Into the Badlands (27 page)

It was then they met their destiny head on.

Before them, littering the highway, were dozens of carriers. They were wandering aimlessly, unaware anyone was approaching. Ed and the rest of the group stopped, standing silent and still, watching the wretched remains of humanity before them.

This is it
, Ed thought.
This is how it ends
.

Then, from behind them, a carrier screamed. Ed and the others watched in sickening horror as the wandering carriers took notice. One of them screamed and then they all charged, the screaming building as they joined in the pursuit.

Trish began to cry. Ed looked at Dave, then at Mitchell. Their expressions communicated all that needed said. There was no reaching the city. There was no safe haven. There was no future. There was no cheating death. They had only put off the inevitable, and now that time was over.

Ed looked at his two boys standing in front of him; their childhood stolen from them, their innocence lost. Zach's second chance, wasted. They looked up at him for answers, for some kind of direction.
Do something!
their faces screamed silently to him. But he couldn't. Nothing could save any of them now. They were beyond hope.

There was only one choice left.

Ed reached into his front pocket and retrieved the clip holding the three shells he had carried with him since leaving the border town three years ago. He ejected the clip in the pistol; it struck the ground with a sharp clink. The others turned toward him. Trish's face was streaked with tears. She watched him, horrified, shaking her head form side to side.
No
, her face pleaded with him.
This can't be happening. This isn't how it's supposed to end
.

Ed placed the clip into the pistol, then looked toward the carriers both behind and in front of them. They were approaching quickly from both sides now, limping, crawling, running, and walking. The screams continued, almost in unison, melding into a sickening dirge.

He loaded the first shell into the chamber of the pistol, then looked at Trish once more. She looked at him with undefinable despair as Ed placed the gun against Jeremy's head.

“No,” she said. “Ed, please...”

He looked at her, expressionless. His finger touched the trigger. Mitchell watched, his face tense. Dave stood, his mouth agape, in disbelief.

Jeremy looked up at his father. “No Daddy, please don't,” he pleaded. Zach's eyes widened in disbelief; his father was going to shoot his brother. Then he knew he would be next.

“I love you, buddy,” Ed told his youngest son, his voice faltering as the tears began to roll from his eyes and down his cheeks. They fell from his face, striking the pavement below like a melancholy rain, mixing with the dirt and grime.

“I only ever wanted the best for you,” he said.

Dave closed his eyes, unable to watch. A few seconds passed, and then the terrible sound of a single shot rang out, echoing in the distance.

CHAPTER 20

Dave Porter stood with his eyes closed upon an interstate overpass, death approaching from both sides, waiting for a father to kill his own son. His wife was dead, as were all his friends, and soon he would be as well. He suddenly recalled a memory from his high school graduation, just before accepting his diploma. His life had flashed before his eyes, like a fleeting filmstrip of what might be in store for him. He certainly hadn't seen any of this in that vision.

Then the sound of the gunshot crashed through the air like thunder, causing him to jump. He kept his eyes closed; maybe he could keep them closed through it all. He couldn't watch Ed shoot his other son, nor could he watch him shoot himself. Maybe Ed would have mercy on them all, killing them all before the carriers got them. If not, the filthy remains of humanity would make short work of him. Either way, with his eyes closed he'd never see any of it coming.

“Dave,” he heard Ed call out. He kept his eyes closed; he just couldn't stand to see any more than he already had.

“Dave!” Ed repeated. “Open your eyes.”

Dave opened his eyes reluctantly, bracing himself. When he did he was shocked; Jeremy was still alive! He looked at Ed, confusion painted on his face like a mask. Ed just looked back at him, the expression on his face saying everything. He couldn't do; he wouldn't do it. They were going down fighting. Ed raised his pistol, aimed it at the oncoming carriers, then began firing.

Dave looked at Trish and Mitchell as they stood watching the events unfold. Mitchell's face was stoical, his mouth a thin line. Dave could have sworn though that he saw the faintest hint of a smile appear before Mitchell began firing into the crowd of deadwalkers.

Trish's expression changed as well. What had been a mixture of horror and sadness was now replaced with grim determination. Her mouth pursed and her brow narrowed as she readied the rifle and began selectively firing upon their approaching attackers.

Gunfire erupted as the group began working their way through their ammunition. It was impossible to hear anything else for all the noise. Carriers screamed as they were wounded, falling to the ground and writhing in pain. Ed, Zach, and Jeremy all stood facing west, unloading their clips into the crowd of oncoming carriers. The carriers from the east came for them from behind; making their way quickly up the ramp.

Ed fired off as many rounds as he could. After three shots he emptied the clip from the border town, then loaded another. He watched as carriers fell, brought down by the bullets from his sons' guns, then he began picking off the most able-bodied of their attackers.

