Machines of the Dead 2 (10 page)

Chapter 17

Kyle sat on his bed in Cliff House, nervously twiddling his thumbs. He had dire information. The people of Cliff House were planning an attack on Cannibal. The big guy, his boss—the man that had saved him, wouldn’t expect such an act. Wouldn’t be ready for it. Kyle had to warn the man before it was too late.

The original reason he was sent to Cliff House was to spy, reveal the place’s weak points, guard rotations, best times to attack and if possible, sabotage weapons, the food supply or whatever. Now that Cannibal had greater weapons, including those taken from Jack and his friends, maybe it didn’t matter if Kyle’s
real
home was attacked. No, he couldn’t think like that. He needed to get word out, and quickly.

Grabbing his jacket, he went over to the bedroom window. Maybe he should stay where he was. Join Cliff House and get rid of the others. No. He’d never amount to anything here. With Cannibal, he was someone and was counted on for important work. Plus, he owed Cannibal. That man might be sick, but that man also saved him, made him an integral part of his operation. Kyle was playing a significant role, maybe the most vital.

Under Don, he was a garbage man, collecting the trash, disposing and burning it. He cleaned the bathrooms and outhouses. Don had said he’d find other jobs for him, but since he was the last to arrive and the work needed to be done, it was Kyle’s responsibility. Kyle was an educated man. He had a degree in science and was planning on going to MIT before his “episode.” Screw Don and the people of Cliff House. No-good, snobby-nosed assholes, he thought. Looking down upon him, belittling him with such menial tasks. 

Kyle pushed the curtain aside and glanced out the window at the lower roof. He’d used the window as an exit before, traveling across the angled surface to the ladder that was attached to the house, then down it and into the forest where he radioed Cannibal or whoever was listening. During daylight hours, he had simply said he was going for a walk around the property and wouldn’t travel more than twenty feet from the house. Once inside the woods, he’d dart into the forest and make his way to the walkie
-talkie.

Kyle reached up and undid the latch at the top of the window, then pushed up on the frame. The window squeaked as if in pain. He froze, then continued opening it so that he had just enough room to escape. With the lockdown in place, he had to be extra careful. If he was caught, he’d just say he was going stir crazy and needed to get out—and they would believe him, because Kyle was just that kind of a guy.

Chapter 18

Duane tugged the wool hat over his ears again, the thing rising over time, and made sure the zipper on his jacket was all the way to the top. The frigid wind gusted against him, finding his exposed flesh like some invisible entity. That was better, he thought as his ears were shielded again. He was on guard duty, patrolling from the roof. Paul was on the other end behind one of the chimneys. Normally, their jobs were to watch over the surrounding areas, but today they had added responsibilities. Anyone caught coming or going was to be reported, stopped if possible. Getting off the roof wasn’t too difficult; ladders had been nailed to the sides of the house at certain locations shortly after Cliff House was established. It made it easy for the guards to get around and for people to escape in the event of a fire. With all the open flames, lamps and kerosene heaters, fire was of a huge concern.

On top of the added duties, Duane was told to keep an eye on Kyle, since he was going to be on watch-duty directly over the guy’s room. 

“Why, Kyle?” he had asked.

“He was the last one to arrive here,” Don told him. “I’m not saying he’s done anything wrong, but being that no one here knows him, I think it’s best we keep a close watch on him. On everyone, but specifically him.” 

Duane found it almost laughable that the man could be a spy until he thought about it. The little guy was unassuming and blended in. Physically, he wasn’t a threat. So maybe he did make for the perfect spy.

News of Jack’s capture and escape, along with what was going on over at Cannibal’s house was unnerving. He hated waiting here. Jack was correct. They needed to get ready and storm that wicked place.

As he looked out over the property and surrounding woodlands, a noise from below caught his attention—a window in need of lubrication.

His pulse quickened.

He crept over to the edge of the roof and peered down at the roof below. To his right was Paul and Greg’s room. On the left was Kyle’s, which was more like a converted closet. It had been used for storage until the little man arrived.  

From his vantage point, Duane couldn’t see which window had opened. If he leaned out any farther, he might fall. So, he waited.

