then lock the fence and get into a
shooting position on top of the cabin.”
Gabe
looked perplexed for a moment, and then a grin spread across his face.
“I’m
on it.” He said.
I
waited for Gabe to pour a small amount of our precious fuel supply into the
truck, just enough to do what we needed, and then opened the gate for him.
While he parked the vehicle, I ran up and down the edge of the fence waving my
arms and shouting at the undead to draw their attention. The fence shuddered
violently under the strain as the mass of ghouls redoubled their efforts to
tear it down. After calling out to let me know the truck was in position, Gabe
climbed onto the roof of the tool shed and settled down into a stable firing
position. The horde followed me around to the other side of the fence, their
wasted faces fierce with hunger. I took my time climbing over, being careful
not to slip and fall on the way down. A sprained ankle or a twisted knee right
about then would have been disastrous. I wanted to run when my feet hit the
dirt on the other side, but I forced myself to calm down and walk. There was no
need to rush, the walkers were coming for me as fast as their rotten legs could
carry them. Just to make sure I had their complete and undivided attention, I
unslung my HK, removed the suppressor, and started taking potshots. The loud
crack of the rifle had the intended effect. The whole horde heaved and trampled
over one another trying to get to me. You have to give the undead one thing;
they are wonderfully predictable. I checked behind me, shuffled back a few
steps, and dropped a couple more walkers.
Check,
shuffle, fire.
Check,
shuffle, fire.
Again
and again, bullets devastated the heads of revenants shambling near the front
of the crowd. Every time a corpse ate the dirt, the walkers behind it tripped
and fell over its carcass, further throwing their ranks into disarray. Gabriel,
being the bright fellow that he is, saw what I was doing and started blasting
away with his SCAR. The straining, heaving mass of walking dead struggled over
one another in undulating waves as I led them back around to the cliff on the
other side of the mountain. They bunched up, climbed over the fallen, and
slowly stretched out their front line. Any ideas I had about the undead showing
advanced intelligence was laid to rest as I watched the stinking mass of
flesh-eating horrors chase after me. There was no unit cohesion there, only a
bunch of mindless animals fighting each other to be first in line at the
buffet.
Minutes
felt like hours as I rounded the edge of the fence and drew the horde toward
the narrow part of the cliff. A quick check of my belt showed me that I was
down to my last couple of magazines for the HK. I slowed my rate of fire to
conserve ammunition.
The
edge of the horde to my right bulged out as the undead in the back tried to
force their way to the front. The ones that fell down crumpled under the
pressure of hundreds of stomping feet breaking their bones and, occasionally,
their skulls. That was fine by me, it made my job that much easier. I dropped
back to load my last magazine and felt the metal of the Tacoma’s driver side
door against my calf. The closest undead were less than twenty yards away. I
fired off a few more rounds until the chamber locked open on the rifle. I
shifted it behind my back and drew my pistol.
I
managed to drop four more infected before the rest got too close and I had to
turn and jump into the bed of the truck. Once I was on top of the roof, I waved
my arms and shouted at the waves of infected, just barely out of reach of their
skeletal, grasping fingers. Looking out over the sea of corpses, I saw them
start to bottleneck and bunch up at the edge of the fence line. As they closed
the distance, the walkers on the far side toward the cliff were beginning to be
pushed out over the edge by the ghouls behind them. For a moment, I stood there
holding my sides and belting out half-mad peals of laughter at
shooting position on top of the cabin.”
Gabe
looked perplexed for a moment, and then a grin spread across his face.
“I’m
on it.” He said.
I
waited for Gabe to pour a small amount of our precious fuel supply into the
truck, just enough to do what we needed, and then opened the gate for him.
While he parked the vehicle, I ran up and down the edge of the fence waving my
arms and shouting at the undead to draw their attention. The fence shuddered
violently under the strain as the mass of ghouls redoubled their efforts to
tear it down. After calling out to let me know the truck was in position, Gabe
climbed onto the roof of the tool shed and settled down into a stable firing
position. The horde followed me around to the other side of the fence, their
wasted faces fierce with hunger. I took my time climbing over, being careful
not to slip and fall on the way down. A sprained ankle or a twisted knee right
about then would have been disastrous. I wanted to run when my feet hit the
dirt on the other side, but I forced myself to calm down and walk. There was no
need to rush, the walkers were coming for me as fast as their rotten legs could
carry them. Just to make sure I had their complete and undivided attention, I
unslung my HK, removed the suppressor, and started taking potshots. The loud
crack of the rifle had the intended effect. The whole horde heaved and trampled
over one another trying to get to me. You have to give the undead one thing;
they are wonderfully predictable. I checked behind me, shuffled back a few
steps, and dropped a couple more walkers.
Check,
shuffle, fire.
Check,
shuffle, fire.
Again
and again, bullets devastated the heads of revenants shambling near the front
of the crowd. Every time a corpse ate the dirt, the walkers behind it tripped
and fell over its carcass, further throwing their ranks into disarray. Gabriel,
being the bright fellow that he is, saw what I was doing and started blasting
away with his SCAR. The straining, heaving mass of walking dead struggled over
one another in undulating waves as I led them back around to the cliff on the
other side of the mountain. They bunched up, climbed over the fallen, and
slowly stretched out their front line. Any ideas I had about the undead showing
advanced intelligence was laid to rest as I watched the stinking mass of
flesh-eating horrors chase after me. There was no unit cohesion there, only a
bunch of mindless animals fighting each other to be first in line at the
buffet.
Minutes
felt like hours as I rounded the edge of the fence and drew the horde toward
the narrow part of the cliff. A quick check of my belt showed me that I was
down to my last couple of magazines for the HK. I slowed my rate of fire to
conserve ammunition.
The
edge of the horde to my right bulged out as the undead in the back tried to
force their way to the front. The ones that fell down crumpled under the
pressure of hundreds of stomping feet breaking their bones and, occasionally,
their skulls. That was fine by me, it made my job that much easier. I dropped
back to load my last magazine and felt the metal of the Tacoma’s driver side
door against my calf. The closest undead were less than twenty yards away. I
fired off a few more rounds until the chamber locked open on the rifle. I
shifted it behind my back and drew my pistol.
I
managed to drop four more infected before the rest got too close and I had to
turn and jump into the bed of the truck. Once I was on top of the roof, I waved
my arms and shouted at the waves of infected, just barely out of reach of their
skeletal, grasping fingers. Looking out over the sea of corpses, I saw them
start to bottleneck and bunch up at the edge of the fence line. As they closed
the distance, the walkers on the far side toward the cliff were beginning to be
pushed out over the edge by the ghouls behind them. For a moment, I stood there
holding my sides and belting out half-mad peals of laughter at
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