Training Day
This was the first of three short stories that I wrote to go with my Zombie Trilogy. It was written for my best friend as a Christmas gift back in 2011.
I have presented this short story as is. It has already gone through two edits, but there will be bits and pieces that I missed here and there, so sorry about that.
I hope you enjoy it!
This was the first of three short stories that I wrote to go with my Zombie Trilogy. It was written for my best friend as a Christmas gift back in 2011.
I have presented this short story as is. It has already gone through two edits, but there will be bits and pieces that I missed here and there, so sorry about that.
I hope you enjoy it!
Chris Van Deelen is the author of the Skirmisher Publishing LLC sourcebook Creatures of the Tropical Wastes sourcebook and co-author of its Wisdom from the Wastelands game supplement.
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Dry-scrubbing his face, Jack looked out across the vast expanse of the Wainwright military base. The sky was completely black, broken only by the diamond-like twinkling of the distant stars that shone in the early morning sky.
The burly man stretched and heard the familiar snapping of tendons stretched to their limits. It was a feeling that he enjoyed and the cold, crisp April air helped bring him to full wakefulness. He glanced down at the watch and noticed that it was only a scant few minutes past 5 AM. He couldn’t help but smile. Back before the Rising began, he was used to waking up early to get to his former job. Since the fall of civilization and the race to escape the city, he found that he was getting up earlier and earlier each day.
Normally on a day like this he and his new friends would be heading out into the ‘wilds’ as they were now known as. The land beyond the gate and patrolled fences that kept the walking dead at bay. He and his friends were just one of many teams that scrounged the outlying communities, farms and highways for food and other necessities that kept the huge and overcrowded base alive.
Today was different though. A man he had only met about a month before, and had become close friends with named Mike Harris had been wounded only a few days before. He barely escaped being shot in the face with his life. Fortunately for him, the wound was nothing more than a graze. Unsightly and painful to be certain, but thankfully not life threatening.
As a result, the team was given downtime. It was something that they all needed, as they had been hitting the ‘wilds’ almost every day. The downtime didn’t last long however. One of the other members of the team, a former fire fighter named Eric Stone had been approached by one of the bases surviving NCO’s and had been asked a favour.
Consider the fact that they had relative safety, food and medical care, Eric had brought the group together and told them what they had been asked to do. In reality, it was a no brainer, and it was also something that they needed to do anyhow.
Jack clapped his hands together and then shifted the weight of the compound bow and quiver over his shoulder so that it sat more comfortably. He heard a slight noise behind him and turned, his hand already reaching for the .357 magnum revolver that he had begun to carry. He relaxed as soon as he saw the familiar outline of his young wife.
“Baby, I thought you were asleep,” He said into the quite morning air.
His young wife came up and smiled up at him. “Our daughter is asleep, and I couldn’t let you go without saying goodbye.” She was a pretty young woman with a cherubic smile and dark brown eyes. Her hair was completely hidden by the Hijab she wore but it did nothing to hide her natural beauty.
Jack smiled and shook his head. “Thanks, but you should get your rest. All things considered, it’s going to be a fairly easy day.” He scratched his beard and gazed out across the open parade ground to the well-lit fence line a few hundred meters away. Even at this time of the morning he could see the patrols walking along the line, watching out for the inevitable shambler, who was attracted to the huge life force present at the base.
"I’ll go back to bed once you’re gone. Besides, our baby just got to sleep about an hour ago; she hopefully will be out for several more hours,” She took his hand in hers and together the young couple turned away from the barracks they had been calling home for nearly a month now and made their way across the compound to the motor-pool.
It, unlike the rest of the base, was already a beehive of activity. Many teams were already assembled and loading up into the various trucks and other vehicles they would use to travel into the wilds. As Jack and Maha approached, two figures broke off from the chaos of the preparation and came towards them.
The lead figure was a large man, even bigger than Jack. He was dressed in blue jeans and had wore a heavy leather jacket. The man had an old Fire Axe strapped across his back and had a handgun strapped to his hip. He walked with a barely noticeable limp. The second man was significantly smaller and wore an old fedora on top of his brown hair. He too was dressed in jeans and a leather jacket. Like the first figure he had a handgun strapped to his hip but appeared to be carrying no other weapons.
The larger man struck out his hand and Jack clasped it in his own, giving it a good firm shake. “Morning Eric, morning Harold.” He said, addressing the two men.
“Hey, Jack. Ready to do this?” Eric asked. Harold nodded his own greeting while attempting to stifle a yawn.
Jack smiled. “It should be fun!”
Maha smacked her husband on the back. “Take this seriously!” She chided him.
Eric laughed. “Oh, we will be. Nothing more serious than teaching others how to survive against the zed’s.”
“I don’t understand it though,” She continued, looking puzzled.
“What don’t you understand?” Eric asked, one eyebrow raised and he looked over at Jack who just shrugged.
She sighed. “Why you and the others are taking a bunch of survivors out into the uncontrolled area to teach them to fight the undead. Shouldn’t that be something the soldiers should teach? They’re trained fighters after all.”
Jack looked at his wife, a strange expression on his face. He stepped up to her and took the young woman in his arms. “Why didn’t you ask this before?”
She shrugged in his arms and held on tightly. “I didn’t want to discourage you, that’s all. I know that this is important to you.”
Eric cleared his throat, gaining the young couple’s attention. “It was discussed at length, believe me. The soldiers have way too much to contend with right now, keeping the zed’s in check and running escort as well as helping out where they can. They’re stretched thin and many are suffering from the side effects of stress and exhaustion. We have had plenty of experience dealing with the shamblers, and as such we are expendable when it comes to teaching others.”
Horrified, Maha put her hand to her mouth. “Expendable?”
“No, no, sorry!” Eric held up his hands in placation. “That was a terrible choice of words. I meant that we’re the ones who have the time and the experience that we can pass onto others who haven’t had much experience in dealing with the zombies.”
She didn’t look convinced.
Jack decided to intervene. “Honey, it’s really this simple. You’d be amazed at how people react to the shamblers. We figure that’s why there are so many of them. People just freeze up and make some pretty stupid mistakes that could be easily avoided if they only used common sense and kept their wits about them.”
She looked up into her husband’s deep brown eyes. “It’s really easy to freeze up when you see your best friend or a loved one coming at you, ready to tear your throat out.”
“That’s for sure, and we’re lucky that we didn’t have to deal with anything like that,” Jack conceded. “But again, you’d be surprised at how often people do stupid things. So we’re taking a group out in a fairly controlled environment to teach them what to do, and what to look out for.”
“In the wilds?” She said, not bothering to hide the incredulous tone of her voice.
“Not quite. We’re just heading into the town proper. It’s patrolled and most of the zed’s have been cleared out. The military has managed to wrangle up quite a few of the creatures and has put them in an old farm house o the edge of the town. It’s our job to take a group in and destroy the zed’s, while teaching the other survivors how to do it quickly and efficiently.”
