Decay (Book 2): Humanity (23 page)

“You cannot carry me and get away from them,” Jonathan said. “Go. I will slow them down.”

The teen pulled the Glock out of his coat and started to walk toward the oncoming horde. Guillermo stopped him by placing a hand firmly on Jonathan’s shoulder.

“We’ll do this together.”

Jonathan nodded.

They stood together as a wall between the rotting horde and the entire world. They’ve stared death in the eye more than anyone would ever want, and this time it would not only stare back, but it would take them.

Both of them were so certain of their fate that neither felt the vibration in the street. Only when that vibration was accompanied by the sound of rolling thunder did they realize it was even there.

Jonathan’s forehead furrowed in curiosity. He could just make out Mad Man’s semi barreling down the road. It was about a mile away. The horde would be on them first. Thoughts raced through his mind.
Do we stand and fight or run or just give up here in the street?

His survival instincts kicked in before he could decide his next course of action, and he raised the Glock. Squeezing the trigger gently, he sent a round through the head of the closest fiend, who had made it within fifteen yards of them. His dead face split open, and he dropped, tripping two other rushing fiends, effectively slowing them down.

Guillermo ran down into the ditch and wriggled a tree branch free of its icy prison in the leaves. He took the thinner end; the thicker had a solid mass of snow and dirt built up around it, perfect for bashing the fiend’s skulls. Stepping back onto the road just in time, Guillermo swung his branch into the face of a charging fiend. It was the face of a man he’d seen earlier at the mill, and that face was just shattered by the rock hard clump of ice.

Jonathan fired another carefully aimed shot that sent the brains of a dead woman sailing out behind her. A few more fiends tripped, but they didn’t’ stay down long. They scrambled to their feet and continued their pursuit. Another round left the barrel of the Glock, finding its target and dropping the fiend.

Guillermo swung fiercely at the fiends that were tripped up as they climbed to their feet. His weapon worked better than expected, but it was also much heavier than he cared for. His arms, already tight from the cold, were growing too weak to keep going.

The death moans of the fiends were accompanied by a new sound. Almost as if the drummer was beginning to warm up. Deep thump after deep thump. Jonathan realized it was the sound of the semi hitting the bodies walking in the street. It was much closer than he thought it would be, and he saw a glimpse of salvation. Firing the last of his rounds into the closest and quickest moving fiends he began walking backwards to buy some time.

Guillermo did the same.

The powerful diesel engine wound down as it approached, but there would still be too many fiends surrounding them for a safe pick-up. Jonathan raised his hands and made a keep coming motion that he hoped Mad Man would understand. If anyone could, it was the Mad Man.

“Come on,” Jonathan said. “We jump on the front.” He put the Glock into his coat pocket and stuffed his hands back in his gloves.

“I think this is gonna hurt,” Guillermo said unsure of whether he liked the thought of being hit by a semi. He swung the heavy branch, releasing it as he did. The icy end smashed into a fiend, not finishing him off, but slowing him down.

They mustered all the strength they could and made a run for it. Jonathan’s legs were stiff, making him hobble clumsily. Guillermo helped him the best he could, but his entire body, too, was cold.

“Here it comes!” Guillermo said as he turned his head to see behind them. Caked to the grill was the thick blood, flesh, and hair of the dozens of fiends that had once stood in its way. He cringed at the thought of having to ride with that for any amount of time.

As the semi approached it continued to drive over fiends, adding more gore to the already foul look the grill had acquired. Guillermo and Jonathan slowed to a jog and turned just in time to jump. The semi had slowed to a reasonable crawl, but it still had the speed to knock the wind out of them both as they met the beast.

Jonathan felt the massive amount of air being sucked in through the grill. It gave the cold air a sharp bite that made his eyes water. Or perhaps he was crying tears of joy and relief. His grip didn’t loosen until Mad Man Rob had to pry him down. And even then his fingers clutched the air.

