Perla, Cindy and Brian had stayed in a tight circle amongst themselves. There had been introductions, but like cliques in high school people began to peel off into their own familiar groups. Joann and Eddy stayed close to Marta and her two kids. Mad Jack was pretty much a clique unto himself, but April would not stray more than a few inches from his side no matter how obviously he tried to lose her. Tracy sat down on the roof, her back against the retaining wall. The past few events had drained her damn near dry. Travis sat with her. Gary was off looking at the door that led down into the store. I so wished that he would stop jiggling the handle.
Paul, BT, Alex, Justin and I stayed together. We were the planning committee, so far without a plan. Mrs. Deneaux merely watched every group, a few moments spent studying each one.
“Anything yet?” Gary asked, thankfully coming away from his door handle turning expedition.
“Still locked?” I asked him.
“Yup,” he said straight faced. “And it’s a good thing too.”
“You think?” I asked him.
*
Gary hadn’t been away from the door for more than a few minutes when it looked like it was beginning to bulge out. I thought I was seeing things at first, but it was tough not to hear the groan as the metal of the door began to stretch and pop.
“Incoming!” Brian shouted.
What were individual groups moments previously now became one discombobulated mass.
“Joann, you and Eddy might want to get behind the first line,” I told her, motioning back. She looked terrified but she did it.
For all the pressure the door was under, it was kind of anti-climactic as it swung open gently. But what flooded through more than made up for the lackluster revealing. At first we could keep up with the zombies coming through the choke point. Zombies staggered in by ones and twos, then threes and fours, and like always they began to overrun our suppressive fire. So many zombies and so few bullets. It took me back for a moment to my time in the service when we were in class studying tactics .
When Iran and Iraq had been were having their Holy War (I always wondered if God truly approved of those that died in his name, whether you called him God, Allah, or Buddha, I doubt it. I can’t imagine an omnipotent being creating his children in his image so that they could murder, rape and pillage each other in his name. To me it sounds like a bunch of spoiled brats that were in need of some heavy slapping upside the head. Once upon a time he released the flood waters to purge man, the zombies were the modern version of a scouring. Lord knows we needed it, no pun intended.) Back to my original tangent; if I go off on too many branches, I’ll never find my path home. Iran was losing the war badly, so they did what any civilized country would do, they rounded up one million children, armed them only with the knowledge that Allah awaited them and then sent them in huge waves against the Iraqi machine gun nests.
So a million unarmed children running at full speed across the desert did what the entire Iranian army could not. They overtook the Iraqi positions. Oh, it wasn’t that the Iraqis couldn’t fire upon and kill children, it’s just that they couldn’t fire enough rounds to stop them, and that was what was happening to us. Although I could say I was eternally grateful I was shooting flesh eating zombies rather than innocent children who believed death by machine gun fire was a viable alternative to living in Iran .
We were yielding inches of precious footing on that roof and the zombies were taking feet.
“Hold tight!” I yelled, watching April. She looked like she was going to bolt followed by Joann. Where did the hell they think they were going to go?
Brass flew. I was burned more than a few times as the hot ejecta passed me by. We were so tightly grouped one hand grenade could have taken us all out. My drill sergeant would have kicked my ass if he could see me now. I wondered what happened to him. He was entirely too mean to die, probably scared the shit out of the Reaper when he came to collect him.
I dry fired my rifle, quickly feeling around for a replacement magazine that wasn’t there.
“This sucks!” I shouted to the wind.
Gary looked over. He was placing well aimed shots center mass in the foreheads of our opponents. “What?” he yelled over the din.
“I’m pretty much out of ammo.” I uttered the two words in battle I swore I would avoid at all costs. “Fix bayonets!” “What the hell are you talking about?” BT asked, raising his cheek off of his stock.
I grabbed the Bowie knife I had strapped to my side. I didn’t actually attach it to my rifle; it was just a play on words. Our position was tenuous to say the least. Our backs were against the wall (no, literally, they were). Zombies had completely taken over the roof. Some of the speeders were actually so close that my weapon could be of use. I’d never stabbed anyone in the head, until now that is. I figured a direct thrust into the forehead most likely wasn’t the best idea. I was afraid that if my blade did penetrate, that it would get stuck and then I’d be down to hand-to-mouth combat. Or possibly, if I didn’t get a straight enough push, the blade would glance harmlessly off the thing’s skull. Sure, it would open up a wicked wound and rip the flesh clean off exposing the white bone beneath, but the zombie sure wouldn’t care. I came in sideways striking home through the temple. I’d had a harder time cutting off pats of butter back in the day than I did driving that knife home. If anything, I went too deep scrambling that thing ’s blackened brain matter. It couldn’t drop fast enough as I pulled my knife free.
“That’s pretty gross,” BT said, kicking one of the zombies away before placing a pistol shot in its skull.
We were so tightly packed together at the end, it was tough to tell where I ended and the next body began.
Tracy whispered in my ear, “I’ve always loved you, Mike, even after all these years.” “Even after all my idiosyncrasies?”
“Maybe even more so because of them; they make you who you are.”
“So you pretty much thinking this is the end then?” I asked her as I pulled my blade free from its errant placement in a zombie’s shoulder. Its teeth snapped dangerously close to my hand. Gary blew the side of its face off. Its exposed chattering teeth made it seem that much more dangerous. If it got a hold of my fingers now, I could watch it eat them and swallow. I know that would have been too much.
“You should be more careful Dad,” Travis said, finishing the beast off.
I nodded my head in thanks.
“Just know that I love you,” Tracy said behind me.
“The fat lady isn’t singing just yet,” BT said, eavesdropping on our conversation.
“This is an intimate moment right now, do you mind?” I asked.
“Not at all, take a moment, maybe go find a quiet area,” he said, breathing heavily. He was also out of bullets and was using his rifle as a club.
Thank the stars he was so tall that when he swung, no one needed to duck.
“The fat lady might not be singing yet, but she sure is stuffing her face at the buffet table,” Justin said between rounds.
“Is anyone not listening to our conversation?” I asked the group. I received no response. “Great,” I said sarcastically.
My arms hurt from swinging and I only heard a few shots going off. The roof was covered in the detritus from zombie bodies, so much so I thought the roof might be in danger of collapsing under their combined weight. I knew it was only a matter of time. Nobody ever survives a zombie apocalypse, it just isn’t in the cards. A speeder came up on me so fast I was only able to raise my knife in defense. I watched as his mouth closed down on the blade. His teeth splintered on the cold metal and his lips ripped where they made contact with the sharply honed blade. He shook his head from side to side. I guess he thought that he had struck a particularly tough piece of human gristle and if he shook hard enough and long enough he would be rewarded with the sweet, savory satisfaction of meat.