Surviving the Day (4 page)

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Interlude: Boreling Empire: Plannel 6

Grodge the Merciful took the stim stick from his mouth and yawned, finishing it with a loud groan. He glanced back at the monitor on the right as the bio-creatures swarmed the lone soldier, who shot four more of them—none of them fatal shots—then turned the gun on himself.

That one was fatal. Grodge grunted and smiled. The fool didn't even understand what was happening. He smiled again. One of the Pay to Play viewers had done that, disabling just some of the ammunition for the large, primitive gun. He checked the Pay to Play production log for today’s programming.

“Hah!” he said. “Team Zeke again.” He switched views back to the man in the bunker. He was keeping an eye on this one in case he did something truly dangerous. Thanks to his manipulations to keep the guy safe from scrutiny, Pactain would hopefully get blamed, but you never knew for sure if it would work. He had to get exposed at some point, and Pactain had to be the one to take the blame, if Grodge was going to get that promotion. The human seemed harmless enough, just an overlooked bunker in a building, with bio-creatures on the stairwell trying to get to him. He was smoking some sort of stim stick and drinking a red liquid that was marked as intoxicating.

Grodge zoomed in a bit closer. He seemed to have some sort of radio? Might need to watch out and make sure he didn't…

Grodge jumped as his console buzzed. It was just half an hour before his shift was over, so it better not be his replacement, Corbig Iacrine. The console buzzed again. Annoyed, he hit the button to answer, “Yeah, what is it!?”

“Grodge, what are you doing? Sleeping?” yelled Pactain the Virulent, his supervisor.

“No, sir,” answered Grodge, switching the monitor back to the military base. “I was, uh, reviewing the military action I just watched and was considering replacing one of the other alien interest channels with it. It looks like we have almost a million viewers watching it, and about 30% of all viewers across the Galaxy are tuned in to camera drones that are watching Earth military units.”

“Okay then,” said Pactain. “Good work monitoring the events.”

“Yes sir,” said Grodge. “As though I care what you think,” he added under his breath.

“What was that?” asked Pactain, a hint of suspicion in his voice.

“I just said I need a drink,” answered Grodge. “I was thinking of trying our sponsor's new Spicy Chew.”

“Good thinking, Grodge, always support the sponsors!” Pactain paused. “Now here's why I called,” he began.

“I don't care you moron,”
thought Grodge, silently this time.

“I'm thinking we're getting a high number of bio-creature kills in these early hours. Let's see if we can reduce that. I'd like to get more alien on alien violence and see what happens for the next three rotations after these 'humans' realize their power is out for good.”

“Excellent idea, sir! I was just noticing that there were a lot more of those 'zombie' creatures appearing than first predicted.”

“Mmm hmm,” said Pactain, clearly not believing the fawning Grodge. “Just make it happen!” he finished with a yell, closing the connection.

Grodge rubbed his eyes and clacked his thumbs against his skull. He looked down. “What are you looking at?” he said, staring at his doglard as it happily wagged its tail. He kicked it hard, and it yelped and scrambled out of his reach.

“Looks like I won't be taking that seltzer bath tonight after all,” he muttered, stabbing a button to record a quick message to Corbig.

“Listen up, Corbig! I'm working on a specially commissioned project from Supervising Producer Pactain the Virulent himself! So although I'll show online, I don't want any interruptions! You do your normal shift and stay out of my sight until I finish this project.” He paused and opened a Spicy Chew drink and took a bite.

“Grodge the Merciful out!” The recording stopped and he sent it to Corbig to play immediately upon the start of the next shift. Grodge sat back and sipped his drink, grimacing at the flavor. He preferred the sweeter chews overall. Setting aside the drink, he cracked another stim stick and took a deep breath.

How could he use this turn of events to his advantage?

—————

Erin

I killed my friends. Erstwhile friends. Kids from school. I jammed a jack handle into their eyes and they dropped to floor.

I felt sick. I walked over to the Jeep and sat down, crossing my legs and facing a tire. Joe said something to me, but I ignored him. I started counting, breathing in and out.

I heard the thumps at the door. I heard Joe puttering around. I heard the sound of my breathing too, but the counting in my head drove everything out. There was nothing except the next number. Around eighty, I started to forget the next number. I made it to one hundred, then stopped and stood up.

