The two of us could fight our way out.. Three, if Palmeri came. Saylor would be fucked though. No way to cut a safe path through with Saylor saddling down two of us. Just wouldn’t work. Couldn’t work.
Palmeri insisted on helping Saylor up. He stood with one arm out, as if reaching for a wall to support him. Palmeri slid under that arm. “I’ve got you,” she said.
She didn’t. He weighed twice as much as her. He’d bring her down. With the wet grass, the mud, no way they could run. Fucking zombies slow as turtles would be able to catch and eat them.
“Keep moving,” Dave said.
I pursed my lips and tried to swallow. My throat felt dry, raw and my tongue swollen and thick. Sweat, rain, or mud slid down my forehead. Streaked my face. I wiped it with the back of my sleeve, and my sleeve onto the stomach of my shirt.
I didn’t want to leave anyone behind.
Dave stared at me. He didn’t say a word, but I saw it in his eyes. He screamed it with his eyes. We keep moving.
Chapter Nineteen
0512 hours
Our predicament resembled a mini-football field, and there were two teams involved; us versus Them. Felt like we were in the fourth quarter, at the two-minute warning. While I hoped we’d end this, worst case, I wanted to hang on long enough to go into overtime. It didn’t look good. In fact, it looked down right terrible.
Two rectangular apartment buildings sat, one on our left, and the back end of an identical one to the right. To the west, behind us, six or seven zombies approached. Two wore simple hospital gowns with bare limbs exposed to the elements. If I had to guess, flaps were open in the back. Why I thought that, why that popped into my mind, I have no idea. Another wore unidentifiable clothing. It was burnt and melted to her body. Her face and arms had been blackened by heat and fire. If the hair around the charred face hadn’t been so long, I’d never have known it was a woman. The others four were a mix of military and civilians. Men and women with bite marks evident and decay apparent. They were all obviously anxious to sink teeth into our flesh.
To the east, in front of us, there were another eight or so zombies. More gowns, more military, more civilians. My stomach rolled and flopped. I thought I might vomit and probably would.
I wanted a cigarette. A beer. A burger. I felt famished.
“Chase.” Dave waved me on. He was ready. Time to go. Time to leave Palmeri and Saylor to their fate. She struggled to keep Saylor on his feet. His weight had to be wearing her out. He definitely rested it all on her shoulder.
A horrible fate.
I sucked in a deep breath and sprang into action.
Not toward Dave. I just couldn’t. I ducked under Saylor’s other arm.
“Get out of here,” he said. “You guys have a better chance. Take Palmeri and get out of here. Fight a way through them.”
“We’re all getting out of here,” I said. It couldn’t be true and didn’t even sound realistic when I said it out loud. Fairytale or not, I committed. “Now fucking help us, help us!”
Saylor’s jaw tensed. He set his foot down, placed weight on his injured leg and winced. He manned up and hobbled with some speed.
Dave grunted, turned, and slashed his blade as if it was a Samurai sword with only an eight-inch reach. I didn’t stop him. He ran into the converging mass. With a swipe, he sliced open a throat, drove the blade into an ear, and stuck it into a third zombie’s Adam’s apple.
“Chase, behind you,” Dave said. He fought, killed, and was still able to warn me.
“Hold him,” I said, not waiting for Palmeri to acknowledge.
I spun around. The burnt zombie closest to me had her arms out, and what was left of her mouth was open. The blackened skin peeled, flaking off her face. A black tongue darted out of her mouth, licking at air the way an iguana or snake might, as if blind, and it used that muscle to sense prey in the area.
With a slash, I chopped the tongue out of its mouth, and heard it plop into a puddle of mud. The thing stepped on its own tongue without losing a sluggish step toward me.
Grabbing it by the hair, I pulled the head forward and drove my foot into its gut. With it doubled over, I slammed my blade to the hilt into the back of its neck, and twisted.
Looking up, I saw more zombies coming. We were definitely surrounded. My breathing was quick and shallow. Sweat dripped from my armpits. I felt claustrophobic. My eyes darted left and right, but I did not see a way out of this. No easy way.
I pulled out my knife. The zombie woman collapsed in a heap of dead carcass at my feet. I stepped around it to the side and used my elbow like a battering ram smashing it into the head of a hospital-gowned creature. Through a solid punch into the jaw of another, and used the blade to disconnect most of its head from the rest of its body.
I heard the others behind me, all engaged in a fight for survival.
One of those fast zombies charged from around a corner, knocking the slower shuffling dead from its path. I saw it, but could not react. My knife was buried deep into the flesh of a beast and I could not remove it. I let go of the handle and threw my hands up, which was the only way to defend myself from the attack.
A gunshot rang out.
In mid-flight, the fast zombie dropped, as if a bird shot out of the sky.
At the next set of apartments was someone with a rifle.
There was no time to yell out a thank you. I reached down, yanked my blade free and punched it between the eyes of the next gowned zombie. Holding the thing by an ear, I pulled my blade free, and the ear off of its head.
More shots came from whoever it was on the opposite side of the zombies. With deadly aim, he dropped creature after creature. He walked towards us as he fired. He used his rifle completely different from the way I had. I pressed the trigger like a person with an incurable twitch. He took single shots, hit a target, and then went on to the next.
I knew who it was, who it had to be. Not sure why, but I felt relieved.
As Spade got closer, the zombies around us got more dead.
I ran my shoulder into a zombie’s back. It had turned from me and had been walking toward Spade. My knee crunched into its spine as we hit the ground. I ran the blade across the back of its neck, raised it high, and holding it in both hands brought it home. My hand shook as the sharp teeth on the steel chewed through its spinal cord.Spade held out a hand and pulled me up. “We’re out of ammo,” I said.
“I’m just about out, too.”
There was no time, but I still wondered where Chatterton and Vitale were. Feared the worst. Got to a point where hoping for the best just didn’t seem to make sense anymore.
Dave and Palmeri held their own. Spade and I joined their end of the fight. We ran past Saylor, who held his knife close to his chest. He must be out of ammunition as well. He appeared ready to battle anything that got close, and I’ll bet thankful nothing had yet.
It resembled a barroom brawl. Punches thrown, kicks delivered. Dave head-butted a zombie, then crashed his elbow into the face of one behind him. Palmeri could scrap. She grabbed at arms, and broke bones with her knees. Thought I saw some martial arts training in her moves. Nothing Jackie Chan worthy, but by the speed and fluidity, it was evident.
The quicker we clear the dead the faster I could get back to my kids. With that in mind, that solitary inspiration, I kicked down at the top of a zombie’s knee. The crunch of bone and cartilage was loud. The thing didn’t cry out, but it crumbled. I stepped on its back. Pulled on its hair; ran the blade across its throat fast, hard, and again, before shoving the blade to the hilt through the temple. An eyeball popped from the socket, perhaps making room for the passing by of the blade’s serrated edge.
Saylor screamed.
I looked up. He was down with two zombies on him. He stabbed at one of them repeatedly. The blade punctured the thing’s side. Intestines spilled out. The zombie kept at him with mouth open and teeth bared.