The Rise of Macon: A Zombie Novel (Macon Saga Book 2) (11 page)

James listened to Kyle talk to himself, hearing the ideas
flow from him. He didn't say much. Didn't need too. He trusted Kyle and that
was that. He wasn't sure what a maze had to do with this, but Kyle was anything
but boring. He watched as Kyle walked away, planning to ask Grace more
questions about the small boats they'd be using. James laughed again and
followed.

***

"I can't believe we're going to do this.It's bat shit
crazy," said Grace shaking her head back and forth, trying to reason with
Kyle. "I mean, zombies are not going to follow a maze."

Kyle looked up from where he was tying two of the cubicles
together. "They're not zombies, they're not dead. They bleed. If you get
one in the heart, it'll keep going longer than normal, but it'll eventually
die. I think it will at least. The problem is, most times we've needed to stop
them immediately. Anyways, it'll work, I think. They'll go for the path of
least resistance and this way we can draw a lot of them inside before we go out
the back."

She laughed. "A maze!"

Kyle turned back around, finished what he was doing and
then rose slowly. He found himself split between wanting to kiss or kill this
girl. Was she trying to get under his skin?

"If you have any better ideas, I'm all ears."

"A maze it is then," she said nervously, looking
over the hastily built maze. Grace wouldn't have admitted it to him, but she
was scared. She'd been scared since this whole thing started. She didn't like
to show her fear, learned not to in her male dominated job, but it was still
there.

"Everything's ready," James said from the hallway
that led to the backdoor.

"Copy that," Kyle responded. He turned towards
Grace. "You have the keys?"

"I do."

"Okay, me and James will lead, unlock-"

"I'll unlock the door and lead them through the
maze," James said, cutting into the conversation. "You can't move
that quick and you'll be needed at the back door anyways. I'll grab the last
bag and follow."

"James, no, I can move just fine."

James bent down, picked up one of the black tactical bags,
moved around the maze wall and handed the bag to Kyle, who looked down at the
bag and back at James in defiance. He reached for the bag, but James quickly
moved it to the other side of Kyle's body and dropped it. Kyle reacted without
thinking, grabbing the bag from his injured side and then letting it slam down
instead of catching its weight. Just trying to slow its weight felt like
someone stuck a knife in his side. Kyle looked back up in anger, but James just
stood there, not saying a word. He didn't need to, his point had been made.

"Fine, we'll clear the path."

James nodded and then replaced the bag by the back door, grabbed
a shotgun, slung his rifle and moved towards the front door.

Grace watched the confrontation, thinking Kyle wouldn't let
his pride go unchecked like that. She was surprised when he gave in so easy,
without a fight or a harsh word. She'd seen more than her share of men deny
common sense, just so their pride wouldn't be hurt, especially in front of a
woman, but Kyle just let it go and that was that.

  She followed Kyle to the back door, where they both
picked up their weapons and waited for James to start the show. Her hands shook.
The noises from outside were almost enough to send her running. The sickness
that had taken her friends, which had turned them into mindless killing
machines, raged just outside the door. She watched Kyle, but his confident
movements and actions made it seem as if he weren't feeling the same feelings
at all. Screw him, she could do it if he could.

***

"Five seconds," James yelled from across the
building. James' rifle was slung across his back, having decided to go with the
shotgun for this part. The matte black, 12-guage Mossberg 500 had a pistol
grip, which James felt comfortable with. It was also very loud, something he
needed now. It held eight cartridges and James had plenty more stashed on his
body if he needed to reload, which he didn't plan on. This would have to be
quick.

James pulled away the last of cubicle wall he'd placed in
front of the glass doors and threw it to the side. The surface of the doors
were crammed with the diseased, pushed against it like wallpaper from hell. Flecks
of morning light snuck their way through the small cracks, not covered by the
grey skinned diseased plastering the surface of the doors.

 James took a few steps away from the door, raised his
shotgun and fired. The glass exploded and dozens of infected fell through the
door frame onto the glass covered lobby floor. Having rehearsed this a dozen
times, James backed up a few steps, already knowing where he was going. The
first diseased to fall was never allowed up, as others behind clawed and pulled
their way forward and over their fellows. James watched the jam of diseased,
and wondered how many there were. Too many and this probably wouldn't work. James
waited until the first one regained its feet, then fired again.

Buckshot ripped apart the diseased standing in front of
James. Its head vanished, blood vapor and gore covering those behind, which had
regained their feet. Calmly, James turned and jogged down a long aisle they'd
constructed, jumping a set of chairs stationed in the middle. The blood covered
diseased followed in their anger, their arms in limbo between reaching out and
keeping their precarious balance. The sound in the room grew as more and more
diseased came through the door, their hoarse throaty growls blending with those
already present.

