Shamblers: the zombie apocalypse (3 page)

“I…I…I…”

“Spit it out son, we don’t have all day,” Marcus yelled.

“I….
ahem
…. I don’t think we should,” Martin finally managed to stammer, “I think people deserve to get a second chance.”

“Fucking pussy,” Marcus said, although clearly a bit louder than he had intended.
He was ignored and someone kept his mouth shut as the vote continued around the room. The end result was in favor of kicking Timothy by a vote of twelve to five. Our council had spoken. I was chosen to supply the bad news.

Chapter Four

I
took Marcus with me to vote Timothy off our island. I figured it was good to have some backup in case Timothy got violent when I broke the news to him: stranger things had happened.

At first, I had no idea where to find Timothy, so I stopped to ask the
first person I ran into. It just so happened to be the old, school-teacher guy: Ned or maybe Mike.

“Hey,” I hailed him as I approached, “
do you know where I can find Timothy, the scavenger we sent out today?”

“
Hi there, Nick,” the school-teacher answered and waved in a friendly manner. It sure made me feel guilty that I had no idea what his name was. “He’s burning the bodies that accumulated in the attack. We ordered him to do it as a punishment for messing up.”

“Thanks,” I told him and
headed toward the dark, thick, black smoke that marked the location of a pyre. It was near the outskirts of our camp. Marcus dutifully followed me.

We found Timothy sitting
with a blank expression on his face as he stared at a pile of burning corpses. The smell of death and crisping flesh hung heavy in the air. He looked up at us as we approached.

“Hey guys,” he said with a wave as he stood
up.

“Get your shit and hit the road,” Marcus ordered. He wasn’t one for tact or courtesy.

“I’m sorry, what?” Timothy said with a start. He appeared dumbfounded.

I
instantly reiterated what Marcus had said and tried to use a little more empathy, “Marcus meant to say that we’ve had a council vote. We’ve decided that you can’t be a part of our group anymore due to your actions.”

Timothy
stood up. He looked about ready to cry. “What do you mean?” he blinked at us. “How….how could you guys do this? I risked my life today to go into town and get some supplies for us all!”

“You brought back a horde of snarling
shamblers too!” Marcus shouted. “You dumb shit! You knew better! You should’ve doubled back and made sure you were clear before you came back!”

“No,” Timothy protested, “
No, that’s not what happened. I had to run for my life! I turned a corner and a pack of them was just there all of a sudden. They saw me and I took off. Where else could I have done? I didn’t think they’d breach the fence!”

“Well, the vote’s already been decided,” Marcus responded. He was clearly not interested in anything
that Timothy had to say. Timothy looked at me. His eyes pleaded for mercy.

“I’m sorry,” I confirmed
Marcus’ stance, “I know it sucks, but he’s right. The senior council took a serious vote on this. We need you to gather your gear and head out at first light tomorrow morning. Your reasons may have been logical but it doesn’t make them right.”

“No, no way,” Timothy grew defiant
. His voice became louder and shrill as he started to yell, “this is a bunch of shit and you’re a bunch of selfish pricks! I earned my spot here! If you guys couldn’t defend the camp properly, that isn’t my fault-”

Marcus, ever the tactician, punched Timothy so hard
in the jaw that I swear I saw a tooth come out. Timothy hit the ground with a feeble moan. Marcus had knocked him right out.

“Really?” I looked at Marcus askance
and threw up my hands.

He shrugged. “He had it coming,” he told me. “He should’ve kept his fat mouth shut and just accepted our vote.
” Marcus spat on Timothy’s shirt then pointed a finger in my face and continued, “And I can’t believe you are gonna give him ‘til first light to clear out? Are you fucking nuts?”

“What?”

“Hell, Nick, think about it: I wouldn’t put it past him to slit all our throats in the middle of the night just to stay here. We need to grab his shit and toss him out right now.”