Michael hugged his brother tightly and together they cried as they sat
criss-cross-applesauce
on the bed in the back of the cab. Dog resting across their laps.

Jonathan wasn’t happy to be alive. He hated the fact that once again he had faced insurmountable odds and came out without so much as a scratch. So many innocent people, people who deserved to be alive far more than he, were ruthlessly slaughtered by the undead. But here he was. Alive and well.

Chapter 27

The smoldering rubble of the walled settlement came into view around the tree row as Mad Man Rob slowed the semi. There was just enough of a clearing through the debris to fit into the driveway, but there would be no guarantee of safety here anymore. Fortunately the place wasn’t in complete ruins. The rear half of the large garage, where Mad Man made his home, still stood.

Gene-O had taken the passenger’s seat from his brother several miles back, and now he opened the door and began to climb out as the semi slowed. He looked around, waiting for deadies to emerge from the wreckage. None did. The ones that could move must have wandered off.

The loud clang of sheet metal (scattered about during the explosions) clapping together echoed through the carcass of what once was a home to many survivors as the semi crept further in.

Gene-O kept watching. Surely the noise would draw them out. None came.

The engine shuddered as it went quiet.

“It’s worse than we were told.” Rodney looked around stunned.

Gene-O could only nod in agreement.

May cupped her hands over her mouth as if to keep the gasps from pulling too much oxygen from her lungs. She looked on at her house; light tassels of smoke blew in the wind, emanating from the blackened wood that was once her home. Several tears squeezed out of their ducts despite her attempts to hold them back.

“The camp on the north end already invited you all to stay,” Gene-O said in an attempt to comfort her. “We’ll make sure anyone that wants to go makes it there before we move on.”

Mad Man Rob scanned the wall and found what he was looking for. His backhoe lay on its side under some planks and plywood, forgotten by the world. “If we can get that out of there I’ll have you a ride by morning.”

“How do you know it will even run?” Jonathan asked hopelessly.

“I’ll get it to run.” Mad Man Rob was always confident when it came to machines. After all, he could fix anything.

Jonathan followed Mad Man, Rodney and Gene-O, Michael, and the man whose name was Todd followed, as well. Jeremy, Todd’s son, stayed with May and Dog in the safety of the semi cab. In the frigid cold, the group worked to uncover the backhoe. When the job was finished, Mad Man backed the semi up close to it and strung several thick log chains between the semi’s thick frame and the steel roof of the heavy machine.

The semi had little trouble pulling the fifteen-thousand pound backhoe to its wheels. It wobbled a little at first, like a man standing after many weeks of bedrest, but in the end, it stood proud. With the backhoe sitting upright, Mad Man began to tinker. Checking this and checking that. And after an hour of attempts that drew closer and closer to success with each try, the large diesel engine choked and sputtered to life, spewing a thick black smoke.

“That’s for the hippies,” Mad Man Rob said to himself as he watched the plume dissipate into the atmosphere.

Climbing down and stepping away from the bellowing engine, Mad Man Rob said, “I’ll get to work on clearing the garage. As long as shits not worse than it looks, I’ll have you a ride.”

Rodney said, “We could probably use this as a chance to rest. We can go in shifts so there can always be someone standing guard.”

“That is a great idea. I am certain all the noise will attract some attention.” Jonathan said in a tone that came out sternly.

“I’ll get to work.” Mad Man climbed back onto the backhoe and drove it toward the garage.

“May and Jeremy are already asleep. Why don’t you three go ahead and rest, also.” Rodney said to his older brother, Guillermo, and Todd.

“Alright, but as soon as it’s my turn you better come get me.” Gene-O warned, pointing a finger at Rodney.

“We can search some of these cars for weapons,” Michael suggested. “Most of our vehicles had spares stored in them.”

The three of them went right to work. Staying within sight of each other, Rodney, Michael, and Jonathan climbed through shattered windshields and side windows. Several fiends–who were once friends of Michael’s–were discovered, trapped in cars or under debris. They were put to rest, but their bodies would remain where they were until time did its work. And even then, their bones would be a permanent fixture in the dilapidated layout of May’s yard.