James watched as the diseased's milky eyes locked on him.They
tripped on the chairs and went down thrashing. Time. Only time mattered. They
created the maze to draw in as many as they could, but also to keep them from
going to quick. A dozen diseased quickly tangled themselves in the chairs,
their willingness to advance slowing them further. Seconds mattered. James
again waited until the first one regained his feet, then he aimed for the legs
and fired. Both legs were blown off, the woman dropping to the ground in
frantic anger.

Now came the tricky part. Would the diseased take turns or
would they simply push through the hastily made walls?  James turned and
followed the eight foot section, his attackers feet behind him. He turned left,
into a new aisle running parallel with the first one, and ran down it. The
diseased followed, their steps seeming to get quicker to James, who felt the
first crack of panic as he looked over his shoulder. He jumped another set of
chairs and placed himself near the end of the aisle.

They'd placed tall shelves between the aisles, so the
diseased going down the first aisle wouldn't be able to see. Would it work?
James raised the Mossberg and fired from ten feet into wave of attackers, three
of them blown backwards, further creating obstacles. Then things went wrong.

James finished firing, pumped the next shell into the
chamber, mentally counting the shells left in the gun, and turned to run to the
next stop, when the gray aluminum shelf started falling.

Reacting instantly, James lunged to clear himself from the
falling shelf, but only managed to get the top half of his body clear. His legs
were saved from crushing, as the tall shelf hit the far cubicle wall on the way
down, slowing its descent. The shelf settled on him, but wasn't too heavy. He
could pull out of it. Too late. He felt and heard the diseased climb on the
shelf, its flimsy back folding in on itself, pushing a piece of folded metal
into his legs. James scrambled to free himself, reaching for anything to pull
himself free. Nothing. He tried to turn over, but more diseased climbed on the
shelf, pinning him tighter to the ground.

James sighed. He regretted the ending, but wasn't sad to
see it and prepared himself for what came next.

Two large booms exploded over James and he raised his head
from the carpet to find two black boots standing near him. James felt the
weight of the shelves lighten.

"Grab my legs and pull yourself free," Kyle
shouted as he pumped another shell into his shotgun. Another blast of the shotgun
sounded as James grabbed Kyle's boot with one hand, pushing the ground with his
other. James pulled himself out quickly, the missing weight and leverage of
Kyle's leg making it doable.

"Let's go," yelled Kyle, backing up as James had
regained his feet. He pumped his shotgun again, aiming in the other direction
of the first aisle and fired into the converging group coming from that
direction. James darted past as Kyle reached over, pulling another shelve into
the path of the diseased. The maze was finished, now they just needed enough
time to get out of the building.

***

"That's the first shot, let's wait a second for them
to chase the sound," Kyle said, one hand on the backdoor's push bar. He
wondered if Grace would be ready for seeing these things outside, and then
pushed it from his mind. Either she would or she wouldn't. Either way, this
could go bad really quick.

Kyle heard the follow up shot, waited another few moments,
then nodded to Grace and pushed out the door, the morning's light instantly
blinding him. Hadn't thought of that. He lowered his eyes, went through the
door, clearing one side, then another. Clear. James' distraction had worked.

"Let's go, we're clear," said Kyle, trying to
keep his voice down. He reached back in the door and grabbed the black bag. His
rib screamed in protest at the weight of the bag but he tried to ignore it, and
put one food in front of the other, while keeping his eyes peeled in every
direction.

The distraction had either worked better than he'd expected
or there weren't that many diseased around the building. The metal pier the
Coast Guard used sat no more than twenty yards away and they were making good
time. Kyle heard another shot from behind him, his stomach turning at leaving
James behind to fight alone. They reached the pier a minute later and Kyle
dropped his bag. "You go ahead, the pier looks clear, just make sure to
check the boat first. Then, get it ready. I'm going back for James."

Kyle didn't wait for protests, didn't allow himself to
think about leaving her alone for the first time in this world turned upside
down. He thought she'd be okay for the next few minutes. He had to get to James.
He ran back, the shotgun in his hands, and entered the building looking for his
friend.

***

Kyle waited until the James passed him and fired again into
the mob on their heels. He backed farther, back through a narrow hallway, and
waited for them to catch up. He fired again into the run of death following him
and two zombies were torn apart. He pumped the shotgun and fired again. A
second time. A third time. He pumped it one last time and heard the click,
meaning it was empty. He quickly turned and followed James.