He thought about getting Paul’s attention, but the man was on the other side of the roof. He didn’t want to miss a chance at seeing the person leave the house. There was a chance someone was just opening a window for some fresh, winter air, or a smoke, but he doubted it. With the house as cold as it was, fresh air was far from needed. If someone had opened the window to have smoke
, he saw no flicker of flame nor smelled the pungent odor of tobacco burning. Duane couldn’t remember if Greg or Kyle were smokers. 

He saw movement from the room on the left
, Kyle’s window. A jolt of angry heat coursed along his spine. He bit down, feeling the urge to pounce on the person, the traitor. Maybe it was nothing. An innocent act. Duane needed to see this out before he did anything. 

A leg extended from the window, the foot touching down onto the roof. Then the torso and head.

Hot damn. It was Kyle. That little bastard. They’d all welcomed him, taken him in, given him food and a place to stay. Duane fought against yelling out, wanting to let the little fucker know he was caught, but the smart thing to do was to follow the man. See where he was going, and maybe who he was meeting.

Duane scooted back, not wanting to be seen should Kyle look up. He heard the window close, waited a few seconds, then peered over the edge and saw Kyle, hunched over, creeping along the roof to where a ladder had been attached to the side of the house.

As soon as the little bastard was out of view, Duane rushed to the nearest ladder and hurried down to the lower roof. He knocked on Paul’s and Greg’s window, hoping Greg was there. He couldn’t see inside due to the window being blacked out—most of the smaller windows, the ones that weren’t shielded by plywood, had removable boards against them. It was decided that the enemy didn’t need easy targets; especially at night when someone’s silhouette might show against a light source, like a flashlight or even a kerosene heater. All of the larger windows along the side and front of the house were boarded over with plywood, held in place by screws and nails.

As moments ticked by, Duane grew impatient. Kyle was getting away. He couldn’t risk losing him. Then he saw the hue of the window change, the plywood board having been removed on the inside. Greg eyed him for a second, then opened the window.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“Need you to alert Don, then get Paul. He’s on the upper roof. Kyle just left through his window. I’m going after him.”

Greg nodded and left. 

Duane ran across the roof. At the edge, he glanced down and took in the yard. No sign of Kyle, but there were tracks leading from the ladder. Duane scrambled down, hit the ground with a thump, and took off toward the woods, rifle in hand.

Once inside the tree line, he slowed, listening. He heard nothing but the howl of the wind and proceeded onward, following the tracks. He walked for about five minutes before he heard a rustling noise from ahead. With so many trees, both leafless and pine in his path, he couldn’t see what it was. He moved forward slowly, stepping in the same set of tracks he’d been following, hoping to lessen the sound of crunching snow.

A shot rang out, and Duane felt a whoosh of air against his cheek. Another shot quickly followed and the part of the tree next to him exploded in a spray of bark. He ducked behind the nearest tree, a thick oak. The shots were coming from where the tracks led.

Damn it. The little bastard had spotted him.

Duane crouched, picked up a small branch and tossed it out. Two more gunshots sounded. So the little guy was jumpy. Good. By now, Paul knew what was up. The gunshots would’ve alerted others as well. They’d have Kyle eventually, dead or alive.

Duane couldn’t wait for the cavalry. Kyle could still get away. He needed to keep the guy here. He removed his hat and poked it out from the left side of the tree. More gunshots rang out, but they weren’t very close. He peered from the right side of the tree while wiggling his hat on the other. Kyle was about twenty feet ahead, crouched low behind two close-together trees. Duane pulled his hat back, took aim with the rifle and fired two shots, both wide on purpose. “The next one is for you,” he shouted.

Kyle fired three shots in response, none of them aimed.

“Why the heck are you shooting at me in the first place?” Duane asked, hoping to throw the guy off.

Two more shots were fired, the bullets spitting up snow and forest debris a few feet to his right. Duane wondered why the man was shooting so erratically, not bothering to aim his shots, or run away. Taking a chance, he peered out from behind the tree.

Kyle was reaching down, not even looking in Duane’s direction. He pulled something from a hole. A pile of dirt was next to him. The object was rectangular and black. Duane had a clear shot if he wanted one. Kyle held a black stick in his other hand, then attached it to the rectangular object. Duane’s eyebrows rose. The little bastard wasn’t rendezvousing with someone or leaving messages under a rock; he was using a walkie-talkie.

