The Rise of Macon: A Zombie Novel (Macon Saga Book 2) (17 page)

The group grabbed their new rifles, and headed to the next rally
point.

***

Patrick and Edmund, yelling like Indians, moved along the
inner wall, making sure to go slow and keep the diseased focused on them. They
reached the back of the fort, its wall barren, as the fighting raged on the far
side of the fort.

"Okay, stop here," Patrick said to Edmund, who
was singing some British song at the top of his lungs. "We have fifteen
rounds in each magazine. We'll both empty one here, then move farther down so
they don't pile up."

"Copy that Commander," Edmund called back, pulling
out his black Beretta and taking aim.

"Head shots, "said Patrick. "It shouldn't be
too hard hit them at this distance."

"Copy that Commander."

"Stop that."

"Mate, you're a lot more fun when you're not in
charge."

Patrick ignored the comment and pulled his own Beretta,
looking down at the swarm of diseased below them. It was one thing firing at
them from a distance, but here, this close, it was an entirely new experience. A
Nightmare.

The diseased pressed against the wall, their pasty, claw
like hands scraping it in an effort to reach the two men on the wall. Though
only dead days, drastic changed had occurred in the diseased.

  Their skin, only a few days ago normal looking, now
resembled a ghost from a bad Halloween special. Their whitish skin had changed,
causing them to look more like plastic wrap, which accentuated their frosty
eyes. Eyes that now leaked red like a water tap. Not just their eyes, but their
noses and mouths bled also, leaving dried blood caked on their faces.

The diseased still seemed unsure of themselves when they
walked, like a new born horse, but that also seemed to have gotten worse. What
hadn't change; their moans. The cries, moans and screeches of the diseased was,
to Patrick, the most unsettling thing about them. If not for the sound, he
could almost imagine they were just dead zombies, but some of the sounds seemed
all too human, as if they were in pain. It sent shills through Patrick, and he
had to focus to do what needed to be done.

Patrick pulled the trigger and the head of a diseased
snapped back, the bullet hitting it right in the forehead. In less a minute,
Patrick had unloaded his magazine into the mob of rotting flesh beneath him. He
couldn't tell any difference.

"Let's move," He shouted to Edmund, who had also
emptied his magazine.

The two ran down the wall ten feet, inserted new magazines
and repeated the process. Ten more times the two repeated the process.The
diseased, with nowhere to go, died.

"We've done bugger all," said Edmund when he
finished with his last magazine. "I can't tell the difference!"

Patrick looked over the hundreds of diseased still below
him, the sheer amount of them sapping his courage. "We need more ammo. Drop
back a few paces from the wall, then go get some from the other side of the
fort. I'll keep them distracted."

"Brilliant," said Edmund, then he backed up.
"I mean, copy that general." He laughed, then took off running.

Chapter 17

Minutes later, everyone arrived at their new positions,
their original positions, loaded the waiting magazines and prepared to fire. Two
long mounds now existed on the land in front of the fort. The mounds were over
twenty yards long with a gap of ten yards between them. Kyle didn't waste time,
the diseased hadn't stopped coming. "Fire between the middle of the two
mounds already made, ten yards behind it. We need to create a large mound there.
Again, don't worry about the ones that get through, Patrick and Edmund are
taking care of those."

"Fire."

The barrage of 12 AR-15s crashed against the sound of the
wailing coming from the diseased trapped below. Kyle picked his binoculars up
and examined the death of the diseased. He frowned at the errant shots not
making a difference. He reframed from commenting, as a head shot at a moving
object well over one hundred yards away wasn't easy at all, especially to those
new at shooting.

"Good Job," he said instead, "keep it
up."

He could see the mound building, if not slower then he
would have liked.

"Kyle!"

Kyle whipped his head in surprise. Edmund came running
back, throwing a grocery shopping bag of empty magazines on the ground.

"We ran out of ammo," Edmund explained.

Kyle pointed at the reserve magazines, "Take the bag
and deal with them." He looked back to his shooters laying on the ground.
"Grace!  Grace!"

Grace heard her name, stopped firing and found Kyle
motioning to her. She got up and joined them, her breathing fast.

"Can you go with Edmund and help take care of the
diseased behind the fort?"

"Sure," she responded with a smile, which at any
other time would have sent Kyle blushing like an eight year old on the
playground. Just not today.

"Thanks," he said, smiling foolishly. Well,
mostly not today. Kyle had a suspicion that Grace's rounds were wasted down
range anyways, so might as well put her where she would do good. Of course, he
didn't plan on telling her that.

Edmund grabbed the magazines and started to turn.

"Edmund, take those with you," Kyle said.

Edmund followed the finger of Kyle to the hundreds of
diseased that were in the moat in front of them, more dropping every minute. He
looked up in irritation. "You're taking a piss, mate. We've got hundreds
still back there."

"You get, boy, and take them devils with you,"
commanded Eric from the line, never taking his eyes from his rifle.

