Fire Birds (7 page)

“Okay,” I whispered. “Let’s go.”

I headed straight for the creek. I was so glad for the rain the night before that had moistened and quieted the dry leaves underfoot. Even so, I still thought we were loud. I saw the first creature before we got to the creek. It was off to our right about fifty feet away. It had been a man once. The brown, naked body was swollen in the torso, but shriveled to the bone in the extremities. Its penis was missing, but the testicles still hung and swung. Its mouth dropped open when it saw us, and it bounded toward us with the lithe movements of a baby deer. Grant met it with the axe and caught it right under the chin. The head flipped into the air. The body ran two more steps before the knees folded up and dropped it. When it hit the ground, the belly of the thing split open like an overripe melon, and a gooey mess spilled out that didn’t even come close to resembling entrails.

None of us spoke. Sara and I didn’t even break stride. Then the woods began to move around us. They had blended so well with their surroundings. Their mottled skin seemed to act as camouflage. Protruding bones resembled the branches of trees. Splotchy, hanging flesh was like leaves and shaggy bark. I heard Sara whimper.

“Just keep moving,” I said. “The creek isn’t far.”

I picked up my pace. That gallon jug of water kept bouncing against my back. Sweat was pouring from all three of us; the humidity was awful. Grant intercepted a second creature with the downward swing of his axe.

“How do we get across the creek?” Sara said.

“It’s steep, but we’ll have to go down into it then climb up the other side,” I said.

“What about the rain? What about the water?”

I hadn’t thought about that. The last time I went into the creek it had been almost dry. There were only puddles. I had no idea what to expect. Grant swung his axe again and another zombie lost its head. I still didn’t like him, but I was glad he was with us on that run.

When we reached the creek, it was worse than I expected. The water was about chest deep, muddy, and the undead were down in it like crocodiles in the Nile.

“I’m not going down in there,” Sara said.

I looked both directions hoping to see a fallen tree bridge, but there wasn’t. We had the axe and maul; I considered cutting a tree down, but really, it wouldn’t have been practical or fast.

“The grapevines!” Grant said, and ran over to a tree near the bank of the creek. “Cut them close to the ground, and we’ll swing across.”

The wild grapevines were old too. Some were so large I had mistaken them for the trunks of trees. Their branches stretched and climbed and crisscrossed all the way to the treetops. Grant picked one of the smaller ones and hit it twice with his axe. The stiff, gnarled vine was about two inches in diameter, and it swayed like a pendulum once it was severed. Grant grabbed it and gave it a yank to test its strength.

“Come on, babe,” he said. “You go first.”

The creatures were closing in on us. I hit one in the face with the blunt end of my maul. It fell on its butt, and I drove cutting edge down on the top of its skull. Across the creek, more were limping in. I glanced over to Sara and Grant. Grant was holding Sara’s shotgun, and she was running toward the edge with vine in both hands.

“Watch them on the other side!” I yelled.

Sara sailed out over the creek, but the vine reached its limit before she was over the other bank. She held on, and the vine brought her back.

“It’s too short,” she said.

“Do it again,” Grant said. “Do it again and let go when you’re high. You’ll make it.”

“No!” I said. “We’ll cut another one.”

I turned to cut one near me.

“That’s it, babe!” Grant yelled.

I turned around, and Sara was out over the creek again. When her swing reached its apex, she let go. Her legs kicked in the air as if she were trying to run. She dropped several feet and hit the ground flat on her back on the edge of the other creek bank. She still had that rifle strapped to her back, and she landed on that. I knew it had to be painful, and I expected her to cry out, but she didn’t. She didn’t do anything.

“Sara?”

She didn’t answer; she didn’t move. The creatures on the other side of the creek were gathering in. The ones on our side were too. The vine didn’t come all the way back. Instead, it settled in right over the middle.

“Hurry!” I said. “Cut another one. We have to get across.”

“Stay away from her!” Grant yelled to the things on the other side. Then he brought the shotgun up and fired across. There was a zombie female on all fours reaching out for Sara’s foot when its head exploded. Grant pumped the shotgun and fired again. A second creature lost its left arm.

I turned back to the grapevine nearest me and swung the splitting maul. I notched the vine. I swung again. I heard the shotgun go off a third time. When I turned around, Grant was running, empty-handed, toward the creek. He got to the edge and leapt out, grabbing the vine. He swung, and the vine gave some under his weight with a jerk. Down he dropped, but he tucked and rolled coming to his feet next to Sara. Immediately, he pulled his sidearm, and spattered zombie brains on the nearby trees. He was a regular action star.

“Bastard,” I said.

I looked off to my right and saw that he had left the axe and shotgun propped against the tree on this side of the creek.

“Idiot,” I said, pulling my own pistol. I fired at the monsters closest to me, re-holstered my weapon, then swung my maul at the vine again. It finally came free. I tugged on it, and it seemed strong enough. It would have to do. I didn’t have time to cut another.

I went to the edge of the creek and threw my maul over to the other side. Then I went back and grabbed my vine. It was rough and almost too thick. It wasn’t like rope at all–nothing like the things I used to see Tarzan swinging on in the old movies. It was more like holding onto a stick. I ran and jumped. Below me, the things in the creek closed in to reach for me churning up the muddy water. My scrotum tightened, and I held my breath. Then the other side was below me. I was too high, but I let go anyway. Just like Sara, I landed on my back. It knocked the wind out of me for a second. The jug of water in my backpack was crushed and leaking.

I rolled over, gasping. I could see the shuffling feet of zombies coming in from all sides. I jumped up, pulling my 9mm. I was surrounded. I looked over toward Grant for help, but he had Sara hefted up on his shoulder like a sack of grain and was on his way out of the woods. He’d left Sara’s rifle and our bug out bag behind.