James reached the door before Kyle, saw the remaining bag,
grabbed it and turned to find Kyle almost on him, making wild gestures with his
hand. James didn't acknowledge, just turned and ran with the bag. He'd pulled
his handgun, carrying it one hand, while holding the bag in the other, the
weight disparity not affecting him. James had felt panic before, he'd felt the
fear of being chased, but this registered as a new experience. One of many in
the last few days. He hit the pier and felt the metal construction shift
slightly.

He heard the thump, thump, of Kyle's footsteps behind him. Spotting
Grace, James ran to the boat she requisitioned, threw the bag in the back and
stopped Kyle as he ran by.

"Sword."

Kyle didn't question, but drew out his artillery sword and
gave it to the big man. "Let me know when the boat's a few feet from the
pier."

"Right," said Kyle and looked to Grace, "how
we doing?

"I'm ready, cast off the bow line."

"What?"

"Cut the rope to the front of the boat," she said
frantically.

"Gotcha," said Kyle. He pulled out his knife, cut
the rope and pushed the boat out a few feet. He heard the engines turn over and
felt the power of them as they idled. He looked back to see James front kick a
diseased in the stomach, then shove the sword through its face. They needed to
move quick. "Get us four feet from the end of the pier."

"No problems," Grace said, pushing the throttle
up. The boat responded like it'd been waiting for its chance, and quickly
pulled out and around the pier.

"James, let's go," shouted Kyle. He watched as
James grabbed the head of one of the diseased and slammed it back into those
behind it. James let go and sprinted down the pier, jumping at the end and
crashing into Kyle, who tried to break some of the fall. Kyle doubled over, his
breathing blown from James' crashing descent. He tried to suck in air, but was
having a hard time. He felt the small boat pull into the waterway and looked at
James.

"Bet you're glad I came back, huh?"

James almost smiled.

Chapter 11

Abe pushed off the wall, stood up and waited in the
darkened trailer. The trip back to the fort was, thankfully, short and without
any quick turns, which would have made a mess of everyone inside the trailer. He'd
been sitting next to Patrick and Rich, both of whom had a rather unpleasant
smell. He figured he did also, but he didn't seem to mind it on himself. Whatever
the case, he was ready to get out of the trailer. He felt Old Ben pull in a
wide circle, stop, pull forward again, reverse the truck and finally come to a
stop.

They were trapped in the back until someone opened the
trailer door from the outside, which thankfully didn't take too long. The
sliding door opened, letting the dull November sun have its way with the dark. Billy
was standing on the ground when it opened, and just as quickly scampered up and
inside the trailer.

"Sorry fellas, had to get the door open, but there are
some diseased in the neighborhood. Would rather deal with them from up
here."

Abe knew how he felt. He'd had enough of getting close and
personal with the diseased to last him a life time. He pulled his sidearm and
moved up beside Patrick on the far right of the open door. Old Ben had backed
the truck right to within a few feet of the moat, something which would allow
much easier unloading of the food.

They didn't wait long. The first diseased stumbled around
the corner and slammed, chest high, into the back of the trailer. On reflex,
everyone at the rear of the trailer backed up a step at the gruesome sight
before them. What had once been a young man stood looking up into the trailer,
half his face burned and missing. He looked like a piece of steak that'd been
forgotten on the grill. The burnt and missing flesh gave prominence to his
white gnashing teeth, which opened and closed, almost expectantly. The other
half of his face, though not burned, remained blistered and red. It's one
remaining eye, now milky white, stared into the trailer, in a feral display of
the disease's transformation.

Abe knew he could easily deal with the young man, but
hesitated, he just didn't want to. He didn't want to get close to it. Didn't
want to have to kill anymore, diseased or not. He wasn't like Kyle, and after
this morning, he had to admit it to himself. He wondered if he was a coward to
feel this way. But just because he didn't like it, didn't mean he wouldn't step
forward and do what needed doing. He just didn’t enjoy it.

Abe's introspective thoughts ended quickly, as one of the
bikers stepped forward and shoved a knife through the diseased's remaining eye.
The man made a comment, laughed and pushed the burnt young man off the knife. The
biker's bravado vanished, as the rear of the trailer filled with diseased, who
rounded the corner of the trailer in larger numbers.

"Guess we're going to need to shoot them," said
Patrick pulling out his sidearm.

"Billy, how many did you see when you drove in?"
asked Wes.

"A few dozen in the woods surrounding the Fort, and
they were all making their way towards us when I ran for the back of the
truck."

"Guns then," a deep voice said.

