in, I only
got so many rounds left.”
Tom
nodded and grabbed his M4. “Let’s do this.” He handed Rachael one of his
pistols. “Try not to use it. It will only draw more, but don’t hesitate if
you have to. Hank’s got you covered from above and know that I will be
coming.”
“Thanks.”
She took the pistol and looked it over.
Realizing
she was probably not familiar with the weapon, he gave her a quick crash
course. Tucking the weapon into the back of her pants, she gave a “let’s go”
nod.
After
being holed up in the dust filled building it felt good to step out into the
cool, fresh air. Their eyes were adjusted to the dark and with the faint
moonlight they were able to see without the aid of flashlights.
Tom
quickly scanned the area in front to be sure there were no immediate threats.
Not seeing any, he pointed two fingers toward the end of the building to let
Rachael know she could begin working that way. He watched as she tucked in
close to the building, sneaking along its wall, impressing Tom when her low
crouch and stealthy movements made her blend right into the shadows.
Seeing
she was comfortable in the darkness, he made for the opposite end of the
building, also working his way through the shadows as quietly as possible.
Stepping away from the building as he neared the end, he “sliced the pie” to
work the corner.
No
threats.
Easing
around the back corner, he could see the surrounded house at the far end of the
street. Both men still sat on top of the roof, surely contemplating their fate,
and the best way to end it.
The
next step is the one Tom feared the most. He had to get across the street, work his way past the houses, and get near the two men.
Stepping
out of the shadows, he began slowly walking toward the street, directly across
the gravel. Trying to stay calm and resist the urge to run, he carefully took
one gentle step at a time. Not knowing how aware of movement the demented and
undead were, he tried to keep sudden movements to a minimum, and walk as if he
was stepping between sleeping snakes.
After
what felt like hours, he reached the far side of the street and slipped in
behind the row of houses. Finding no threats in back, he began working his way
through the dark shadows.
Still
several houses away, he could hear soft moaning and guttural growls from those
surrounding the men.
Reaching
the grey house that sat one house away from the horde, Tom worked his way near
the front so that Hank could see him from the roof. There he squatted down and
waited, listening for any threats that might be wandering.
A
few minutes later he saw the rapid flicker of Hank’s flashlight. The beam was
directed at the two on the roof, hoping to get their attention. They must have
noticed the light, because a few seconds later Hank gave Tom two quick flashes
from the light.
Tom
gave a quick wave near the top of his head, signaling the go ahead.
Hank’s
dark form slipped away from the edge of the roof. Tom knew he was moving across the roof to
give Rachael the go ahead signal.
Every
fiber in his body tensed, his muscles ready to burst into action. His body
instinctively knew to prepare. Breathing rate increased, lungs tightened, and
his heart rate increased in preparation to send a surge of oxygen and
adrenaline through his veins. It felt good.
A
car horn blared in the distance beyond the brick building, the sound carrying
in the night like a bugle in the early morning.
Tom
heard shrieks and shuffling noises, followed by the sound of shoes pounding on
pavement. He eased his head around the front of the house to get a better view,
and saw that the horde was surging across the street in search of the noise.
Continuing to watch, he saw several of the slow moving undead leaving the house
in the wake of their much faster, living counterparts. It was like watching
the little kids that could never keep up with their older siblings.
In
a half crouch, Tom worked his way toward the stranded men, keeping an eye out
for stragglers. He saw that the men on the roof were already working their way down
the slope. M4 held tight to his shoulder, he scanned the interior of the house,
seeing movement in the darkness, he quickly waved for the two men to jump down.
With
two soft thuds they both landed in the lawn.
Making
eye contact with each of them, thanks was not required, they were clearly
grateful to be off that roof.
More
movement in the house.
Tom
began to back step away from the house, keeping his rifle trained on the open
doorway. To his right the men were gaining their feet. He slung his rifle and
waved the men toward the brick building, hoping to avoid any gunfire.
