900 Miles (Book 2): 900 Minutes (28 page)

Letting that hang there for a moment, he lowered his voice and spoke one final thing
.“
This is my final offer. Yo
u’
ve got ninety seconds to decide
.
”

Glancing amongst the crowd, I could see heads moving from side to side, as if each of us was looking for someone to step out to accept defeat. For a moment, I half-expected it, but Jarvis did
n’
t move a muscle. He did
n’
t even flinch or look back at our group, for that matter. In his mind, we were taking this to the end.

After a solid minute and a half of silence, Gordon realized his offer would be unmet. I remember thinking that it really was a true testament to what we were fighting fo
r…
each other.

Before the Hummer shifted into gear and started backing up to join the rest of the madmen at the tree line, Gordon simply said
,“
I
t’
s been a good run, old friend
.
”

Looking down at the concrete he was crouched upon, Jarvis sat there collecting his thoughts. It must have been nearly impossible to make the decision to put so many peopl
e’
s lives on the line.

From behind me, a voice emerged from the crowd. Someone had cracked.

I sure as hell knew his face. Not because he was a great fighter or leader of any sort, but because
I’
d seen it plastered across any number of trash magazine covers prior to the apocalypse. I think h
e’
d dated a famous singer or pop star, had an illegitimate baby with her or cheated on her, or some other crazy headline. He had long hair that even now looked like it was well conditioned.

All things said he was used to having people look at and listen to him. Eyes always watching. People always following. Guess he felt like it was time to cash in on some of that celebrity credit.

Crawling atop a broken-down car in the middle of the courtyard, Mr. Trash raised his voice loud enough to be heard by those of us scattered throughout the interior of the walls. Calling out cries for retreat, surrender, submission. I nearly shit myself as I watched a few others slowly circling around him, nodding their heads as he spoke.

“
I
t’
s not too late. There are at least a hundred armed soldiers who are going to rush in here with God knows how many of the Z
s…
all intent on killing us. How can we possibly survive this
?
”

Someone else from the crowd, a woman dressed in a black leather coat spoke up
.“
What choice do you think we have? Are we just going to give up? What do you think they'll do with us?
To
us
?
”

Mr. Trash screamed out
,“
Whatever it is, at least w
e’
ll have a chance to live. We can negotiate with him. Maybe even find a way to work together, and live in harmony. I for one want to live
!
”

The woman did
n’
t respond, and just looked up toward Jarvis. I followed her gaze and saw Jarvis looking down at the crowd. He was silent, listening to the discussion. I could tell he was waiting for everybody to simmer down before he spoke.

Then, just like that, Jarvis raised his head, and stood a little taller than
I’
d seen him do in the past. He was getting ready to give the speech to rally us. The one that would pull us together. He was getting ready to lay it all on the line to tell us how we needed to fight as a group and that w
e’
d make it out of this alive. We would prevail. We would be victorious.

A man can go a lifetime without making a serious mistake. Making all the right moves. Doing all the right things. However, standing one inch too high or one inch too far to the righ
t…
it only takes one tiny error for it all to come to an end.

Just as he opened his mouth to speak, his head exploded from a bullet passing through his skull. We all gasped in horror as gore sprayed the crowd. A split second later, we heard the bang from the sniper rifle echo in the distance, followed by what sounded like a horn that suddenly erupted from the tree line.

The world thundered around us as one hundred men let out a battle cry.

They were coming.

Chapter 29

As Jarvis, with a hole blown through his head, fell to his knees, rolled over and then off the top of the cinderblock, there was a momentary calm. We were in the eye of the storm. Even as the screaming madmen outside our walls roared to life, there was a unified gasp from inside the Yard that had yet to be let out.

I was
n’
t very close, but I could feel Jarvi
s’
s body hit the ground. The world was completely still, just before all hell broke loose. Three people ran up to check his body, feeling at his neck for a pulse.

“
Oh, God! Oh, my Go
d…
H
e’
s dead
!”
one of them cried.

With my mind spinning, the mud seemed to be pulling me down, sucking my entire body into its clutches. Before I knew it, I was on my knees looking out in terror as I realized Jarvis, our leader, my friend, had fallen. Those bastards out there killed him.

Gordon had murdered him.

Pulling one arm up from the mud, I sloshed it sideways, flinging the brown sludge against the cinderblock wall before reaching over to grab the hammer from my belt. Clutching that tool of death, as if it was the only thing able to steady me, I reached to my knee with my other hand and started to push myself up.

