Escape
Hutch watched the walkers wander across the porch. He counted almost thirty of the zombies in the dim light of the setting sun. Not many and too many, all at once. He checked his Stoner for the third time in as many minutes. Sayers’ shot had dented the casing but not otherwise damaged the weapon, at least not that he could tell.
He looked back out the window. The sun was a slip of light on the horizon, but it was already night beneath the trees. And the zombies kept coming. The more of them there were in one place, the greater the likelihood of more of them showing up.
He stared at the trees, but there was nothing to see in the dark. Something told him they were out there, though. They were always out there. Always walking towards him. He dreamed about it sometimes. Running and running and running, and every time he looked back – there they were. And no matter how fast he ran, or how far he rode, they were always gaining on him.
A rotting fist thumped against the reinforced glass, startling him. He stepped back from the window, letting the curtain drop.
“The sun is just about down,” Ptolemy said, from behind him. The other man stood in the doorway to the kitchen, eating out of a can of mixed fruit slices.
Hutch grimaced. “Great. So how we doing this?”
Ramirez, sitting in a chair near the door, looked at him. “The same way we always have. We let Attila run, and see how many he can pull away from us. Then we handle the rest – but quietly.” She pointed to the Stoner. “No loud noises. Otherwise, we’ll have all of them right back on us before we know it.”
“Yeah, I got it.” Hutch slung the Stoner across his broad back and reached for his bullwhip. He pulled the braided leather tight between his hands, giving it a snap. He looked at Calavera, crouched nearby. The masked man was studying his icon, as if it held some truth that the rest of them weren’t privy to. “You ready, big man?” Hutch asked.
“Yes, very much so.” Calavera placed his icon back into his coat and flexed his hands. His knuckles popped like muffled gunshots and Hutch winced. He wasn’t any more superstitious than the next guy, but something about Calavera made him uneasy. It wasn’t just the way the masked man fought; it was his whole “guided by saints” deal. But one thing he couldn’t deny was that it worked. And if it worked, it was OK by Hutch.
Ramirez stood. “Hutch, you, Ptolemy, and Calavera are with me. We’ll go up first and get ready. Kahwihta will stay down here with Westlake and Labrand. They’ll boost Attila through one of the windows, then follow us up. We go down as a team. We stay together. Don’t get separated.” She glanced at Labrand.
He cleared his throat. “If you do get separated, head for the southeastern trailhead. Should be marked. That’ll take us to Mount Marcy.”
“We will not be separated,” Calavera said.
Hutch glanced at Calavera and nodded. “Yeah, no worries there. I intend to stick to him like glue. Nothing short of a howitzer is going to take you down, big man. Or maybe a nuke.” He frowned. “I wonder if we could find a nuke.”
“Yes,” Ptolemy said, without elaboration.
“And on that note,” Ramirez said. She checked her sidearm. So did Westlake. They looked so similar in that moment – not in their appearance, but in their behavior – that Hutch almost laughed. Two professionals, going about their job.
“Everyone gone tinkle?” Kahwihta said. Hutch and the others looked at her. She grinned. “What? You don’t want to be caught out in the woods, needing to pee, with zombies on your trail, do you?”
“She makes a fair point,” Hutch said. Ramirez looked at him. Hutch shrugged. “Hey, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I did my business.”
Ramirez shoved him towards the kitchen. “Thank you for sharing. Roof. Now.”
Calavera already had the ladder out and was sliding the access hatch aside. It wasn’t locked or even barred – just a simple square of wood and tile, positioned over a single-piece plastic hatch, like the sort people installed in order to get under their houses. Calavera moved it aside as quietly as possible and then boosted himself up onto the roof. A moment of silence followed, then he stuck his head back down. “All clear,” he said.
Ramirez went next, followed by Ptolemy. Hutch was last. As he climbed to the top of the ladder, he saw Labrand ease open a window around the back of the main room, facing away from the river. Attila went out a moment later. Hutch heard him begin to bark even as Calavera helped him through the hatch – which was a tighter fit than it looked – and onto the roof. Hutch nodded his thanks to the big man and crept carefully across the roof tiles to join the others over by the chimney.
The sun had slipped behind the trees, and the sky was painted in purples and blacks. The stars were out, gleaming pinpricks overhead. The moon wasn’t quite full, but there were no clouds, and silver light fell across the river and the remnants of the dam. He could hear the water rushing past. From the roof, the ground around the cabin looked like a junkyard.
There seemed to be walkers everywhere. More than the thirty he’d counted before. “That’s a lot of zombies,” he murmured softly.
“It will only get worse if we stay here,” Ptolemy said. His hand rested on his hunting knife. “By morning, their numbers may well have doubled.”
Hutch wasn’t sure about that. He couldn’t imagine where they were all coming from. But he refrained from commenting. Instead, he watched as the mutt went to work. At first, it seemed as if the zombies were ignoring Attila’s presence.
“She was right – they can’t see him,” Ramirez murmured.
Hutch realized what she was getting at. The zombies turned this way and that, following the sound of Attila’s barking, but they couldn’t pinpoint the dog. At least not until he went after one of the slower ones.
Hutch, crouched beside the chimney, could barely make out what was happening, even with the moonlight. He saw a brownish blur, and a walker fell over. He heard growling as Attila chewed at the zombie’s leg with every ounce of ferocity he possessed. Then, just as quickly, he let go and bounded away, barking loudly.