Abe pulled back the slide for his Beretta, glanced inside
to check for a round and stood like Kyle taught him so long ago. He took a
breath and joined in as they started clearing the diseased away from the back
of the trailer. Abe shoved down the revulsion as the killing started. The
diseased pressed in on themselves, burnt, broken and bleeding hands reaching
into the high back of the trailer. Point blank killing. Heads exploded and
snapped back as the bullets easily found their marks and the diseased died.

Five minutes later Abe jumped down from the four foot high
trailer, trying to avoid the dozens of corpses on the ground. Rich landed
beside him and slapped him on the arm, giving him a smile. Abe smiled back and
gave a nod of the head. He didn't feel like talking. Patrick of all people
started calling out directions and the group spread out to both sides, making
sure their flanks were clear of any stragglers.

"Okay, let's keep two people on both sides of the
trailer, and get this stuff unloaded," Billy said, taking a look around. He
looked up at the wall, squinted his eyes and found who he was looking for.
"Eric, get this draw bridge down, we need to make this quick!"

Abe watched as Eric yelled something down into the fort and
the wooden draw bridge began descending slowly. Abe changed his magazine,
thinking of Kyle's constant admonishments to keep a full magazine in his gun. He
stood next to the draw bridge as it lowered, then took position in line, when
it thumped to the ground.

The unloading of the supplies went quick, the prospect of
being caught in the open adding to their efficiency. A few people were sent to
help Old Ben move the Peterbilt to a spot away from the fort and out of the way.
Abe finally entered the fort, grateful to be back.

***

Dave watched as the supplies were unloaded and moved into
the fort. He was amazed at the simplicity and power of the old fort that stood
before him. A perfect place to survive. He smiled as he looked around at the
small group that had taken the fort for their own. This would be easier than he
thought, he just needed to be smart about it.

Not a problem.

He knew he had to be careful around Wes and Rich, both of
whom didn't fully trust him, both of whom were extremely dangerous, despite
their good natured attitudes. Life in the Outlaws used to be perfect; a group
that lived and acted upon their own laws. He'd committed acts of violence and
brutality, things he relished, and had at one time been praised for them.

That was then, but things changed. Wes used to embrace the
life of the Outlaw, but the old man had changed with times and now lived as a
mechanic.

Pathetic.

The biker gang had grown soft, more of a club for
motorcycle enthusiasts than for those who craved freedom. The gang stayed
within the law now, doing their civic duty and living within a weak society of
woman. It disgusted him. He'd been thinking about leaving the group, founding
his own, when the world changed his plans. Once again, he found himself in a
world where he could thrive, where he could live the life men should, and he
just found the perfect place to start.

He walked across the narrow drawbridge, under the domed
sally port and into the courtyard of the fort. People were walking, working and
directing others to get everything unloaded. Dave had no plans to be their
donkey. But he made sure his boys helped; they needed to be seen as helping,
doing their share. It would make the surprise that much greater.

He noticed a small group, part of those he'd traveled back
with, and felt the eyes of one of them directed at him. It was the one who'd
made the decision, with the older guy. Abe was his name, if he remembered
correctly, and he usually did. The boy's eyes didn’t flinch and he felt the
judgment he was being given. Rage flooded through him as the direct,
challenging eyes bored in on him. He killed people for less. He gave a smile,
one he knew the boy would recognize, and walked away. Tonight he would play
nice, tomorrow he'd just play.

***

The wind howled, making its way through the sparse trees
surrounding the fort. The last rays of light from the weak sun disappeared, as
it settled behind the horizon, leaving a reddish tent to the otherwise drab
evening. Abe stood on the top of the wall, eyes searching for any sign of the
Tahoe making its way back to the fort. He sighed and turned his head, scanning
the surrounding countryside near the fort, wondering if Kyle and James could
have made their way back through other means.

Maybe something happened to the Tahoe and they had to take
a boat?  He didn't know and that was the problem. Not knowing was the worst. Kyle
was a big boy and could take care of himself, and having James with him only
made him more formidable. Anything could have happened for him not to be back
tonight. He kept telling himself that, over and over. Anyways, nothing he could
do about it and he gave a last look towards the road, which began disappearing
in the darkness.

"Any sign of him?" asked Rich as he made his way
to stand beside Abe.

"Not yet, but could be anything," said Abe,
sounding as if he needed to convince someone else.

"Sure," replied Rich.

The two stood in silence.The wind picked up, driving the
smell of burnt bodies away and bringing with it the familiar salty smell of the
ocean.

"Rich, I got to tell you, I don't like the look of
Dave. What's the story there?"

"Yeah, he's shifty. Been with us for a few years, but
never really apart of us. We have our own code, but he's been walking the line
for a while now. I'll keep an eye on him."