“Alright,” I said, “What's next?”

Joe looked at me with a question. “I don't know. We can risk the side door.”

I walked over to the side and listened. I didn't hear anything. “Alright, how about this? Let's get ready to run out the side door. If it turns out there's a mob of the undead out there, we'll shut the door and rush through the house.” I grabbed the hammer, went to the door into the house and started pulling the boards out. I wasn't having much success.

“Here Camo Joe, you do it.”

I gave him the hammer. He took it and smiled, then set it on the workbench. With both hands, he grabbed a board at the end and pulled. It ripped from the door, taking part of the door’s frame with it.

“Oops,” said Joe, grinning sheepishly.

That's my word for the day. Sheepishly. Great word to describe the huge black man ripping two by fours out of the wall with his bare hands.

He pulled slowly on the next board and it came out without destroying the door. The zombies became more agitated, thumping against the outside door with the stubs of their arms and snapping at the slit, bending down to reach it. They would trip and fall, or other zombies would nudge them out of the way and take their place. It looked like most of them had no hands.

Too bad it wasn’t teeth they were missing.

“Alright,” said Joe, ripping away a splintered board and tossing it to the side. “That's the last one.” He rubbed imaginary dust from his hands and gripped the rifle hanging on its sling in front of his massive chest. Then he walked over to the Jeep, put it back into neutral and pushed it back into the middle of the garage so that it was no longer blocking the side door. “Ready to go?”

“Just a second,” I told him. I found some rags and tied them around my neck. I tried to tie one around my head, but didn't really know how, so I wrapped it around my arm. I looked at Joe.

“Zombie armor?” he asked.

“Zombie armor,” I agreed. He walked over to the side door.

“Here we go,” he said. I held the shotgun in my left hand, and the baton in my right. I didn't know if I could shoot one-handed, but I could try. Joe turned the handle slowly and inched open the door, peering outside. He slowly started to close it again when a massive THUD hammered it. The door opened a bit more and a zombie hand reached through. Joe let go of his rifle and it dangled on its sling, and then shoved against the door. I ran over, dropping my baton and raising the shotgun. I edged around Joe and fired through the partially open door. The sound of the shotgun crashed into my brain, but it sounded almost distant. The shell popped out and struck Joe on the shoulder and bounced off. I fired again, but even I could see that there was a horde out there pressing their way to the door.

I unloaded the rest of the shotgun, trying to drive the creatures back. Joe pushed hard against the door and it finally closed, but it didn't look like it would hold long.

“ARE YOU ALRIGHT?” Joe yelled past the ringing in our ears.

“WONDERFUL!” I yelled back as I reloaded the shotgun from the shells in my bandolier. “OPEN THE DOOR TO YOUR HOUSE!”

I finished loading my gun as Joe bent down and picked up one of extra tires that was currently wedging the door shut. He tossed it like a Frisbee at the side door, then did the same with the other three tires. I picked up my baton from beneath a tire and put it back into my belt. I put down the shotgun and shoved the tires around so they would press against the door. I could feel the pressure against it.

Joe finished unblocking the door and it cracked loudly, but didn't open. I picked up my shotgun. “Let's go, Joe!” I said. He nodded, then turned the handle and stepped back, raising his rifle. The door swung open and two half-armed zombies fell in. Joe raised his boot and stomped down hard on one of them, crushing its head. I jumped beside him at the same time and kicked the other one's head with my new steel-toed hiking boot. I struck it on the temple with the bottom front of the boot, just as if I was demonstrating a board break to some new green belt students.

You don't kick with your toe—that's a good way to break your foot. You don't kick with your heel—if you miss, you'll get a nice fracture. And maybe even if you don't miss.

No, you front kick with the ball of your foot, toes curled up and back. I couldn't manage that with boots, but the habit is there, so the zombie's temple met the front bottom edge of my boot, and its skull made a loud “CRACK”. I stopped the swing of my leg and stomped down with my heel like I was doing a ten-board break, crushing its skull.

It might take me two blows instead of one, but I think I can keep up with Stompy Joe over there.