Harold stood off to the side and was busy reading a magazine. He looked up on the occasion but didn’t add anything to the conversation.
Jack sighed. “Honey, let’s just let it drop. What we’re doing is going to help other people survive all that much longer, and who knows, we might even learn a thing or two ourselves while we’re at it. It’s funny to think that it’s been just over a month since all this shit started, and we’re considered to be seasoned veterans.”
“It’s true; we’ve probably destroyed several hundred zeds between everyone in our group,” Eric said.
“Just be careful, ok?” Maha practically pleaded.
“We’re always careful. After all, I have you and our baby to come home to, don’t forget,” Jack smiled down at his nervous wife.
“Morning, everyone,” A voice called out from the darkness. A second later pair of young men stepped out of the shadows and into the well-lit ground of the motor pool. The speaker was a young man of about sixteen or seventeen. He had short cropped dark brown hair. It was so dark a shade of brown that it was nearly black and his piercing hazel eyes took in everything as he approached. The young man was dressed in a heavy denim jacket and blue jeans and wore a pair of ankle hugging sturdy work boots. He had a heavy machete strapped to his hip and had a Glock 22 resting on the opposite side.
The second figure was a young Filipino man, maybe a year or two older than the speaker. He had a haunted look about him and was wearing black jeans and a matching black jacket. He had a long sword strapped across his back and a couple of hunting knives were belted to his legs. A black watch-cap rested upon his short cropped hair. He nodded in way of greeting.
“Morning, Roger.” Eric smiled. “How’s your dad doing?”
The younger man shrugged. “He’s out like a light. Mom’s been watching him though, and there is no sign of infection.”
Eric nodded, pleased at the news. He looked at the other young man that was standing next to Roger. “Bryan, right?”
The young Filipino nodded. “Yes sir. When are we going to hit the road?”
Eric shook his head. “Can the sir, Bryan. Call me Eric.”
“Ok.”
“We will be heading out in about fifteen minutes. We’re just waiting for the other trainee’s to show up.”
Nervously, Bryan fingered the hilt of one of the blades strapped to his leg. “Do I get a handgun?” He asked.
Jack shook his head. “Sorry Bryan, but not until you’ve been certified with one on the firing range.”
It looked as if the young Filipino was about to argue with him, but then Bryan just nodded. He had been on the shooting range several times with the rest of the trainee’s and some of the soldiers. His scores were not up to snuff and it would be a while before he was allowed to carry a handgun or rifle into the field. At the moment, he was more a danger to those around him than he would be to any undead.
Roger came up to stand next to Jack, Harold and Eric. It was clear that the young Harris was more than comfortable with the others in the way that he stood, relaxed and yet alert. It was clear that the young man had ample confidence.
About five minutes into it, Maha gave Jack one last kiss before excusing herself to go check on their daughter. “Be careful, please!” She said as they parted.
“Your husband’s in good hands,” Eric promised. “We’ll make it back in one piece.”
Maha paused for only a second. “I know. Allah is watching over you.” She turned and walked back towards the barracks where they were staying.
For the next ten minutes the group stood together, making small talk as the other trainees slowly began to trickle in. Jack and the others were to take a group of six out into the town of Wainwright to the designated building. They still had to be careful, as despite the fact that the town, abandoned since shortly after civilization collapsed and the surviving residents moved onto the base was patrolled on a regular basis, the zombies still managed to sneak in undetected.
Finally the last of the trainees arrived, a big bald man who had the look of a biker about him and practically oozed menace. He was dressed in black cargo pants and had a beaten leather jacket on, which was open to reveal a white t-shirt. The man was carrying a black cowboy hat in one hand and there was a pair of sunglasses hanging from the neck of the shirt. He had a pair of battered and worn cowboy boots on and was armed with a huge .44 revolver, something that looked like it belonged in a Dirty Harry movie. A large hunting knife was strapped to his right thigh.
The man paused only for a second and stared directly at Eric, as if in challenge. The other man started to bristle and it was clear that Eric was ready to start something when Jack stepped between them and turned to face the man. “Is there a problem here?” He asked, putting as much confidence and authority as he could in his voice.
The bald man shook his head. “No.”
Eric didn’t look convinced, but he was more than happy to allow Jack to intercede. He had seen the big man before, and knew that the survivor had arrived maybe the day before. There was something about the man he just didn’t like but couldn’t place his finger on what it was.
Jack didn’t move. “What’s your name?”
“Cam.”
Jack nodded. “Ok Cam, why don’t you and the others get into the back of the Avalanche? It’ll be cold, but it’s only a short drive into the town and the farm house we’ll be using as practice.”
Eric was already in the driver’s seat of the battered Avalanche truck. The vehicle had seen a lot of action over the past several weeks and bore fresh dents and damage from a run in with a group of Marauders. The gangsters, a group of misfit bikers had been holed up on a fairly secure farm and had been ambushing and killing other survivors, while taking the women to be used as slaves and worse. Eric, Mike, Harold, Jack, and Roger had been responsible for taking out the entire gang and freeing the captives.
It was in that action that Mike had been shot and nearly killed.
Harold and Roger climbed into the back seat of the truck while the rest clamoured over the tailgate and took up position in the bed. They had fairly comfortable seats to sit on, and Eric wasn’t about to break any land speed records getting them to the farm house that they were going to use for training purposes.
Jack leaned out from the passenger side of the Avalanche and took in the sight. “Everyone ready?”
The six people nodded or gave him the thumbs up. A second later he closed the door and buckled himself into the seat. Turning to Eric he nodded. “We’re good to go.”
Eric grinned back and put the Avalanche in gear. In a handful of minutes they were passed the gate and on the highway that lead to the town of Wainwright. Jack marvelled at how strange it was, driving through the darkness and not seeing any of the tell-tail lights of the town. Power had failed completely only a few weeks into the rising and with all things considered, probably wouldn’t be coming back on anytime soon.
The sun was just starting to light the horizon when they reached the outskirts of the deserted town. Jack glanced over his shoulder into the back of the truck and could see the dark figures of the trainees huddled against the chill of the morning. Even though winter was past and it was officially spring, weather during April in Alberta could be considered sketchy at best. Only a few days they had been caught in a spring snowstorm, only to have the weather change so drastically that by the time they returned to the base, all the snow had melted and it was a beautiful spring day.
Eric drove slowly can carefully through the all but deserted town of Wainwright. It had been one of the first places the scavenger teams had hit and it had been thoroughly cleaned out of all food and goods that the soldiers and civilians in the military base would have needed.
The occasional home showed weak light filtering through the boarded up windows, as despite the danger, some of the citizens had decided to stay in their homes and risk the undead that frequented the city. There had been discussion among the officers and civilian leaders inside the military base to force the people from their homes onto the base for their own safety, but after a heated debate, that proposal had been tossed out the window.
It was decided to allow those stubborn, foolish, or just plain stupid enough that wanted to stay in their homes to allow them to do so. After all, they did have a modicum of safety from the frequent patrols that came through the town to clear out the wandering zombies.