Just
as they all started their run, the blaring car horn stopped abruptly. The
sudden silence seemed to fill the night, making Tom hyperaware of the gravel
under his feet as they reached the far side of the pavement.
Crinkling
glass, followed by a shriek of rage broke the silence. They all turned to see
one of the demented climbing through a broken front window, his eyes locked on
them. Danny spun around, raising his pistol.
“No.”
Tom whisper-yelled as loud as he dared, hoping to make it to the building
without announcing themselves to the entire town.
Pop…pop…pop…
Too late.
One
of the shots hit the demented’s shoulder, spinning him to the left, but he
quickly recovered, howling in pain.
Knowing
it was only a matter of time before others began arriving, Tom raised his M4, and
fired two rapid shots. His second was a direct shot to the head, crumpling the
demented to the ground.
“Hurry,
let’s get inside.” Tom shouted as he turned to run for the corner of the
building. The footsteps of the two men could be heard crunching through the
gravel behind him. Rounding the side of the building, they could hear shrieks
and screams of rage echoing through the night. The shots had aroused the
horde; hopefully they would have a difficult time pinpointing the origin.
Sprinting
across the front sidewalk, he was glad to see Rachael waiting in front of the
entrance. In the distance behind her, he could see several infected rushing
their way.
Getting
closer, he noticed she was breathing hard and held her pistol by her side. “At
least one didn’t take the bait.” Tom said, while waving her back into the
building’s entrance. She turned and raced back in, the three men following her
in a rush. Tom slammed the large door closed and flipped the deadbolt into
place.
In
the darkness Hank was making his way down the central stairway, rifle slung
over his shoulder. He looked at the two new comers and said with a grin, “Out
of the pot and into the fire, hey boys.”
Neither
of them smiled, the younger one looking absolutely terrified.
“Several
are already…” Tom started to say as one of the demented slammed into the large
steel door, everyone jumping at the noise. The pounding continued,
reverberating throughout the hall. “The noise is going to draw more of them.”
The
sound of shattering glass could be heard from one of the adjacent rooms. Low,
animal like growls echoed through the open doorway.
Tom
rushed over to the side room, rifle ready. A monster of a man, wearing a lime green vest over
a pair of white coveralls, was climbing through one of the open windows, his pants
catching on the glass shards. Likely a utility man, he still wore his white
safety helmet. Catching sight of his prey, he howled with rage. He ripped his
pants free of the glass, leaving wet blood trickling down the aged windowsill.
Placing his reticle on the large man’s dirt smeared forehead, Tom pulled the
trigger and watched as Utility Man collapsed backwards through the open window. The
body remained grotesquely hanging half in and half out of the building.
In
the faint orange glow of predawn, more arms and heads filled the open space
above utility guy’s large belly. They began clawing to climb over him, and get
through the narrow opening. Tom continued to pull the trigger on his M4,
aiming carefully, knowing his ammo was very limited.
More
shattering glass, followed by shouts from behind him.
Trusting
his companions, Tom continued to focus on the assault in front of him. The
infected continued to attempt to climb through the narrow space between the fat
belly and the top of the window, making them easy pickings for his M4.
With
shocking quickness the utility guy’s body was suddenly ripped out through the opening,
leaving only a boot that caught on the sill.
The
pop of pistol fire could be heard from out in the hall, followed by more
shouting.
“Some
are coming in the back!” Someone shouted.
The
unmistakable boom of Hank’s .308 filled the hallway and was immediately
followed by more pistol fire.
The
void left by Utility Man being dragged out, was filled by a mass of arms and
legs trying to scramble into the room. The next closest window suddenly
shattered inwards as several infected burst through it onto the floor.
Swinging his rifle's muzzle around, Tom unleashed several quick shots before
they could gain their feet. More continued to climb and squeeze their way
through the new opening. Tom was firing rapidly now, barely taking time to
aim.
