Zombie Fallout 9 (9 page)

“On grass?” The speeders began to arrive, smacking on the sides of the car, rocking it back and forth in their efforts to get the tasty treat inside.

“Has to be a rock or something.”

“There're only twenty of them.”

I knew what he was implying, that we go down there, kill them all, and then push Ron off whatever he was lodged on. The only problem with that was that the longer he was stuck, the more zombies over at the shed became interested in the goings on. There was somewhere in the neighborhood of seventy-five zombies, give or take a few ugly fuckers. We had a couple hundred rounds each. Theoretically we could do it, but if we failed, we had nowhere to go. Speeders would chase us down. Plus, we had to hope that our fight didn't draw any more to the festivities.

“Yeah, we go down, pick up Erin, be back for dinner, he says.”

“You realize you're talking about yourself, right?” BT asked.

“I can be mad at myself.”

“Can you maybe have that argument later? Would love to see who wins, though.”

“Shut the hell up. You ready?”

We stood. Both checked our magazine pouches. I was OCD enough that I had to check that I'd chambered a round; actually expelled a fresh round in doing so.

“That could be the one round that spells the difference between life and death.”

I knew he was screwing with me. I wouldn't have left the round, but now I had to hit the magazine release button and put the bullet back.

“The time you've wasted here could be the difference—”

“I am going to shoot you.”

We moved closer. The zombies were still too interested in Ron to even glance in our direction. I wanted to be near enough that headshots were viable and at a high percentage, but leave enough room that when they inevitably turned and ran toward us, we would have time to defend ourselves. BT started to line up a shot.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Getting ready to shoot.”

“We can't afford to spray bullets. Get down into the prone position; there's a good chance they won't even know where we're at for a while.”

“I don't want to get down there.”

“Man, I know you're a good shot; you're not that good.”

“There are ticks, man.”

“What?”

“Ticks. They're like spiders, but they suck your blood.”

“I know what the hell ticks are. We'll pull them off if they get on you. I mean, someone will, depending on where they are. Get down here, and you're giving me shit about wasting time.” I waited until he was down, and I fired.

“I better not get Lyme disease. That's a hiking-honky sickness…. Oh, let's see nature and catch some parasites!” He was still going on as I acquired targets and shot. I watched as heads were laid open and throats cut through. At first, the zombies did not seem to notice, then slowly but surely, they began to look around trying to find the hidden assassins. BT finally stopped talking and started shooting. I did not notice any zombies going down by Ron. I thought he still had ticks on the mind and was about to give him crap about it when I turned to look. The reason that none of the zombies surrounding Ron's car were being hit became immediately evident, the ones at the maintenance shed, which were closer, had already discovered our sniper nest and were coming full tilt.

“Any chance you were going to say something?” I asked as I switched my field of fire.

“I figured you'd get it soon enough.”

We were in a spot of trouble. A hundred and fifty yards seems like a fairly long distance, but if something is running at you at full speed, you're really only talking eighteen or nineteen seconds. Most people never realize that the vast majority of firefights are generally over in a minute or under. With one side victorious and the other dead. This battle was going to be no different. Of course, for those of you wondering, that minute seems closer to about a week.

“I'm out!” I shouted to BT, letting him know I was going to need to reload. I'd no sooner released my empty magazine when he stopped shooting.

He twisted his rifle. The bolt was lodged partially open with a live round jammed into the back of an expended one. “Stove pipe!”

He was out of the mix for a while. I was going to have to be spot on to make this work. At least the zombies were cooperating by coming closer and making better targets. I targeted the closest zombies for obvious reasons, but this also had the added benefit that, more times than not, the ones immediately trailing would get tangled up and go down as well. It bought precious time.

“Hurry up, man.” I was killing them, but not fast enough. Even if he got back into it now, it might be too late.

“What do you think I'm doing, man?” He was as nervous as I was.

Blood sprayed, skulls exploded, brains flew, and still they came. Fifty yards. I spared the smallest of glances toward Ron to see if he had extracted himself from his own potentially deadly situation. I couldn't even see the car due to the mob of zombies coming at us from his direction.

“We might need to run,” I warned BT.

“Almost free.”

“Now or never, buddy.” I was still firing, and I instinctually knew I was getting to the end of the magazine.

“I'm good.” I heard his bolt close home. “Holy shit.”

“No kidding.” I switched out while he fired.

He blew through the rest of his rounds in record time. We'd won some hard-earned time just as he shouted “Out!”

They gained ground while I went solo for a few seconds. We could just about keep them in check with both of us going. Of course, our magazines would run dry and, soon enough, so would our supply. It again became a question of when we would abandon our post.

“BT, we're going to have to go.” Although, that ship had not only sailed but also was probably already pulling up at its new port. By the time we arose, turned, and got running, they would be colliding with us. There was gunfire happening to our front. I figured it was Ron trying to get rid of the zombies around his car. I believed that right up until I heard multiple reports and from differing caliber sizes. I had to put a hand on BT's shoulder to keep him down as he potentially tried to make his escape.

“I'm going to count that as a lifesaving gesture,” I told him, not sure what he was thinking. Bullets were zipping up and over our location. Normally, this would be extremely disturbing. Right now, though, it was welcome. “Out!” I warned, dropping my magazine. We had a thirty-foot cushion drop to twenty before I could start firing again. Zombies were coming to skidding halts less than five feet from our location. We were about as overrun as we could be without getting trampled.

I think I had one magazine left. Wouldn't matter though; I'd never get a chance to get to it. I debated keeping one round to put in my own head. But I'd already lost count of how many I'd shot. Bone fragments and body pieces began to pelt us as those behind kept firing.

