"Kill that one! He's too close!"
The girl lifted the bat over its head then came down hard, crushing the drooler's skull and sending him to the ground. The boy next to her did the same to a shambling high school girl, smashing her head into smithereens and sending her to the street.
"Not bad for a boy," she said, smiling at him.
"Fuck you, bitch," he said smiling back.
She immediately got down to business smashing one approaching head after the other. Thousands of shamblers were pushing toward them.
"Come on, men," Eliott yelled. "Let's give them something to remember."
The guys jumped to the ground with their rifles fully loaded and began entering the fray.
"Fight hard! Don't let them bite you!" Orren yelled.
Eliott watched Orren. The kid headed straight for a shambler and opened his skull with a single shot. Brains flew from the other side of the drooler's head and he fell backward and didn't move an inch.
"Got you!" Orren yelled. Then he did it to the next and the next. He didn't stop. They were coming at him fast and furious. He stood his ground, but he wasn't stupid about it. When he needed to move away he either ran to the side or withdrew for better advantage then attacked and killed the offending stumbler.
"Way to go, Orren!"
"Right. I'm okay, Eliott. Lost my cherry. I'm ready to go now."
All three hundred soldiers joined with what was left of the high school and the other citizens including the police and a few Amish who had joined the attack. The Amish were generally passive when it came to killing, but evidently these Amish were more than savvy. They were fighting for their way of life and their families. They had been pushed to the wall and had seen enough killing to understand that it was time to do the necessary thing whether or not it seemed right in the eyes of God or of the devil in hell himself. Besides, these beasts were dead. They were only men in form and not in soul. They were deceased. They had no life at all inside them. Bam! The Amish beat them back. Being farmers, they were muscular and strong, brave to the extreme, but cunningly adept in stepping aside to keep from being bitten.
Orren and Eliott fought on the outskirts of the approaching army of what was rapidly becoming thousands and thousands of zombies. People who had been killed and bitten were awakening all hungry and needing to instantly feed themselves on human blood and gore. That is why they were surging forward. They needed to sustain themselves, and this could only be done on the blood and flesh of the living. The dead were of no interest. The dead smelled different. Dead, sort of. But the living had a fragrance that attracted the zombies, because the living had the perfumes of life that a hungry zombie craving sweet human blood and flesh could smell nearly a mile away, then come hunting for them.
Orren snuffed two small boys who were ambling toward him, arms outstretched like he'd seen in a hundred "Revenge of the Mummy" type movies. He smashed their brains in order. Bam! Bam! Then aimed his rifle at a fat lady who came at him with devilish love in her eyes. He squeezed off a fresh bullet into her exploding skull and watched her brains emerging in red pellets from the backside of her head. "Trips to the refrigerator are over, you pig!" Orren yelled into her receding face, "and I ain't going to be your chips and dip, bitch." He laughed out loud and feared he was getting crazier and crazier all the while he was killing these things. All the woman ever wanted probably was to be alone and to stuff her face with goodies. Now, she had died trying to do just that. "Not a bad way to go," Orren thought quietly as he continued to kill others as they staggered into his narrow kill zone. "Not bad at all. She might have died happy, even," he murmured.
Eliott moved toward a group of nine. His rifle was fully loaded as was his personal semi-pistol. He placed the rifle and pistol on their foreheads simultaneously, squeezing them both off and sending them into pellet sized brain spray. He pushed the next two zombies down to the street which was already bathed in blood and stomped their heads into pie plates. Then he placed his gun barrels to the heads of two others. In less than a minute, he had killed all nine of them. He withdrew to reload in a spot where he couldn't be bitten, then ran forward to continue the fight.
Orren and Eliott believed what their guardsman commander had said. This was a fight for survival. What they did here would determine the fate of mankind. Living humans would either kill out all zombies around the world or perish from the infection they carried. Whatever happened, they were all fighting to the death. Neither side was going to stop until they were whipped. As long as they were either alive, as they now were, or were killed in battle and resurrected as hungry killer zombies, they would do their best to kill their enemies. Anyway they looked at it, this kill zone was going to be the toughest assignment they'd ever had. Guns blared, bats cracked, and dead men's teeth tore intestines from the unlucky ones who soon re-emerged as resurrected killers. The trick was to engage, kill, then jump clear to avoid the coming bites.
#
Jensen's Hardware was dead. In fact, it was filled with zombies. They staggered back and forth, their arms always pointing forward for balance. They paced nervously searching for a door through which they might leave to find more humans to kill and eat. They were hungry as could be. They had already eaten all of the people in the store. A few had awakened to join the group. They, too, paced endlessly between the displays of farming and construction tools as though inspecting the goods for a purchase.
Orren and Eliott saw them through the huge plate glass window facing the main drag through town.
"Look, Eliott. There's a bunch of droolers stuck inside."
"We'd better kill them right now while they are contained," Eliott said.
Orren agreed. Bunched up inside the store, they were sitting ducks. In addition, as soon as the two guardsmen entered the store, they figured the zombies would move forward, almost asking to be brain clubbed by the pair.