The oversized head of the hammer, with its imperfect dings and splintered handle, gave me a greatly needed sense of encouragement at that moment. It provided a calm that stopped my heart from thumping against my chest, and snapped me out of the shock.

Shaking my head, I tried to make sense of the madness inside our walls. A quick movement up the wall to my right pulled my attention to Kyle, who was darting up a ladder to the perch that Jarvis had been stationed on. I stood in amazement, watching him carry on like the soldier he was. H
e’
d turn emotion into action, fighting to make it out of this nightmare in one piece. His time to mourn would have to come later.

Kyle always knew death so well.

Pulling each foot out of the mud, I sprinted over to the same wooden ladder. Keeping a steady eye on Kyle, I watched him lift one arm up to the communication link sitting on his shoulder. With all the screaming, I could
n’
t hear him clearly from my own comm link, but I knew what he said.

Kyle was putting part of his plan into action.

Fighting marauders for months had given us plenty of experience in learning how to defend ourselves. This was
n’
t the first sniper to take a shot our way, and Kyle had a trick or two of his own to combat this threat.

Glancing from Kyle to the far left wall, I knew that he had said three little words into that comm link.

“
God, take them
!
”

One bright but precise muzzle flash sparked from the topside of our far wall just moments before I saw our own sniper roll off the side of cement and escape undetected into the shadows. God, the same man wh
o’
d watched over us from the tower above as we entered and exited Avalon, disappeared into the darkness, no doubt setting off to do what he did best. Judge his enemies from the distance. Decide who lived and who died.

Knowing that, in the darkness, our sniper could see the flash from the enem
y’
s weapons, it was easy for him to hone right in on the bastard that had taken down Jarvis. Kyle had given specific instruction to God. Never aim for the head. He wanted the fuckers to turn into the dead. He wanted them to tear each other apart out there.

As I slid in next to Kyle, he handed me an AR-15 semi-automatic machine gun, which had a fairly decent scope on it.

“
You remember how to use this
?
”

“
W
e’
ll see
,”
I said as I slid the clip out and checked to make sure it was fully loaded.

“
Yes, I think we will
,”
he said, tapering off.

Pulling the scope to my left eye, I saw the camp across the field. Out in front, horizontally to the tree line, were a series of six wooden crates. Three in a straight line on one side, and three on the other, creating a ten-foot gap between them. Standing six feet high and six feet wide, they made a nice cover for Gordo
n’
s men who were moving around behind them. Slowly sliding the scope back and forth across the camp, I could see the full setup. Gordon had no intention of walking away empty-handed. He had to have had his whole force out there.

It was
n’
t until I noticed an arm sticking out of one of the crates that I realized what the wooden boxes were filled with. They were the same ones Jarvis had mentioned earlier.

The
y’
re collecting them
, Jarvis had said.

Shifting my weight from one boot to the other, I looked to the ground below. Our walls were clear and free of the dead.

They had collected them all. 

“
What the hell are they gonna do with the Zs
?”
I asked out loud, while placing my scope back to my eye.

Kyle grunted, but did
n’
t say a word as he still stared out through his own scope, trying to sort Gordo
n’
s plan out.

Pulling my attention from the scope and back to the Yard, I heard screaming from below us. In a panic, many of the people inside our walls were fleeing back toward the large metal blast door which would seal them inside the bunker. Believing they'd be safe from the opposing force, hysteria gripped their minds like a tightening vice, squeezing out any and all rational judgment. Avalon would be nothing more than a mass grave if we simply tried to hide. Our countermeasures inside the bunker would be useless if we could
n’
t cut Gordo
n’
s forces down in size.

In the middle of it all, I watched as Richards crawled up on the same broken-down car that Mr. Trash had now fled from. Holding his arms straight up in the air in an attempt to capture everybod
y’
s attention, he called out to the crowd to reason with the madness. Trying to loosen the vic
e’
s grip.

It was
n’
t working.

Losing his patience, Richards pointed his rifle up in the air and took three shots, stopping everyone in their mud-covered tracks.

Looking out to the crowd, he raised his voice and said
,“
We have to fight! There is no way out of this. There is
n’
t anything stopping this army from pulling the door right off the bunker. There's no running from this one
.
”

He had a hell of a point.

With his rifle now held across his chest, Richards glared out into the crowd before saying
,“
No able-bodied man or woman will be hiding this one out. We will stand up against this force. We will have to fight to get out of this. W
e’
ll have to kill every last one of those bastards for us to survive
.
”

Speaking slowly, as if letting the words slip through his teeth, he said
,“
Together we live. Together we die
.”
He shifted his finger over the trigger and raised his head to challenge the crowd.