They found a small stockpile of rifles, pistols, and ammo just in time. The thunderous rumble of Mad Man’s backhoe had finally started attracting the fiends. They came slowly at first, like the first ants sampling the pickings of an unattended picnic table. Before long there were dozens pouring into the yard.

Jonathan and Michael had both been taught to shoot by their father, Brian, several years before the attacks. The man had sensed the coming danger of where their medical research could go and began preparing for the worst. The worst, as it turns out, happened. This proficiency came in handy tonight, as their aim was true, or close to it, with each shot fired.

Rodney, who had spent many of his years hunting animals before becoming a hunter of the dead, took careful, deliberate shots that never missed.

The trio stood atop a wrecked semi-trailer. Rodney watched after Mad Man as he worked, picking off fiends that moved toward the backhoe, while the twins kept the fiends from climbing up the sides of the trailer. Each loud shot brought another fiend. Their senses zoned in and their movement was almost a choreographed dance. Their fingers worked of their own volition. Each empty magazine dropped with a clank. New magazines were loaded within seconds.

Round after round was fired. Every loud crack was followed by muzzle flashes that grew brighter in the darkening sky as the sun sank into the earth. Every muzzle flash was followed by the soft
tink
of an empty shell casing, gently kissing the roof of the trailer goodnight.

Mad Man Rob had his fun, as well. He spun the rear boom of the heavy machine, batting fiends away with the bucket before dropping the bucket on top of them, smashing them into the ground. Their bodies completely smashed, yet their brains were intact. Leaving them to wriggle and grunt while most of their guts had been turned into a puddle.

The tantalizing ballet of life versus death lasted a solid hour and just about ran them out of ammo. Jonathan had actually taken up stabbing some of the fiends straight through the top of their heads to be more conservative. By the end, the pile of fiends around the trailer reached the halfway up. The smell of rot and copper was overwhelming. Mad Man had to scoop the dead bodies away with the backhoe bucket.

“You guys got brains all over everything!” Mad Man exclaimed as he examined the scene in the moonlight. It was a clear night, and the moon reflected the suns radiance brilliantly over the world.

“Sorry.” Michael gave him a shrug. “I guess you’ll have to
warsh
it.” He laughed.

Mad Man shoved him aside before walking toward the cleared garage.

“There she is, boys!” he stated proudly. “Creeper One.”

The black school bus glared back at them. In the dark garage it looked innocent enough, but Jonathan had seen firsthand how wretched it could be. Every corner, every side, was a death-trap.

“In the morning we’ll head our separate ways,” Michael said to the gathered men. “Jonathan and I, along with Guillermo, will be heading to California.”

“I’ll go with you,” Mad Man Rob said. “I have nothing better to do,” he added defensively.

“Thank you,” Jonathan said with a respectful nod.

“You two are free to take Creeper One. Make sure to get May and the man and his son to north end. And take good care of my bus,” Mad Man ordered.

“I doubt anyone in the semi was able to sleep through that.” Jonathan pointed to the bodies piled up in the yard.

“Let them sleep. The bus is just as safe. The rest of us can sleep there.” Mad Man led them into the garage and pulled the bus door open. He doubted anything was inside, but he took a minute to sweep through to be sure. With the all clear, the others climbed in and Mad Man locked it down for the night.

Mad Man was awake before the first rays of the sun’s light crept into the garage. He wasn’t surprised when the bus started up on the first try. After all, he had been the one to work on it. The noise woke Rodney; the bus moving out into the driveway woke Jonathan and Michael.

Gene-O climbed out of the driver’s side of the semi as the bus pulled around. He stretched his arms out above his head, rubbed his eyes, and shook his head lightly. Guillermo, May, Todd, and Jeremy soon climbed out behind him. They all looked as if they’d slept like hell. Dog’s tongue wagged excitedly as he stood on the driver’s seat, front paws on the steering wheel, and watched through the windshield.