Eliott opened the door, and the two of them stepped inside. A few zombies moved toward them, and they were instantly dispatched with hammer blows to their skulls. They fell without a whimper. Others took their place, and soon the quarters were getting rather tight, so the soldiers were having a bit of trouble taking their swings. Orren moved to the side wall and began yelling to get the attention of the droolers who immediately turned and began stumbling in his direction. They turned their backs on Orren who immediately began bashing in the back of their heads, immobilizing them forever. Bam. Bam. Bam.
“Clear! Clear! Clear!”
He was clearing the room with each blow. In only a few minutes, the fifty walkers had been decimated to less than twenty zombies, but now they were surrounding Orren, so Eliott took his turn at making noises, banging his rifle on the floor. He stomped, yelled, and got them to instantly turn away from Orren, saving him from being crowded out and severely bitten. Now, it was Orren's turn. He bashed their unprotected heads from the rear same as Eliott had done.
"Clear! Clear! Clear!"
Within a matter of minutes the shamblers were all down.
"Clear!" he called.
Both soldiers slowly walked through the store and poked their way through the dead bodies. A few zombies still contained a modicum of animation, and the men stomped in their fragile heads with boots until their skulls opened like bursting watermelons.
"Clear!"
"Clear!”
“Clear!"
Soon, the floor was red with the blood of their opened skulls. The store had been cleared of the dead zombies completely. They went to the door, opened it, then carefully closed it to insure no more zombies could wander inside to start the process over again.
"Easy as pie," Orren said.
"You did a good job, soldier," Eliott replied.
Orren had passed his test as a soldier. He had found his stomach for war. He was changed forever. Never again would he freeze in a battle against the zombies in Amish town or anywhere else. It didn't matter if the person were a child. If he was infected, he was a dead monkey. Orren would dispatch him r
apidly and with total guardsman and military distinction. General Grayson Andrews would be proud. Orren could see himself wearing a distinguished service medal already. It was only a matter of time before his skills in this area were duly noticed and rewarded. He was on his way now. That was for sure.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Lancaster Lost
Soon it became obvious that Lancaster was too big to be sustained. Sheriff Wilson and his son, Aiden, spoke together as the mass of zombies continued to overwhelm the high schoolers, volunteers, local police, highway patrol, and national guard. The student militia had done its best to contain and wipe out the menace that had destroyed their school and their lives, but the numbers had now swollen so large that it was obvious the town was going to fall. Even the Amish had been turned into zombies, and the bearded ones appeared in more and more numbers along with their children. A new problem was the massing of zombie mad cows, horses, and goats from Amish farms. Dogs and cats were now staggering about and biting whatever moved. They, too, had been bitten and zombified. That meant the plague had even jumped from men into animals. It also jumped from these beasts back into men, because every man bitten by them soon turned into a zombie himself.
"This is going to get even scarier," Sheriff Wilson said to the National Guard.
"We agree," said Eliott and Orren said
The surviving military understood only too well.
"The battle has turned against us,” one of their remaining Lieutenants said.
"Aiden, what do your students suggest?" the sheriff asked his son.
"We need to get what's left of the people, including our families, and head for higher ground. If we disperse, the droolers will have less of a chance to find us. If they do, we will have more room to swing our bats at them and bring them down. Here, they are bunching us up, making it more difficult. Hell, we can't even walk on the street now, because so many bodies are under foot."
"Right," the sheriff said. "As the law man in charge here, I'm going to call for a general and immediate evacuation of Lancaster. We will try to protect those who can't leave, but, if necessary, they should be abandoned to the walking dead, because I don't think we can possibly save the sick and infirm. They are lost already as things now stand. In fact, we will be lucky to get out of here ourselves."
The men voted by verbal assent. The sheriff went to his car and pulled out a police horn. He turned it on. It crackled.
"Testing. Testing."
The sheriff now had their attention. Even the zombies paused. The loudspeaker's volume had mesmerized them.
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is Sheriff Wilson. I am declaring our city unlivable. This is a mandatory evacuation. Everyone is ordered to leave the City of Lancaster. We have done our best, but the numbers of our enemies is increasing so exponentially that all of us are in danger of being entrapped, bitten and infected by them. Some of us need to survive to keep our town and way of life alive. I suggest citizens begin leaving now by moving down the highway and dispersing into the woods and fields. We are faster than the zombies and have the advantage in open land. If you can make it to your homes without being overtaken, I suggest you go there, grab whatever weapons you or your neighbors have and leave the area with them. Take food. Clean out the stores. In a general emergency, which I have just declared you are empowered to take whatever you need from any and all stores. Please be orderly and do not panic. Move out in groups of twenty people to give yourselves some mass for fighting. That way you will be less likely to be overrun. You have been brave in your fight to save Lancaster from these beasts, but there is nothing left to do but stay and die or to evacuate. Dying is not a viable option. It is your duty to do everything you can to survive. We must live on in the hope that we can return here and start our lives again. Now, leave the area as rapidly as you can and disappear into the woods and hills. Find farmhouses in which you can take shelter and fight your enemies. Protect yourselves against all of those who wish you harm. Kill any of you who has been bitten less they reawaken and attack you. Thank you for your service. I am leaving now, and so is the national guard. Good luck, and God speed to you. God save Lancaster, Pennsylvania. I love you all."