Their destination was on the other side of the town, where a few of the zombies had been captured and corralled into a dilapidated old farm house which had been incorporated into the town as it continued to expand and grow. The farm, including a barn and a large number of out buildings stood silent in the early dawn. It was a majestic two story affair, including a cement basement and a sub-cellar with a coal room accessible from the outside.
Large placards were posted at intervals along the fence line of the farm. Each one was printed in large block letters exclaiming ‘warning, zombies inside, do not enter.’ Eric stopped the Avalanche next to the large gate that was set into the fence. He clapped Jack on the shoulder. “Get the gate, will ya?”
Jack nodded and unbuckled his seat belt. He opened the door and jumped to the ground, his hand resting on the butt of the .357 magnum revolver he carried there. He took a quick look at the people settled in the back of the truck and then walked over to the gate. A few seconds later he had it opened and the Avalanche pulled through into the yard. The young man closed the gate behind the truck and latched it, making sure that it was secured. As he approached the truck, the trainees were jumping and climbing out of the vehicle and were moving over to stand in front of Eric.
Jack noted that Roger, Mike’s son, was standing on the left of Eric. Jack, being part of the group decided that he would stand on Eric’s right. For the time that he had been part of the team, he noted that Eric and Mike shared the responsibility of leadership for the group equally. Now that Mike was laid up from his injuries, Eric took over the leadership role.
Once Jack had joined them, Eric cleared his throat to get the trainee’s attention. “Ok, listen up people. We’re going to be going into this old farmhouse to train you how to deal with the undead. Pay close attention folks because what we tell you will save your lives in the future.”
The small group nodded and murmured their agreement. Jack’s eyes scanned the faces of each and every one of the trainees. Some of what they were about to teach the group was just common knowledge. Other tidbits of hard-won information they were about to pass on had only recently come to light through painful experience. Jack noted excitement, eagerness and fear etched into most of the faces before them, although he didn’t like the sullen look that was resting prominently on Cam’s face. There was something about that man he didn’t like, or trust.
Harold yawned and blew into his hands to warm them from the early morning chill. He too looked over the group and was the first to speak up. “I know what you’re thinking.”
Eric cocked an eyebrow, but didn’t interrupt.
“You’re wondering why we’re out at such an ungodly time of the morning.”
There were a few nods of agreement.
“We’re not always going to have the luxury of being well rested or alert. You never know when you’re going to face off against danger. We’re all tired and still want to be at home asleep, so this will be more of a true learning experience.” Harold told the group.
Jack was impressed. Harold was always off his rocker, but on the occasion he did show true insight.
Seeing that Harold was finished, Eric took over. “Your first lesson will be how to deal with an unknown and unsecured building.” Eric paused and looked the group over. “What’s the one thing that we know attracts the zed’s like moths to a flame?”
The young man named Bryan, Roger’s friend, held up his hand. “Sound?”
Eric nodded. “Very good. We know that the zed’s are attracted to sound, typically gunfire or screams works the best. But any loud noise will work as well.”
Jack picked up the thread. “So what we’re going to do first is get the attention of the roamers inside the building. The door was left unlocked but barred from the outside,” He indicated with his thumb the farmhouse behind them. “First thing you will always do whenever you enter a building is open the door quickly and stand to the side. Make sure that someone is covering you and the door if at all possible. We’ve seen through experience that many of the zed’s will stand at a door for hours, sometimes days at a time without moving, just waiting for someone to open it.”
“Exactly,” Eric concurred. “Once the door is clear and you don’t see any targets, then, as long as it’s a single building and you know the area around you is relatively secure, make noise. Call out, shout, what have you. This will attract the attention of the undead inside the building, and they will come to you.”
One of the trainees put up his hand. He was a man in his late thirties who had a pronounced beer gut and was balding. What remained of his hair was dark brown, to the point of being nearly black. He was dressed in blue jeans and had on a battered leather jacket. He had a shotgun slung over his shoulders and carried a pair of large serrated knives on his hips. “I thought that sound attracted zombies, isn’t that a dangerous thing to do?”
Jack nodded before Eric could answer. “You have to know when you want to use this particular tactic. Not many of you will ever be going back to the larger cities, so most of the time you’ll be entering single or small clusters of buildings. In this case, since we’re going into a single dwelling, getting the zed’s to come to you is a good thing.”
“But,” Eric held up his hand. “Use your own judgement! If you and your friends are out in the wilds, inspecting a farmhouse or other building, then this tactic works great. If however, you’re inside a town infested with the undead, or worse yet, inside a city, this particular tactic won’t work in your favor.”
Another one of the trainees held up her hand for attention. She was a pretty young woman in her early twenties. She was dressed in light brown khaki pants, cowboy boots, and a heavy light brown sweater. She was armed with a baseball bat that had been studded with nails and had a battered meat cleaver on a makeshift sling. “What weapons should we use?”
“Try to stick to melee weapons, if you can.” Eric answered. “As the weeks go by, you’ll find that ammunition for your firearms will become scarce. Try to keep your firearms for the sprinters. Generally the shamblers are not too difficult to take out, as long as you keep your wits about you.”
Jack looked at Harold, who was now standing over by the Avalanche. The small man was scanning the yard around them, looking for signs of movement. Jack leaned back and in a quiet voice addressed Roger. “Hey, any idea how many tango’s we’re dealing with inside this building?”
The younger Harris shook his head. “Forgot to ask, but Eric knows.”
“Once you’ve managed to bring the zombies to you, take them out quickly and make damn sure that they’re truly dead! Destroy the heads, totally wreck the brains. I’ve seen zombies hit in the skull and appear to be taken out only to rise again as soon as live meat was within their grasp.” Warned Eric.
“Once those who could reach you have, enter the building. Do not let your guard down, not for a second, and approach every single closed door with caution. The zombies can smash their way through doors and thin walls, given enough time, but if they don’t sense anything living on the other side, they often will just wander away or just stand there. Never, ever assume that your safe until every nook and cranny has been checked and double checked.” Jack concluded.
Eric watched the crowd as they mulled over what they had been told. “Any questions?”
Bryan held up his hand. “How about closets?”
“Just because it’s not a full sized room, never let your guard down. It could be a closet in a kid’s room. Plenty of people who were bitten decided to hide in closets and ended up dying there. Treat every single closed door as if it was holding back a sprinter, no exceptions!”
Jack stepped forward. “One more thing… watch where you step. Zombies could easily be covered by a bed, or lying on the floor behind a couch or other furniture. Many of the undead have lost the use of their legs and have to move around using their hands and arms. Make sure that you keep your legs and ankles away from any potential threat.”
Jack shrugged his shoulders and worked a kink out of his back. “Think that pretty much covers it?”
Eric nodded. “For now, we’ll cover more once we’ve taken out the tango’s.” He looked over the heads of the small group of trainees and called out. “Harold, watch our backs, ok?”
The smaller man waved in assent.