Chaos
erupted in the hall behind him. Loud, continuous gunfire and shouting caused
Tom to glance back. Both the men they had “rescued” were rushing up the
stairs. Hank and Rachael were standing in the center of the hallway firing in
multiple directions, their smoking shell casings rattling to the floor. The
acrid stench of cordite filled the air.
Tom
turned back to see several demented rushing him. Wildly firing as quickly as
possible, he dropped them to the floor in front of him. More were still pouring
in through the windows, like an endless tide. Holding the trigger down in a
panicked attempt to keep from being overrun, he ran the magazine dry. He
dropped the M4 to the ground, knowing he would never make a reload, and drew
his pistol, immediately firing into the oncoming rush.
There
was a tap on his shoulder and he heard Hank yell into his ear, “Fall back!”
Not
needing any additional encouragement, Tom began back peddling out of the room,
continuing to fire.
From
somewhere up the stairs, Hank yelled, "Covering!"
Now
in the hall, Tom could see more infected swarming the next room, as well as the
back hall past the stairway. He emptied his magazine into the nearest threats
and then made a break for the stairs. Hank’s rifle boomed from above. Tom
slammed a fresh magazine into his pistol while taking the stairs three at a
time.
As
he neared the top of the stairs, Hank hollered, “I’m out” while dropping his rifle and
going for his sidearm.
Tom
cleared the last step and spun around, finding dozens of infected swallowing up
the base of the stairs. Bone chilling shrieks of rage emanated from the
surging mass. Raising his pistol, Tom began rapidly firing into the churning
sea of arms and barred teeth, the falling bodies only slowing the rising tide
momentarily.
Hank’s
.45 roared to life next to Tom’s head, a welcome sound even though it felt like
rapid punches to his ear. With both weapons firing, the horde came to a standstill,
even falling back. The wall of lead was just enough to keep them at bay.
Dropping
his magazine, Tom yelled, “On my last one” while reaching to his belt for his
final mag. With his gun out of the fight, the infected had surged farther up
the stairs, climbing over the dead. Several of the slower moving undead were
shuffling into the hall from the side rooms, finally catching up. Tom joined
back in on the fight, relentlessly firing into the group, trying to take steady
controlled shots to conserve the last of his ammo. Next to him, Hank’s empty
magazine clanked to the floor.
Jamming
a fresh mag into his pistol and chambering a round, Hank shouted “Get outta
here! I got one fresh one left,” his pistol roaring back to life.
Tom
continued to fire into the group until his pistol ran dry. Raising it over his
head, he chucked it at the nearest demented, hitting the thing squarely in the
face. It slowed, stunned, but did not go down until one of Hank’s .45s punched
a hole in the middle of its face.
Under
the heavy barrage of gunfire, the surging mass had dwindled considerably, but
now with only one gun firing, those left were nearly to the top of the stairs.
Tom pulled his Kabar from its sheath and tensed, his thoughts flashing to Kelly
and Sam.
How had it come to this?
Here he stood, gripping a knife,
next to an old timer blazing away with a pistol, watching as a dozen screaming
crazies rushed their way, hoping to rip them to pieces. His son, if he was
still alive, would never know that his father stood his ground, hoping to give
others a fighting chance.
“Last
one!” Hank shouted as he dropped a magazine and reloaded.
The
demented were nearly on top of them, so close that Hank began pulling the
trigger as fast as he could.
One
of them, a woman wearing a blood stained sun dress, rushed past Hank’s flying
lead, and dove for Tom, shrieking with anger. Taking a step back, Tom rammed his
knife deep into her chest, the knife twisting as it found a seam in her ribs.
Gasping, she continued her forward momentum, arms reaching for him. Using his
left hand, he gave her a stiff-arm to keep distance between them. Ripping the
blade free, dark blood oozed out, followed by a sickening gurgling as air
escaped her lungs. Oblivious to the mortal wound, she continued to reach for
him, ripping at his shoulders. Using an upward motion he plunged the knife
through her neck, blood and fluid gushing around the hilt, and running down his
hand.