Brian Keene (34 page)

"Get her onboard," she snapped. "Now, let's see if I remember how to do this."

They jerked forward, and then the ride smoothed as Frankie grew adjusted to it.

"Drive toward the field!" Julie shouted. "We can four wheel in this thing, right?"

"First, we've got to let the others out of these trucks," Frankie said, and wheeled up to a trailer. "We can't just let those people stay trapped inside."

She pulled along beside it, so that the Humvee's passenger door was even with the trailer's doors.

"Get out and open it!"

"I can't!" Julie shouted. "They've got some kind of metal band holding it shut!"

A bullet whined over their heads. Another slammed into the truck trailer. Inside it, Frankie could hear people screaming for help and pounding on the walls with their fists.

294 She fumbled through the debris on the floor, until she found a pair of wire cutters.

"Use these. They should snip right through it." Julie flung the door open and ran the few steps to the trailer, while Frankie and Maria laid down cover fire. They were not choosy, aiming at both the soldiers and the undead.

"My ankle hurts! What if it's infected?"

"Swallow it up, Meghan," Frankie hollered over her shoulder, "because right now we're a little busy!"

Julie cut through the thin seal and yanked the doors open. She dashed back toward the HumVee as a human flood poured out of the trailer.

"Go!"

Frankie sped away toward the next truck and they repeated the process. This one held many of the women, and Frankie was relieved to see Gina spring forth. Julie escorted the frightened woman back to the HumVee and Frankie pulled away again.

She looked in the rearview mirror and what she saw chilled her. The freed captives were being mowed down by the dead, who in turn were being
Page 232

shot at by Schow's men. A zombie and a woman grappled, only to be mowed down by a soldier, who in turn was dragged to the ground by another group of captives. Then the zombies fell on them both. All three groups melded into a grisly, face-to-face confrontation.

Several of the captives were freeing others, using rocks and sticks and even their fingers to snap the metal bands and open the trailers. Several of the trucks exploded before those inside were freed, killing both captives and their would-be saviors, and the smell of burning flesh mixed with the acrid smoke of battle and the stench of the undead. A soldier ran towards them, his clothes on fire, and the right side of his face charred black. He waved his arms at them, begging Frankie to stop. She drove straight towards him, closing her eyes as he

295 crunched beneath their wheels.

Julie shivered. "Let's get the fuck out of here!"

"Wait, what about Aimee? Please Frankie, we've got to find her!" Swallowing hard, Frankie braked. Gripping the wheel tightly, she turned to face the frantic mother.

"Gina," she began, then struggled for the words. "She's-"

"No. No no no, don't you say it! Why would you say that? Did you see her?"

"Kramer had her in the Meat Wagon. He-he did things." Before Frankie could finish, Gina ripped the door open and ran across the battlefield, charging towards the Meat Wagon.

"Gina, get back here! Julie, stop her!"

Cursing, Julie ran after her. Frankie slammed the HumVee into gear and chased after both of them.

"Meghan, close Gina's door!"

The injured woman leaned forward, fingertips grasping for the handle. Then she slumped over.

Frankie turned in horror as a second bullet finished the woman off. She stomped the accelerator and Meghan's dead body slipped to the floor. Frankie glanced around, looking for Gina or Julie, but there was no sign of either of them amidst the carnage.

Unaware that she was crying, she drove into the storm.

Page 233

The gunner's lower jaw and most of his throat were gone, and Sergeant Ford knew it was just a matter of minutes before the corpse started moving again. He clambered up onto the sling seat, unbuckled the dead man, and flung him unceremoniously to the ground. Then he squeezed his bulk behind the fifty caliber,

296 pointed it to their rear, and opened fire.

The creatures were coming from everywhere. They shambled forth from all directions, and Ford's eyes widened when he saw that some of them were his own men, killed and forgotten during the orphanage attack.

"Come on you fuckers! Come and get it!"

He fired in a sweeping pattern. Heavy rounds slammed into the zombie's lines, destroying many and cutting others to pieces. The injured; those with missing limbs and severed spinal cords, flopped on the ground, dragging themselves back toward the battle.