Mitchell was firing with both guns into the crowd, targeting the infected with uncanny precision. Suddenly Ed watched in helpless horror as a carrier burst through the crowed, headed directly toward Zach. Before he could react he heard a gunshot, then saw the carrier drop to the ground in a bloody, twisted heap. Mitchell nodded in his direction, Ed nodded back.

Zach and Jeremy stood by their father, firing their own guns. Their aim wasn't as good as the adults, but simply firing into a crowd that was so thick was inevitably successful.

Trish stood near Ed and the boys, using the rifle to shoot the fastest carriers. She had already accepted that fact that she was going to die; when she thought about it she had actually been ready to die since Tim had been killed. She thought of him as she fired at her targets, and she knew he would have been proud of her. Death was coming, but she wasn't going quietly.

Mitchell backed up again the railing of the overpass, keeping all his targets in front of him, cutting them down. He aim then fired. Aimed, then fired. Aimed then fired. One, two, three, they dropped. He repeated the process, shooting the carriers attacking from the east, then focusing on those approaching from the west.

The air was filled with the acrid smell of burnt gunpowder, along with urine, feces, blood, and guts. Carriers fell as they were shot, then others stepped on them, over them, or fell as they tried to do either. Copious amounts of blood ran down the concrete, drawn into crooked streams by the relentless power of gravity. The carriers, however, continued making progress, despite losing significant numbers. They steadily closed the distance, awkwardly limping, walking, and running toward them. Some of the wounded still continued to crawl toward them, screaming as they did so.

Mitchell emptied his revolvers, holstered them, then pulled the pistols strapped to his legs. He continued firing, carriers falling after each gunshot. He emptied the clips, then attempted to reload. Suddenly a massively huge carrier broke out from the crowd, heading toward him. Mitchell attempted to reload the pistol, but the carrier closed the distance too quickly. It struck him at a full run, driving him into the railing of the overpass, breaking three of his ribs and knocking the breath out of him. He dropped the empty pistol, then reached for one of his revolvers.

He hit the carrier in the head with the gun, still attempting to catch his breath, but the thing was just too large. It buried its rotten teeth into Mitchell's neck, tearing at the flesh. He screamed in agony as his neck was torn apart. The carrier bit hard into the muscle, then ripped with all its might. A huge chunk of flesh and muscle was torn away, ripping an artery in the process. Blood spurted into the air with each heartbeat. Mitchell continued to scream, still striking the carrier with the pistol as he bled.

Another carrier saw the opportunity and joined the attack. He tore at Mitchell's face, biting his nose almost completely off. Blood leaked from the empty cavity, dripping through his beard and covering his shirt. A third carrier ran toward them, striking them all with such force that the entire group lost footing.

Trish heard Mitchell's screams, turning instinctively to see what had happened. She cried out as she watched Mitchell and two of the carriers topple over the top of the overpass wall, plummeting three stories onto the pavement below. “No!” Trish wailed, filled with overwhelming sadness and rage.

One of Mitchell's attackers still remained on the bridge. She took aim, fired, then watched as the thing dropped to the ground. Fresh tears streaked down her face as she cried for the friend who had shown them so much kindness. He had saved their lives, and now he had given his life for them.

Ed emptied his clip, then turned just in time to see Mitchell go over the railing, falling to his death on the pavement below. The reality of their fate gripped him, and steeled himself for it. Mitchell was gone. The carriers would kill them, one by one. All he could do was buy them some time.

He took the pistol from Jeremy, firing three more shots before the terrible sound of an empty chamber resonated. He tossed the gun down, then removed his baseball bat. Zach was a good shot, better than Jeremy. He would do okay. Ed was stronger, making the baseball bat a more effective weapon. The survivors moved closer together as the carriers closed in on each side.

Ed looked at Dave, then at Trish. Their expressions were the same. Trish took Jeremy's hand, her rifle now empty. Ed raised the baseball bat, prepared for any carrier that came within swinging range. Zach fired several more times before his clip ran out. He attempted to reload it, but he had little ammunition left. Dave fired a few more times, saving his ammunition for the closest threats. They were tightly surrounded now; all they could do was fight until they died.

Suddenly Ed heard the sound of rapid gunshots. At least five carriers fell, their heads snapping backward before striking the pavement. Then more gunfire erupted, a symphony of sound as the carriers around them began to drop. The gunfire continued in a staccato rhythm, as carriers fell all around them.

Ed ducked, bringing Zach and Jeremy down with him. Trish and Dave both followed as the gunfire continued to erupt. The discharge of gunpowder, the ricochet of bullets flying through, the thud of bullets striking bodies, and the screaming of deadwalkers filled the air.

Ed and the rest of the group crawled on their hands and knees toward the wall of the overpass, hunkering down and covering their heads. Ed placed himself in front of the children, covering them as best he could. The gunfire continued as they watched carriers falling to the ground all around them, their bodies jerking back and forth as the bullets hit their mark. The concrete, once a grim, dark gray, was now a dark red puddle of blood.