Water dripping into a nearby puddle was all that was audible in the Yard as we all froze. I watched a woman across from me, the same one wearing the black leather jacket, reach down and pick up a discarded pistol as she started to walk toward Richards. Reluctantly, most of the others followed her, crowding together around the car as Richards slid his finger away from the trigger.

He had our army pulled back together. Now w
e’
d have to see what he could do with it.

Thinking back to a time before all of this, when
I’
d still worn a tie to work, I found myself reminded about how often leadership would change. I went through a year where I literally had three bosses. Some were better than others were, but at the end of the day, us little worker bees would always be able to adapt to the new person in command. W
e’
d be able to fall in line behind the new priorities, new rules, new leadership.

Humans are programmed to follow.

At that point, I could
n’
t help but remember that Richards was a politician. He had charisma. I had
n’
t trusted him because of it. However, before I knew it, he had teams of people ready to jump at his instructions. Some armed, some not. All had a purpose, and all were ready for what came next, unified under one simple thought. If we did
n’
t stand to fight, then w
e’
d be dead by dawn.

He had us all.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed as an orange glow danced across Kyle's face. At first, I thought I was seeing things, but my attention was quickly drawn to the madmen across the field from us. Looking through the scope on my rifle, I witnessed a man with a black rubber-like suit, holding a flamethrower, standing in the opening between the boxes. He was blasting it out in the direction of Avalon in giant bursts, singeing the still-wet grass in the field. The men at the tree line howled to life with delight as each flame illuminated the trees dancing in the wind.

Lifting my face from the scope, I shook my head and rubbed both hands down my legs. Dropping my eyes to the crenellation, I watched a bead of sweat slide down the tip of my nose before splashing into the concrete.

Not wanting to look back up, one single thought passed through my mind,
Please, no more fire.

The group across from us began chanting. At first, I could
n’
t make out what they were saying. I felt it more than I could hear it. Then it struck me. I knew what they were screaming.

“
Nowhere to run! Nowhere to run! Nowhere to run
!
”

Letting out an exaggerated breath, I realized they were right.

Looking at them from my perch, I could
n’
t believe that these men were following Gordon, sticking with that murderer.
I’
ve often thought about why all those people, his army, would follow such a monster. They had to have been decent humans at one point, before the world turned to shit. No way so many of them were as crazed as he was.

In the end,
I’
ve landed on one simple fact. Gordon was a leader, a showman. He knew what it took to rally the troops, give them a common cause. If we still had TV in this world, his face would have been plastered across every flat scree
n…
and he would have loved it. The bastard had spent a lifetime controlling people, and he knew one simple fact. We were bred to follow. In the distance, I could see five men ushered into some temporary lighting that had been erected near the ten-foot opening between the boxes. Even from our perch, I could tell they were prisoners. Lifting the scope back to my face, I realized that all five of them were wearing animal furs.

Badly beaten and broken, the five men were on their knees, held down with long dog-wrangling poles - the same ones that w
e’
d seen Gordon use with Mr. Mullet.

Right away, I could see the old man that had blinded us back at the tree fortress. He limped along, his eyes nearly swollen shut, and he held one hand over his stomach. Gordon had left the orange stripe prominently displayed on each of their arms. 

I watched as another group of Gordo
n’
s soldiers stepped behind the men with an armful of armor and helmets. Gasping, I had the sudden realization of what was about to happen.

The Arena battle seven months earlier flashed into my mind.

Not believing my eyes, I watched as one by one, all five men had the familiar spiked armor and metallic faceplates with razor teeth violently forced over their bodies. The same Z Death Armor that Gordon had used for sport back at the Arena. I could hear their screams echoing into the night as Gordo
n’
s men used large wooden mallets to drive the long spikes through their chest plates.

All except the old man, that is. He let out a horrific filthy laugh even as the metal shards from the helmet dug into the flesh covering his face
.“I’
ll be seeing you soon.
I’
ll be seeing you soon
!”
he repeatedly yelled just before the mallet came down on the spike.

I’
ll be seeing you soon. Last words one certainly would
n’
t ever have heard before the dead started to rise. I was
n’
t sure if he was screaming it out to us, or Gordo
n’
s men. One by one, each of the Stripes dropped to the ground. One by one, Gordo
n’
s men pulled them into an empty wooden crate before nailing it shut from behind, sealing the creatures in. Seconds passed before the box came to life, shaking violently as the armored Zs stood, ready to wreak havoc on whatever they could get their deadly grips on.