Transformation: Zombie Crusade VI (13 page)

Gracie was out trying to facilitate those deaths. The closest Walmart Supercenter had been thoroughly looted; actually, it looked like it had been hit by a hurricane followed by a tornado. But, as Gracie had suspected, looters hadn’t been interested in air horns, and there was still a large supply of the items she and Luke would need to keep their love live active. Two squads of infantry were at her side in the ruined store, something Maddy had insisted upon before she agreed to the salvaging plan. The rest of the company was positioned immediately outside the building, while Zach’s command was searching for a couple of motorcycles that could be used in the roundup of the area infected. So far everything had gone off without a hitch. Then, Mr. Murphy, the namesake of the world’s worst law, showed up in a big way, and so many things that could go wrong suddenly did.

Gracie’s team had been extremely quiet as they found the goods they were searching for, but something revealed their presence to a large pack of hunters sleeping the day away in the back of the store. The monsters came running at full speed through the dark as the soldiers fumbled with lights and weapons. The only reason the two squads weren’t annihilated was that the hunters were stumbling and falling over all of the goods littering the floor. But the flesh-eaters were only slowed for a few seconds before reaching the confused troops.

Gracie had been in this type of situation before, and even as she began shouting instructions to the troops she cursed herself for not explaining standard procedure for fighting the infected in the dark. “Forget your flashlights!” She yelled over the howls of the flesh-eaters. “Circle formation with spears leveled!”

Most of the fighters had relatively weak headlamps attached to their helmets so they weren’t completely blind, but few of the soldiers were mentally prepared for a serious attack in the store. One man was already on the floor, screaming in fear and pain before the others were able to form a circle and bring their weapons to bear. The monsters emerged from the surrounding gloom with ferocious snarls as they leapt toward the huddled mass of humans. The troops had all experienced fear before; after all, they’d managed to survive the early days of the outbreak. But the sounds and scrambled sights assailing their senses as a score of fully developed hunters came roaring out of the darkness was far beyond anything any of them had ever been exposed to.

Gracie wasn’t afraid for herself, but she was very frightened for the rookies at her side. She could feel the man on her left trembling violently through his leather armor, and somewhere nearby, somebody had lost control of their bladder. Gracie had NVGs in her pack but left them where they were stowed. She kept her headlamp on only long enough to shoot the two nearest beasts between the eyes as they rushed her position, then she turned off the light and willed her eyes to adjust to the darkness. This battle was about to become a knife fight, and experience had taught her that optics and headlamps were often pulled off in any wrestling match with the powerful hunters. Plus, most survivors were fairly certain that the infected couldn’t see in the dark any better than a healthy human.

The screaming continued a few feet away, but Gracie had no time to do anything but look out for herself as she was grabbed by a pair of strong hands and pulled to the floor. She’d been in a dozen battles like this one, so she didn’t panic. Instead, she yanked her short sword free and thrust the blade into the face of the shadowy figure trying to gnaw through the leather racing gear covering her left forearm. Her effort was rewarded with a spray of dark blood splashing across her facemask, but the creature continued trying to eat her in spite of the grievous wound. Once, twice, three times she stabbed the monster before finding the brain and dropping the now-motionless beast to the floor.

Jumping quickly to her feet, Gracie realized that her eyes had now adjusted to the low-light conditions well enough for her to tell the difference between the soldiers and the hunters. She immediately reached for a handful of wild hair and pulled the nearest flesh-eater’s skull into a lethal collision with the tip of her blade. That maneuver became the pattern for the next sixty seconds. Gracie wasn’t keeping count, but she knew she’d killed at least half a dozen of the creatures before the store finally quieted as the last of the monsters were put down.  The soldiers began to take stock of what had just happened. The fight had seemed to last for hours, but in reality it was over in less than five minutes. The man who’d been screaming was now reduced to a wheezing death-gurgle as his savaged throat leaked away the last of his blood.

“Neck-guards,” Gracie whispered to herself, “our troops need better neck guards.”

“Ma’am?” one of the soldiers asked. “Can you help him?”

“Pick him up,” she ordered, “and carry him out to the others. First squad will guard the rear, and I’ll guard them.”

“Ma’am?” the man protested.

“Follow your damn orders,” she growled as she picked up her pack and scanned the back of the store for any sign of further attack. Privately she thought to herself,
Air-horns and condoms; a man dead for air-horns and condoms.

A strong wind howling outside the shattered storefront had prevented Maddy and her troops from hearing the sounds of combat taking place inside the building, so they were shocked to see the blood-splattered, weary soldiers emerge from the gaping doorway with one of their own lying dead in their arms. Gracie shared a knowing glance with her friend, who instantly ordered troops from a different squad to carry the dead man behind a nearby delivery truck. Once there, she tenderly removed the soldier’s helmet and used her silenced .22 pistol to make sure he didn’t come back to life as a hunter. None of them yet understood the biology surrounding the transformation process, nor were they willing to take any chances in spite of the corpse’s savaged throat; they scrambled the dead man’s brains.  

Gracie wasn’t surprised to see Luke trotting down Highway 8 before the contingent she and Maddy were leading was less than a mile from the site of the attack. She knew he would have sensed that she was in danger even before he survived the bite, so of course he was running to her when she was in a fight. He stopped along the shoulder of the road as soon as he saw her helmet near the back of the column. Gracie lifted her visor as she approached him and miserably explained, “We lost one; they surprised us in a dark store.”

Luke’s face betrayed no emotion. “How many hunters?”

Gracie shrugged under her gear. “I didn’t take the time to count them, but probably twenty or so.”

Luke grimaced. “Were you able to get the troops to form up or was it a free-for-all?”