“Roger, Jack and I will demonstrate what to do, so pay attention!” Eric told the gathered group of trainees. Together the three men walked over to the farm house and climbed the three steps to the porch. The door was hinged to open inward, so Roger took position to the right, Eric stood directly in front, and Jack stood on the left. Eric had his fire axe in one hand, and Jack hand unslung his bow. He had an arrow held against the drawstring, ready to pull back and fire at a moment’s notice. Roger held his father’s heavy machete at the ready.
Seeing the other two men were prepped, Eric reached out and removed the board that was keeping the door closed. He leaned it against the side of the house and then carefully turned the knob and pushed the door open.
The trainees watching held their collective breaths, and when no zombies came rushing out to attack, they blew out in collective relief. Roger grabbed a small Maglite flashlight from inside his jacket and he turned it on to reveal an empty corridor with several openings leading off to the left and right.
The trio stood stock still, hardly breathing. After nearly half a minute had passed, Eric stepped across the threshold into the interior of the building. He whacked the blade of the axe against the wall several times and called out in a deep baritone; “Hey, fuck heads, we’re down here, come and get some!”
Almost instantly they heard a hunger filled moan come from the first opening just to the right. From where they stood, they figured it must be the living room. Eric stepped back from the entrance and backed away. The sound of heavy footsteps followed him as he left the old farmhouse. They waited for what seemed like minutes but in reality only a handful of seconds passed when the first undead creature appeared.
Jack had to wonder if the figure might not have been the original owner of the house. A massive zombie stepped across the threshold into the hallway. It had to be at least six and a half feet in height and was dressed in a dirty, blood caked pair of overalls. The tattered remains of the flannel shirt could still be seen hanging off the creatures arms. In life, the man must have weighed in excess of three hundred pounds, but in death the bloating had caused the stomach to expand and burst through the skin. Rotting entrails could be seen squeezing through the side of the old overalls and the stench was ungodly.
Despite having grown used to the smell of rot and death over the past few weeks, the stink took everyone by surprise. Instinctively Jack raised his hand to cover his mouth and nose and then dropped it back down to grip the arrow he had notched against the bowstring as the zombie took several ponderous steps towards the group.
Much to everyone’s surprise, the zombie stopped at the entrance to the house and threw its head back and actually roared out in defiance. Jack and Eric looked at one another and then Jack drew back the string and let the arrow fly.
It struck the zombie directly through the mouth as it continued to roar. The hunting head of the arrow punched through the back of the zombie’s throat and severed the brain stem from the spine. The roaring stopped as if someone had hit the off button and the undead farmer toppled backwards, and hit the floor of the house with a resounding thud. The creature weighed so much that Jack could feel the floorboards of the porch shudder beneath the soles of his boots.
The silence that followed lasted for several heartbeats before Roger finally spoke up. “Wow, I didn’t know they had any sprinters in there.”
Eric corrected the younger man. “That wasn’t a sprinter.”
Jack cocked his head to the side and pulled another arrow from the quiver that rested along his back. “I’ve never seen a zombie that roared like that. That was something only the sprinters usually did.”
The conversation was quickly cut off as several more zombies appeared from the openings in the hall. They were both male, both in their mid to late forties, and also had the appearance of farmers. Jack wasn’t surprised by that fact, as they were out in the middle of rural Alberta, and he knew that the soldiers never used their own for these training exercises. Any solider who fell had a bullet put between their eyes and were brought back to the base for cremation.
The two undead shambled across the hall and stopped when they reached the body of the massive farmer. The stared down at the corpse and one of the zombies prodded it with the toe of his boot, as if encouraging the undead farmer to get off his lazy ass and join them. When their former companion didn’t budge, the two zombies awkwardly attempted to clamour over the body. One of the two somehow managed to get its foot tangled up in the spilled intestines of the massive creature and fell flat on its face, while the other clumsily stepped past the body.
Before Eric could act, Jack drew back the bowstring and let another arrow fly. The shaft flew straight and punched through the zombie’s right eye with so much force that the arrow completely penetrated the undead man’s head and sailed straight into the house, where it hit the wall at the end of the hall with so much excess force that it was buried almost halfway up the shaft.
Eric nodded in approval as he hefted his axe and stepped up to the fallen zombie. He casually swung the battered fire axe over his shoulder and brought it down with enough force to split the undead creature’s skull like a ripe melon.
Together, Jack, Eric and Roger stood on the stoop, waiting for more to appear. Jack leaned in after almost a minute had passed and quietly asked Eric; “how many are we supposed to find in there?”
“I was told nine,” he said through the corner of his mouth. “Three on the main floor, three more trapped in the second floor rooms, and the final three in the basement. One is supposed to be a crawler, so we really have to be careful when we head downstairs.”
Jack nodded.
The six trainees joined them at the foot of the stairs. “So, there you have it, three shamblers and not one got close enough to even consider biting.”
“I have a question,” Bryan said, coming to stand next to his friend Roger. The young Filipino nervously fingered one of the two knives he had strapped to his hips.
“Ask away,” Eric encouraged. “Never feel afraid to ask a question. You won’t sound stupid and seriously, what you don’t know can and probably will get you killed.”
Bryan swallowed and nodded. Even in the cool morning air, Jack could see that a thin sheen of sweat covered the young man’s face. He was scared shitless, that much was obvious. “Ok,” he finally said in a quiet voice. “Why didn’t you just boot stomp that zombie when it fell to the ground? A couple of years ago I played a game called Dead Island, and in order to keep my weapons from getting worn out, one of the options you had was to smash the skull of a zombie in with your boots.”
Jack decided that he would field that one. “First, this isn’t a game. This is real life now, as strange as that sounds. Your weapon will not deteriorate the way it will in a video game. Yes, you will have to keep your blades sharpened and you’ll have to clean the blood and gore off them after you kill a zombie, but they won’t break if you’re careful, not like in that game.”
He paused to make sure what he was saying sunk in. He could see nods of assent from the other trainees. “That’s not a bad way to kill a zombie, if it’s on the ground, mind you.” He looked down at the creature that Eric had taken out. The former fire fighter was listening as he absently wiped the blade of the axe clean with a rag.
“But doing that has its dangers as well. The skull is pretty damn tough, and you would have to use a lot of force to crush it.” He looked down at the split cranium of the zombie. “However, if you did manage to crush the skull in such a manner, you have a pretty good chance of cutting your foot or ankle with the bones. They can get pretty sharp, and unless you’re wearing top of the line reinforced boots, ones with steel toes and shanks, the bone fragments could pierce your footwear, and then it’s all over but the crying.”
A shudder ran through the young man and he turned to stare down at the zombie. “I never thought of that.”
Eric dropped the rag that he had been using the clean the head of the axe and turned to face the young Filipino. “That’s ok; it was a good question that needed to be addressed. But Jack’s totally right about the risks. We know that if you get their blood or flesh into your body, you’re instantly infected or whatever it is and that just like getting bit, you will die and rise. It’s not worth taking the risk unless you have absolutely no other recourse.”
Eric looked at the group of six trainees. “Any other questions?”
