I drew my handgun and shot as I ran. The big shotgun boomed beside me, and I lost the hearing in that ear for a few seconds, but it splattered one of the things like a bucket of gore tossed against the fence. The zombie’s flesh hung from the chain link, making it look a slaughterhouse. Part of its head and something I was sure was brain matter also hung there. I wanted to be disgusted, but I had no time to think about it, no time to consider the human life that was splattered all over the place.
Smoke everywhere, and it was hard to catch my breath. We hit the fence with the flames behind us. It was the only route now, as they ran in pursuit of us. I scaled the chain link and did a neat flip that had much more to do with fear than acrobatics. Landed on my feet, and felt the impact blast up my legs. My left knee almost buckled, but I ran on regardless.
Dead ahead, dead and toasted behind. They were coming from both sides, but it was hard to tell which were after us and which were running from the smoke and flames. I fired at one that was snarling at me and caught it in the shoulder. He fell back, but not for long. I had to shoot him again, and, even running, I was able to put the bullet through his head at less than ten feet.
“Ghoul!” Scott shouted from my left. I followed his wide-eyed stare to my right. He turned toward me, and I veered away, trying to follow his lead. Sure enough, just to the side of the herd of zombies was one of the green-eyed creatures, and he did not look happy. With pasty, white skin, he was a real waxen nightmare of old and dead combined with something resembling a human.
I developed a new plan that didn’t involve escape. I hadn’t run into anyone who had a clue what these guys were up to. I wanted that green-eyed bastard in my hands, wanted to drag him back to the barricade and find out everything I could, even if it meant blowing his brains out to see what was in that head.
“Erik!” Scott called from my side, but I shot another zombie in the face and raced toward the ghoul. I was still a good thirty or forty feet away when it caught on that I wasn’t interested in just getting away.
I had to drop another, then I ducked as one came at me with arms open wide like it wanted a hug. I turned my run into a flying front kick that was just as pretty as you please and dropped the big zombie in his tracks. The boom of the shotgun behind told me the guy wouldn’t be getting up again.
Then there were a pair of them ahead, but I was dry. I didn’t have time to pull the assault rifle over my shoulder, and I was too close. By the time I got it up to my cheek to aim, the other would be able to close in on me and get a bite, so I tossed the handgun and drew my big knife.
With the blade touching the inside of my forearm, I held it in a reverse grip, then came in with a slash that took one of the women across the throat. It was so fast that she didn’t have time to react, and she fell back gurgling. The second one managed to loop a hand over my shoulder and pull me in. Her mouth was rancid, like old meat with teeth stuck in it. I saw brown crud growing between them and felt my stomach flutter. She looped her other hand around me, but I batted it aside. The knife was at my side, so I dragged it up, slashing into her stomach and tugging upward. I would like to say I felt a splash of warmth, but it was anything but. I’m sure her intestines fell out, but they felt like a bunch of cold snakes that wanted to wrap around my arm.
She didn’t seem to mind the wound that would have brought a normal person to her knees and left her bleeding to death. She held onto me like a vice. I hit her a couple of times with my left hand as I tried to dislodge her, but she wanted a piece of me. She snapped at my face, and I barely got my hand out of the way in time to avoid the bite.
I pushed her away and ripped the knife up. The blow was quick, and I think I cut through most of her forearm. She loosened her grip enough for me to get the knife out. When she tried to bite me the next time, I had my blade ready and cut her across the face, taking part of her lip off in the process. Then I reversed the blade and, with a whip like motion, drove the knife into her temple as hard as I could. It went in cleanly, and she dropped like someone had cut her strings. I dragged the knife free as she fell, and caught sight of the green-eyed ghoul. His eyes met mine. He snarled like a dog then turned and tried to run.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” I yelled, anger burning beneath my skin. The rage of what these things had done to the human race was like acid.
I hit the ghoul from behind with a kick to his lower back. At the last second, I lessened the blow so that I wouldn’t snap his spine. He stumbled forward and hit the ground. He managed to get one hand out, but it snapped with an audible pop. I wasn’t messing around. Reversing the knife, I slammed the pommel into his temple. He tried to rise again, so I repeated the blow. The second one collapsed him.
The zombies had no brain, no pulse, no life. They were the walking dead, as improbable as that sounds. They were an abomination—a thing that should not exist. They were an offense against nature. These ghouls were worse; they were like the dead, only they had a brain of sorts. To my surprise, the ghoul beneath me was moving. His lungs rose and fell as he breathed.
What the hell were these things?
With the unconscious and stinking ghoul between us, we made our way back to the camp. We had to drag him, and at first I didn’t like the idea of his filthy skin touching mine. I was on the right and Scott on the left. The closer we got to the base, the more I wanted to put a bullet in this thing’s brain and leave him to rot.
Scott didn’t say much; he just grunted as we dragged the man. He glanced at the ghoul from time to time, and then at me. I didn’t offer any thoughts. I wasn’t even sure what had possessed me to capture the creature. A ghoul. I supposed that if I were a bastard, I could torture this thing. I didn’t relish the thought; I had no desire to do it. I had met people who could do it. I had met men who would grin and shake my hand, maybe clap me on the shoulder, and then go on to their torture devices.
My hand was on fire where I had brushed the burning grass. Adrenaline had helped me ignore the pain, but now it was back. My palm felt rough, and I was pretty sure there were blisters. I hoped the damage was minimal. It was hard to see, though, because my right hand was covered in soot. I wished I had a container of ice-cold water I could pour on the burn. And while I was wishing for stuff, I wished I were on vacation in the Bahamas with no zombies around.
“You guys have anything to drink back at the camp?” I asked Scott.
“A little. We got some cheap whiskey, the kind that comes in plastic jugs, but we save that shit for special occasions. Some days I would kill for a shot of tequila.”
“Drink of choice?”
“I’m Latino. What the hell do you think I like, Bud Light?”
“Name like Scott, that’s real Latino.”
“Mom thought it would be cool if we had names that fit into American society better. My sister is named Mary—or she was. I don’t know if she’s alive. I have a brother named Sean, and it’s spelled with an E-A just like Sean Connery. I think she liked his James Bond the best.”
“Who doesn’t?”
The thing between us stirred; his legs kicked. I considered smacking him upside the head again, but I was worried about killing him before we got back. We were across the field, and, when I looked back, the smoke was rising into the sky. I wondered how much of my old block I had just torched. At least the houses were spaced pretty well apart. My yard was separated from Edwards’s by a stone path that led back to the greenbelt. I think the community had once thought of running a full walking path behind all the houses, but it never happened.