“Out!” BT shouted onto a completely silent battlefield. Smoke from our rifles hung in the air. We were the last men standing. Well, technically, there were twelve of us, but I was pretty sure we were all playing for the same team. I took note that BT quickly and quietly, placed his last magazine into his rifle before he stood. Just because we shared an enemy did not make us friends. For all we knew, they were cannibals that wanted us for themselves.

“You all right?” Ron called out to us.

I stood, waved over to him, but kept my rifle by my hip, ready to pull up and start firing again.

“Mike?” Someone called out. It was Erin. I instinctively looked for Paul. Where there was one, the other was close by. It hurt more than I cared to remember when I realized he would not ever be by her side, at least not on this plane. She ran toward me.

“Thank you.” She gave me a fierce hug and then pushed back.

“Why?” Was all I could think to ask.

Her eyes became downcast. “You reminded me of him too much. I couldn't take it.”

“What were you trying to do when you left?”

“I think you know.”

“You did a horrible job!” BT said brusquely.

“I missed you too, BT.” Erin slid into an easy hug with him.

“Damn fool,” he told her, though he gripped her tighter.

“What's going on here?” I asked, referring to the eleven with her and their locale.

“We were staying in a safe house in Andover, and we were overrun.”

“Doesn't sound all that safe,” I said dryly, not trying to be sarcastic, just making an observation.

She laughed. “It wasn't. We've been looking for places to stay for a few weeks now. Ended up here. Thought we'd be fine, at least until we got surrounded. What are you guys doing here?”

“Huh?” I asked. “You called us on the radio.”

“Radio? We don't have a radio.”

“This a joke?” BT asked.

I might have asked the same question if I didn't have a spike of iciness traveling along the base of my skull.

“What's to joke about BT?”

“We … we got a call from you, Erin. Said you were in trouble at the Quabbin. We're not out here by coincidence.”

“I can assure you it was not me or anyone I'm here with.”

“What the fuck is going on, Mike?” BT looked about as white as his skin tone was going to allow for.

“I think we had a spectral visitor, and he was looking out for someone near and dear.”

“Paul, Paul did this?” Erin put her hand to her throat.

“Erin dear, are you all right?” An older woman flanked by two men approached.

“I'm … I'm fine, I think.” She had tears in the corners of her eyes threatening to fall. “Mike, BT, this is Fannie, Brad, and Shemp.”

I shook all their hands. “Shemp, as in
The Three Stooges
?”

He shrugged and gave a half-cocked smile. “Favorite show growing up. I figured I had nobody left in this world who knew my name and I could give myself one that gave me comfort.”

“Shemp though? Why not Curly?”

“Too much hair.” He bent over to show his thick brown moppish topping.

I liked him already.

“Do you guys have transportation?”

Fannie responded. “We do, we just couldn't get to it. Thank you for aiding us.”

“Aiding” was a strange word for what had just happened, but since they had saved our lives as well, I was willing to let it slip. I couldn't even blame her for getting us into this situation, as it seemed that Paul had tampered with the boundaries between the living and dead to get something of great importance to him rescued. I had no answers for what had happened and most likely never would. All I could do was move forward.

“Happy to help. Good thing you have wheels. I don't think we'd all fit in the bug.”

A couple of people were helping Ron move the VW. He'd put the thing atop a rock.

“Why ever would we do that?” Fannie asked.

“I just figured you'd come with us.”

“Oh, heavens no, not unless you're going to Florida.”

I swear I was a millimeter away from asking her if she was planning on retiring. At least I kept my mouth shut on that one. “Florida? Why?”

“Fannie, you've already said too much,” said Brad, the other man with her.

“This one is always suspicious.” She pointed to him.

“It's a good thing to be these days, well probably all days, but especially now,” I told her.

He nodded.

“Relax, Brad. These are obviously friends of Erin's, and they went to great lengths to save her and us. I think they at least should know. What they do with the information is their choice.”

Brad's look gave me the distinct impression he didn't hold the same sentiment. She knew it too and continued anyway. I liked her as well. Two people in one day, almost a record for me.

“When we get to Florida, we are going to attempt to get a boat and go to Cuba.”

I could think of no reason to go to the tiny nation other than to see if some of the cigar tobacco had made it. She must have seen it on my face.

“We've heard rumors that Cuba is zombie free.”

Brad walked away, pissed.

“Don't worry about him. If he had his way, it would just be the two of us. I'm his mother.”

Now that she said it, I did see the family resemblance, although, where she seemed to always wear a smile, he had a frown.

“Zombie free, is there such a thing?” BT scoffed.

I could see the natural isolation of an island helping to keep the virus away. Was it possible? “Did they ever have zombies?”

“Sadly, yes. They were as bad, if not worse off, than everyone else.”

“What changed?”

“The zombies died, from what we've heard.”

“Zombies died? How?”

“They're just gone. No more food; they starved.”

“Oh, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but they're still there.”

Fannie's disposition changed so fast I thought I was misinterpreting it.

“I said they are
not
!” Her face turned a color of red usually reserved for a crayon, and not one of those multi sixty-four crayon packs, but the traditional eight, where red is damn red and not burnt sienna. “And that is where we are going!”

“Whoa.” I now knew where Brad got his sour disposition, little miss polar swing was in full force. “I'm just saying we've never seen zombies die. They do this thing called stasis, basically hibernation until there's more food.”

“YOU LIE!” She was shouting so violently that angry spittle flew from her mouth as she screamed. “GOD HAS TOLD ME THAT CUBA IS FREE FROM THE DEMONS!”

Religious nut.
I kept that to myself. I saw no sense in antagonizing her. Her group was concerned, and was beginning to head our way. I guess I'd pulled the trigger a little too quickly on the liking part. I was back down to one, and even that was abnormally high.