"Yeah, thanks," Abe said. Bringing it up probably
hadn't been a good idea, especially since he didn’t know the dynamics of their
gang, but he'd needed to ask. He didn't think Kyle would look too favorably on
having Dave around, but for that he needed to be back.

"Let's go get some dinner, I haven't had a home cooked
meal for a while and tonight should be good," said Rich as he looked down
at the young guy beside him. Rich liked him and knew he was worried about his
brother, this professor people talked about.

"Lead the way," Abe replied, holding out his arm
in a "you first" gesture.

Rich laughed and walked towards the stairs.

***

Dave woke early, the hard wooden floor in the room an
insult to him. He should have been given a bed. Provincials.

He washed his face, already planning the events of the day.
He needed to talk to his two friends and then set things in motion. He didn't
want their input, just their obedience. He didn't worry about them not
following his directions, both were barely able to form words and were utterly
ruthless. Brutes, but useful brutes.

He walked across the parade ground and watched the morning
routines unfold. Everyone seemed happy and content they'd made it back alive,
without injuries and with friends to boot. He had to laugh at that one.

  The food they scavenged seemed to lift everyone's spirits
and laughter rang out, creating a relaxed atmosphere within the fort. He'd
change that soon, especially since he didn't want all of his food eaten. He needed
to check out a few things before he set his plan in motion. Until then he'd
continue to play the game of happy survivor.

He walked into one of the rooms, across the courtyard from
his, this one a workshop. Standing over a homemade work bench stood a short,
but muscular, man who seemed part grizzly.

The man heard the footsteps and turned. "Help you with
something? You're one of the new guys aren't you?"

Dave wanted to stick a blade in him for such simple
questions. "That's right. Name's Dave. I hear you're the guy to talk to
about building things around here."

Eric looked up, looking Dave over. He wasn't impressed.
"I am, name's Eric. What can I do for you?"

"I've seen the swords everyone's carrying. I don’t
have one myself, but a friend of mine did, and he used to practice with a large
pole buried in the ground." He paused, showing excitement, as if he'd
really discovered something to help. "I saw some pieces of wood laying
just outside and thought I might help set up the same kind of thing here. Could
help everyone become familiar with their swords."

Eric leaned back against his workbench, rubbing his days
old black beard, which had already grown faster than any beard had a right to.
"I know what you're talking about and I haven't got a use for those four
by fours yet, but it would destroy them. I might have something better."

Dave nodded his head, gave a beaming smile and acting
excited. "Oh Yeah?"

Eric turned and walked through the cluttered room, stepping
over tools and random pieces of metal. He stopped at a wood pile in the back. These
two by fours should work just the same and they're not new. How's that?"

"Yeah, that'd be great."

"Good, need any help putting them in the ground?"

"I'll get a few of my guys to do it, we need to start
pulling our weight around here, if only until we leave."

Eric gave an approving grunt and turned back to his
workbench.

Dave gritted his teeth at the dismissal, but kept his anger
in check. "Hey, those wouldn't happen to be-"

"Yep," responded Eric. "Not sure why,but the
professor wanted eight of them made, and some of the boys found me the material
I needed to finish them off."

"I think the professor's a little mad if you ask me,"
came the high pitched voice of Edmund, stepping into the workshop. He gave Dave
a smile and walked over to a pile of junk, plopped down and crossed his arms.
"I mean, what does he think this is, the bloody middle ages?"

"Nobody asked you lobster back, you keep your mouth
civil, and I found out what
bloody
really means and I won't have it in
here," warned Eric, waving a large saw at him.

"Wasn't like I was hiding it, now was I?"

"Get off that, "Eric said, ignoring the question,
"and get to work or you'll be in the kitchen making lunch with
Jasmine."

Edmund jumped up, shrugged at Dave and started working next
to Eric.

Dave walked out without saying a word. He had what he
needed, now to let the boys know how they were going to do this."

***

Abe walked through the blanketed doorway of Patrick and
Jasmine's room, and was surprised at the activity happening inside.

"What's going on?" asked Abe, trying to look over
the shoulders in front of him.

"Hey man," replied Patrick with a big smile,
"we got somebody on the radio!"

"Really? That's great."

"Yeah, whenever we run the generator, Jasmine plays
around on the radio and this time someone answered. Patrick turned back around,
clearly excited about the news. Abe understood, it was the first time they'd
had contact with any type of organization in the outside world. They wanted
help, they needed answers and this could bring all that. Abe hoped it would
bring all that people wanted it to, but he also knew this could bring bad news.
No way to know; except to wait and see.