The Rise of Macon: A Zombie Novel (Macon Saga Book 2) (18 page)

Old Ben peeked around Kyle and his face twisted in contempt
at the dancing Edmund. "Something's wrong with that boy. He isn't right in
the head."

Eric walked past carrying his rifle. "He's alright
Ben, he's just young. Let's get to work, we don't have much time. Rich, you
with us?"

"I was young once too, but I never did act like that
there."

Kyle gave a small laugh as he watched both groups walk in
different directions around the sides of the fort. All firing stopped. It was
time to draw away some diseased.

Kyle looked into the moat. What once had been a grass
covered bottom twenty five feet wide, now flowed and moved as thousands of
diseased moaned in rage at the free reign of their prey.

"Can we get all of them?" asked James.

Kyle turned to James, who usually showed either complete
confidence, or an aloofness bordering on indifference to dangerous situations.

"You worried?"

James looked out at the diseased still entering the field
from the woods beyond. His eyes narrowed as he examined the thousands still
coming. "A little," He said.

"We'll make it," Kyle said with a confidence he
didn't feel. "Do you mind getting Jasmine to try the radio again? And I'm
sure she wants to check on her kids."

James ran off without replying, leaving Kyle standing alone
at the front of the fort. He'd been told about the radio transmission from a
base up North. He hoped they could get through, and maybe get some help. It was
the only plan B he had. Otherwise he knew this would be an epic battle, but
would end as the Alamo did.

Chapter 18

"Any more up front?" cried Patrick.

Edmund ran up, out of breath from his dancing and yelling.
"We've got most of them, but they're still dropping like flies, with no
end in sight."

"Doesn't matter," interjected Billy. "We've
got as many as we can cram back here without them climbing each other, though
that's still a possibility. Let's get this done."

Everyone nodded and left the impromptu meeting at the back
of the fort. The two groups of defenders ran in opposite directions, both
heading for the sides of the fort.

Patrick's group stood together, staring down at the mass of
diseased thrashing less than twenty feet from them. Patrick picked up his rifle
and shot what used to be an obese man at the front of the wall. The man's head
shot back, his body crushing a smaller body behind him. Patrick was joined by
six others as the group shot a line across the twenty five foot moat.

Starting near the inner wall, the group shot the diseased
until they were stacked five feet high, then started working out towards the
outer wall. In less than five minutes two walls were built inside the moat,
consisting solely of fallen diseased.

"Why are we doing this again?" Terry asked.

Patrick stopped, looking at Terry in irritation. This had
all been explained before the fight started. Besides, it seemed fairly obvious
to Patrick. "To trap these diseased back here."

"Why not just kill them?" Terry continued.

"No bloody ammunition mate," jumped in Edmund.

Patrick took a shot and lowered his rifle to get a better
view of the wall. "This way we use the moat at the back of the fort, trap
a few thousand of these things and don't waste ammunition on them."

"Pretty smart thinking," Terry said as he
realized the implications of the wall.

"Don't tell Kyle, he'll get a big head," Patrick
said with a smile. "We don’t want that. Okay everyone, let's see if it
works. Move left twenty feet and make some noise."

The seven defenders moved farther down, then proceeded to
yell, scream or sing in Edmund's case. Some of the diseased, hearing the noise,
growled and began to climb the wall. The unlucky climbers were killed and added
to the wall. Two more feet were added before those trapped seemed unable to
climb the steep slope of bodies.

Satisfied, Patrick ordered everyone back to the front of
the fort, leaving Edmund behind to shoot the occasional diseased that tried to
scale the wall. A few extra bodies wouldn't hurt.

***

The small group, tired and on edge, stood in a short line
on the far left of the inner wall. Before them, a diseased covered hell none of
them could have envisioned only thirty minutes before. Three long lines of
earthworks split the field into a delay maze for the thousands of diseased
still marching toward them. The moat and walls of the fort had given them
courage, for none of them had come close to a diseased; not yet.

Kyle watched as the diseased, moving in an unearthly
column, marched around the first earthworks, then proceeded to jam themselves
through the small opening that had been created for them. After finishing the
walls, he knew they had less than a thousand rounds for the rifles, a gut
clenching thought.