No one spoke up. “We’re going to split into three groups; each will be led by myself, Roger, and Jack.” He looked out over the group to see if there were any questions or possible reservations to this arrangement. When he saw none, he split them up. He placed Bryan and the young woman with Roger, took two of the others to go with him, and left Cam and the middle aged man with the beer belly to Jack.
Once the trainees joined the men they were assigned to, Eric nodded his approval. “Roger will finish clearing the main floor, I’ll take the second story and Jack will have the fun of clearing out the basement. Make sure that you have your weapons out and ready at all times! Do not let your guard down for a second. We haven’t had anyone bit or die on these runs and I don’t want us to be the first.”
Roger motioned to Bryan and the young woman and together the three of them removed the three corpses that were blocking the entrance. The massive zombie turned out to be rather difficult, but they finally managed to pull it off the porch. They unceremoniously dumped the corpses onto the unkempt front lawn of the old farm house, making sure that they were not blocking the exit. The last thing anyone needed was to trip over the body of a zombie while trying to run away from a sprinter or a hoard.
Everyone drew their weapons. Jack decided to put away his bow. It wouldn’t be easy to use the weapon inside the house so he decided that he would stick to using his .357 magnum revolver and the knife that he had grown accustomed to carrying with him. He drew the revolver and checked to ensure that the safety was on and then flipped open the weapon, double checking that each chamber held a round.
The sullen man named Cam watched him. He spoke up for the first time in what seemed like hours but had only been minutes. “You know how to use that?”
Jack eyed the man. Why had Eric assigned that prick to me, he wondered. “Yeah, I do. Why?”
Cam shook his head. “You just don’t look like the kind of man who is used to using a handgun, that’s all.”
The burley young man guessed it had something more to do with his mixed heritage. The Mediterranean half of his parentage was quite obvious and he also understood that many people, especially the red necks that were all too common on the prairies wouldn’t see a young man trying to make his way in life and provide for his family. All they would see would be his heritage and the fact that he was a Muslim and would automatically hate him for it. He knew a racist asshole when he saw one and he figured that this bald prick was one of them. “Whatever,” Jack said testily. He looked at the other man. “You ready?”
The middle aged man with the beer belly nodded. He hefted the baseball bat in his hands. “Ready.”
They waited until Roger took his two charges into the house. One by one the younger Harris and his companions announced each room to be clear. They took their time in doing so, checking every corner, making sure that there was no place that a zombie could hide. The nine people were in no rush, and after all, they did have the entire day to clear out the house. No one wanted to get bit or injured. By the time Roger had announced the main floor was clear the sun had fully risen and had bathed the farmhouse in glorious, bright warmth.
Eric and his two charges were the next to enter the building. Because Eric already knew the layout for the farm house, he took them straight to the staircase that led to the second story. Finally it was Jack’s turn to enter. He had the basement and his heart hammered in his chest. He hoped that the crawler was on the second floor, but he knew deep down in his guts that he would be the one to have to deal with it. He stopped only long enough to make sure that his boots were securely tied and that the heavy leather was wrapped around his ankle and lower calf. He didn’t want a lucky bite to put an end to his life.
Even though Roger and his trainees were securing the main level of the old farm house, Jack still proceeded with caution. He paused at every opening, carefully peering around the corner to make sure that it was indeed clear. There had been plenty of times in the past where one or more of the undead had managed to make their way from either the upper story or the basement and had proven to be an unexpected surprise. Jack glanced over at his two charges. “Diligence. No matter what, even if you feel that the building is one hundred percent clear, always double check.”
Beer belly nodded in understanding and gripped his weapon tighter. The bald man only stared until Jack turned and carefully stepped down the hall. He reached up and grabbed the arrow that was sticking out of the wall and resisted the urge to wipe it on Cam’s jacket. Instead he pulled out a rag from one of the pockets on his jacket and swiped the weapon clean before returning it to its quiver.
Looking to his left, Jack could see that the kitchen was completely clear. Eric had already opened the door to the second floor and they could hear the three people walking as carefully and as quietly as they could up the stairs. There were two more doors in the rather expansive kitchen, one that lead outside into the back yard of the homestead, the other would open up to reveal the stygian blackness of the basement.
Jack turned to face his two charges. “Ok, just as you were shown.” He pointed at the bald man. “I want you on the right, and you,” he said, looking at beer belly,” I want you on the left. I’ll open the door and be ready for anything.”
The bald man took up the position without a word, while the other man nodded in compliance. Jack stood at the door, his hand resting on the knob, the knife in his other hand. He listened intently, not hearing anything before he finally turned the knob fully and flung the door inward.
The staircase leading into the still black basement was empty. There was no sign of the undead that he had been expecting there. It was possible that they hadn’t been attracted to the sound of living humans moving about the upper floors, or it was also possible that they were trapped in the closed off rooms. He quickly grabbed his Maglite and turned it on, letting the beam cut through the darkness. Dust motes shone and danced in the air but nothing stirred.
Jack played the light of the little flashlight down the stairs. They were old and rickety, and he could see that they were open. That he didn’t like at all. It would be very easy for one of the undead to reach through the open slats and grab hold of someone’s leg, causing the person to fall, opening themselves up to attack or worse. He did his best to ignore the fear that was welling up inside and he took the first tentative step. His boot hit the first step and it creaked and groaned like a living thing under the weight of his step.
His second and third steps resulted in the same noise, causing the burly man to pause for a moment, his ears listening to every sound, analyzing and separating. He knew that there were undead somewhere beneath him, waiting to sink their teeth into his flesh. He ran the light over the lower stairs once again, letting the beam reveal the dusty floor at the foot of the staircase. Again, nothing stirred.
ack could hear the other two men begin to follow in his footsteps. He had been tempted to tell them to wait until he had cleared the space around the foot of the stairs first, but decided against it. They needed the training. Deep down, Jack was annoyed with himself at how much fear he felt. He had dealt with the undead dozens of times over the past few weeks and this was a semi-controlled environment.
But he allowed the fear to sit in his heart. If he got complacent, that would be the day that he would get bitten or worse. Fear was nature’s way of keeping one alive, letting them know that they were doing something that could be potentially life threatening.
And what was more life threatening than entering a house that had zombie’s lurking about?
When he reached the bottom of the stairs he forced himself to keep from jumping. He wanted to put as much distance as he could between his leg and the open slats, but at the same time he knew that if a zombie hadn’t grabbed at him by then, odds were that one wasn’t hiding behind the stairs.
Still holding the knife at the ready, Jack let the Maglite push away the dark shadows. There was some natural morning light coming in from a couple of small window’s placed high above the floor, but it wasn’t enough to allow them to see properly.
The beam of the light showed them a partially unfinished basement. There were several closed doors along the back wall, as well as the large double door that led to the outside. Just below the double doors was another closed set of double doors set into the floor. That was clearly where the coal used to be stored.
