In the Lone and Level Sands (70 page)

“Roger,” Max said. He didn’t feel ready, but
he had to be.

The three continued shooting, and Max kept
an eye on the opening, slightly wider because of the RPG, bodies
quickly filling the crater in the ground. He didn’t notice any
difference in the number of zombies pouring in.

“Now!” Lou said. With a hard yank that
almost knocked Max down the hill, they were off. They ran, and then
they were among the zombies. Max kept shooting, and Lou did the
same behind him. Left and right, zombies dropped. One charged,
missed Max, and fell to the ground. Max ran faster than his legs
wanted, his muscles pumping, his heart racing, every breath burning
his sides. The hill added to his speed, he didn’t think he’d ever
stop. He shoulder-charged a zombie, and it somersaulted
backward.

The flares grew close. Max slowed as much as
he could, which wasn’t enough. He dove, legs extended, and slid
down the hill in a sort of baseball slide, knocking over a flare as
he stopped.

Max took out his lighter, lit the fuse, and
tilted the flare’s stand up. It was broken, and the flare fell back
down. He picked it up again and held it in place. In one of the
loudest mind-splitting shrieks he’d ever heard, it launched into
the sky.

Max dropped the stand and ran, hunched, to
the next flare. He lit its fuse, then continued to the next, then
the next. Zombies dropped all around him, even more approached. He
took one of the grenades from his belt, pulled the metal pin out,
and tossed it toward the gate. He didn’t keep watching to see the
carnage he’d create, he just moved to the next flare and lit the
fuse.

And then he was finished. The fuses were all
lit, and Lou was practically dragging him back up the hill. Max was
exhausted, but he forced his legs to move. Lou hadn’t let go of
him, but continued to turn and fire behind them. Max panted, every
breath seemed useless. He fired his gun backward, not knowing if he
was shooting at anything, guessing he probably was. He reached the
barricade and collapsed over it.

The sky was black above him, tinted red by
the flares. The stars were barely visible behind the oceanic,
blood-covered veil that expanded in all directions. The grass was
wet, and it cooled him. All sound faded into one blur. The ground
was soft. He could fall asleep.

Then he saw Ortiz’s face, and felt firm
hands grab his shoulders.

“On your feet, soldier!”

The world came back to him, and Max got up.
Zombies were now reaching the first barricade, some trying to climb
over it. They were dying before they could, the attention of the
soldiers was focused on the closest zombies.

One got through and dove for Ortiz. Max
pulled the trigger, but his gun clicked. He didn’t even think. Max
dove forward, not for the zombie, but for his mounted sniper rifle.
He didn’t look through the scope, just pointed the gun and fired.
It tore through the zombie, ripping off everything that existed
above its shoulders, showering blood over Ortiz, who fell back from
the force of it. Max helped him up.

“Don’t ever fire that thing this close
again!” Ortiz said.

“You’re welcome,” Max replied. He reloaded
his assault rifle, then continued to fire.

“There are too fucking many!” Lou said. He
screamed a war cry, spreading his bullets into the oncoming
crowd.

Max thought he saw death in the form of
hundreds of cannibals rushing up a reddening field toward them, but
behind that, he saw the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

“They’re thinning out,” he said, so low that
nothing could have heard. He didn’t hear it himself.

New hope rushed through his veins. He let
out his own battle cry and fired into the crowd. A zombie reached
over the barricade, and Max smashed the butt of his gun into its
face as hard as he could, then continued to fire. By the opening,
the field was clearing up. Fewer zombies were approaching. Many of
them were tripping over the bodies that were piling up all across
the field. As the closest zombies dropped like flies, the farthest
ones were having trouble getting into the field.

Lou ran out of ammo. He dropped his gun,
pulled out a pistol, and continued to fire. Ortiz, finding himself
free of zombies, turned to the Humvee and got out another rifle,
then threw it to Lou, who dropped his pistol, cocked the assault
rifle, and fired on.

“Go light the rest of the fuses, Greenwald!”
Ortiz said. Max wasn’t afraid this time, and he wouldn’t need help.
Most of the zombies were gone.

Max knew what Ortiz was thinking: The lapse
in zombies coincided with the lapse in flares. Any moment, another
wave of zombies would be at their doorstep.

The bodies made the field difficult to
navigate. Max discovered this as he went down the hill, carefully,
toward the flares.

