Honestly, I had assumed they were dead men walking, or riding in this case. Mia, Jake, and I had had experience in trying to outride these runners, and it wasn’t exactly something I’d want to try again. When Michael told us via walkie that he and John were coming back, I really didn’t think they’d make it. Wasn’t I surprised to see them come barreling down the gravel road towards the gate.
“Eric! Now!”
We were piss-poorly prepared for this and I knew it. I think everyone knew it. It wasn’t helping matters having two perfectly capable shooters freezing up just when we needed them the most. I was stationed in the right gate tower, doing my level best to kill as many of the putrid berserkers below me as I could, and Eric was supposed to be set up on the wall, between my tower platform and the river. Between shots I kept glancing at him. My shouts hadn’t moved the sorry bastard. He was simply standing there, rifle hanging limp at his side, and staring down at the deadheads. I cussed under my breath, emptied my rifle into the crowd below, then set it aside to whoop some dumbass.
“Eric!”
I left the platform and jogged to the younger man. I grabbed his arm and spun him around. His face was slack and his eyes vacant. I slapped him. That seemed to work. His eyes focused on me and his lips curled in a snarl.
I pointed behind him, toward the spot he was supposed to be covering.
“Go! Now!”
“Kasey, the gate!” Mia’s voice jumped out of the walkie attached to my shirt collar. I let go of Eric, and as he ran to his post, I ran back to the platform.
“On it!” I answered, then slammed the walkie down onto the bench and quickly reloaded my rifle.
I spared a few glances over my left shoulder and saw the guys had finally gotten the door shut and locked. Jake, Jonah, and John were scrambling up the staircase. From the looks of it Michael was screaming bloody murder into his walkie talkie. I couldn’t hear it of course; there were deadheads frantically climbing and clawing on top of one another, all hollering their terrifying, yet quickly annoying, shrieks, trying to nab me. Lucky for me, the wall was too tall. I tore my attention from the men and put it back on the more immediate problem, not stopping to re-check the situation until three reloads later. It was then that I noticed there were fewer deadheads below me than before, and my rifle rounds hadn’t been the cause of their disappearance.
* * *
“Troy, be a dear and toss me that bag please,” Nancy said coolly.
She and Troy were loading the bass boat behind the club with a few supplies, in case they needed to leave in a hurry. The three kids were already on board, huddled together and staying calm.
The dock housed three bass boats, and during their time at the club, the boats had been repaired and maintained as a precaution. If the need for an evacuation ever arose, the plan was to hit the boats and sail on out of there, down river towards the prison, then hike over the one ridge between the river and Blueville Correctional. The dock itself was separate from the club; sixty feet from the back door.
Nancy worked methodically, stowing the gear as Troy handed it to her. She could hear the rapid gunfire coming from the other side of the house, a never-ending stream of shots. She knew that was a bad sign; a lot of shooting meant a lot of zombies. She didn’t let that distract her from her job, however.
“That’s the last one, ma’am,” Troy said.
He was around her grandson’s age; a sweet, quiet boy with a sharp eye and a willingness to work. As soon as Nancy secured the last bag, she jumped from the boat and shouldered her shotgun. Together she and Troy stood guard over the children, their backs to the boat and their eyes focused on the open area around them; the back of the Winchester, and the two ends of the wall. She took a deep breath, set her jaw, and waited.
* * *
“Spread out! Spread out!” Michael
“Eric! Now!”
We were piss-poorly prepared for this and I knew it. I think everyone knew it. It wasn’t helping matters having two perfectly capable shooters freezing up just when we needed them the most. I was stationed in the right gate tower, doing my level best to kill as many of the putrid berserkers below me as I could, and Eric was supposed to be set up on the wall, between my tower platform and the river. Between shots I kept glancing at him. My shouts hadn’t moved the sorry bastard. He was simply standing there, rifle hanging limp at his side, and staring down at the deadheads. I cussed under my breath, emptied my rifle into the crowd below, then set it aside to whoop some dumbass.
“Eric!”
I left the platform and jogged to the younger man. I grabbed his arm and spun him around. His face was slack and his eyes vacant. I slapped him. That seemed to work. His eyes focused on me and his lips curled in a snarl.
I pointed behind him, toward the spot he was supposed to be covering.
“Go! Now!”
“Kasey, the gate!” Mia’s voice jumped out of the walkie attached to my shirt collar. I let go of Eric, and as he ran to his post, I ran back to the platform.
“On it!” I answered, then slammed the walkie down onto the bench and quickly reloaded my rifle.
I spared a few glances over my left shoulder and saw the guys had finally gotten the door shut and locked. Jake, Jonah, and John were scrambling up the staircase. From the looks of it Michael was screaming bloody murder into his walkie talkie. I couldn’t hear it of course; there were deadheads frantically climbing and clawing on top of one another, all hollering their terrifying, yet quickly annoying, shrieks, trying to nab me. Lucky for me, the wall was too tall. I tore my attention from the men and put it back on the more immediate problem, not stopping to re-check the situation until three reloads later. It was then that I noticed there were fewer deadheads below me than before, and my rifle rounds hadn’t been the cause of their disappearance.
* * *
“Troy, be a dear and toss me that bag please,” Nancy said coolly.
She and Troy were loading the bass boat behind the club with a few supplies, in case they needed to leave in a hurry. The three kids were already on board, huddled together and staying calm.
The dock housed three bass boats, and during their time at the club, the boats had been repaired and maintained as a precaution. If the need for an evacuation ever arose, the plan was to hit the boats and sail on out of there, down river towards the prison, then hike over the one ridge between the river and Blueville Correctional. The dock itself was separate from the club; sixty feet from the back door.
Nancy worked methodically, stowing the gear as Troy handed it to her. She could hear the rapid gunfire coming from the other side of the house, a never-ending stream of shots. She knew that was a bad sign; a lot of shooting meant a lot of zombies. She didn’t let that distract her from her job, however.
“That’s the last one, ma’am,” Troy said.
He was around her grandson’s age; a sweet, quiet boy with a sharp eye and a willingness to work. As soon as Nancy secured the last bag, she jumped from the boat and shouldered her shotgun. Together she and Troy stood guard over the children, their backs to the boat and their eyes focused on the open area around them; the back of the Winchester, and the two ends of the wall. She took a deep breath, set her jaw, and waited.
* * *
“Spread out! Spread out!” Michael
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