My knee hurt a little bit from that last stomp.

Joe raised his rifle and I heard the rat-a-tat of his triple shots. I stayed low, with my shotgun pointed a bit to the right, toward the gear room. Then I heard a crash behind me, and I turned to see zombies falling into the garage while others tried to scramble over the fallen ones.

They weren't very coordinated, but there sure were a lot of them.

“Joe! They're coming!” He looked back for a second.

“Go!” he yelled. I went past him, firing at two creatures coming down the hall. There weren't any more that were upright, so I risked a glance behind me. Joe was lifting both of the creatures that we'd stomped and threw them into the ones approaching from the side door. Then he stepped back and pulled the door closed. “That'll hold 'em for a minute,” he said.

I looked away and approached the door to the storeroom, then peeked slowly around the corner. I looked back at Joe and nodded. He looked at me curiously and shrugged.

Come on, Camo Joe, don't you know what a nod means?

“No zombies,” I whispered.

“Okay,” he replied, speaking in a low voice. “Use a low voice instead of whispering—it doesn't carry the sound as far.”

“Shut up and go get my toys,” I told him. “We can talk about appropriate vocal levels at another time.”

I moved to the other side of the hallway and Joe, smiling and shaking his head, went into the room, slowly and quietly. I reloaded the shotgun and watched the hallway. A lone, one-handed zombie that used to be some man appeared in the living room. It hadn't seen me yet, so I crouched down and tried to think small thoughts. I slowly laid down the shotgun and pulled out my baton. The One Armed Zombie turned and looked down the hall. He didn't moan, which was good, but he was coming my way, which was bad.

He tripped on one of the many bodies and landed almost on top of me. He reached out with his one hand and gripped my right arm, wrenching it toward him so that I couldn't raise the baton. I let out a little yelp as he bit down hard on my forearm.

Dammit.

—————

Joe

I grinned as I went back into the storeroom. Ninja Girl wanted me to shut up, hmm? Sure enough I loved the petite rascal. I saw a zombie walk past the window. It was probably heading for the garage door along with the dozens of others making their way in. I opened the closet door and grabbed another pack and put in all the guns from the table, then started adding ammo—9mm, 12 gauge. I grabbed my M&P Pro 9mm and holster to replace the .45 in my belt—better to standardize the ammo. I grabbed more 9mm rounds, and then filled the bag up the rest of the way with .223 rounds. I added a cleaning kit and tools and zipped it up. It probably weighed a hundred pounds, but the way things were going, I knew we were going to need that ammo.

Just as I turned back to the door, I saw a zombie pull Erin's arm and bite down.

“NO!” I yelled, dropping the bag and rushing forward. Erin yelped, then stood and twisted her arm down and out. The creature was forced to let go, and she followed the motion, spinning around, and brought her baton down on the creature's head. She struck it again and it stopped reaching for her and lay still. She looked at me and held up her right arm.

“Zombie armor,” she said. Her arm was wrapped in one of the rags from my garage. I let out a sigh of relief and walked over and hugged her. She stiffened, and I remembered her rule. I started to let go and apologize, but she relaxed and hugged me back.

“Sorry, I keep forgetting,” I said. “I just... I...”

She nodded. “Get the stuff,” she said, looking past me. “We might have company soon.” I looked back and saw a couple of zombies watching us. I looked down and didn't meet their eyes, but shuffled into the room, trying to pretend I was one of them. I reached the bag and grabbed it before it hit the fan. They moaned and started climbing into the window.

The fan has been officially hit.

I turned to Erin. “Time to go,” I said.

She turned and picked up her shotgun, put the baton in her belt, and walked slowly toward the living room, stepping over and between, and sometimes on, the piles of zombies laying everywhere. I pulled the door closed, dragging a zombie out of the way as I did. It might hold them for a bit since it opened inward—they'd have to push it out of its frame to get through. I heard a loud “CRACK” and looked back toward the garage where the zombies were breaking through. The door bowed inward and a big split appeared in the wood from the ceiling to the floor.

I turned back toward the living room and went as fast as I could, stepping on zombies and trying not to slip and fall into the gore. There weren’t any more in there—lucky for us, all of them apparently went back out the front windows to follow the ones trying to get into the garage or the storeroom I’d just left. Erin was putting on her ALICE pack and I pulled mine on, then slung the weapons bag over my shoulder.