"Use the rest of the rifle ammo to build the
earthworks higher," Kyle called out over the wails of the diseased.
"Make your shots count, we still have some time."

Kyle looked down into the moat as the shooting started, the
blasts of the rifles temporarily overpowering the sound from the diseased. The
moat on this side of the fort was half full, with the diseased pushing forward
to reach them. Kyle knew the problem would be the clumping of bodies on each
other.He only hoped his plan to counter it worked, or the diseased would mass
and climb on each other in an effort to reach them.

"Out."

"Out."

"Me too, all done."

Kyle waited until the last of the rifles clicked empty,
were then placed out of the way, and the shields picked up. There were eight
shields, made of spare wood and reinforced with metal brackets. They were big
ungainly things that could be used to crush body parts. The shields were given
to the strongest of the survivors, those who could wield them the easiest. Kyle
put his down, letting the others know they didn't need to waste energy holding
them yet.

They weren't light.

"We'll be fine. Don't panic. Listen to my commands and
be ready to move. We'll get through this, but we have to work together. You're
my family now and I don't intended to lose anymore. Not here. Not now."

The group reciprocated his feelings, calling out
encouraging words to him and each other. Jasmine ran up the stairs, joining the
line next to Patrick. She grabbed Patrick's hand, sharing quiet words only
heard by him. She gave Kyle a small shake of the head.

Kyle felt his hope crash as she gave him the bad news. No
go on the radio. He hadn't realized he'd been putting so much hope on it. There
would be no help, no Calvary to rush over the horizon and save them. They were
alone. Kyle knew they would die, there were just too many of the diseased. He
pushed away his fear, his doubts, and forced his mind to believe they'd be
victorious.

Kyle moved down the line, slapping some shoulders and
trading a few words with each person. He stopped in the middle, inserted
himself next to James and Grace, who gave him a heart stopping smile. He
returned it, hoping he'd see her smile tomorrow.

"This will be the hardest part, but we have to
wait." Kyle stopped talking and grabbed Grace's hand. He didn't look at
her, but felt the squeeze returned. He needed it. They all did. The fear and
sense of hopelessness was crushing as they watched the diseased, in their
thousands, fall into the moat in front of them.

The diseased, having squeezed through the small opening in
the earthworks, instantly turned in the direction of the uninfected. A primal
sense?  An instinct?  Nobody knew.

The line, having gone through the delay maze Kyle cooked
up, thinned to three abreast, then exited the opening and headed for the
survivors. Twenty five feet before they reached the survivors, they dropped
into the moat. The moat began to fill, the diseased, clumping up, ignored all
other areas of the moat except where their prey waited. No thought, only instinct.
They began to pile on each other, the ones on the bottom being crushed under
the weight of others. The pile grew: five feet, ten feet, fifteen feet.

"Shields," ordered Kyle. The shields were picked
up, those carrying them hoisting them on their left arms. The square shaped
shields had been curved at the corners by Eric, to ease the weight, if only a
little. Though quickly constructed, they were solid.

"Wait," called out Kyle. "Wait for it."

The diseased, still dropping from the back of the moat, hit
the bottom of it, oriented themselves and begin to climb the growing pile at
the front. Many of them rolled back down, the slope too steep, but the pile
began to broaden, making the climb feasible for the ungainly creatures.

"Handguns," cried Kyle, pulling out his own
Beretta. "One magazine. Fire."

The line erupted as Berettas and a few 45s shattered the
dominance of the diseased. As the pile of them came within a foot of the top of
the wall, they were met by bullets, fired from only yards away. In less than a
minute over a hundred diseased died, settling their weight on those trapped
underneath.

The firing stopped as more of the diseased dropped, rolled
and climbed the pile. From this distance their pale, almost white, skin seemed
more plague victim than human. Every orifice leaked blood. Their eyes, once
cloud white, now swam in dark red. The blood created a slick pile of death
leading to the top.

The pile rose.

The first diseased to reach the top of the wall climbed the
pile with quick movements. Once a teen girl, she was light and climbed the pile
easier than the others. She stood with shaking feet on the pile, and lunged at
the survivors standing on the wall. She collided with a solid piece of wood
held by the towering Rich. He flicked the shield, small in his arms, and the
diseased rolled back down the pile.

