The Dead Walk The Earth (Book 4) (24 page)

Kyle was steadily becoming soaked through, but he felt nothing of the cold or discomfort. That would come later when they were moving again and he would have the chance to complain from relative safety and warmth. Right now, all of his concentration was on the darkness around them. He was patrolling the area around his SUV, checking the roadsides again and again while Mark remained at the wheel, watching through the window with nervous eyes.

“Keep an eye out to the right,” Kyle instructed him, spitting the rain away from his face as it trickled down through his hair.

Mark was already covering that particular flank, his door open and his rifle in his hands, but the veteran wanted to be sure that he understood his role. The former sailor was humble enough to grunt his acknowledgement, understanding that Kyle was just making sure they had three-hundred and sixty-degree protection, and that it was not a reflection on Kyle’s opinion of Mark’s abilities.

The veteran returned to the centre of the road and continued to scan the trees around them. Through the splash of the rain and the swish of the wind through the branches, he began to hear other sounds. To his right he heard the occasional scrape and clatter of tools and equipment as the others worked feverously to change the wheel as quickly as possible. He blotted out the manmade noise and the din of nature, concentrating his hearing on anything else that was out of place.

All around them distant, echoing cracks and rustles emitted from the treeline. He turned to look, seeing nothing but shifting shades of black and green through the NVGs as the wind and rain whipped through the leafless branches and swept over the long grass at the roadside. He removed the goggles, feeling that they were hindering him more than they were aiding him. Placing them on top of his head he stared into the blackness, relying on his hearing and his intuition. Then, barely noticeable beyond the other noises, he heard it.

“Stan, we’ve got movement,” he whispered into his radio.

Through the drumbeat of the rain and the ceaseless swaying of the trees, the faint, haunting moans of the dead began to filter through the ambient sounds. It was impossible to tell how far away they were or how many, but one thing he was sure of was that they were closing in on their location, attracted by the sounds of the men and the tools.

Stan heard them, too. They were coming through the woods, dragging themselves through the thick underbrush, and fighting their way through the tangles of branches that blocked their path. The cracks were growing louder as they advanced, as were the sounds of their voices. He turned to check on the others. They were still beside the vehicle, lining up the bolts of the wheel. It would only be a minute or so before they were ready to move again, but he wondered if they had that long.

There was a bang, and the vehicle suddenly dropped before the wheel was in place. The tyre was flung away by the jolt, rolling to the side, and forcing Bull to chase after it. The jack had failed, causing the wheel arch to slam into the ground.

“Shit,” Taff gasped, jumping to his feet and grabbing the handle of the jack. Again he began to rapidly pump away, growling profanities at their misfortune.

“Get a fucking move on,” Stan demanded.

Taff was well aware of the situation. By now he could hear the cries and wails for himself. He did not need to be told that urgency was required.

“We’re nearly done,” he snapped back over his shoulder as Bull arrived with the tyre again. “Just keep them off us for a minute, for fuck sake.”

Kyle saw the first of them emerge from the blackness. It staggered out from the trees and into the road. It stopped in the area between the two vehicles and looked around before moving towards Stan and the others.

“Stan, behind you,” Kyle yelled, but their commander did not hear him. He was already moving to deal with another body that had emerged close by.

The veteran jumped forward and charged towards the figure as it closed in on the others. Before it could reach them, he smashed the butt of his rifle into the area between its shoulder blades, sending it sprawling headlong into the grass and weeds that were sprouting up from the asphalt. As he closed in for the kill, more of the dead began to spill out onto the road. He grabbed for the knife in his belt, intending to deal the final blow against the creature that was now climbing back to its feet.

“Fuck it,” he snarled, raising his rifle and blasting a hole through the corpse’s head.

The shot echoed through the darkness, sounding like a sudden clap of thunder. The muzzle flash had illuminated the area for an instant of a second, revealing more of the infected stumbling through the trees and advancing along the road ahead of them.

“Contact rear,” Mark howled from behind him.

“Take them out,” the veteran screamed back at him. “Slot the bastards.”

The dead were closing from all sides. Kyle swivelled and shot two more dark and deformed figures that were getting close, while from a few metres to his right, Stan’s rifle also joined in the fray.

“Prepare to move,” Stan yelled to the men behind him.

They were out of time and needed to use the remaining vehicle to withdraw. He fired again, seeing a dark shadow approaching the area where Taff and Bull were working. The shot drilled a hole through the corpse’s chest, causing it to stagger backwards but failing to stop it. He fired again, putting a round through its face, and dropping it to the floor.

“Nearly there, nearly there,” Taff screamed back at him as they finally got the wheel into position.

As Bull began tightening the nuts, ignoring what was happening all around them and placing his trust in his teammates, Taff released the jack and ripped it from beneath the vehicle, tossing it to the side with no time to place it back into the rear of the SUV.

“Just a few seconds.”

He jumped up and headed around the vehicle towards the driver’s side, leaving Bull to finish off. As he reached the door he collided with a figure that had gone unnoticed while it approached from the opposite direction. Both of them fell to the ground, rolling through the puddles of rain water as they became entangled with one another. Taff sensed more of them close by and screamed out a warning to the others as he continued to battle with the corpse beneath him. It clawed at his face, biting at the material of his jacket and assault vest while Taff struggled to break free.

It groped him, its hands searching for a better hold as it snarled into Taff’s face. He could smell the rancid stench of the creature’s insides as its mouth opened wide and snapped shut on thin air just centimetres away from his neck. Taff suddenly screamed loudly as one of its clutching hands, grasping at anything it could, clenched around his groin, squeezing his penis and testicles tightly. Feeling the soft flesh between its fingers and sensing victory as Taff howled in pain and terror, the growling monster increased its grip and began to pull.