I thought about
Marcus’ point and nodded, “you’re right, my friend. We do need to toss him out, especially now that you’ve knocked him senseless. He won’t last two hours outside now that it’s dark, but he’s certainly a threat if we keep him.”

“Then let’s do this,” Marcus said. He nodded to the limp body of Timothy.

We hoisted him up. I started to head to the main gate, per protocol. We had all agreed that anyone who came or went into our little compound should go through the main gate to prevent possible future breaches in the fence.

“I’m not carrying him all that way,” Marcus complained.

“Really?” I asked again.

“Yeah,
” he nodded, “fuck dragging this sack of shit a few hundred yards to the main gate: there’s a breach I fixed the other day just over there,” he pointed to a section of fence where some palettes had been nailed together. “We can pry one of those palettes off easily enough and roll him right out the side.”

“I really don’t think we should,” I advised.

“Why not?”

“Well, for starters, we’re throwing him out for breaking the rules and
you’re ready to break them yourself just to save you some extra work. Not to mention the problems that could arise if we don’t properly put that palette back in place…we’d create a huge security issue.”

“You worry too much
, Nick,” Marcus said. It was getting late. I knew that arguing with him would likely to get me nowhere. There were no zombies around presently, so I finally consented, “fine, let’s be done with this. Timothy’s as good as dead now anyway.”

“Thatta boy,” Marcus smiled.

Together, we carried Timothy’s limp body over to the partially-mended section of fence. After we set Timothy down, we pried one palette loose and set it aside. By now, Timothy had started to wake up.

“Ooohh,” he moaned, “what happened?”

“You got knocked the fuck out,” Marcus answered. “Now get moving!”

With a hard kick, Marcus forced Timothy through the opening.
As we tried to secure the palette back in place, Timothy got up and rammed his body into it.

I looked at him and hissed,
“hey! What the hell are you doing, man? Cut the shit, unless you want someone to shoot you.”

“Fuck you!” Timothy panted. “
You don’t have a gun and you left me out here with no supplies or anything! You fucking crooks!”

Shit, he’s right
, I realized,
I don’t have a weapon. I left my .40 in the office.

“Keep the fucking noise down,” I whispered
as I also realized that Marcus had neglected to bring his bat along, “you’re going to attract the zombies.”

Timothy
slammed into the palette again as he tried to force his way back into camp. “I don’t care!” he shouted. “The shamblers will get me before the night is over! I may as well bring them down on you too! Let me back in or we all die!”

“Fuck, you have anything
we can use to hammer nails in with?” Marcus asked urgently.

“Do you see a fucking hammer or crowbar in my hands?” I replied with sarcastic frustration.
I hadn’t anticipated tampering with our fence, and I sure as hell doubted that Marcus had thought his plan through.

“Fuck!” Marcus cursed quietly, “We can’t secure this piece without something, and we gotta do something about fuck-face over here or he’s gonna get us killed.”

Timothy crashed into the palette again. He almost knocked me backwards. Luckily, Marcus had braced for the impact.

“Fuck this!” Marcus
said. He started to pull the palette back up and out of place.

“Hey what are you doing?” I demanded.

“I’m gonna deal with fuck-face right now, before he brings the shamblers down on us.”

“Bring it you bitch! Come get me!” Timothy
taunted as he punched the palette repeatedly. He had gone crazy with fear.

It was all the
instigating Marcus could take. He pushed me out of the way and tossed the palette to the ground.

“Oh shit,” I cursed
.

T
he two men started to throw fists at each other.

Why does
everything have to be such a huge disaster?

“Come on guys, let’s go!” I urg
ed. “We’ll settle this up later; let’s just get this fence secured.” I knew that the sounds of their scuffling would bring zombies any minute.

The two combatants fell t
o the ground and started to roll around. They were swinging desperately at each other, and each was landing a few solid blows. Timothy didn’t look or act tough, but he could hold his own. Marcus had blindsided him with his sucker punch and now Timothy was proving to be a respectable opponent.