And then, the last of the flares in the sky
went out, and darkness filled the field. Max could hardly see.
“Mother fuck!” he heard Lou say.

“Greenwald, we can’t see shit! We’re going
to have to hold our fire until you get a flare up!” Max was less
than thrilled.

He turned on the flashlight at the end of
his gun. Up the hill, he saw two beams of light moving around. Max
fired at a zombie, then scanned the ground for the flares.

Then he tripped on a body and rolled into a
flare, toppling it. Max sat up, and a zombie jumped him. He dropped
his gun, and it slid down the hill, stopping near the flare.

“Damn it!” Max said. He held the zombie’s
shoulders as it snapped at him, feeling a burning in his face from
the familiar scene.

“Greenwald! Where are you?”

The zombie moaned, tried to push itself onto
him. “Help!”

He heard a pistol fire from a few feet away,
even though the two flashlight beams still danced at the top of the
hill. A chunk of the zombie’s face flew off, and blood splattered
on Max’s. The zombie became a dead weight and dropped, no longer
moving. Max rolled it off of him, grabbed his gun, and pointed the
flashlight at the source of his rescue.

The first thing he saw was the barrel of a
pistol. He could tell it had been raised, but now it was lowering.
Max recognized her right away. It was the girl from the lumber
yard, and she had just saved his life.

63

In Ashton

The survivors got out of the van. They
looked around, something that had become an automatic thing, like
recoiling in pain after burning one’s hand. Sara went around to the
trunk, opened it, and grabbed Angus’s leash. She fixed it to the
metal loop on his collar and let him out onto the grass. He sniffed
around and looked up a few times.

“Come on, Angus,” Sara said. “Let’s get this
done.” Angus cocked his head around and then fixed a steady gaze on
some zombies a few blocks away. They were too far to notice the
survivors, who were gathering their things. Angus growled softly.
“It’s okay, Angus, they’re way down there. Let’s keep it that
way.”

Angus looked up at Sara, then lifted a leg.
Afterward, he squatted a few feet from where he peed to pinch a
loaf. Sara turned her head when she heard Charlotte’s voice.

“Why is it locked? We never lock the
door.”

“And boarded up, too,” Fred said. “Someone
must be staying here.”

“What the hell?” Charlotte lowered down to
the mail slot. She was able to poke through and see inside. Someone
had heard their arrival, and was walking toward the door. When he
got there, the person ducked down. His eyes and part of his face
hovered near the mail slot. They were wide with surprise and brown
in color, and a grunt escaped his throat.

“Who are you guys?” He sounded young, like a
teenager.

“Forget that,” Charlotte said. “Who are you,
and what are you doing in my house?”

“Your house?” The teen’s voice cracked, he
blinked, shaking his head. He attempted a more menacing tone. “Just
keeping away from the zombies. Isn’t that obvious?”

“I understand that, but of all the houses,
did you have to pick ours?” Charlotte looked nervously at the
others, then at the zombies down the street. None seemed aware of
them. Good.

“Why do you want back in so badly? Can’t
you
pick another house?”

“Maybe to avoid the zombies,” Charlotte
said. “‘Isn’t that obvious?’ Besides, it’s my house!”

“Well, it’s my house now!”

“What are we arguing with this dumbass for?”
Al said. He lowered in front of the slot. “Kid, you’d better get to
unlocking this damn door!”

The teen poked the barrel of pistol outward,
almost hitting Al in the face. “I’ll shoot you, asshole! Go find
someplace else to stay!”

Fred cocked his shotgun. “I’d think twice
before I pointed a gun at one of us, boy. Now, either open the
door, or I’ll shoot the damn thing open, whether you’re standing in
front of it or not.”

“Okay, okay!” The teen stood up, and the
survivors heard the locks turning. The door opened and everyone
entered. The boy, who looked to be seventeen or so, tucked away his
gun and eyed them all cautiously.

“I’m sorry,” he said to Charlotte.

“Forget it,” Charlotte said, looking at Ben
with new, wide, hopeful eyes. Ben looked around, trying to soak it
all in. He was in a house he didn’t recognize, but he waited for
everything to come back to him. The wonder in his eyes slowly
faded.

“So, my name’s Randy Trent,” the teen said.
“I hope we can all get past this. It’s hard for me to trust new
people, these days.”