More diseased dropped.

More diseased reached the top, lunged and were met by the
wall, more than one receiving steel through their faces as defenders pushed
their swords straight into the oncoming diseased.

Kyle kept his eyes on those diseased in front of him. One,
a towering tree of a man, made its way up. The man, well over two hundred and
fifty pounds, found the pile easier to tread than others. He reached the top,
his hand shooting out at the feet of Kyle. Kyle slammed his shield down on the
arm of the diseased, while bringing his short sword over the top and ramming it
down into the head of the beast from above. The man's head cracked like an egg,
the sword scrapping bone as Kyle pulled it out.

Kyle felt no sickness, no guilt at his actions. His heart beat
only for survival. To save those he loved, those he stood next to. He picked up
the shield and front kicked the big man down the pile, his body thumping down
the ever growing side.

A dozen diseased now stood on the top of the pile, its
width growing, making it easier to stand on.

"Shotguns,"Kyle yelled.

Those carrying shotguns, including Jasmine, fired from the
sides of the shield wall. The diseased standing on the pile were blown from the
top, their bodies knocking others down in their descent.

"Now! Move!"

The line of survivors picked up their shields and remaining
guns and ran forty yards, making it to the opposite side of the front, where
the curvature of the structure started to go around the fort. The moat in front
of them only contained those diseased who still stood on the bottom. Twenty
feet below.

The line of diseased, marching from the gap in the earthworks,
turned their attention from the already made bridge on the left to the far
right of the wall, where the living now stood. A few remaining diseased climbed
the abandoned pile, but they were met by James, who stayed behind to deal with
them.

Kyle looked at the people around him, his body shaking
uncontrollably from the adrenalin. "Good work!  Take a breath everyone. Terry,
Can you check on Edmund?"

Terry dropped his shield and ran back along the curvature
of the inner wall. The others, Incredulous about surviving their first hand to
hand combat with the attackers, felt jubilant, almost euphoric. They traded
stories and slapped one another on the back, all while keeping a wary eye on
the growing pile in front of them.

The group laid their shields down, reloaded magazines into
their assortment of handguns, and drank some water placed along the wall. Old
Ben, carrying a shotgun, walked next to Kyle. "Well, son, it worked. Must
have gotten near about a thousand at least. We can do this all day."

Kyle didn't think it was a thousand, though that would have
been nice. Do it all day?  They would run out of wall after a few more of those
attempts, then it would come down to standing their ground, not something they
were likely to survive. He didn't mention this, not wanting to rain on the
parade.

"We'll make it, I think the line of diseased from the
woods is thinning out."

While it was true that the column exiting the trees wasn't
as thick, the group of diseased standing and maneuvering in the field in front
of them was immense. Kyle thought there might be more than five thousand of
them. Neil had certainly gathered most of the diseased on Oak Island.

James ran up, nodded to Kyle, then headed for the water. Edmund
ran in from the other side, his skinny frame barely holding up his rifle.

"How's it looking over there?" Kyle asked.

"A few dozed tried to climb the wall," Edmund
said, "but I added their collective to it instead."

Kyle nodded to the water. "Good job. Get some
water."

Edmund gave a salute and ran to the water, never out of
energy.

Kyle walked next to Grace, touching her elbow as he looked
down into the moat. Already ten feet high. He gave grace a smile and called
out, "Let's get ready, we're not done yet.

Chapter 19

Kyle ran to the middle, dropped his shield and made sure
everyone was in position before handing out some water. They'd defended the
wall three more times, hopping back and forth on the wall in an effort to keep
the diseased spread out and to buy time. That was over.

Only one gap, ten yards wide, still existed, directly over
the gate in the middle of the fort. He was tired, physically and mentally
exhausted by the fighting. His friends were the same, some better, some worse. There
had been no training, no preparing for a medieval battle with zombies, but
their victories had been amazing feats. Now, the last empty part of the moat
was filling, leaving thousands still to deal with, all trying to reach them.