The creatures returned fire, and bullets ricocheted off the heavy armor. Ford stayed low and kept firing, sweeping back and forth as the creatures advanced. The gun grew hot in his hands, and the smoke was beginning to burn his eyes.

Something screeched from above him. He threw his hands up to protect himself as the blackbird swooped down, clawing at his eyes. In panic, he stood up, swatting at the creature, and the zombies on the ground opened fire.

Ford jerked as the bullets slammed into him. He tried to scream, but only managed a small, stuttering wheeze. As he fumbled for the machine gun, the zombies responded with a second barrage.

Clawing at his wounds, he swayed, then fell to the ground, landing atop the dead gunner.

As his lifeblood drained from him, the dead gunner began to squirm beneath him.

Mercifully, Ford was dead before the feeding began.

"Let's go! If you're going to die, die like men!" They swarmed from the trailer, and Martin heard many of them begin screaming just seconds later. He cowered against the back wall, terrified of what must be occurring outside.

297 One of the Psalms echoed through his head, and his voice trembling, he began to recite it aloud as the rest of the men from the trailer leapt into the fray.

Page 234

"My heart is pained within me, and the terrors of death are fallen upon me." A horrid shriek interrupted him, and something slammed violently against the trailer.

"Fearfulness and trembling are come upon me, and horror hath overwhelmed me. Oh that I had wings like a dove! For then I would fly away, and be at rest."

Something outside exploded, and the trailer shook. He braced himself with one hand against the wall, and opened his eyes. The truck was empty now, but all around him on the outside, men were dying.

"I would hasten my escape from the windy storm and tempest." Gunshots rang out, followed by a scream. Then something wet hit the ground.

"As for me, I will call upon God, and the Lord shall save me."

"No he won't."

The thing bubbled laughter as it clambered up into the truck. It squelched toward him, and Martin was horrified to see a priest's collar embedded in the bulbous, sagging flesh of the zombie's neck.

"He won't save you. He didn't save me."

"Of course God didn't save you," Martin said, pressing himself against the wall. "But He saved the soul of the man whose body you've stolen. Your desecration means nothing. You may have taken the body of a man of God, but you couldn't touch his soul!"

The zombie hissed, then reached into its rancid clothing and pulled forth a very large kitchen knife. The blade gleamed in the light. It advanced toward him, slashing at the air. Outside, the sounds of battle continued.

"Yes. Your kind go to Heaven. Our kind didn't have that luxury. We were sent to the Void. You have no idea

298 how long we've suffered there, waiting for this, our release. We gnashed our teeth and cried aloud and waited for the day of the rising." Martin repeated the verse. "As for me, I will call upon God, and the Lord shall save me."

The zombie-priest snarled at him, edging closer.

"It will be better if you do not fight. You are one of His, as was this body I inhabit. I will make it quick, so that one of my brothers can join me in you. Then we shall go forth and spread a new gospel."
Page 235

Martin took a deep breath. "He hath delivered my soul in peace from the battle against me; for there were many with me."

It charged him, thrusting the knife toward his stomach. Martin twisted away, and grabbed the creature's wrists. Grappling with each other, they crashed backward, and the zombie landed on top of him. Martin squirmed beneath it, fighting with all his strength as the zombie pushed the knife towards his throat.

"I will feast on your liver," the thing spat, and Martin winced at the reek pouring from its mouth. "I will wear your intestines as a necklace and give them to the one that will soon dwell in you." Weakened by old age and fear, Martin's arms quivered. The knife slid closer, inches away from his throat. The creature laughed again, and leaned its mouth toward his face. He let go of one of its wrists and shoved his palm under the zombie's chin, desperately pushing the head upward. Its hand freed, the zombie clawed at his throat. Martin twisted his head toward the arm clutching the knife and bit down. His teeth sank into the zombie's forearm and he ripped away, taking a chunk of rancid flesh with him. Something wriggled inside his mouth, and Martin spit it out, gagging.

"See, you're getting the hang of it already-" The gunshot was deafening in the confines of the trailer. Martin was sprayed with blood and tissue as the

299 zombie's head exploded inches away from his own.