The speaker clicked four times and went dead.
The national guard set up automatic weapons and fired into the massive push of the zombie hordes as they emerged upon the area from all directions, mowing down hundreds of them with bullets. The people began to move away rapidly, some grabbing food, ammunition, and supplies from the stores. They said their good byes and formed groups of twenty or more persons as they proceeded through the streets, knocking on doors and telling the people to abandon the city and run. Many did. More didn't. Some of them were too old or too infirm to evacuate. They could only hunker down with their guns and pets and accept whatever fate the zombies would dish out.
#
Aiden and Sheriff Wilson left in the police car. They took as many stragglers as they could place inside the car and on the fenders. They traveled slowly so as to help those sitting on the hood, trunk, and ceiling of the Crown Victoria from falling off. Most of the fellow travelers were kids. They stopped along the way to check out their homes. Some found their families, but others found notes telling them where they had gone and wishing them well.
A half an hour later, leaving many dead shamblers along the way the car reached the sheriff's home. Fifty people had assembled there. The police car and its entourage of additional vehicles had collected an assembly of over one hundred citizens, mostly families and neighbors with enough stones left to run for better cover. Lisa and Beth, upon seeing their father and Aiden were still alive and covered with blood from head to toe, came out and hugged them.
"God, look at the blood!" Lisa said. "How gross!"
"There are others not as lucky to be so gross back there," the sheriff told them. "We left them bitten with crushed heads in the streets and schools where they fell trying to fight or get away."
Beth Wilson hugged her son. "You were very brave to fight them, son," she said. "I am proud of you. I'm sure you have saved many of your buddies and fellow students."
Aiden tried to suppress the tears that had started to flow from his eyes.
"Go inside and shower up," his mother said. "We'll have our last sandwich in our home, then leave with the others. We need some distance between us and the town before nightfall."
"We will head for my brother's house," the sheriff said. His brother was John Wilson. He was a surveyor who loved the wild. Hunting and fishing were his favorite past times. He had always told the sheriff and his family that, if the shit hit the fan, they had a place waiting on his little plot of ground. "After we get there, who knows? It depends. We'll just play it out as it materializes. Maybe the walkers will stay right here in town and not spread out."
"We couldn't be that lucky," said Aiden as he ran through the house and prepared for his last shower at home."
"Who knows? Maybe we are due a miracle. I think we have one coming to be honest," the sheriff said.
At the table, Mrs. Wilson said a prayer. "May the Lord look down upon us with a firm countenance and protect us," she prayed. "May our family survive this plague. May we return here and recover our lives in the future. Amen."
The smell of fires came and went as houses all over the town started to burn. Some of the survivors had set them aflame stuffed with corpses from the block to bury their dead in the ashes. They did not want to leave their crushed heads to the hundreds of maddened, crazed, and infected zombie dogs that were starting to roam the town where they stirred about in hungry packs which stumbled erratically down the sidewalks. Fortunately, they were barely able to move and presented little problem for those with the clubs to kill them.
#
Sheriff Wilson drove his group of twenty citizens to his family's farm twenty miles distant. The procession had grown into a flotilla of seven cars with people, gasoline, and other supplies. This was the sum total of whatever was left of their civilization. The mood was
somber. The survivors were uncertain.
"We must fight to survive from now on," the sheriff said to his wife and children. "We must all do our best and see what happens."
"I feel clean again," Aiden said. "Nothing like fresh clothes on my body." His arms were tired from the fighting. His legs were also tired. The bat swingers in his group had walked a good twelve miles all together during the first day's battle against their dead friends and neighbors.
"It seems so desperate," Lisa said. "Who would have guessed how rapidly things could deteriorate."
"True, Lisa," Beth said. "It's like an army swept in and killed half of us."
"An army did invade," the sheriff said, "but it was made up of our dead friends who suddenly wanted all of us dead as well. It's every man and woman for themselves now. I guess that's the end of law and order."
"I disagree, dad," Aiden said. "It's really just the beginning of law and order. All of us are deputized now. We are standing against them. All of us. That means you have friends all around you. Dad, mom, sister. We are surrounded by close associates. All of us desperate and afraid. All of us willing to fight to the last person for our right to persist on earth."
"That's elegant, son," his father said. "I didn't know you had it in you."
"I had help, dad. I took most of it from your speech back there. You were great. You rose to the occasion. Everyone who heard it would have done whatever you said back there. As much as I generically hate you as every teenager worth his salt should sometimes hate his parents as a matter of growing up and emerging as an adult, I was proud of you."