“I have half a mind to smack you upside the
head for pointing that gun in my face,” Al said, “but I’m giving
you the benefit of the doubt, kid.”

“I think everyone deserves it, these days,”
Fred said. “I’m Fred Samson, and this is my wife, Sara, and—”

Before Fred said another word, Angus jumped
on Randy and licked his face.

“Oof!” Randy tried to push the dog down, but
it was difficult. Fred chuckled and pulled Angus off.

“Angus is harmless, wouldn’t hurt a fly,
right boy?”

The shepherd looked up at Fred and then back
at Randy (who bent to pet him), and panted. The others introduced
themselves.

“So, how do you know the others?” Randy
asked Carah.

“She’s actually deaf,” Richard said. He
lifted his hands to translate, but Randy stopped him.

“It’s okay. I got it. I had a friend who was
deaf.” Randy repeated his question in sign language.

Rich and I were heading home not long after
people began to change. They helped us.

“
Oh, well they seem nice.
”

They are.
Carah smiled.

“Well?” Charlotte shot Ben a look of hope
and impatience. “What do you remember?”

Ben stopped looking around, now in the
living room, and looked at his wife. “I’m not really sure it’s
working, but I do remember Randy. He worked as a bag boy at the
store up the street.”

Great,
Charlotte thought.
He
remembers a bag boy from the grocery store, but not his own wife?
What the hell is it gonna take?

“Yeah, I did,” Randy said. “Never thought
we’d meet under these circumstances. I mean, outside of that
hellhole.” He chuckled, a sad gleam in his eyes. “That place was
fucked, hard. I was shopping with my mom when this shit went down.
She didn’t make it… She got bitten.” Randy sat down on a chair in
the corner of the living room. “We didn’t know bites would get you
infected at the time. There wasn’t any way to get information, or
anything. We called for help, but no one came. It wasn’t half an
hour, and there was no warning. She was just like the others,
then.”

“That’s terrible,” Sara said.

Randy didn’t say anything, just looked at
the floor.

“I know it doesn’t seem possible, but you’ll
get through it,” Al said. “I lost my wife, yesterday. Charlotte
lost her mother. We’ve all lost a lot, but we’ll get through it one
way or another. I don’t know if it’s much consolation, but you’re
not the only one.”

“It’s a little better knowing that I’m not
alone,” Randy said. He met Al’s gaze. “Can I stay here with you
guys for a while?”

“Of course you can,” Charlotte said with a
smile.

“What we need to do is stick together, now,”
Fred said. “We don’t stand a chance on our own, so I think it best
you stay with us.” He puffed his pipe.

“I’m glad you feel that way,” Randy said.
“Thanks.”

Fred grabbed the dog food and Angus’s bowl,
then took them to the kitchen. “Boy, you hungry?” Angus pranced
into the kitchen after Fred.

“Were you guys going to the store? Getting
food and stuff?” Randy asked. “There isn’t really enough for all of
us here.”

“We brought some food, but we can always use
more,” Charlotte said. “With the Ferrington overrun, it might be
better to try another store.”

“Whatever we do, we shouldn’t all go,” Al
said. “Some of us should stay here, hold the place up.”

“I’ll go, for one,” Fred said.

“I’m in,” Richard said. He kissed Carah on
the lips, and signed to her. She signed back.

Don’t get yourself killed, being a hero.

“
It’s just a supply run. No need for
that. I’ll be fine, trust me.
”

“I’ll go with you guys,” Randy said.

“We could use someone who knows where to
find a store around here,” Fred said. “If you’re sure.”

“Yeah, I’m sure. I don’t want to feel
useless.”

“Okay. Myself, Richard, and Randy. That’ll
do. Are we ready?” Fred’s companions nodded.

Randy had his own gun, Richard had Al’s
handgun, and Fred had his trusty shotgun. They headed out the door
silently, the others heard the engine ignite, and the van pulled
out and went down the street.

****

“Does any of this bring you back?” Charlotte
asked. They were in the master bedroom, which was upstairs at the
end of a short, carpeted hall. The room swirled with a fragrant
breeze, the smell of an Airwick freshener pushed around the room by
the ceiling fan. It was a soft, never-intrusive scent, but it did
nothing for Ben’s memory. He felt no epiphany.