Taff began to kick and punch, hoping to break the vice like hold that the infected body had upon him before his own flesh was torn. He was growling with rage while at the same time groaning with pain. Finally, he was able to force his forearm beneath the body’s chin and push himself up.

“Cunt,” he roared.

He felt the fingers around his groin slacken their grip for a moment, and that was all the chance Taff needed. He shifted his position so that his lower body was clear of the mauling hands, and pushed his elbow down onto the corpse’s throat with all of his weight. The flesh split, and the bones creaked as Taff pushed against it.

“Cunt. You fucking cunt.”

With his free hand, he began to beat at the face beneath him, landing blow after blow with enough strength and force to break the skull. The infected man went limp and released its grip on him. Taff pulled himself free and scurried back from the body, one hand checking his testicles while the other reached for his rifle. He jumped to his feet and turned, checking his immediate surroundings, and firing three rounds into a face that appeared from around the front of the vehicle.

More gunfire blasted from all around him as Kyle and Stan attempted to provide Bull the time he needed to complete the task. The racket was attracting more of the infected to the area. They came from every direction, suddenly appearing as though they had been waiting in the shadows for such an event.

“Done,”
Bull’s voice cried out, quickly followed by a volley of rapid fire as he joined in with the defence.

Taff jumped into his seat and gunned the engine, pushing the stick into first gear with his foot resting just below the bite of the clutch.

“In, get in!” he yelled out to Stan and Bull through the open passenger door.

Having lost the benefit of stealth, there was no point in trying to remain undetected now. He flicked on the headlights and saw that there were dozens of the infected in the road ahead of them headed towards the team with outstretched arms.

“Move.”

Taff released the clutch before Stan had even managed to slam the door shut. The wheels screeched, fighting for traction against the wet and vine covered tarmac, until the tyres gripped and the SUV suddenly and violently shot forward, smashing into three of the dead and sending them hurtling through the air. With screaming engines, the team made their getaway from the scene and the crowd of dead that now filled the road.

“That’s us complete, Stan,”
Kyle informed them through the radio.

Stan took in a deep breath and changed his magazine, making a mental note of his remaining ammunition. There were still more of the infected along the road ahead of them, but they were fewer in number, and more spread out. He knew from experience that the next few kilometres of their journey would be the same, with the walking dead being attracted by the gunfire from over a vast distance.

Taff swerved his way through, dodging the wandering infected as best he could while resisting the urge to press his foot down hard against the pedal. He kept his cool, but the pain in his groin would not let him forget how close he had been to losing something very dear to him.

“Bastards,” he muttered, his glaring eyes fixed upon the road ahead of them.

“You okay?” Stan asked, looking him up and down.

“Yeah,” Taff replied, keeping his eyes on the road. “I’m okay.”

A few kilometres further along, Taff was forced to brake hard when the road ahead of them abruptly disappeared. They had reached a junction that was shrouded in almost complete blackness, surrounded by overhanging trees and thick bushes. By now they were back to travelling without the aid of their lights and relying more upon the NVGs. However, very little detail was ever visible through the night vision equipment, and depth perception was even more difficult to judge.

Taff brought them to a halt and leaned forward over the wheel. Directly in front of them, partially visible through the thick foliage, was a road sign. It was impossible to read, covered with grime and crawling vines that threatened to completely smother it. Taff turned to Stan and shrugged.

“Don’t look at me, mate. I’m the driver. I need to stay behind the wheel.”

Stan hesitated. They were still too close to the area where they had needed to change the tyre. They had made so much noise during the incident that it was impossible for any cadaver that was still in possession of its senses not to hear them. He looked around them, turning in his seat, and attempting to see deeper into their surroundings.

“Come on, numbnuts,” Stan eventually grunted over his shoulder as he lifted his weapon from the foot well and prepared to exit the vehicle. He clicked his radio. “Kyle, we have a junction ahead and need to push forward on foot. Watch our six.”

“Roger that.”

Bull and Stan stepped out onto the road. The cold air against their exposed skin slapped them into instant alertness. They waited for a moment while listening to the oppressive night. The second vehicle with Mark and Kyle had come to a halt a few metres further back. Even from such a short distance, it was hard to make them out in the darkness. Bull heard the faint creak of the door opening and a pair of boots stepping onto the rough tarmac of the road. It was Kyle taking up a covering position for them as they prepared to approach the junction.

“Got you visual, Stan,”
the veteran’s voice whispered through the radio.
“Our six o’clock is clear.”

But for how long?
Stan wondered. They had almost been overwhelmed fifteen minutes earlier in an area that had seemed remote and free of the infected. For all they knew, they could be surrounded by thousands more of them without knowing it. The infected, possibly a herd that was rampaging its way to nowhere, had fallen on the area within seconds of them going static and appearing from out of thin air. It could easily happen again now.

Apart from the low murmur of the engines, there was absolutely no other sounds. Not even the usual hoots of owls or the rustle of animals scurrying through the underbrush. They listened for the dead; the unmistakable dragging of feet and grunts that always accompanied the infected. There was nothing but an unnatural silence blanketing the area, and it was assumed to be a bad sign.

Stan began to edge forward, watching the dark and shifting foliage on either side of the intersection while Bull crept along behind him. Once in the centre of the junction, they paused and checked to their left and right, staring into the dark roads leading off. In both directions there was nothing but blackness as the lanes were swallowed up within the tunnels of high-reaching trees and scrub. Stan took a tentative step closer to the road sign.