“They formed up, but one guy was down before we were ready. At least one of our newbies pissed his pants; I could smell it, but they didn’t run, and they fought hard.”

“You leave any for the rookies?”

Gracie’s eyes flared with a feral exultation. “I got at least a third of the bastards.”

Luke stepped closer to her and began to tenderly wipe blood and gore from her helmet and jacket. As soon as the last of the soldiers passed he whispered, “That’s my girl.”

By the time they returned to the camp near the bridge, Zach and his troops were back with two large dirt bikes. They had pushed them all the way to the river before trying to start them in order to avoid making noise in town. Now, the machines were quickly fired up and tested, and within fifteen minutes everyone agreed that the motorcycles were fit for duty. A raggedy looking group of five infected approached the encampment not long after the sound of the engines ripped through the winter air, but guards posted around the perimeter used crossbows to kill the monsters before they saw any humans and began howling.

As the sun began to set in the western sky, storm clouds could be seen building on the horizon. Luke was looking in that direction with a frown on his face, wishing that he still had access to information from the weather center out in Utah. He heard Gracie coming up and turned to greet her with a smile and a kiss. “You doing okay?” he asked with tender concern.

She leaned against his shoulder and gazed to the west. “I will be, in a day or two. I never get used to seeing a human being reduced to a bloody corpse.”

Luke rested an arm over her shoulder and squeezed. “I’d be worried about you if you did.”

“What about you? Are you used to it?”

He didn’t want to lie to his wife, but the answer to her question wasn’t an easy one to explain. “When it’s someone close, I never actually get over it; like, I still dream about watching loved ones die in my arms and yours. It still hurts. But I’m afraid that I’m growing desensitized to death and wounds in combat—I’ve seen too much of it.”

“For some reason,” Gracie explained, “the big battles don’t seem to bother me as much. I mean, the losses at Vicksburg were simply incomprehensible, but losing just one person in a brief encounter seems so much more personal.”

Luke thought about that for a moment. “You’re right, now that I think about it. I guess we’re subconsciously preparing ourselves for bloodshed before a big battle, while we’re just not ready for death in little fights that catch us by surprise.”

Gracie burrowed in a little closer, trying to share a bit of her husband’s warmth against the wind. The cold reminded her of why she’d sought out Luke in the first place. “More than a few locals are predicting that snow will be falling by morning.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” Luke replied, “but I still need a weatherman to tell me what’s coming. I bet our ancestors would’ve known exactly what’s heading this way.”

Gracie smiled. “Probably, but that’s not the only skill we lost when people embraced the technology of the 20th Century.”

“Well, something tells me we’ll be learning those skills again, the hard way.”

“So, what will snow do to our plan?” Gracie wondered. “Should we delay the operation?”

“No,” Luke declared, “there’s no way to know if the fighting surfaces will be in any better condition after the snowfall; this stuff might not melt until spring for all we know.” He was reminded of something his father had shared during one of his many academic sermons. “Jack once told me how storms and other weather-related events have affected the course of history. He said that the outcome of many important battles had been largely determined by wind, rain, ice, and snow.”

“That sounds like a Jack conversation,” Gracie replied. “He actually quizzed me about my knowledge of important events in world history. I impressed him when I knew that England hasn’t been conquered since 1066, but that was largely due to a gale destroying the Spanish Armada in the Channel in 1588.”

“Common knowledge,” Luke teased.  “Do you know about the Battle of Towton?”

“Hmmm, can’t say that I do, so it must not have been all that important.”

“It was really important,” Luke protested, “but the English Civil Wars aren’t really taught in American schools these days.”

“Well, I’m sure you’re going to tell me all about it, Luke Seifert
Smith
.”

“Of course I am.” Luke liked being compared to his biological father, even when the reference suggested he was being a know-it-all. “The fight happened in late March in Britain; spring should have been well underway. Instead, the armies of the Yorkists and Lancastrians met in the middle of a blizzard. The English archers had dominated during the recently ended Hundred Years’ War, slaughtering the knights of France with near impunity during most of the key battles. Then, they turned on each other at Towton. The Duke of York’s army had the wind at their backs during the storm, so their arrows could reach the ranks of Lancaster’s troops without having to worry about return-fire. When York’s archers slowly advanced, they picked up thousands of enemy arrows that had fallen short against the wind and shot them back at the Lancastrians. Over twenty-five thousand Englishmen died that day, maybe more than their combined dead in a hundred years of conflict with the French.”

Gracie honestly sounded impressed when she commented, “You really are full of surprises, babe. So that blizzard really screwed the Duke of Lancaster, huh?”

“Yeah, it did. The weather’s affecting this war too. I’d hoped that the infected would be slowed, or maybe even killed off, by freezing weather, but the hunters just started growing coats of hair and seem to be relatively immune to temperature extremes.”

“I’ve been wondering what we’d do if the river froze over,” Gracie confessed. “I’ve been seeing a lot of ice in shallow areas and pools.”

Luke pondered the ramifications of local waterways freezing over. He could imagine the havoc if the flesh-eaters were able to cross the rivers and lakes being used as impassable obstacles by settlers along the Red. Suddenly, Luke was very worried about ice. He pulled away from Gracie and shouted, “Maddy!”

Maddy heard the call and came trotting over to see what all the fuss was about. “Whatcha yelling for, trying to bring down hunters on the camp before we’re ready?”

Luke was impatient. “No, listen, didn’t one of your guys break his arm in the fight at the store today?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I need you to pick somebody you can live without for a while, and send that person downstream with your wounded soldier.”

“We can cover him until he’s healed up,” Maddy protested.

“Maddy,” Luke interrupted her, “I need a message taken back to all of the settlements we’ve left behind.”