I moved i
n and tried to break them apart. I caught an elbow to the jaw for my troubles. Dazed, I stepped back and shook my head. That’s when I heard the growl.

“Zombies!” I warned.

Both men froze and perked their heads up as if they were dogs catching a scent.

As they stood up, a number of shambling corpses stomped through the bushes nearby, just feet away.
They were moaning as only the dead could, and their outstretched arms were reaching for flesh to tear.

“Oh shit!” Timothy exclaimed.

Marcus pushed him backwards, into the zombies.

He looked at me and yelled, “run!”

As we bolted back to the fence, I heard Timothy scream.

We grabbed the palette and began to force it back into place. As we tried to get it to stay, Timothy’s screams intensified. I looked up in time to see two zombies rip into his chest-cavity. Several others had surrounded him, and were biting at his face, neck and arms.

“Oh man, oh man,” I mumbled, “this fence isn’t going to hold.” I knew we were fucked. The scent of blood had drawn a lot of the fuckers from who knew where.

I could only guess that the fighting earlier in the day had attracted them to our camp and the recent scuffle between Marcus and Timothy had alerted them to our specific location. Zombies weren’t exactly bright, fast, or agile, but the scent of blood would draw them from a mile away and they had incredibly keen hearing.

They
spotted us just seconds later. As a few zombies haphazardly pulled organs out of Timothy and chewed violently on them, others shambled toward us. There was nothing more than a wooden palette in between us and them.

“H
old them off,” Marcus told me in a panicked tone, “I’m gonna run and get some help.”

“Wait!” I shouted. It was too late. Marcus was already running.
He had completely freaked out on me.

“Fuck
-FUCK!” I swore.

The first zombie pressed against the palette. It moaned and I had to strain to keep it back. A second zombie soon joined it. Their undead limbs beat against the wood. I could barely hold them off. Some boards on the palette began to crack. As a third zombie approached, I weighed my options.

I pushed against them with all my might and then let go. Turning tail, I ran. It was really my only option. I had bought myself perhaps a second or two, but it was all I needed: I was a fast runner.

The danger of zombies was largely in their horde presence. They overwhelmed with numbers and unrelenting ferocity. They didn’t tire, sleep, or breathe. They could even remain underwater indefinitely.
I was lucky that the world wasn’t faced with those fast zombies that I had seen in some movies. Perhaps our current zombies would evolve into fast zombies over time. Maybe it was possible they could change through some mutation of the virus that caused their affliction. I had no idea if that was true and I’d never heard any scientific reports state if it were possible. Frankly, I doubted it.

For the time being, I could outrun them.
As I put some distance between myself and the undead, I looked back over my shoulder. The zombies were pouring through the opening. Our camp was breached. Or, in Marcus terms, fucked.

Ahead of me, a stream of survivors
was brandishing a variety of weapons as they rushed forward to meet the zombies. Apparently, Marcus had called for help and not just abandoned me. I noticed a flush-faced Martin to the right side of their line. He grasped a long-handled shovel in his pudgy, pasty hands. A stern-faced Olivia, covered in whore-makeup, was at the opposite end of the line, baring a large, barbeque grilling fork that she always used to plunge into the eyes of zombies and puncture their brains. The Preacher was near the middle. He was armed with a makeshift replica of the holy cross that he had built from 2x4’s.  Each end of the cross was wrapped in barbed-wire and had a number of nails sticking out. It looked ridiculous, but was actually a pretty effective weapon, mostly due to its weight.

Other people were armed with 2x4’s, hammers, crowbars, or machetes.
I didn’t see anyone carrying a gun. Very few of us had guns or ammo. Plus, we all knew it was best to conserve bullets unless absolutely necessary. This was especially true when fighting at night: shooting a moving target in the dark is really difficult. It isn’t like in a movie. It’s not possible to just aim, pull the trigger, and watch everything die in a bullet-riddled blaze. When you need a headshot and your enemy will eat you, you don’t waste ungodly amounts of ammo firing at night unless you have a gun with night-sights. Trust me on that.