The ghoul blinked again and again, blood and tears filling its eyes, and momentarily relented.
Giving Yama the opportunity he wanted. He clamped his right hand on the farmer’s belt, his left on the man’s shirt, then slid his right leg behind the thing and shoved, his steely muscles uncoiling, employing a standard judo move, a kickback throw, to toss the ghoul to the floor.
Blinded by the blood in his eyes, the farmer released the Warrior to wipe his left forearm across his face.
And Yama pounced, his right hand held in the Nukite position, and speared a piercing hand strike at the thing’s throat, his training compelling him to go for one of the softest and most vulnerable areas on the human body. He felt his fingers sink into the yielding flesh halfway to his knuckles. Without missing a beat, as he drew his right hand back, he whipped his left hand in a Tegatana-naka-uchi, a handsword cross-body chop, connecting on the side of his opponent’s neck.
Standing a few feet off, Melissa Vail heard a distinct snap and saw the thing go abruptly limp. “You did it!” she exclaimed in amazement.
The Warrior straightened, his eyes narrowing. “I was lucky.”
“You were magnificent,” Melissa breathed, her eyes sparkling, her cheeks flushed. “No one has ever broken their hold before. Usually, once one of those things grabs you, it’s all over.”
“I’ve never seen anyone behave the way this man did,” Yama commented, moving to retrieve the Wilkinson. “It’s as if he wasn’t responsible for his actions, as if he was a robot.”
“Now you know why we call their kind the walking dead.”
“We?” Yama said, inspecting the magazine in the Carbine.
“All of us who live in the vicinity of Green Bay. All of my neighbors, my friends, and my family,” Melissa said, her voice lowering sadly as she mentioned those dearest to her.
“Did this man live around here?” Yama inquired, gesturing at the slain farmer.
“Probably. He’s not familiar to me, but the Technics may have taken him from north or south of the city.”
“So the Mad Scientest is taking people from the countryside surrounding Green Bay and transforming them into zombies?” Yama said.
Melissa nodded. “You’ve finally caught on:”
Yama remembered the grisly scene at the wooden wagon and stared at her. “Was your family attempting to get away in a wagon last night?”
“Yes,” Melissa answered. “Most of our neighbors had already vanished or been killed, and my dad decided to leave, to abandon this farm instead of staying and being murdered or worse.” She sighed wistfully. “Dad figured we could sneak off in the middle of the night when there were fewer Technic patrols. He thought we could outrun the walking dead, but he was wrong. Dozens of them poured out of the forest, blocking the road.
Dad tried to turn the team, but the horses were spooked and wouldn’t obey him. The next thing I knew, we were being overrun. My older brother fought like a madman and got me into the trees, then went back for Mom and Dad.” She stopped, her lips trembling.
“There’s no need to go on,” Yama told her. “I know what happened next.”
She glanced at him, her green eyes watering. “I wanted to help them, but there was nothing I could do.”
“I know.”
“They were torn to pieces by those things before I could reach them.”
Yama frowned.
“Then they came after me. I fled into the woods, and I was on my way here when you spotted me,” Melissa concluded.
“How many of the walking dead have you seen?”
Melissa nodded at the man on the floor. “He was the first since last night.”
“We’d better be going,” Yama advised. “I must relay this information to my friends.” He turned toward the stairs, then stopped in midstride.
Another of the walking dead, a brown-haired woman attired in green pants and a yellow shirt, appeared at the top step.
“I knew there were more in the house,” Melissa declared.
Slowly, methodically, the woman came toward the Warrior.
Yama let her have a dozen rounds in the chest and she tumbled down the stairs. He wondered why the walking dead moved so sluggishly. Thank goodness they did! If they should ever acquire the speed to rival their strength, they’d be unbeatable. He took a step.
“Watch out!” Melissa screamed.
The Warrior had already seen the source of her panic, and the unforeseen development dumbfounded him. For there, between the stairway and them, endeavoring to push up from the floor, was the first walking dead, the farmer, who had propped his hands under him and sat up, his head bent at an unnatural angle. Impossible! Yama’s mind shrieked. He’d killed the man with his bare hands! Yet the thing was trying to stand.
How???
What manner of creatures were these?
What were the Technics doing to the people?
All such considerations were removed from his mind an instant later when a portly man stepped into view on the stairs, lumbering toward them. Yama recovered his composure and trained the Wilkinson on the new threat. He’d tolerated all of the delays he was going to, and he resolved to return to Blade and Samson no matter the odds. His features hardening, he fired, sending the portly ghoul flopping from sight. His next rounds drilled into the farmer’s cranium and splattered brains and hair all over the walls.
The farmer flattened.
“Stay close to me,” Yama instructed Melissa.
“You don’t have to tell me twice.”
With the brunette almost touching his back, Yama advanced to the top of the stairs and peered down. The black-haired woman and the portly man were gone. But where?
“Be careful,” Melissa whispered. “They always travel in packs.”
“Can you use a revolver?” Yama asked.
“I can try.”
“Here,” Yama said, giving her the Smith and Wesson Combat Magnum.
“This is a double-action. You can thumb the hammer or squeeze the trigger. Either way the gun will fire.”
“Can I club them to death if I run out of bullets?” Melissa quipped.
“Whatever you like,” Yama said, and started to descend. Would the things jump them indoors or outside? The creatures would be smarter to attack inside, where the restricted confines would limit Yama’s movements. But the walking dead didn’t impress him as being exceptionally bright in the strategy department, or any other department for that matter.
A shadow flitted along the wall at the base of the stairs.
What were the devils up to now? Yama inched to the doorway and peeked into the corridor, which turned out to be empty. Hoping the walking dead had opted for easier prey, he hastened toward the front door. The closed front door. Yet he recalled leaving the door open when he’d entered the farmhouse.
“Maybe we should go out the back,” Melissa whispered. “They might be expecting us to use the front door.”
For, the first time since taking off in pursuit of her, Yama thought of his Near Death Experience and smiled. “Good. I hope they are waiting for us.”
“Are you nuts?”
“Whatever these things are, they must be stopped. The more I kill now, the fewer innocent lives will be lost later,” Yama stated.
“You can’t kill them all.”
“I can try.”
“You’re a hardheaded cuss, you know that?” Melissa remarked softly.
“If you say so,” Yama said.
“Don’t get me wrong. I like that trait in a man.”
“And I like a woman who knows when to keep quiet.”
“Is that a subtle hint?” Melissa inquired.
Yama ignored her. He came to the door and opened it without a second thought. The bright sunshine caused him to squint, and he waited a few seconds for his eyes to adjust before striding into the open, surprised to discover no one around. The walking dead, evidently, had departed.