The house however, had a huge octopus like furnace, which sat like a medieval sentinel in the near center of the room. Boxes were piled up under the stairs and there were shelves along the far wall. It appeared that the shelves had at one time held preserves but like all the other buildings in the town, the survivors had long ago cleared out anything they could eat.
When his light passed over one of a couple of work benches, he could have sworn that he caught signs of movement. He paused, held up his hand in a fist, the universal signal to stop. Both Cam and beery belly stopped in their tracks. Jack could hear the heavy set man’s breath beginning to speed up. Very quietly, Jack spoke: “Watch the doors and make sure that nothing is hiding behind that old furnace, watch my back.”
Slowly Jack began to approach the work benches. The light still made the dust motes dance lazily in the beam of the small device, and he kept it trained on the bench where he had thought he had seen movement. Great, Jack mused to himself, the crawler is here with us. Well, better take care of it quick.
As he approached the old furnace, he took several steps to the right, putting as much space as he could between it and himself. He stopped when he was only half a foot from the edge and slowly pulled the light away from the work bench so that it was just inches away from shining around the edge of the old metallic beast. He allows it to crawl up the side of the furnace, revealing the old grime encrusted behemoth, inch by inch.
Finally the light crested the side of the furnace to reveal nothing. Jack let out his breath, not realizing that he had been holding it all that time. He returned the light to the workbenches and allowed his mind to wonder exactly where were the zombies hiding?
Behind him, Jack could hear the other two making their way just as cautiously as he was. He could hear their own excited breathing as they approached the benches. Just then there was a loud crashing noise and the sound of voices yelling from what seemed to be directly over their heads. Jack whirled around, the light dancing crazily along the walls as he searched for the source of the disturbance. He almost laughed when he realized that he was hearing Eric and his wards taking down at least one of the undead on the upper floor. The sound was coming through one of the many tentacle like branches of the old furnace.
He returned the beam to the workbench. There! He had seen it again. The shifting of shadows beneath the old battered table. “Did you see that?” He asked the other two. Beer Belly shook his head but much to Jack’s surprise, Cam nodded. “Yeah, something’s under there.”
Jack cursed. “I think we found the crawler.” He looked at the bald man. Cam was holding that huge revolver that Jack noticed earlier. “Better use your knife.”
Cam stared at him for a few seconds and then nodded. “Why?”
Jack was getting tired of being questioned by the man, but he held his tongue. “Conserve your ammo, like we said upstairs.”
The man reached down and un-sheathed the heavy blade he carried. He hefted the weapon and showed it to Jack, but he didn’t put away the revolver. Jack decided to let it go and he nodded. “Good, if it is the crawler, use it to take it down.”
It looked as if Cam was going to argue for a moment, but then it passed. Together the three men closed the few remaining feet between themselves and the work bench. Now they could hear what amounted to slight rustling, like flesh being dragged across cloth, coming from beneath the bench. More loud noises could be heard coming through the vents but they ignored the sounds.
“I’ll grab the end of the bench and you get ready to destroy the zombie,” Jack instructed.
Once again, emotions warred across the bald man’s face but before Jack could confront him, the man nodded and lifted the weapon. Jack looked at beer belly. “Keep your eyes open and watch the surrounding doors. It’s that this would be the exact time one of the zombies decided to make an appearance and really throw a wrench into the gears.”
Beer belly nodded and turned to face the other wall, where the doors were visible but closed.
Jack reached out with one hand and gripped the edge of the table. He was careful enough not to put his leg too close to the edge, knowing full well that the zombie would be ready to strike out and grab him. He gave the bench a slight tug and it moved fairly easily under his grip. “On three.”
“One,”
“Two,”
“Three!” Jack pulled hard at the table and it slid away from the wall to reveal a pile of dust bunnies and the remains of a man. The corpse was missing the entire lower portion of its body and the upper half was still wearing the tattered and torn remains of a long sleeved button down shirt. The desiccated remains of its entrails trailed along behind it like obscene tails. It looked up at the three men and hissed, the milky orbs not even flinching in the light of the Maglite.
“Do it!” Jack demanded when Cam just stood there, the knife held in his hand as he stared down at the undead horror. Jack bit back a curse and was about to step in when Cam finally took two quick steps up to the corpse, put his foot on the back to hold it down and brought the knife slashing into the skull of the hapless zombie with so much force that the skull shattered like the shell of an egg.
The sound of the skull shattering seemed to awaken the basement around the trio. Without warning, they could hear a fist begin to pound relentlessly against one of the closed doors near the stairs that went up. Beer belly looked at Jack and Cam with fear filled eyes. “I guess where we know the other zombie is.”
“Thank you Captain Obvious,” Cam half snarled. Jack turned to face the bald man, anger clouding his young features. “Hey, I don’t know what the fuck your problem is, but you’ll fucking put that attitude away, and you’ll do it right fucking now or you’ll be sent back to the base.”
Cam stood his ground and stared at Jack, the light in the other man’s eyes blazing brightly with barely suppressed anger.
Instead of backing away, the burly young man stepped in closer until only a couple of inches separated the two men. “Do I make myself fucking clear?” He roared, spittle hitting the other man in the face.
The bald trainee lifted a hand to wipe the spittle off his face. He leered back. “Bring it on, rag head. I don’t see your two buddies here to protect your ass.”
Jack nearly hit the man right then and there. In fact, Jack had brought his hand up and was about to shove the other man back when the pounding from the door behind them seemed to redouble and then there was the sound of wood splintering and beer belly squeaked in fright.
With a look that promised they weren’t finished, Jack turned his back on Cam and brought up both the flashlight and the knife. The beam of the light fell across the now broken remains of the door to reveal a zombie that was now kicking at the lower portion of the door, breaking more and more of the wood away. In only a few seconds, the zombie would be free.
Beer Belly was backing away from the sight and nearly tripped over the work bench that Jack had pulled away from the wall. Jack never hesitated. He knew that this was supposed to be a training exercise, but there was something about the zombie coming through the shattered door that caused the hair on the back of his neck to stand on end.
All the undead that had been captured and brought into the building were supposed to be the standard shambler types, but this one, like the fat one they had killed on the first floor, was acting like a sprinter. In fact, Jack had only taken two steps towards the creature when its head whipped up from the damage it had been dealing to the door and stared directly into his eyes. In life, the zombie had been a middle aged woman. She was slightly built and was wearing a heavy black skirt and a matching jacket. Both were now coated with grime and blood. The most disturbing aspect is that some of the blood looked like it was still moist and hadn’t had a chance to fully congeal. The lips peeled back from the woman’s once pretty face to reveal brown teeth, coated with blood and bits of flesh. As if she could sense him staring, the zombie turned and snarled at him, a low, guttural growl tore past her gore encrusted lips.
Jack couldn’t help but wonder. Had the woman fed before she was brought here. That was a sprinter for fuck sake! He dropped the knife he was holding and a second later had the .357 magnum revolver in his hand. His thumb flicked off the safety with practiced ease. As he raised the weapon and took aim at the zombie’s head, his finger squeezed the trigger. As the same time it finished smashing through the door and tumbled forward.
