Books of the Dead (Book 3): Dead Man's Land (27 page)

The concussion stunned me momentarily as I lay slumped over Thomas in the stairwell.  It took about ten seconds for me to even know where I was and what I was doing.  My ears rang like someone had put my head in a massive iron church bell and chimed the thing for an hour.  My hands shook from the physical and psychic shock of the blast. 

Shockingly, I held on to the RPG launcher and my pistol.  When I was finally able to move, I nudged Thomas and he opened his eyes and looked up me.  While I had recovered from the explosion, he was still out of it, his expression vacant and lost.    

“You okay?” I asked, but my voice sounded like it came from a long hallway in a building a mile away. 

His head lolled on his shoulders for a moment, then he nodded slightly.  While I wanted to take a moment to reassure him, there was no time.  The Lord of the Dead was still up there and could possibly be coming down the aisle with his assault rifle to finish the job.

“Stay here,” I said to Thomas and pushed him away with my leg.  He slumped back against the steps.

When I poked my head up the stairs, I saw the Lord of the Dead standing and staring down the aisle, toward the front of the bus.  He looked a little unsteady on his feet and I saw little dots of red on his face with trickles of blood draining from them. 

When he saw me, he jerked up his rifle and ripped off a burst of shots.  I ducked out of the way as the bullets tore into the seats and the floor just in front of me.  He fired relentlessly until he ran out of bullets.

That was my chance. I rose up with my pistol and fired down the aisle at him.  With my hands still shaking from the shock of the explosion, I didn’t come close to hitting him, but it knocked him off balance and he dropped the clip he was trying to reload his rifle with.  It fell into the aisle and slid under a seat.  His eyes followed it for a second, but my bullets took center stage, and he slid between two seats.  Those seats were just enough to stop a bullet.

Still, I stepped up with a clear view of him, aimed and pulled the trigger.  It was my turn to run empty.  My gun clicked loudly, but that was it.

He jumped into the aisle, pulled up a pistol of his own and started firing, while backing down the aisle, toward the back of the bus.  I was forced back down to my stairwell refuge as I reloaded my pistol.  His shots were spaced out, but not well-aimed, with most of the bullets flying out the shattered front window. 

His shots stopped and I thought I heard something mechanical clang in the bus.  I leapt up into the aisle with my pistol aimed just in time to see him throw the back door open and jump out of the bus.  I pulled the trigger, but he was out of view by the time my first bullet slammed harmlessly into the back wall of the bus.

A sense of relief started to wash over me because we had survived his onslaught, but that was quickly replaced by wild, runaway panic.  If he got any distance away from us, I had little doubt that he would detonate the bomb in Thomas’ backpack.  Disregarding any fear that he would pop back into the doorway and shoot me down, I sprinted down the aisle with the RPG launcher at the ready.

Each one of my steps seemed to be in slow motion as I saw him getting further away in my mind’s eye.  My theater of disaster saw him twenty feet away, then fifty -- surely a safe enough distance.  Then it saw him pivot back to look at the bus as his finger found the detonation button.  My horror show saw the explosion envelope Thomas and sweep down the bus like a river of fire.

I made it to the back exit and it turned out that my mind movie, a little shop of horrors, was a bit exaggerated.  There was something wrong with the Lord of the Dead’s foot, causing him to limp terribly, slowing him down as he ran from the bus, into a large open field.  Where my movie had him fifty feet away by the time I hit the back of the bus, he had barely made it twenty feet.  Maybe that was far enough away, but he must not have thought so as he limped ahead. 

I decided not to take any chances, dropped to one knee, and brought up the RPG launcher, while I dropped my pistol, hearing it clunk dully against the floor.  I would have preferred he was further away, but there was always the chance that he would take the risk and blow Thomas’ backpack at any moment. 

Time slowed down for me, like it did in instances like this, the details of life becoming clear and pristine.  I felt the coolness of the trigger beneath my finger.  The smell of cordite was almost overwhelming, filling the bus and my nostrils.  I felt the warm trickle of blood down my face, neck, and forehead from the small wounds brought on by the flying glass. 

The loud and noisy world had taken that moment for a brief respite, as the only noise was the sounds of birds off in the woods and the irregular sounds of the Lord of the Dead’s footsteps as he half-ran/half-limped away.  I could hear and feel my breath coursing in and out of my mouth and nose.  My heart pounded like a big bass drum in my ears. 
Boom, boom, boom
.