Erin looked askance at me. “Couple hundred pounds of gear there, Camo?” she asked.

I hefted it a couple of times. “Maybe one fifty,” I said. “Walk in the park.”

She took on a serious look. I'd seen that look before. Scary “ninja girl” look. She'd had it just before she kicked that one kidnapper in the face and told me to never touch her. “Will it slow you down?” she asked.

I was about to be flippant, but her expression stopped me. She was serious, but also a little worried. “A little, but not at first. I carried this much when I was younger. At my age now? I figure I'm good for at least two miles at a fast pace.”

Erin nodded. “It's about six blocks to my boat. You're coming with me.” It wasn't a question.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

She smiled. “You should use a low voice, it doesn't carry as far as a whisper,” she said.

“Brat,” I told her, smiling back. I started to ask her to lead the way, but stopped myself.

She gives the orders, I carry them out.

That means I’m the grunt who gets stuck with point.

I held my hand up, palm open. “Wait here,” I said in a low voice.

I walked to the window, gun at low ready, and looked out. Seeing nothing, I stepped out, crunching the broken glass. “Clear,” I said, then beckoned her with my right hand. I arched my hand toward the front door. “Use the door,” I said, even though Erin was small enough to easily step through the window. She opened it, creaking a little bit, then stepped out. I put my hand up again, palm out, motioning her to stop and wait. She nodded. I gave her a thumbs up, then walked slowly off the porch, looking right and left. There were a few creatures toward the right, and a man running past the intersection on the left. I didn't see anything chasing him, though.

The kidnappers lived down the street to the right. That’s the direction Erin had been headed, so it must be the way to her boat. I beckoned Erin without looking at her and began to walk down the sidewalk. I looked back, and she was following me, about six feet behind and to my left, in the street. She held her shotgun pointed slightly left.

Dammit, I meant to give her a sling for that.

There was one in the bag, but I wasn't going to stop now to dig it out.

One of the creatures ahead saw us coming and moaned, causing the other one to turn and see us as well. I took aim as I walked, but it wasn't a safe shot. The road here went up slightly before dropping back down toward the ocean on the left, and my bullet might miss and hit a good guy on the other side. A .223 round spun fast, and tumbled when it hit a person.

Or a zombie.

It could do some crazy acrobatics, entering through the shoulder and exiting through a leg, damaging muscles and arteries the whole way through. It was a very small bullet, but with a lot of explosive power behind it: a good round for taking out zombies.

I might regret not bringing something bigger if we ran into armored up thugs or a big horde of these things, though. I moved closer to the zombies, angling for a good headshot, when I felt a tap on my arm. I looked down at Erin, walking beside me. She shook her head, then held out the shotgun for me. I was confused, but took it. I let the rifle go and held the shotgun at low ready.

Suddenly, Erin sprung ahead of me, unzipping the machete sheath and holding the tree trimmer in her left hand and the baton in her right. She walked quickly up to the zombie, which reached for her. She booted it in the chest and it fell over, then she kicked it hard in the head. The other one was close, so she spun out of its way and hit it across the arms with the baton, then smashed it on the back of the head with the dull side of the machete. It dropped, then struggled to get up.

She stepped back from the two almost-deader zombies and looked expectantly at me. I'm sure my mouth was agape and I was standing there looking like an idiot.

I mean, who wouldn't be?

I gathered my thoughts then walked up to the creatures and stomped on their heads, finishing them. I looked at Erin as she holstered her weapons and held out her hand for the shotgun.

“Quieter that way,” she said in a low voice.

“And it looks a hell of a lot cooler,” I added, a stupid grin on my face. She smiled her beautiful, apocalypse-brightening smile, then nodded.

“We're five blocks from the dock,” she said. “Go left at the intersection, Stompy Joe.”

I smiled and made a thumbs-up gesture, then moved forward and beckoned her. I figured if I kept using these hand signals, she'd catch on really quick. I looked back and she made a thumbs-up gesture.

Smart girl.

We turned left at the intersection and headed toward the ocean.