They didn't have long to wait this time, the mounds on
either side of the opening still crawled with the diseased. This gap would fill
faster than the other four had. It was also directly in front of the small gap
in the earthworks.

It wouldn't be long.

James stood next to Kyle, his obsidian eyes evaluating the
remaining diseased. He'd been ready to die, hoping Yolanda waited for him, but
he felt something incomplete now, something not yet finished. He finally
admitted it to himself; he didn't want to die.

Saying that, fear didn't control him, didn't cause him to
shake in fear, or in any way affect him. He'd learned long ago to deal with it.
He remained absolute. He'd stay beside Kyle, keeping the promise he made to
himself. He was determined to not let Kyle do something stupid again, not while
he could stop it. He'd die first if it came to that. He drank the last of his water,
threw down the plastic bottle and looked over at Grace and Kyle, as the latter
called everyone to the line.

The diseased, like clockwork, tumbled into the moat from
the outer wall, hitting or crushing those already fallen. They rose on wobbly
legs and moved forward like true zombies, ready to die. They reached out their
pasty, bloody hands, clawing themselves up the pile, reaching ever closer to
the top, where their rage would be satisfied.

The survivors, experienced hands at this point, gave no war
cry, no last minute good luck wishes, no yell to ignite their battle fever. It
was simply what needed to be done and they were determined to do it.

A few more feet.

"Handguns. Fire." James heard the command and
fired off fifteen rounds from his Beretta. He aimed at the outer wall, trying
to create a pile to keep the diseased from making it to the moat. It partially
worked, but with only one magazine, the work soon finished.

James holstered his Beretta, along with Kyle and Grace. They
would save their last magazine for the handguns. James picked up his shield,
faced it front so the person next to him would be covered. Kyle stood to his
left, their shields overlapping by an inch. They'd worked out the kinks in the
last four encounters, the seeming ease with which they used the shields was from
hard experience.

"Alright, keep the wall tight. No letting them in, and
aim for the head. Shotgun, be ready for the call."

No response came. None was needed. The diseased came.

The first diseased to reach for the survivors stood a foot
below the wall, its head reaching only to the waist of the defenders. Eric,
holding a spear of his own design, jammed it forward, impaling the diseased
through the eye. He grunted, twisted the narrow black pole and yanked it free,
leaving the diseased to drop in front of the wall.

More came. The diseased, more pale blood than flesh, rose
against the wall with a sense of zeal. They slammed into the shield wall, their
uncontrolled attack meeting a swift end. The defenders moved the wall apart,
lashed out with sword or spear, and kicked the diseased to the bottom of the
pile. The wall reformed and awaited the next attack.

Still they came.

The next twenty minutes became an effort in the will to
live. With no backup, no place to go, the defenders held off the constantly
growing mob, their screeches of madness an unrelenting siren of dominion in
this new world.

James front kicked a fat diseased back, the man only
flopping a foot away, stopped by the ever growing mound of dead. There was
nowhere for him to fall to. James didn't have to give it thought as a diseased
lunged at Grace, who had been moved by Kyle. James slammed his shield into the
diseased, sending it flying sideways, farther down the wall and back into the
moat. James turned and kept fighting, more to keep them off than kill them.

Kyle was out of strength. He shoved his sword up through
the jaw of a female diseased, its red blood pouring down his arm. Kyle pulled
the sword loose, dropping the woman where she stood.

The attackers had the high ground now, with the mound
growing so big they were reaching down from above. Something needed to change,
but Kyle was out of ideas, exhausted from holding up the sword and constantly
battling fear, which assailed him stronger than the zombies.

"Shotguns. Fire everything!" Kyle yelled, his
voice hoarse from shouting directions.

Five shotguns opened up, clearing the diseased from the
plateau of the pile, but that only added their bodies to the mound, making it
taller. A second round, their last, killed the diseased climbing from the back,
trying to gain the high ground. Kyle made a decision, they just couldn't fight
like this. They needed the high ground.

Kyle moved forward, stepping off the wall, onto the mound
of the dead. "Everyone move onto the pile.Stay in the middle, we need to
keep the high ground."

Kyle moved faster than the others, kicking off a diseased
climbing the pile, its body flopping down a few feet, only to regain its
balance and step up again.