My hands still shook a little, but I didn’t need to be perfect.  It seems that he must have either heard something or sensed me psychically, because he took that moment to turn his head to look back at me.  His eyes grew wide and his hand dropped to his chest control panel with its rows of buttons, searching them for that one crucial button.

My terrible little imagination started to whir up that projector again, as I knew he was trying to get me before I got him.  I didn’t give him that chance as I depressed the trigger.  I heard the loud whoosh as the RPG took off and I felt the jerking recoil as the launcher propelled backwards, against my shoulder. 

His fingers continued their search, but search was all he could do, because the RPG came on him before he could do anything more.  He was there one moment and the next lost as a ball of fire completely enveloped him.  The fire was followed by a dark cloud of smoke and debris tossed into the air.  The shockwave hit me and knocked back into the bus, where I ended up on my back, leaving me stunned for the second time in a matter of less than a minute. 

Like a quarterback who had just thrown a Hail Mary pass, but was unable to see if it made it to its destination, I pushed myself up on my elbows and looked at the swirling mass of smoke and debris where the Lord of the Dead has once stood.  The smoke hung like a veil over the spot and I half expected to see him step out of the cloud, laugh and depress the button that would take both Thomas and I.  That was only the dark theater of my mind trying to work its voodoo against me, because the Lord of the Dead was toast.  The smoke began to dissipate and the only thing left, where he had been standing, was a dark smoldering hole in the ground. 

Chapter 35

It Ain’t Over Till It’s Over

Russell stood behind a tree, poised to make an all-out sprint for the Manor, but his legs seemed locked in place.  His mind was telling him that his narrow window of time to make it across the field was closing, but his body wasn’t cooperating.  Not at all. 

He heard the moans and grunts of the rogue zombies getting closer from behind them, as they were drawn by the sounds of the battle.  While they frightened him, the reality of having to cross a field of armored undead held Russell like a trap.  Sweat ran in streams down his face and body and his heart beat like it would burst out of his chest at any moment.  He knew he had to move, but leaving the momentary safety of this large oak tree seemed too much of a risk. 

Maybe the zombies wouldn’t see him and would pass by?
he thought.  He knew this was a convenient lie his fears were trying to sell to his logical mind.  Still, fear is a pretty strong de-motivator and, like a statue, he stayed behind the tree.

Footsteps came from behind him in the trees, crunching in the dried leaves that littered the ground.  The steps were irregular and halting, which meant only one thing; it was a zombie.  Maybe more than one.

Russell turned and peered into the trees, watching for any movement, but the small bushes and trees blocked his view.  He brought up his rifle, ready to fire, but knew any shots would only bring attention to him.  It was all a losing proposition, but one that he would play out.

The footsteps became distinct and a figure broke through a thick wall of vegetation, but stumbled and fell to the ground.  Russell brought his rifle up and readied to fire, but the figure looked up and he saw immediately that it was a woman.  A living and breathing woman.  She looked to be in her twenties and had a dark complexion with curly brunette hair that hadn’t been washed in a long, long time.  She also wore a yellow collar and plastic vest covered with buttons.  Her expression was a mask of pure horror. 

“They’re coming,” she said when she saw him, more afraid of what was behind her than the fact that she had stumbled upon a man with a gun.  “A whole fucking wall of them.”

“Hold it right there!” Russell shouted, pulling his rifle up and aiming it at her.

“We don’t have time for that shit,” she said.  “We’ve got to run.”  She ignored the rifle and ran past Russell, into the woods.

Russell stood, somewhat flummoxed, watching the woman’s back disappear as she pushed through a small set of bushes. She was only out of sight for two seconds when he heard the moans and groans, like a horrible symphony drifting through the trees as if they were being broadcast on a wall of concert speakers.  This macabre chorus was louder than any Russell had ever heard before from the undead.  He sidestepped a few feet and got a view through the break in the trees -- it was if someone had jolted him with electricity, causing him to jump backwards. 

Coming through the trees was a mass of the undead, packed so closely together that they bounced off trees.  Some fell, while the others just marched over them, crushing them into the dirt.  The sounds of the battle must have carried for miles, alerting the zombies that there was something to take notice of; some possibility of something to eat.  Russell didn’t wait another second, spun, and took off after the woman. 