Hutch almost laughed. The mutt didn’t have much in the way of brains, but he was good at this game. Slowly but surely, the zombies started moving after the dog. Soon, the area below the chimney was all but empty. A few stragglers, slower than the rest, were all that remained. Kahwihta and the others climbed out through the hatch and joined them on the roof. “Time to go,” Ramirez said. “Remember, boys. Keep it quiet.”
Calavera was the first off the roof. He crept down the incline to the lowest point and dropped the six feet to the ground without issue. Hutch grimaced. He’d jumped off plenty of roofs as a kid, but it had never turned out well for him. He hoped this time was different. He waited for Ptolemy to get down and then followed, somewhat clumsily. He nearly lost his grip on the edge of the roof more than once.
When his feet finally touched solid ground, he sighed in relief – and froze, as a walker lurched around the side of the cabin. He had his whip in his hand, but the thing was too close for him to get a good wind-up. Instead, he snapped the end of the bullwhip around the zombie’s head and dragged it towards him with a swift jerk. It was clad in a pantsuit and pearls; a businesswoman, never to make that last important meeting.
Off balance, the walker stumbled into him, and he snapped its neck. It fell, making gagging sounds as it tried to gnaw at his boot. Carefully, he set his heel on the center of its forehead and pressed down with all his weight. Bone popped and flesh tore. The walker spasmed and lay still. Hutch pried his foot loose and scraped it against the ground.
When he turned back to the others, he saw that his walker wasn’t the only straggler. But they’d been handled quietly as well. Ramirez had baton-pounded one in the head, and Calavera stood over another, wiping his hands on his trousers. Hutch grinned and started towards them when something tugged at his boot. He froze again, expecting to see a crawler. Instead, he saw a thin wire extending across the ground and into the open door of a trailer. The stake the wire was attached to hadn’t quite been dislodged. He’d stopped in time. A booby-trap. Of course Sayers would’ve left a few, just to make things difficult. God only knew what would have happened if he’d fully dislodged it.
Taking a deep breath, he crouched and gently – gingerly – pushed the stake back into the dirt. He almost called out to the others but stopped himself. They were already moving towards the trees, Labrand in the lead. He could hear Attila barking, then splashing. The dog was leading the zombies into the river.
Hutch started after them, moving as quickly as he dared. He saw someone – Ramirez, he thought – look back, and he gestured frantically, pointing at the ground, hoping they’d understand. Too late. He saw Ramirez stumble, heard her curse, followed by a loud clatter. Cans, pans, metal striking metal and loudly.
From behind him came a guttural sound – not quite a growl, but close. Hutch turned slowly, suddenly aware of the moon overhead and how exposed he truly was. A zombie dressed as if for Wimbledon crouched atop a nearby stack of wood. It shrilled and dropped to the ground, swiftly scuttling on all fours towards him, tennis skirt flaring.
Hutch narrowly avoided its lunge, throwing himself to the side. His fall dislodged another stake, and a further clattering filled the night. “Hell with this,” he snarled, dragging his Stoner up and around as the runner came for him again. He let rip, his shots punching the runner backwards. It fell, twitching, and he scrambled to his feet, not waiting to see whether it was down for good.
The next few moments were loud ones. Walkers staggered out of the trees or stumbled around the cabin. Realizing they’d been spotted, the others gave up on quiet. Ptolemy’s shotgun boomed, and he heard the crackle of Kahwihta’s cattle-prod. Hutch fired from the hip as a walker reached for him, and its head popped like a balloon. “We need to get out of here before they surround us,” he shouted to the others.
“They will do no such thing,” Calavera roared, charging towards the largest of the walkers that stood between the group and the trees. The big man caught the zombie up around its midsection, grabbed it by the back of the head, and tore its skull and spine free in a burst of gore.
Then, grasping the blood-slick spinal column, he began to whirl it over his head. He swung the still twitching head of the zombie down atop the cranium of another, flattening it. Using his improvised weapon, he battered the rest of them aside. “Come then,” he bellowed. “Come to El Calavera Santo!”
The nearest walkers obliged, converging on the loudest target. Calavera was like a hurricane in human form, using every limb – including some that didn’t belong to him – as a weapon. Wherever his fists or feet went, a walker fell and soon enough the way was clear. Hutch watched in sickened fascination as Calavera twisted one’s head off and hurled the gory missile at another.
“Calavera is clearing us a path,” Ramirez called out. “Hutch – covering fire!” Her pistol barked, and a walker fell. “Everyone else, into the trees!”
Hutch didn’t argue. Big gun, big responsibilities – that was how he’d always seen it. He turned back to the cabin and sank to one knee. He took careful aim, suddenly, unavoidably, aware of how little ammunition he had left. But there was no choice. He fired a burst, and a pair of walkers stumbled and fell. One began to rise, and Hutch fired again. Two down, but too many to go. He rose, backing away.
“Hutch!”
At Kahwihta’s cry, Hutch spun and saw a walker lurching towards him, too close to avoid. A brown blur took it off its feet and knocked it sprawling. Attila. The dog growled deep in his chest as he dragged the walker by its throat to Kahwihta’s feet.
She gave the zombie a tap with her cattle-prod. Electricity did the same thing to dead muscles that it did to living ones – made them seize up. Smoke billowed from the zombie’s jaws as it thrashed and went still. “You OK?” she asked Hutch.
He nodded. “Thanks.” He glanced back and saw the rest of the walkers approaching.
“Time to get the hell out of here, I think,” Kahwihta said, hurrying into the trees after the others. Hutch followed, after only a moment’s hesitation. He considered letting off another burst from the Stoner to take more down, then decided against it. He might need the ammunition later.
“Past time,” he muttered, as he slipped between the trees.