Since walking was tenuous on the pile, Kyle placed his feet
carefully and took up position, yelling to the others to do the same. In less
than a minute the small group formed a circle, their shields facing out,
waiting for the next attack.

A group of five diseased climbed the pile opposite Kyle,
facing Billy and his wife who fought side by side. The diseased reach Billy who
used his shield to knock two of the attackers back. His wife, holding a buck
knife, struck at the face of another. The knife bounced off the cranial cavity,
and before she could stick it again, her arm was caught.

The diseased latched on, his a claw like hand pulling the
woman out from behind the wall, onto the slope of the dead. She screamed in
panic as she lost control, her hands desperately reaching for her husband, who,
seeing what was happening went berserk.

Billy, not thinking clearly, dived shield first into the
mass of diseased falling on top of his wife. He used his shield like a butcher
knife, bringing it down with hurricane force on top of head after head, his
power busting them like grapes.

It wasn't enough.The diseased pulled him down as if he were
an afterthought, latched onto his exposed skin and began feasting.

Pandemonium erupted among the group, with some trying to
save the lost members, others using the last of their strength to plug the
holes that opened. Billy's son, initially not seeing what happened to his
parents, followed his father's example and rushed to save his parents.

A chain effect rippled among the defenders, with Billy's
son and daughter in law both surrounded by the diseased, after leaving the
protection of the shield circle. Their cries rippled through the rest of the
survivors, desperate pleas that stripped all the remaining courage from the
group.

The circle threatened to break, the open gaps causing some
defenders to be forced back, others to be separated. Kyle watched Grace being
slowly pushed back, her small sword held low in her hands. Fatigue and
exhaustion almost kept her from defending herself.

Fear-like strength rippled through Kyle. He pulled his
handgun, his last magazine, and fired shot after shot dead center into the
heads of the diseased that were forcing Grace away from the group. He ran over
to her, grabbed her and yelled to reform the circle. The tired group responded,
moving closer to each other to lock the wall of shields.

Kyle, satisfied Grace was safe for the moment, turned to
the where Billy and his whole family had gone down. His gun had eight bullets
left. He took careful steps on top of the dead and fired eight shots. Ignoring
the enraged voice of James, whom he knew wouldn't leave Grace. Kyle switched
his sword to his right hand.

He needed to give his group more time to settle themselves.
He took a quick step, meeting a diseased climbing the mound, and put his short
sword through the bloody mouth of it. He yanked the blade out and plunged it
again into the top of its head, making sure it was dead. He pulled the sword
again, scanned his area and closed with the next diseased headed for the group.

He didn't make it.

On his second step across the uneven pile of bodies, he
tripped, falling face first into the mass of dead bodies. He tried to pick himself
up, but his muscles and bruised ribs decided they'd had enough. After an
eternity, he found a secure hold and lifted himself, only to find three
diseased descending on him.

One of them came faster than the others, quicker than Kyle
could respond. Before he had time to act, the diseased latched onto his arm and
bit down. The bite felt like a lion had gained purchase, it teeth closing down
with determined purpose. Kyle panicked and tried to swing his arm, to jerk it
free, but the diseased remained latched on, not giving up its prize. Kyle felt
the teeth break into his skin, felt the teeth close and dig in.

He brought his panic under control and grabbed his knife
from his hip. He slammed it into the top of the man's head and forced it
through the skull with his remaining strength. The fight ended and Kyle shook
the teeth away from his mutilated arm. But it was too late, the damage done. He
was dead.

Kyle turned his head toward the group, not able to make out
anyone through the blur in his eyes. Regret flashed through him, regret at
leaving them, but he'd be with his brother now. He looked again to his friends,
he needed them to survive. "Stay with them!" 

James, Eric, Patrick; they knew what it meant. He was lost.
Kyle faced the diseased, growled and used the last of his energy to tackle the
two remaining diseased, knocking them off the pile and down the slope. Kyle
tumbled down the side of the heap, hitting pieces of bodies on the way down. He
flipped in the air, his head moving towards the ground. It collided with
something on the bottom. The force, almost subtle in its effect, knocked Kyle
out and he remembered no more. The diseased attacked.