She had a head start, but he made up ground quickly, driven by sheer panic as he sprinted through trees.  He made it to her just as she was about to enter the field teeming with armored zombies.  He noticed that she had stopped and her fingers played over the buttons on her chest panel.

“Fuck a duck,” the woman shouted as she gave the control panel a whack with her open palm.

He kept his rifle up and approached as she continued to spill out a blue streak of curses.  

Just as he came past the last tree, he shouted at her, “Hey, you!  Stop there.”

She wheeled about and looked back at him.  Her expression mirrored his, which was two parts terror and one part pissed off.  It was a bad combination, he thought.  Both of them were about piss their pants.

“Can we get inside that building?” she asked.

“What?” Russell asked back.

“Hey numbnuts, if you didn’t notice, we’re just seconds from being overrun by an army of zombies!”

“You’re with him,” Russell spat out and brought the rifle up to aim at her.

“We don’t have time for figuring out whose side were on! Right now, we need to work together to get the hell out of here.”

“How the hell can I trust you?” Russell asked.

“Okay, you get the fucking abridged version,” she said, blowing out a loud exhalation of overheated air.  “You see this collar?” She asked, pointing to the yellow collar wrapped around her neck.  “This is how he controls me.  If I don’t do what he says, he shocks the shit out of me.  I wanted to live, so I did what he said.  I’m not proud of it, but this world’s a game of survival.  Right now, I’m more afraid of them,” she said and pointed into the woods, “than him.”

“He’s the one who controls all the zombies, right?” he asked.

“Something’s not right,” she added. “The zombies aren’t responding to my commands.”

“I thought you could control them?” Russell asked, cautiously closing on the woman, with his rifle aimed at her.

“Holy shit, aren’t you listening?  I can control
them
,” she said, pointing into the field of armored zombies,”but not the ones coming through the woods.  At least I
could
control ours, until my control panel stopped working.”

“You mean you can’t control them anymore?”

“Listen, asshead, if you keep asking dumbass questions, we’re going to get our asses eaten,” she said, glaring at him.  “I can still control some of them, but my control is not as strong as it should be.  So now, I’m done talking.”  She stood with her legs spread and crossed her arms across her chest. “If you’re going to shoot me, then do it and get over with.  But if you do, you’re on your own to get across that field.”  She pointed over her shoulder into the field.

Russell paused, taking an evaluation of the armored zombies in the field and the approaching horde behind him.  It wasn’t a long deliberation.

“Can you clear us a path through them?” He asked, pointing to the ones in the field.

“I hope to hell I can,” she said and went back to pressing buttons.  She cursed a couple more times, but then smiled.  “We need to go between those two groups.”  She pointed to two separate groups of armored zombies.  The two groups separated slightly, creating a narrow, but direct path from where the two of them stood and the back of the buildings. 

“Is it safe?” Russell asked.

“I don’t know for sure, but we don’t have a lot of other choices.”

Stepping into the field was the last thing he wanted to do, but he knew they didn’t have any other choice as the chorus of moans behind them increased in intensity as the zombies got closer.

“Let’s go,” he said and they both stepped into the field.

I got to my feet unsteadily and leaned out the door.  The armored zombies were still on their way and for a couple seconds I felt a dread seep into me. 
Hadn’t I just killed their dark puppet master?  Shouldn’t they be statues or off doing something else?

Then it hit me.  The transmitter was still up.  I whirled around, scanned the interior of the bus and spotted a control panel just behind what looked like a caged area on the bus.  A set of wires led up from the control panel into the roof and onto what I could only expect was some sort of broadcasting antenna.  I rushed down the aisle and got to the control panel.  It contained a series of dials, toggles, buttons, and little monitors.  Some of the small screens were just gauges, but there was a small set of video monitors.  Two of the screens were black, but two displayed shaky black and white images.  Initially, it was hard to make out what they were, but then I got it.  It was The Manor from two different views.  Both views were getting closer to the buildings. 

It had to be remote cameras attached to the zombies.  This was one clever bastard. 