One thought flashed across Duane’s
mind; he needed to stop Kyle from alerting whoever was on the other end of the line. He took aim and fired.

Chapter 19

Jack was resting in the living room, halfway to Sleepville when he was startled awake. It was Don, and he looked like he’d run a mile. He was breathing heavily, excited. “I think we found our mole,” he said. “Duane was on duty when Kyle left his room through his window. Shots were just heard to the east.”

Jack got to his feet, his back biting.

Don motioned for him to stay put. “We have it covered. Duane and some others have gone after him.”

“I’ve been sitting here doing busywork. It’s time I made myself useful.”

Don nodded. “If I can’t convince you to rest, then come on.” 

Jack threw on his coat, grabbed one of the rifles off the table, the .45 already in his holster, and hurried outside. He ignored the pain as best he could; knowing much more was at stake. He entered the woods, following a multitude of tracks that were all leading in the same direction. Don remained behind with a few others, taking up watch just in case this whole thing was some kind of diversion.

A few minutes of trudging through the forest, Jack came upon the others. Duane, Paul and Greg were standing around Kyle’s corpse, his lifeless eyes staring up at the treetops. Blood reddened the snow around his body.

“Shit,” Jack sighed. 

“Yeah,” Duane said. “Had no choice. He was using this.” Duane handed Jack a
walkie-talkie.

“Guess we definitely found our rat,” Paul said. 

“Did he radio anyone?” Jack asked.

“Not sure. He was holding it to his face . . . It’s why I shot him.”

Jack pounded his fist against a small pine, knocking a flurry of snow free.

Silence followed for a moment. Then a rustling was heard in the distance, catching everyone’s attention. The forest was moving, getting closer, as if it was alive. Jack’s eyes widened. Not alive. Undead.

“Fuck me…” Duane uttered. “All that shooting must’ve alerted a horde in the area.”

“Back to the house, now!” Jack ordered.

The group took off for the house. Jack wasn’t worried about anyone getting in trouble. The distance to the house wasn’t too far, but once they were there . . . well that was another story. This was the worst time for a zombie assault. Ammo, resources and energy would now be used, and they needed those things for when they attacked Cannibal.

The group made it to the house, Jack and the others yelling, warning the people who were out on the deck. They had only minutes to spare. Arms were taken up by most. People gathered along the deck’s railing and from windows and the roof.

The undead shuffled from the tree line. Ten became twenty. Twenty became forty. Shots were fired, the air filled with man-made thunder. Jack was afraid the noise might attract more undead, but with so many already here; there was no choice in the matter.

From the deck, he took out as many as he could, trying not to waste a shot. But with so many coming
, it was difficult. The mass reached the house, slamming into it like a tidal wave. Arms reached up, fingers grasping for him and the others. Jack saw heads explode. Body parts fall from torsos. The air was rank with death and cordite, an odor in which he was all too familiar.

A young boy named Derek was positioned next to Jack. The kid couldn’t have been older than ten. He was holding a Ruger .22 and blasting away. His shots weren’t rushed. The kid wasn’t overly excited from what Jack could tell. His eyes were focused. He was on a mission. Maybe later
, the event would unsettle the lad, but for now he was acting like he’d been born to do this.

Jack heard a scream. He looked up and saw a body fall from the roof. It landed in the horde and was quickly swallowed as undead began to tear away at its flesh. The screams lasted a few seconds. Jack couldn’t tell who it was. He looked at the kid next to him. Derek was wide-eyed and slack-jawed. He’d stopped shooting. And just like that things had changed for the kid, becoming too real. Jack wondered if Derek knew the person.

Jack grabbed the kid by the shoulders and turned him his way. “It sucks, but keep firing. We need to do him justice and slaughter these things. Keep everyone else safe.”

The kid nodded. Still seeming in shock, he took up shooting again, but the vigor from his eyes was gone. 

When the last shot was fired, about sixty dead lay in the yard. Guts, brains and scattered pieces of rotting flesh lay about. The clean up would be horrible, Jack knew, but the bodies couldn’t be left to rot. He feared the bridge had been compromised and this was only the first wave, but that proved not to be the case, as no more undead arrived.

He was tired, achy, but rest wasn’t an option. The bodies were gathered and burned, which took a couple of hours, then he and the others went back to work on preparing for the assault.