Edmund shrugged his head apologetically to Kyle, grabbed
Grace and moved to the side of the wall, where he started yelling obscure
British obscenities at the diseased.

Kyle smiled and turned back around, his momentary mirth
disappearing at the neverending line of diseased still pouring out of the woods.
Soon the real fight would begin. He just hoped they had enough to survive.

 The third mound, behind and in the middle of the other
two, already sat two feet high with diseased still stumbling over it. Half of
those trying to climb it were killed by the defenders of the fort, their bodies
collapsing, making the wall of dead higher. In minutes the wall was four feet
high, and became too tall for the diseased, who simply walked around it. Kyle
saw the change and called for the next part of the plan.

"Group A, extend the middle mound. Group B, fill the
holes in the mound.We need it to hold."

Eric ran up, his expression confused. "Are we going to
close the gap?"

Kyle yelled back, "Soon, another few minutes."

"Copy that."

Eric rejoined the shooters and started picking of the
diseased making their way through gaps in the earthworks of dead. Soon Kyle
would create a choke point for the diseased. He wanted it big enough for them
to try and fit through, but small enough that they could be dealt with when
they came. The other group would extend the middle mound farther out at an
angle, so the diseased had to walk back and forth just to reach the choke point.
It was about crowd control and buying time; simple as that.

The diseased grew louder, their whales and moans becoming
volcanic in feel. Though eardrum ending, Kyle was grateful for the noise of the
rifles, it kept him and his friends from listening to the sound of their own
mortality.

Minutes passed as the two groups fired into their assigned
spots, both mounds growing, their shape and size varying due to the building material:
the diseased. They fell, in death, at odd angles and in unknown ways. Kyle
didn't focus his eyes on it, they looked too much like people in death.

"Kyle!"

Kyle turned at his name, Jasmine appearing beside him.
"Ammo?"

"Yes, we're down to a few thousand rounds. Everything
we have left is behind us, already loaded into magazines." Jasmine seemed
almost guilty saying it. "We still have a thousand rounds for the handguns,
and the ammo for the shotguns also."

Kyle nodded. "Thanks, Jasmine."

"Kyle?" Fear reflected from her eyes. Fear for
her herself, her husband, but mostly for her kids. They were her life and dying
like this would be too much.

He looked down at her, his expression calm and reassuring. He
placed a hand on her arm. "We're going to be fine Jasmine, but I promise
your kids won't die to them."

She covered a sniffle, nodded her head up and down, then
looked up. "Thanks, Kyle."

"Go help Patrick on the back side of the fort, we need
to get rid of those diseased back there."

She smiled, grabbed her rifle and started running around
the inside of her fort. Kyle faced the line of diseased, looking hard to see if
it was thinning. He could imagine all he wanted, but they were still pouring
in, thousands joining the thousands that already besieging the fort. Kyle
pushed his doubt aside, it would kill him long before the diseased would. They
wouldn't go down, not today. Macon would live.

***

Grace ran after Edmund, her arms shaking from watching the
line of zombies heading towards them. She knew they were real, the diseased, or
she thought she had known, but seeing them like this, in these numbers, had her
heart racing. She wanted to drop the rifle and hide, but she wasn’t a quitter. Besides
that, no one else did.

When the dead people had first walked through the trees,
she’d taken a look at everyone else, just to share her fear with others, her
utter helplessness with those around her. It didn’t work. Everyone seemed to be
calm and collected about the whole thing. She knew they were protected by a
high wall and moat, but there were thousands and thousands of the things.

But seeing them calm, with no fear on their faces, had done
it for Grace. If they could do it, then she could do it. She’d always built
confidence that way. She knew it wasn’t the best way, but she decided if others
could do it, then she could. She’d gotten through boot camp the same way. Every
day she’d wanted to quit, but there was no way she was going to quit when
others didn’t.

To top it off, after she’d taken a look at the others, she
turned around to see Kyle, something he noticed. What shocked her more than
anything was that he winked at her. Winked. They were in the apocalypse,
fighting for survival, under siege by zombie like creatures and he gave her a
wink. She didn’t know whether to be enraged or start laughing.

She decided to laugh, though it could have been a delirious
one. She hadn’t figured Kyle out, not yet. When she first met him, he seemed
kind and gentle, not like a soldier at all, definitely more like a professor. Then,
she’d seen him almost break when his brother died. She watched him, tears in
his eyes, hold his brother as he died. She’d seen him talking to Abe, his words
soft and unheard by anyone except his brother. It was terrible, and she saw
such vulnerability in him.

Then he rose, face like stone, pronounced a man guilty, and
shot him like a dog. It happened so fast, she didn’t know how to react, still
didn’t. Everything she knew was gone: laws, society and the courts system. But
what did that mean? That man was guilty; there was no doubt of that, but to
judge him like that. She just didn't know what was right.