“Asshole,” I said.

I shot an opening for myself then ran to catch up with Grant leaving my backpack and splitting maul. The backpack had the extra shells for the shotgun, but since the bonehead had left the shotgun, I saw no need to bring it along. I had an extra magazine for my 9mm in my back pocket.

I caught Grant before he entered the old bean field.

“What’s up with leaving me back there?” I said. “And why didn’t you bring the bag?”

“Had to get her to safety, bro. You’re a big boy, aren’t you?”

“Is she okay?”

“I don’t know yet,” he said. “She’s out. She fell on that rifle so hard she broke the stock out of it. When I get to some shelter, I’ll take a look at her.”

“I’ll take a look,” I said.

He stopped and turned to face me. In that moment, he was every bit bigger than me. “Have you had medical training?”

“What? No.”

He turned his back on me, “Well, I was about to enter chiropractic college, so I think I’m a tad more qualified than you to inspect her injuries.”

“Huh?”

“When Sara needs some museum and history stuff, I’ll call you,”

We stepped out into the bright sunlight of the bean field. The weeds were high; some were even taller than our heads. They weren’t mature grasses like in the pasture; these were plants like pokeweed, cocklebur, wild amaranth, blackberry, thistle, and lamb’s quarters–plants with stalks and sometimes thorns. There were also a few soybean plants low to the ground that had come up from the previous year’s leavings. Thankfully, the silo was easily visible.

“Sara has made up her mind,” I said. “She came back to me. You need to deal with that.”

He stopped again. I was impressed that he had been able to carry Sara on his shoulder all that time, and he didn’t even seem strained at all. I doubted I could have done it.

“She’s confused,” he said. “She’ll change her mind.”

“She was with me last night,” I said. “You know what I’m saying? She’s not confused.”

He shut his eyes and pursed his lips. “Bro, I swear I will hit you in the mouth if you talk about her like that. That’s a warning.”

I could hear the creatures from the woods tromping in behind us. Off to our left there was one picking its way toward us through the weeds.

“We need to keep moving,” I said.

We pushed through the plants and kept our eyes on the silo.

Sara stirred and moaned.

“It’s okay,” Grant said. “I’ve got you, babe. Just a little farther to go.”

“What happened?” she mumbled.

Ahead of us, the stalks were falling over, seemingly all by themselves. A path was being knocked down by something we couldn’t see–probably another crawler–and it was coming our direction.

“Watch out,” I said.

“I see it,” Grant replied.

I moved in front of him to face whatever was coming. I kicked out with my foot on each step to stomp the stalks down ahead of me. The thing was getting closer, then it just stopped. I continued to advance with my 9mm ready. Finally, I kicked out, the stalks bent down, and the paths joined.

I was surprised to find a goat standing there chewing on a leaf. It was black with two parallel white stripes that ran up its face. It blinked at me with those odd eyes with the horizontal pupils, bleated, and shook its head making its ears flap.

“Whoa,” Grant said as he stepped in behind me. “Too bad we don’t have time to catch it.”

I agreed. I hadn’t seen a goat in months. I thought they all would have been caught and devoured by the undead. I was particularly surprised this one had made it so long because it just stood there unafraid and unimpressed.

“Male or female?” Grant said.

“It has horns,” I said.

“That doesn’t matter. They both grow horns. Does it have a ball sack? They have really big ball sacks…like me.” Then he lightly smacked Sara on her backside. “Ain’t that right, babe?”

“It can’t stay here,” I said, distracted. “They’re coming in behind us, and they’ll kill it.”

I continued forward and grabbed one of the goat’s horns and tried to pull it with me. It walked with me for a few steps then jerked its head and bucked, wrenching out of my grasp.

“It’s a boy,” Grant said as he walked past me. “Check out that ball sack.”

I looked back at the undead that were walking down the weeds behind us.

“Come on,” I said to the goat and grabbed its horn again. It jerked away. I couldn’t stay, so I left it. Just as we were passing out of the bean field into a gravel lot full of farm machinery, the goat ran past us and headed toward a barn.

“We’ll go to the house,” I said. “The outbuildings are too open.”

The door to the brick, ranch-style house was unlocked. It was a mess inside, either from looters or from the undead. I righted the couch, and Grant kneeled to lay Sara down on it. She was lucid, but a little dazed.

“How are you doing, babe?” he said in the most sickly sweet voice, holding her hand in both of his.

I leaned over her shoulder so she could see (and hopefully remember) me. She smiled wanly.

“My back hurts,” she said.

“Let’s get your shirt off so I can take a look,” he said.

“No,” I said.

“It’s okay,” Sara said. “He’s had some premed. He’s the closest thing to a doctor that we have right now since you shot Doctor Barr.”

“Bro, did you shoot the only doctor? What were you thinking?”

“I…what? I…but I–“

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ve seen her without a shirt before.” Then he looked at me intently and said, “Lots of times.”

He helped her sit up, then Sara gingerly pulled her shirt over her head then off. I don’t know why, but I averted my eyes.

“Turn around and let me see,” he said.

I looked again, and there were large red marks on her back that were beginning to turn purple. Grant touched her spine, and she pulled away.

“That hurts,” she said.

“Well, you might have cracked a vertebra,” he said.

“That’s it?” I said. “I could have done that.”

Sara put her legs over the side of the couch.

“Do you think you can stand?” he said.

“I think I can,” she said.

“Obviously you aren’t paralyzed,” Grant said.

“Obviously,” I said, glancing at Sara’s breasts. “You took her shirt off for that?”

“Stop making a major case out of it,” Grant said. “She’ll need to rest a few days so those vertebrae heal up.”