What will it take to put one of these things down? I have no clue.
Two of the things start fighting over a zombie calf. I watch as this will be a learning lesson; giving me a clue of how they fight, their strengths and weaknesses. Ribbons of muscle hang down from a larger creature, his slightly smaller adversary just recovering from a punch that sent him sprawling to the pavement. The rest of the group isn’t paying any attention to the brawl happening just a few feet away.
The larger one suddenly folds over as if it had been punched in the stomach. The smaller one, upon rising, hadn’t moved a muscle. An impossibly darker stain forms and runs down the front of the larger one’s jacket.
Blood? Is it bleeding?
I quickly glance at the others, expecting to see one of them holding a weapon. They are continuing to feast on the corpses, growling and tearing flesh. I hadn’t heard a thing and, slowly moving my head so I don’t attract attention from a sudden movement, begin searching the bridge and surrounding area. There isn’t a sign of anyone around or a tell-tale wisp of smoke that would indicate a weapon had been fired.
Looking back to the two brawlers, I see the smaller one’s hand is upraised. I don’t see it holding anything, yet it must have shot. I don’t have the slightest clue how. The larger one collapses to the ground after being struck in the head with some kind of projectile.
Is it possible these things have the ability to produce a projectile like that? That’s some scary shit if they can.
The smaller one steps over the fallen one, pulls the calf from its chattering teeth, and begins eating. Twenty minutes later, having finished with the food they brought with them, they turn and begin tearing into the remains of their traveling companion. That’s worse than the night runners or zombies, neither of which eats their own. My only hope at this point is that lunch is over and they’ll continue on their way. Nope.
Of course not, I think, watching them move about to find spots to settle into. Is it nap time?
Looking around at the sparse cover, my position looks to be one of the more prime locations for a nap.
Dammit! I think, not relishing the idea of going into a fight without having a clue about my adversary.
I had to learn about night runners the hard way, the different kinds of zombies as well. I’m just not in the learning mood at the moment.
Michael Talbot — Journal Entry 10
“Fuck.”
They wouldn’t leave, and the sounds of their wet eating were enough to make me want to shoot them. I dared a small look over the edge and saw one of the monsters on the ground. It was dead; the hole in the top of its skull was all the indication I needed to as confirmation. Lucy was gone. All of her clothes, bones, teeth, jewelry (if she had any) were now resting comfortably in the digestive systems of the nightmares below me. Zombies were a horrible affliction that plagued at least my reality of the world.
What had the poor bastards of this realm done to deserve this fate? Were these some ancient creature unearthed from the depths of the world by a mining exploration gone too deep?
That would explain the striation of color and their adverse feelings about the sun. They had no eyes or ears that I could see, yet they had to have some form of navigation if they were riding motorcycles around.
Echo-location maybe?
Their food was just about gone and I hoped they would be as well. When I didn’t hear the motorcycles start up, I dared another look down. Like a grandfather after Thanksgiving turkey, they were looking for places to lie down. Jack was in a world of shit. He was standing in soft grass and in the shade with a bridge support that would be ideal to rest against. His spot would soon be compromised. I thought about reaching out and letting Trip know what was going on, but I didn’t have that kind of time. I had to strike while the iron was hot. I inched my way back and felt much better when my feet touched the concrete pad. I’d never been a fan of heights. I hadn’t taken more than two steps when I heard this high pitched whistle that was almost beyond the range of my hearing. I knew the cry of an alarm, no matter what language was being used.
Jack Walker — Timing is Everything
So, if they decide that my current position is prime real estate, I only have a few choices. Remain here where there is a semblance of cover, make a run up the pad to get into the under-bridge structure, or head out into the fields. The bridge is out as that would mean that Mike and Trip would get caught. If that happens, they’re as good as dead. That leaves the fields, where I might find some concealment and the ability to maneuver freely, or here, where I’d have some cover against whatever it is they shoot.
Glancing to where I know Mike and Trip are concealed, I see Mike’s legs swing down.
What in the fuck are you doing? I think. Is he getting the hell out of here? I can’t say I’d blame him if he is. The least I can do is provide some cover fire for him to make his escape. Where in the hell is Trip?
My head suddenly threatens to explode as I hear a piercing whistle-like sound race through my skull.
“Thirty yards, Jack. I need thirty yards!” Mike shouts.
It takes me a moment to figure out what in the hell he means. Then it hits me harder than the whistle-like sound. The RPG he’s carrying needs thirty yards in order to arm itself and Mike needs time to gain some distance. It’s one of those idiot-proof devices meant to keep a soldier from firing into a nearby wall and blowing up his squad. Trust me, it’s there for a reason.
I whip around the corner of the stanchion, bringing my M-4 to bear. One of the things is not more than five yards away, focusing all of its attention on Mike. Not knowing what it takes to bring down one of these creatures, but also understanding that there are quite a few of them, I flip the selector switch to auto, and fire a burst. It’s hard to miss anything when my barrel is damn near in its face. The three suppressed rounds hit in quick succession. The thing’s head vibrates around the bullets like I’d fired into a bowl of Jell-O, and a black liquid sprays outward, obscuring my vision for a split-second.
Behind the creature, more of the viscous substance jets out from its head, coating another that is following closely. The creature in front drops straight to the ground like I’d cut its legs off. I don’t have to move my barrel more than a few millimeters before triggering another burst into the second one. The bullets seem to be absorbed into its head rather than actually impacting. However, it too drops to the grass. I don’t care how it happens as long as that’s the result. The black liquid, which I assume is their form of blood, soaks into the ground, leaving a mark like someone poured a bucket of oil on the spot.
Seeing the creatures can be brought down like others, I select ‘semi’ on the selector switch. I can’t imagine it’s going to take them much longer to figure out I’m here, suppressed shots or not. The underside of a bridge isn’t exactly conducive to containing noise to a minimum. Placing my small red crosshair on the third closest creature, who was looking for its napping blanket. I fire, sending a round into its head. It falls to the side as the round passes through and ricochets off the pavement.
Pieces of concrete splinter near my head as projectiles slam into the support structure, letting me know that I’ve been noticed.
“That’s thirty! That’s thirty!” I yell.
I honestly can’t spare the time to measure it correctly, but, glancing quickly, the distance looks about right. The monsters have given up their search for a place to rest and are now racing toward my location, and, as I suspected, they are doing so rapidly. It’s now or never.