"I've got to tell you Preacher, I've seen some sick fucking stuff since this whole thing started, but I ain't never seen somebody take a bite out of a zombie. How'd it taste?"

Gasping, Martin wiped the gore from his eyes. He retched, picking the strands of dead flesh from between his teeth. Then sat up on his haunches.

"Thank you, Sergeant...?"

"Miller. Staff Sergeant Miller. Not that three chevrons with two loops at the bottom means fuck-all anymore. And don't thank me Preacher-man. I'm going to kill you in a little bit too."

"Why? You just saved me."

"Yep, saved you for cannon fodder. We're safe in here for a second, and I can hold off any zombies that try to crawl up inside with us, but we can't sit around here all day. Those fucks've got rocket launchers and grenades and all kinds of shit. Sooner or later, they'll take this
Page 236

trailer out, which means I've got to go back into that mess out there. Only I'm gonna send you out first, so you can draw their fire."

"That's-that's evil! You're no better than the zombies!"

"Yep. But don't sweat it. You've got a few minutes to live still. I need a smoke first."

Miller fumbled for his lighter and cigarettes. Finding both, he sat his M-16 out of Martin's reach and lit up. The flame cast shadows on his haggard face, and for a second, Martin thought it looked like a skull, gleaming and fleshless.

"Ahhhh," Miller inhaled, a look of bliss crossing his features. "I always thought these things would be what killed me. Don't know what the fuck I'm gonna do when we run out of smokes."

"You could let me go. There's no reason to kill me. I can help you fight them."

Miller snorted and took another drag.

300 "Help me? Some team we'd make huh? An old fart like you teamed up with a hardcore motherfucker like me? No, I think I'll just let them use you for target practice-make my getaway while they do." Another muffled explosion shook the trailer, and Miller turned to catch his M-16 before it clattered to the floor.

In one fluid motion, Martin grasped the knife and thrust it upward. The blade slid into the man's skin, just beneath his chin. He opened his mouth to scream, and as his cigarette fell out, Martin caught a glimpse of the knife as it penetrated the roof of his mouth and sank into the cavity above it. The hilt was tight against the man's chin. Miller toppled over, curling into the fetal position as he died. Martin tugged at the knife's handle but it was lodged tight. He stood, wiping his bloody hands on his clothing.

"But thou, oh God, shalt bring them down into the pit of destruction. Bloody and deceitful men shall not live out half their days; but I will trust in thee."

He kicked Miller's body, then picked up the discarded weapon and examined it.

"Psalms fifty-five, verses four through twenty-three." He experimented with the rifle, recalling his own experience in the military, and then readied himself. He glanced back at the two bodies,
Page 237

making sure neither was moving, and a shudder ran through him. His rescue at the hands of Miller reminded him of the wheelchair zombie. Jim had saved him then.

"Please Lord, watch over him. Help him find his son." A strange peace settled upon him. Filled with renewed confidence and strength, Martin ignored the arthritis stabbing at his joints and the shortness of breath in his chest, and moved toward the yawning exit.

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me."

He went out into the valley, and though the shadow of death covered all, he knew no fear.

301 Staff Sergeant Michaels kicked the door in, shattering the glass all over the sidewalk and carpet. He ran through the office building's lobby, and the sounds of his men dying trailed in his wake. A zombie leapt up from behind the receptionist's desk where it had been hiding, and fired at him. Something burned across his shoulder, like a bee sting but sharper. Something else punched his leg. Hollering, Michaels gunned the creature down and gasped.

He paused in front of the elevator doors, panting heavily and trying to figure out what to do next. His shoulder and thigh both felt warm, and it was only then that he realized he'd been hit. He peeled away the cloth of his shirt and appraised the wound. It was bad. The hole in his thigh was even worse. Feeling light-headed and sick to his stomach, he pressed a palm to his shoulder and considered his options. The complex was without power, so the elevators were out. He briefly considered prying one of the doors open and hiding inside the shaft, but decided against it. To his left, a stairwell led upward and a men's room sat off to his right.

He limped toward the stairwell and edged the door open a crack. Voices and running footsteps echoed down to him.