“I am, not sure about Buddy, though,” John said as he held his slingshot aloft.
“Well, hopefully he gets on board, too.”
The fist blows continued on the side of the truck and began to move towards the rear where I figured they’d get to eventually. The surprise came when I saw the locking rod start to slide upwards. I’d known all along on some level these weren’t zombies; this just rushed the thought to the fore. Something was manipulating the lock. If it got open, we were screwed. I placed a shot right around where I figured its head was.
A sliver of murky light filtered through the resultant hole and, for a blessed moment, the truck hammering ceased along with the lock being moved.
“Did I do that?” John asked as he looked at his slingshot.
The shot only stopped them for a moment, and they seemed to redouble their efforts when they realized there was canned meat available. The meat being us. The sides of the truck were being relentlessly pushed in. This was sort of like the first Star Wars flick with Luke and company in the trash compactor. It would only be a matter of time before the metal failed and then, unless they were really into corn treats, we were screwed.
I was startled as I heard beings on the roof looking for a way in, and Santa Claus they weren’t. I thought about peppering some holes up there like I’d seen in so many movies, but I kept focused on our most obvious breech point.
The lock on the back door began to move again. “Light ‘em up,” I told my wingman.
Wrong phraseology, I know this now. As I was busy sending rounds downrange, John, in his infinite wisdom, lit up a little of God’s greenery. I put at least ten or twelve rounds through the door, hoping that at least half had struck targets. Our enemy shared something with zombies, instead of running from the hot lead, they seemed to congregate to it. The doors shook and rattled as they struggled to get in.
“I don’t have enough for everyone,” John said in a near panic as he let out a large sigh of smoke.
At least one of us was going to die happy. I put both magazines on the box next to me. I was completely convinced this was now a do-or-die mission, and we had drawn the short straw. I should have been ready, but when that door swung open, I was caught completely off guard. The first of the howlers jumped in with a grace and power that evaporated any lingering doubt I may have still had that they might be zombies.
I did controlled bursts, sending the first of the invaders into the abyss of whatever hell they had originated but, even as I did so, I knew it was a lost cause. Unless they all lined up nice and pretty and let me shoot them in the heads, so I could take down two or three at a time, I was going to run severely short of bullets before the coalescing mass outside of the truck was wiped out.
“What’re they so mad about?” John asked me.
I didn’t know, but there was an etched mask of rage on all of them as they entered. That was also something different about the zombies that I knew. They were usually indifferent. Whether they were chasing you, eating you, or just plain ambling around, they seemed detached from the world—much like John. These things, though, not so much, they hated us.
Must have known me previously, I thought as my rifle kicked in to my shoulder. Maybe I dated one of their old girlfriends.
They had not yet established residency in the truck as I dropped the expended magazine and fumbled for a moment with the new one. I had taken my eyes off it for less than a fraction of a second and I had tried to jam it in upside down. That was the only opening they needed, a basketball team’s worth of them were advancing quickly. Fuck the controlled bursts, I held that trigger down, blasting them backwards into those that tried to come in behind. I was thrilled to at least know these beings could be stopped without a head shot. Head shots are hard under normal circumstances and are exceedingly difficult under stressful conditions, I laid waste to them; chest cavities exploded open as I blew holes through the transgressors. Arcs of blood and bone spewed out like a deep underground fissure had finally broken through the surface of the earth.
Casings tinkled to the ground; within a few seconds I would have dry-fired had not my bolt stayed open when I shot the last round, I had won back a few feet at the expense of half my ammunition. The third magazine went in much easier; I pressed in the bolt release button, the first shot blasted out in a somewhat muffled tone. I don’t know if it was old or defective ammo, but the resultant blowback didn’t have enough power to eject the brass from my rifle. I turned the rifle sideways to discover the brass jammed in the ejection port. My fingers sizzled as I pulled hard on it. I was finally able to wiggle it free and slam hard on the forward assist, placing the next round in the chamber.
A howler was within handshaking distance. I wouldn’t be able to get my rifle between us to fire. I brought my gun up to place it between us like a barrier. Large drops of saliva fell from his open mouth, his lips pulled back in a menacing growl. He was screaming in what I would imagine to be a triumphant sound, which was immediately silenced as I watched in awe. A steel ball was propelled into his eye, giving him a slightly robotic look for a moment before the bearing disintegrated the creature’s eyeball. I don’t know what kind of force John had put behind that shot, but all that was left of the right eye was a hole where it once resided. The thing fell to the ground, shook once, and was still.
I don’t know if that one was their leader or if they were just out of fight. There was a sound that I will now associate with their retreat signal. They all looked to the sky as if on cue and headed out. Even the ones that were in the truck and were mere feet away from their desired goals, they left, every last one of them. At least those that could, a few were on the ground outside the truck too injured to move.
I poked my head out cautiously, expecting this to be some kind of ruse, although that made no sense, they had us dead to rights. John might be deadly accurate with a weapon he barely knew he was holding, but he would not have been able to hold off this new adversary. Their actions and movements made it abundantly clear they were not zombies. I dropped down out of the truck, fingers of light from the oncoming dawn beginning to spread.
There were some dead howlers littered on the ground. I can’t even begin to tell you how relieved I was to learn that they could die. Nothing worse than fighting an enemy that seemed virtually indestructible; the name ‘Eliza’ seemed to strike that chord.
I noticed movement on only one. It looked like it was trying to crawl by use of its chin, a bullet had caught it right under the jaw and exited the back of its neck, blowing out the creature’s spine. The thing was of human form, that it was not human was easy to determine because it was still trying to move after a fatal wound had been delivered. With my rifle at my shoulder, I placed my boot under its shoulder and flipped it over. A face fraught with determination suddenly turned to intense rage like maybe I owed her a bar tab.
“Whoa, did you piss her off?” John asked as he sat down on the bed of the truck and hopped off. “She sure looks like she could use some SPF.”
“What?” I asked, thinking the man had once again lost his mind, but that would mean he’d once had it.
But now that he said something, I noticed that the woman was rapidly reddening and even beginning to blister. I backed away. I’d seen this movie; eventually she was going to burst and spray body juices in a three hundred and sixty degree radius. I was determined not to catch any.
It wasn’t quite dramatic as Hollywood would have led me to believe, but it still wasn’t any fun to watch. What was once a vibrant young woman was dying by some unnatural cause. When she had finally stilled after burning to a golden crispness, I approached.