Ed turned to see a group of vehicles approaching, along with men on foot. They wore either camouflage or black, along with flak jackets, army boots, and helmets. Some wore masks, some didn't. Mounted machine guns on the vehicles laid down fire as the men on foot advanced, stopping periodically to fire on the crowds of deadwalkers. The remaining infected fell at an astonishing rate, some of them running away from the advancing forces. Those were taken down methodically by snipers on foot.

“Hold your fire!” they heard someone call out. The command came from a man who sat atop one of the vehicles, waving his arms in the air. The gunfire stopped. The air was thick with the smoke from burnt gunpowder. It wafted about, making it difficult to breath. An eerie silence ensued; the only sound that could be heard was the moaning and writhing of bodies as the wounded carriers lay dying on the ground.

The line of vehicles rolled up next to the survivors, three in all, dodging the bodies of the infected where they could, and simply running over them where they couldn't. The man who had called the ceasefire hopped down onto the pavement. He had a light brown beard and shortly-cropped brown hair with a touch of gray at the temples. His shoulders were broad, despite being slightly shorter than the other men. Deep wrinkles lined his cheeks. His blue eyes caught the light of the midday sun, radiating in stark contrast with his weathered face.

“You folks okay?” he asked them.

The group remained crouched where they were. Ed looked at the man with a mixture of confusion and disbelief. Seconds ago he was prepared to die; now he didn't know what to think about anything. He wasn't sure he was even still alive. His senses were reeling from overload.

“Who are you?” Ed stammered. “What's going on?

“We're here to help,” the bearded man replied. He was joined by several more men, all carrying guns. The man whispered something to one of the men and they departed. Ed then heard a gunshot to his left, followed by another, then another. He saw the men on foot walking through piles of dozens upon dozens of downed carriers, shooting any that still moved.

“How'd you know we were here?” Dave asked.

“When we hear that much gunfire, we come looking,” the bearded man replied, matter-of-factly. “Look,” he continued, “I'd love to explain more, but this place will be crawling with these fuckers in no time. We'd prefer to be gone by then. You're welcome to come with us, if you like.” He looked around, surveying the scene and gesturing with his hands. “I very much doubt you want to stay here.”

Dave looked toward Ed. When he didn't respond Dave responded for him. “No, we'll come.”

“Good,” the bearded man replied, smiling. “Is this your whole group here?”

“We had another with us...but he was killed on the bridge,” Dave told the bearded man. It hurt to speak the words.

The bearded man nodded in response. “You're sure he's dead?”

“He fell,” Trish added. “Off the bridge.”

The bearded man nodded again. “I see.”

“You never told us your name,” Ed said. He felt more aware and less surreal now. His mind was clearing, but he was still confused.

“Miller,” the bearded man responded.

“And the city, is it safe?” Ed asked.

“It is,” Miller responded. “That's where we're going to take you.”

Ed nodded.
St. Louis is a save haven
. The phrase played over and over again in his head. He looked at Zach and Jeremy. Their faces beamed.

The bearded man continued. “We can explain more later. For now we need to get back behind the fence.”

“The fence?” Dave asked.

“Around the city. Don't worry, we'll explain,” the man responded.

“Sure,” Dave replied. “I understand.”

Ed, Trish, Zach, Jeremy, and Dave sat in the back of a green jeep. Another man, this one dressed almost completely in black, sat behind the wheel.

“Take them to triage, then on to quarantine,” Miller told the man in black. “Tell Manahan to make them comfortable, then await my orders.”

“Yes, sir,” the man in black responded. He started the jeep, then sped quickly away. Ed watched as Miller saluted them, then turn back toward the rest of the men on the bridge.

As they drove away, heading west on the bridge toward the city, Ed held his sons close to him. He looked at Trish and smiled. She returned it, then followed it with a kiss on the cheek. She squeezed both boys' shoulders, then scooted closer to them.

Ed thought of their dead friends. He saw Mitchell fall over the wall of the overpass, covered with carriers. Brenda shot through the head, Tammy unable to go on. The thoughts hurt, but they could deal with them later. For now, they were out of harm's way.

Dave looked out the window at the city, then turned back to Ed. He smiled. “We made it,” he said, shaking his head. “Can you believe it? We really made it.”

“I wish Mommy could see this,” Zach said.

“Me too, buddy. Me too,” Ed responded.

As they drove over the bridge and across the Mississippi river Ed 's thoughts turned to Sarah. He had promised her he'd keep her boys safe. He wasn't sure he'd done that, but he had done what he could, the best way he could do it, and he hoped that she would be proud of that. They had, after all, made it to the city by the river; to their safe haven.