I didn’t have time to admire his work any longer, and I didn’t have time to figure out how to shut anything off.  In my typical brute force method, I just reared back with the RPG launcher and brought it down onto the panel.  After several satisfying crunches, the lights on the panel dimmed and I took a moment to look out the windows of the bus.

The zombies stopped their march toward us and stood in place, motionless, as if awaiting a new command.  I didn’t know how long this would last, but if my past experience was any indication, I knew I only had seconds before they started back in motion.  I could only guess, with their evil overlord dead and their signal shut off, that they would resume normal zombie activity -- which was coming after any humans – or better put, walking food.   This was only slightly less intimidating than a controlled zombie army and left me with the decision of what our next step would be. 

Since I had no real idea what was truly happening at The Manor, I determined that I needed to get there and see if I could rescue any of our crew that was left behind.  That is, if any of them were still alive.  The question was, how to do that?

Another more pressing question became evident when I looked toward the front of the bus and saw Thomas stagger into view.  If the term shell-shocked ever applied to any situation or person, it certainly applied to him.  His expression was vacant and his eyes seemed not to focus on anything at all.  I wasn’t sure he even knew where he was, he seemed so lost.

While I had been battling the Lord of the Dead for our lives, he had seen his two friends blown to bits and lived with the very real possibility of following them into the next world.  There was no doubt in mind that his past few minutes had been as horrible as mine. 

When you’re in the heat of battle, with your life on the line, you don’t have time to experience the devastation of the loss of those around you.  It’s only afterwards that it all comes rushing toward you like an out of control truck.  I didn’t know the two children who Thomas had been with, but the horror of their deaths nearly overwhelmed me.  I felt the magnetic pull of Thomas’ emotions -- the loss, the horror, the desire to just lie down and die.  But I didn’t have the time for it.  I had to get us off that bus and back to The Manor.

I literally willed away the darkness that was starting to crowd into my head and threatened to shut me down.  I slowly walked toward Thomas and opened my arms.  Something clicked in him and he started toward me with halting, off-balanced steps.  We made it to each other in three steps and I gently picked him up and hugged him tightly.

“It’s over, buddy,” I said quietly.  “It’s over.  The bad man is dead.  He’s gone.”

He didn’t say or do anything.  He didn’t even cry, the emotional shock was so devastating.  I wondered if I would even be able to walk if I had been through what he had just experienced.

But as usual, there was no time for this emotional exploration.  There was only time to survive.  I held him in my arms and slowly turned in a slow circle, looking for any path out of the bus and to The Manor.  The zombies stood in the field, immobile, as I someone had just turned off the music during a game of musical chairs.  A voice deep down inside me knew that this wouldn’t last, though.

I had half a minute to make a decision.  I considered taking the bus out of there, but a quick look out at what was left of the window told me that this bus wasn’t going anywhere. The right front of the engine compartment was a black and smoldering mass of twisted metal.  I started slowly turning, looking for another option.

As I continued to hold Thomas, my hand brushed along his backpack and a new horrible realization hit me -- this kid was still a human bomb.  The inclination to drop him right there in the aisle and just sprint out of there swept over me.  That part of me, sent a wave of absolute panic through my system.

Hadn’t Thomas told me that the Lord of the Dead said if they tried to remove their backpacks, they would go off?  What the hell was I going to do about that?  Could I leave and just abandon him?

The answer came back quickly and it was “No.”  There were sacrifices to be made, but this was not one of them.  I’d figure out how to defuse this bomb or die trying, but this child had enough shitty experiences.  Leaving him would be like killing something essential in myself.

My eyes caught some motion on the edge of the hill, behind the bus and burning trucks.  This wasn’t more good news, either.  A small throng of zombies, the rogue type, crested the hill and headed down it to bring only the chaotic fun they could provide. 

The only thing I could think of was, “
Great.
”  That was followed by, “
Bring it on.
”

These undead bastards weren’t going to beat me.  Unless, of course, I couldn’t find a way to get us safely across the field and back to The Manor.  Panic gnawed away inside me as I felt the seconds bleeding away. 

I pulled my eyes away from the approaching rogue zombies and scanned the horizon until I found a possible way of escape.  Sitting about seventy five feet behind the bus was a dump truck.  This was an ancient over-sized and rusted hulk of a vehicle, making me wonder if it even ran, but it certainly didn’t teleport here, so it had to have been driven to our location.  There was a ray of hope.