His shot missed! The report of the weapon in the confined space of the basement caused his ears to ring. The zombie turned fully to face him, and as the fat zombie had upstairs, it threw its arms back and screamed in defiance.
Slightly shaken by the sudden turn of events, Jack nearly hesitated. Instead however, he adjusted his aim, appearing to be calm, although his heart was hammering so hard against his ribcage he was certain that the other two men standing with him could hear it. Again his finger squeezed the trigger and the .357 magnum barked. The flash from the barrel illuminated the entire section of the old farm’s basement.
The round tore the zombie’s lower jaw right off its skull. The blow from the round snapped the creatures head back and it stumbled backwards several steps before it fell into a sitting position.
Even though it was supposed to be a training mission, Jack sprang into action. There was no way he was going to let a couple of untrained survivors deal with a sprinter. He was already halfway across the basement before he realized what he was doing. Despite the ringing in his ears, he could hear the commotion coming from the upper floors. The others knew that there was to be no gunfire, so they understood that something had gone terribly wrong and were coming to investigate.
A second later he was on top of the jawless zombie. It had picked up the mangled remains of its jaw and was staring at it, as if fascinated. Jack lashed out with his foot in an acceptable snap kick that he had learned from Eric and Mike and knocked the creature onto its back. It dropped the remains of its jaw and tried to grab at his ankle, but he didn’t give it a chance. With the creature on its back, he planted a foot onto its chest, all the while ignoring the flailing limbs and put a single round through the skull, destroying it.
The sounds of running feet drew his attention away from the dead creature. He turned to his left, the
Jack indicated the dead zombie with the barrel of his gun, the smoke drifting lazily away from the muzzle. “We had a sprinter.”
“What the fuck? Are you sure?”
He nodded. “This one tore through the door as if it was made of tissue paper, it turned and I swear to god, it was challenging us!” Jack breathed out, his face flushed with excitement.
There was no hiding the troubled look on Eric’s face. He stared at Jack for a moment before turning his attention to Cam and Beer Belly. “Are you two ok?”
Both men nodded, although Beer Belly looked like he was about to faint. Eric turned back to Jack, who had opened the revolver and was replacing the two spent shells with fresh rounds. He pocketed the brass casings and finally picked up his dropped knife.
“You guys take care of the other three zed’s?” Jack asked.
“Yeah, killed the last one when I heard the weapons fire. Did you get all three of them down here?”
“No, we still have one left to destroy. Any idea where it is?” Jack asked.
Eric shook his head. All I know is that they put the crawler and two down in the basement.”
As one, the two men looked around the basement. Their eyes came to rest on the double doors that led from the rear of the house to the sub-basement where coal used to be stored. Jack rolled his eyes. “Come on, are you fucking serious?”
“Hey, don’t look at me; I wasn’t the one who set this place up.” Eric said, his voice betraying a hint of defensiveness.
“Let’s get this over with.” Jack growled. He wasn’t happy. Everyone knew that in the new world nothing could be taken for granted, and that they had to be prepared for everything, but the soldiers in Wainwright knew better than to throw sprinters into the mix without telling them.
Eric paused for a second and took a quick look into the room that had held the sprinter. It had been clearly used for storage, although the shelves were now bare, with the exception of a few empty cans and jars. “Clear.” He called out.
Jack walked towards the door that was only a few feet away from where the zombie’s corpse lay motionless. He could hope that the third and final creature was in there, but somehow he didn’t think it was likely. As he concentrated on the door, he could hear the footsteps of several people approaching from behind. He knew that one would be Eric, and figured the other two were probably beer belly and Cam.
From the hinges, Jack could tell that the door swung inward, so he grabbed the handle. Eric stood directly to the left and held the axe at the ready. With a nod from Eric, Jack turned the handle and threw open the door.
The room was all but empty. A few boxes were stacked in one corner, and there were several bundles of old newspapers tied up and stack neatly off to the right of the door, but otherwise the light revealed nothing more sinister than a few dust bunnies.
“Great, the last one has to be in the sub-basement after all.” Jack grumped. He didn’t know why, but he always had a bit of a fear when it came to basements. Maybe it was just the fact that they were underground and a sub-basement in an older building like this felt like an actual tomb to him.
Eric shut the door and together they turned and looked at the closed doors that led to the old sub-basement, where they were certain that the last zombie would be located. Jack called over his shoulder. “Cam, we’re going to need your help here.”
The bald man didn’t answer but came up behind them. Jack pointed at the double doors that were built into the floor. “Grab one and Eric will take the other. No more fucking around here, we need to take out that last zombie and then head back to the base.”
Eric moved passed him to grab the right hand door, while Cam brushed passed him, clearly trying to instigate something when he shoulder checked Jack. The young burley man had to really clamp down on his temper and his instincts to cold cock the bastard in the back of the head. He would deal with the man after they were out. Finally the bald man grabbed the door on the right and signaled with a nod of his head that he was ready.
Jack cleared his throat. “Open it.”
As one, Cam and Eric pulled the doors open. The darkness behind all but ate up the light that shone weakly in from the few windows. Jack held the Maglite in one hand and used the beam of the small but powerful flashlight to pierce the darkness. The small sub-basement coal room seemed to be empty. He knew that it wasn’t though, that the zombie had to be standing to the right or left, just out of the reach of the light.
For a second he was tempted to push Cam into the room and use the man as bait. Instead he fell back on what they knew would be the best course of action. “Hey, asshole, come out come out wherever you are!”
Nothing Happened. Silence greeted the small group. Despite fingers of cold dread playing up and down his spine, Jack took the first several steps down into the coal room. “Hey, fresh meat here, just waiting.”
Again, silence.
Jack glanced back at the group. “I’m heading all the way down, something isn’t right here.”
Eric came behind him, the axe held in his hands.
When jack reached the bottom of the stairs, he found himself staring into a small ten by ten foot room with crude beams supporting the ceiling of the room. The walls and floor were coated in black coal dust and the air was thick and heavy with the dust. He shone the light around the room, seeing nothing. “What the hell?” Jack took several more steps into the room until he was standing nearly in the center.
Eric followed him, the weapon raised and held steady in both hands. Cam was next in line while beer belly and the others stood at the top of the stairs.
Jack turned around and faced Eric and raised his shoulders in a shrug. He was about to open his mouth when movement above him caught his attention. As he raised his eyes, a body fell from the crude beams. Jack barely had a chance to cry out in fright when the full weight of the undead creature caught him and dragged him from his feet, causing him to land on his belly.
The creature had been a child, no more than nine or ten years old. It was all but impossible to make out the actual sex of the zombie, as it was dressed in dirt encrusted black winter jacket and had on a red toque and matching gloves. Dried blood coated the legs of the zombie’s jeans, and the leg bone was showing through one of the pant legs.
It had wrapped its arms around Jack’s neck and was hissing at it tried to bite his neck.