“This is your new ride,” Mad Man exclaimed through the open sliding window of the bus.

“Nice,” Gene-O replied, unsure of what else to say.

The group met between the two vehicles and discussed their plans. Michael broke the news that the four of them were going to California. Rodney told them he would be driving May, Todd, and Jeremy to north end before heading back toward the river until spring. And after several minutes of goodbyes and pointless banter, the group split up.

The man walked down the gravel road. He was in his thirties, athletically built, and stood six and a half feet tall. His dark brown skin glistened in the sun from the day’s sweat. His high top tennis shoes were dirty and stained with blood. It wasn’t his. They had been worn thin, but he would wear them as long as they were comfortable. Black athletic shorts hung down below his knees. Tucked into them was a Michigan State basketball jersey. The green jersey was stained with sweat and dirt and faded from the long hours in the sun.

A National Guard backpack was strapped to his back. Inside was mostly ammo and food. His winter outfit was also packed away in there. Underneath that was a camelback filled with fresh water. In his right hand was the handle to an umbrella. It stuck up above his head, which was covered in shaggy black hair that hung down past his ears. The umbrella used to advertise a company, but the words had long since faded away.

It had snowed yesterday. Today was fifty degrees. It felt like a heat wave to the man. Iowa was funny that way.

He turned off of the gravel road and started down another long road. Only this road held his destination. He could just make out the walls through the trees. He smiled wide and thought about stopping to rest and freshen up. He didn’t want to meet these people looking like he hadn’t had a proper bath in weeks, which he hadn’t. He stopped.

While washing himself off with a rag and some of his fresh water, he saw a glimmer from down the road. A vehicle was pulling out of the small fortress. It was moving toward him. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to walk the rest of the way. He put his rag away and pulled a tube of toothpaste from his bag and ran a bit onto his index finger. He hadn’t seen a real toothbrush in months. He rubbed his finger over his teeth before spitting the foam out onto the street.

The vehicle turned out to be a frighteningly black semi, and it slowed down considerably about a half a mile away.
They must have noticed I’m not dead
, the man thought. It slowed, but kept creeping closer. Finally, it came to a stop fifty yards away. The man began walking toward it.

Forty yards.

Thirty.

Fifteen.

“That’s close enough,” came a voice from the semi.

The man held up his arms to show he was unarmed. The umbrella was still in his right hand.

“Where are you heading?”

“I’ve been told there is a safe zone here. A fortress of sorts,” the man replied.

A man jumped out of the passenger side of the semi. A teenager. He walked toward the man with an assault rifle raised.

It’s for his own protection
. The man tried to not panic.
He is just protecting his stuff. Just as you have.
“I mean you no harm. I’m tired of running. I just want shelter. I’ll earn my keep.”

“What’s your name?” The teen slowly walked close enough for the man to see his hansom features. Despite the warmth of the day he was still bundled up, making it hard for the man to gauge his size.

“Antoine. But most of the people I knew . . . before this, they called me Tony.”

“I’m Jonathan,” Jonathan said. He felt the man wasn’t a threat, so he lowered his rifle and walked up to him, offering his hand.

Tony took Jonathan’s hand and shook it firmly. “Nice to meet you.”

“You need to find somewhere else to go. There is nothing left there.” Jonathan gestured back toward May’s property around which the wall had been built.

“I have nowhere else to go. I’ve been walking for weeks. Haven’t slept in days. At least let me ride for a bit so I can rest up.” Antoine did look exhausted.

Jonathan turned back to the semi. It had crept closer. He thought about how the others would feel and decided that he couldn’t leave this man here on the street. “Come on.”

“Oh thank you. I really appreciate this, man.” Antoine laughed and patted Jonathan on the shoulder. “What happened there anyway? I heard that wall was legit. Certainly the zombies couldn’t have done that on their own.”