She had watched Kyle disappear in this room, spirit crushed,
and wondered if he’d be the same. Then, the morning came and Jasmine had dragged
her into his room, where a communal breakfast seemed to be happening. She
hadn’t wanted to see him, her feelings confused, but he seemed the same mellow
Kyle she had first met, if not heartbroken.

He wore a small smile, genuine but almost superficial. He
seemed to thrive, to rebound from the attention of his friends, this strange
group of survivors. Company seemed to be what he needed and she wondered if
they had known that.

Grace watched the others in the camp, especially those closest
to Kyle, and saw how they acted around him. Comfortable, ready to listen to
him, to follow him, though not in any way submissive or afraid. Kyle carried a
quiet confidence like a mantle. He didn’t try, he just was. These people were
his friends, but more than that, they trusted and followed him.

Now she was running behind a young British guy no bigger
than a straw, who danced and waved his hands in the air, all the while singing
some soccer chant she'd never heard before. From looking at this guy, you
wouldn't know they were all about to die.

"Come on lady," Edmund shouted, "we can move
down now, I got most of them looking at me. I think I do, who bloody knows if
they can even see?"

Edmund turned and ran farther along the wall, continuing
his strange dance. Another few minutes brought them to Patrick, who was waiting
with exaggerated patience.

"Took long enough," he grumbled, giving Grace a
small bow. Grace laughed at the man. She couldn't help staring at him. Who
would take their shirt off in December and paint himself blue?

"I had to bring along this lot didn't I?  The
professor said so. Anyways, we've got a lot of ammunition for the guns."

"Great," Patrick said, taking a magazine Edmund
handed him and loading his Beretta. Edmund dropped the bag, loaded his own handgun
and turned to look at grace.

"It's easy, just shoot them in the head. They don't
move much, so you can almost hang off the side if you want, just don't pile
them too high."

With the bag handed off, Edmund turned around and began to
fire gleefully into the moat below.

Grace shook her head and stood beside Patrick, who had also
begun to fire into the moat. She pointed at Edmund. "Jasmine told me that
you used to work with Kyle at the plant, but where did you get him?"

Patrick fired the last of his magazine, the sound making
Grace flinch. "We found him at a country store, a punching bag for some
rednecks. Been with us ever since, though I guess that wasn't that long ago. Just
feels like it."

"It was brilliant," Edmund said, coming back to
get another magazine. "Kyle came in and did a quick draw, just like an
American cowboy."

"Kyle killed them?" asked Grace, shocked at the
news.

Patrick released his slide forward, loading a bullet in the
chamber of his gun. "He did, but they'd already killed the owner of the
store, a nice old guy according to Abe. Anyways, they were pointing shotguns at
them and Kyle said he didn't have a choice. I didn't see it myself, but James
said he did the right thing. Now, we have to focus, there's a battle going on."

Patrick moved closer to the edge of the wall, away from
Grace, and started yelling while he continued to shoot. Grace flipped the
safety off her handgun and joined him, all the while thinking about Kyle, still
confused about the world she lived in now. She stopped thinking, she could do
that later. Today,she needed to survive. She pulled her trigger and watched a
diseased fall back into the mob surrounding him.

***

Kyle needed to make decisions, ammunition was low and soon
it would be chaos. He cringed at the small pile of magazines left. Not enough. He
walked to the end of the firing line, now shooting slower, making every shot
count. He yelled out, "Close the earthworks."

Billy turned. "How big?"

"Two feet," Kyle replied. The two long lines of
earthworks closest to the fort had a gap of fifteen feet, which need to be
closed. Kyle wanted a choke point for the diseased. He wanted it easy enough to
go through, just not too many at one time.

The shooters on the line responded, changing the directions
of their shots.The two long earthworks of death were closed, leaving only a
small opening into which the diseased jammed themselves.

Kyle, satisfied with the opening and the wall's height,
gave the next order. “Billy, it’s time to make the wall.”

Billy looked up, his son stopping to look over at the
interruption. “It's time?" He looked over the field, still crawling with
life. "I'd hoped we'd get more of them."

"Me too, but we're down to our last two thousand rounds
for the rifles. We need to make the move and clear out some space."

Old Ben turned on his side and squinted up at Kyle.
"Well, look who decided to do some work; his highness."

Kyle stepped next to him and smiled. "Careful old man
or I won't help you up."

Old Ben bristled. "The day I need help from a
professor is the day I hang my hat."

"Real men back their word."

Old Ben growled, leaned back on his stomach and put his
arms down, as if to do a push up. Slowly, but with no hesitation, he pushed
himself up, his white hair almost shaking with the effort. He got to his feet
and looked at Kyle, his speckled and wrinkled face a monument to determination.

"See that there sonny, this old man ain't done
yet."

Kyle grinned back, appreciating the effort and feistiness
of Old Ben. "I can see that." Kyle turned his head as wild yelling
and whooping sounded out behind him. He laughed at the effort.