When the zombie had landed on Jack, the surprise of the sudden move caused him to drop his revolver. He still had hold of the knife though and he roared in fright and rage as he struggled to get the small figure off his back. Eric immediately dropped the axe and rushed forward. His heavy hands lashed out and he grabbed the zombie by the back of its jacket and hauled off with all his might.
Jack felt the weight of the undead child ripped from his back and in an instant he was on his knees, the blade of his knife held out before him. He stared up at the pathetic creature as it struggled, suspended in the air at arm’s length.
Before he could react, Eric whipped the slight body head first into the floor, bringing it down with such a force that the head split apart, spilling the rotting brain matter out onto the coal dust covering the floor. Instantly, the body stopped moving.
Jack looked up from the body and saw that Cam was standing there, the huge .44 revolver held in his right hand, aimed directly at his head. Adarkness crept across Jack’s vision and he could have sworn he felt death’s black fingers caress his soul.
Eric looked up from the corpse and promptly froze in his tracks. The former fire fighters eyes narrowed as he reached for his handgun. “Cam, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
The bald man promptly dropped the barrel of the weapon and returned it to his holster. He looked with contempt at Jack and then spoke. “Sorry, in the confusion I forgot to put the weapon away. I was going to try and shoot the zombie off his back.”
With hands shaking, Jack knelt and picked up his revolver. He carefully slid it back into the holster strapped to his hip. He stood straight and tall and stared at the bald man. “That so?”
Seeing that there was about to be a very serious confrontation, Eric decided to take charge and defuse it before blood was shed. “That’s it, we’re done here. Everyone outside.” He ordered.
Cam and Beer Belly left the basement without another word. Jack and Eric stood next to one another as Jack ran a still shaking hand across his beard. He thought his heart was about to burst through his rib cage and he knew that shortly he would be coming down from the adrenaline rush and he would crash hard
He looked up at Eric. “We’re going to have to find out what went wrong today. People could have gotten killed in here.”
Eric couldn’t argue the fact. “Two possible sprinters out of nine zombies. How the hell did the boys from Wainwright manage to wrangle them up anyhow?”
“And then we have this shit,” he pointed at the corpse of the child zombie. “Fucker was hiding up in the rafter’s!” He took a shuddering breath. “The day’s barely begun.”
“I know.” Eric shook his head in amazement. “That little fucker that decided to climb into the rafters and drop in on us. That’s a new one.”
Jack reached into his jacket and pulled out a bottle of water. He uncapped it and drained the whole bottle without coming up for breath. “We need to get rid of that prick Cam.”
Eric’s eyes raised slightly. “I know, I saw the gun, but what else happened?”
Jack related the confrontation. The more he spoke, the darker Eric’s face grew. Jack could see the rage building up behind the other man’s eyes. “You’re right; we have to get him off the team.” Eric said once Jack was finished.
“I’d rather beat the shit out of him,” Jack seethed.
Eric actually laughed. “Man, I thought you Muslims were supposed to turn the other cheek, to ignore pricks like him.”
Jack nodded. “We’re supposed to keep quiet and just ignore what others say to us, let our angels guide our actions.”
“But,” Eric interjected, “but you’re too much of a hothead to do that sometimes, aren’t you?”
Again, the young burley man nodded. “It goes against my faith, but sometimes I can’t help myself.”
Eric clasped his shoulder. “Look, fuckers like that, I know it’s tempting to bust their chops. I know that I’ve done that more than a few times in the past. There is something about that guy however, something that tells me if we tried to make a move on him, he’d end up using that as an excuse to try and kill one or more of us.”
Together, the two men left the confines of the old farmhouse basement and made their way outside into the bright morning sunlight. Roger, Harold and the trainees were all gathered in front of the porch. They were standing there quietly, each lost in his or her own thoughts.
When Jack saw Cam, his face turned crimson. He was about to confront the bald man when Eric put his hand on his shoulder. “Just ignore the fucker, he’s not worth it.”
With a supreme effort of will, Jack pulled his gaze away from the bald, smirking man. He could tell from the look on the other man’s face he was ready and willing to continue the confrontation that had started back in the basement.
Well, Jack thought, happy to disappoint you.
Eric clapped his hands together. “Ok, there you have it, how to clear out a building of tango’s with a minimal of fuss and muss. No one got bit, no one got hurt.”
“So, what’s next?” Beer belly asked.
“We head back to the base and grab some breakfast and then off to more training, but we’re done in the wilds for today, the rest will be on the shooting range and in the classrooms. You’ve had enough hands on training for now.”
The small group looked relieved at the words. Although each and every one of the trainees had at least one encounter with the undead, for several the exposure had been relatively limited.
Jack breathed in deeply through his nose and blew it out his mouth, letting the clean morning air invigorate him. “We have to get to the bottom of what happened with the sprinters and that child zombie at any rate, don’t we?”
Eric nodded. “Alright folks, mount up, we’re done here.”
Jack walked around the front of the Avalanche and got into the passenger seat.
Slamming the door, he leaned his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes. “What a serious cluster fuck!”
Laughter filled the cab. “You can say that again.” Eric chortled. “A simple training mission. Get in, kill the zed’s get out, no one gets hurt.”
“That’s really bothering me,” Jack continued. “The soldiers said there were no sprinters, and yet, two of them acted in every way like a sprinter.”
“We’re going to have to look into that. No one really knows what causes a zombie to be either a shambler or one of the sprinters.”
Jack opened his eyes and squeezed the bridge of his nose. He felt a serious tension headache in the making. “I’ve got a theory now.”
Eric put the Avalanche in gear and looked over at the younger man. “Don’t keep me in the dark.”
Harold and Roger expressed the same sentiments from the back seat.
“Well, I noticed that the second sprinter, the one we encountered in the basement, seemed to have fresh blood on it, and that it looked as if it had fed recently. So, I’m kind of wondering if that’s why we only see a handful of the sprinters. They need to kill and consume fresh meat in order to become a sprinter.”
The small group exchanged looks. “Jack my boy,” Eric said, going pale, “I think you might be onto something.”
“I wonder if there is any way we can test this theory.
Roger looked horrified. “But that would mean we’d have to sacrifice someone to the zombies!”
“I have the perfect candidate,” Jack muttered darkly as he looked into the small mirror attached to the sunshade. His eyes came to rest on the sullen form of Cam in the back of the Avalanche.
Eric caught his gaze and knew exactly what was going through the younger man’s mind. “I agree, but that’s a road we better not go down.” He cautioned.
“I know, but sometimes it’s nice to fantasize, isn’t it?” Jack knew that just thinking the thoughts was a sin, and he said a quick prayer for his moment of weakness. “Well, what are we going to do when we get back?”
Eric rubbed his belly. “Fuel up. I’m going to talk to one of the officers though about this fiasco and inform them of your theory before we do anything else.”
Jack felt his own stomach rumble at the thought of food. He would almost be willing to kill for a Fat Burger right then and there. The very memory of the franchises food made his mouth water. “Sounds good.”
They rode the rest of the way to the base in silence.
The End.
