Zombie Fallout 2 (38 page)

“No sense in messin’ with tradition.” BT stated matter-of-factly.

It started like a whispering wind over a graveyard and turned into a full blown crescendo as thousands of tortured vocal chords tried to chant, what I could only surmise was a war cry.

“What the fuck is that?” BT asked. I could tell by his expression that it was as disconcerting to him as it was to me.

The house vibrated under the assault of the low bass range the collective moan put out. Zombies were one thing. This deadly lament was wholly something else. There was a bizarre feel to it as the oscillation passed through my body threatening to liquefy the contents in my bowels. Was this planned? Did they know the effect this would have on us? I peeked through one of the shutters, hoping maybe to get a shot off at Durgan. He must have assumed this too because he was no longer in sight choosing to lead his troops from the rear instead of the front, I suppose. Well one good outcome from the moaning was that the zombies weren’t moving.

And as quickly as it had started it stopped. How could the moaning have been better? Because when the zombies were moaning they weren’t moving. The alarm bell crashed to the floor in a tumble of forewarning.

“This is it!” I yelled, louder than the situation dictated, nerves getting the better of me. “Might as well have a front row seat to the apocalypse.” I opened the front door, pulling the trigger on my rifle as I did, not even waiting to acquire a target, that would have been superfluous. It amazed me that they could even move forward being wedged that tightly together. Maneuverability was out of the question for them. I could only hope that as they closed in around the house that they would grind each other into oblivion as the space between them became less than non-existent. Some would surely die this way, crushed in a sea of zombianity. Good.

I was halfway through my first magazine when Jen stepped out beside me. She had moved on from her original pistol and was now touting her own assault weapon, an HK-17. I’ve got to admit even in the crappy predicament we were in I was a little jealous of her gun. It was a bigger caliber than my AR’s 5.56 mm round. It toted a much toothier 7.72 round, which had the added benefit of going in and out of one target and sometimes in and out of another. It was a pleasure to watch multiple heads snap back from the impact of her bullet. She was shredding through rows of zombies.

She looked over at me from the corner of her eye and through clenched teeth and a strained voice she said to me. “It might be better if you start shooting and stop watching me.”

Although it didn’t really matter, our shots were more of a morale booster on our side. No amount of firepower we could muster was going to stop them. My barrel would melt before I so much as made any sort of noticeable difference. No, this was a show of defiance under insurmountable odds. We would not go like sheep to the slaughter. I scanned the zombies for any sign of Durgan. Just one shot, I just wanted one shot at his ass. Okay so not really his ass but you get the point. I wanted to kill him now so that I’d also have the opportunity to kick his ass as we made our ways to our respective resting places. No such luck though, he was out of sight.

“Mike.” Jen said pulling up from her sights.

BT was still happily triggering away, his semi-automatic 30-06 making short work of whatever got in its way. “I hope hell’s got some extra people working at the reception desk today!” He yelled.

And they had, the zombies had paid a dear price for the ten feet of real estate they had captured. If lives were money, they were a very rich opponent.

Jen added her own refuse to my cooled bile pile. “Eww fucking gross.” She said as she spit to get out the last remaining bits of ort. “I’ll never be able to eat again.”

Shouting was not necessary over the shuffling zombies, but I was looking more for dramatic effect. “Durgan, come out from whatever hidey-hole you’re in and I’ll give you my answer face to face! Man to man, if I thought you were one!” His laughing cut off short.

“Wow, I honestly didn’t think he could become any bigger of an ass than he already is (was) but then he goes and surprises me and adds racism to the mix. He’s really almost sort of amazing. That’s a lot of hate for one person.” I said to Jen and BT, making sure it was loud enough to be heard by all that were willing to listen.

That must have struck a chord in Durgan somewhere. He didn’t say anything else, at least not anything we heard, but the zombies started their relentless march up to the house.

Jen took a controlling breath like I had taught her and brought her rifle up. “Fuck my shoulder’s going to hurt tonight.” She said before she started pulling the trigger.

“Let’s hope so.” I mumbled as I brought my rifle to bear.

BT had not taken the opportunity to reload during the break in action and was struggling to catch up now. “Why doesn’t he just send them all out Talbot? Why this fucking game?” BT asked as he nearly shoved his bullets through the bottom of his magazine well.

“He’s like a little kid that just got a lollipop and he had no idea when he might get his next one.” BT looked over at me trying to figure out my bad analogy. “Savoring BT, he’s savoring this. He wants to be able to replay this whole thing over and over again in his pathetic twisted little fucking...”

“Racist mind.” BT finished.

The snow turned a rusty red as drums of blood were spilled. This ground was going to be the most fertile it had ever been next season and there would be no one here to tend the fallow fields. I shouldered my weapon, careful not to touch the dimly glowing barrel. I reached out and grabbed BT’s and Jen’s shoulder.

“Stop for a second!” I shouted. "You’re going to want to see this.” The echoing from BT’s last shot had just completed its airwave rippling when the first of my surprises struck. The loud metallic clanking was muffled by the foot of snow it was under, but the effect was not. The lead zombie crumbled face first into the snow, in what I could only imagine was extreme pain, although stoically he didn’t show it.

“What the hell happened?” Jen asked as another and then another zombie fell in succession.

“Bear traps.” I said triumphantly. With 1250 pounds per square inch of pressure, the device designed to incapacitate a bear would sheer right through the comparatively fragile leg of a man. This tactic would normally have a demoralizing affect on the enemy but for that you had to have a conscience. The following rows of zombies merely stepped onto and over their ground-wriggling brethren.

Fun time was over, I went into the house and grabbed my Dick’s sporting Goods pilfered 30-30, the AR was going to need a few minutes to come down to a serviceable temperature. I had a good ten seconds to think, which was nine more than I wanted. I wished that Tracy had left while the opportunity was available. I knew she wouldn’t, but still, it would suck to go ahead and sacrifice ourselves for nothing. It would be cramped in the van and the truck with the 14 of them, but cramped beats dead all the time. And we still come back to the original problem. IF, Jen, BT and I somehow survived, how the hell would we all fit? Sure we could sit in the back of the truck for a mile or two before we froze completely solid.

But making this stand was not completely about escape. It was about creating a chance to end this thing once and for all. Eliza not showing had thrown a serious wrench into my plans. I needed to kill the bitch. Without her death, her inexplicable link to Justin would remain and through him she had us. No, there was another way around that problem I could sever the connection on my side. I banged my head against the wall. No, that was not an option.

“Do you think lesbians are more spatially aware than your normal female?” I asked BT. “I mean they have to put their own furniture together and shit. Use a tape measure to hang shelves, that kind of thing.”