Double Whammy
Labrand walked point as the group made its way southwest. Tall pines surrounded them, rising to blot out the brightening sky. The trail was uneven, a rough stretch of tumbled rock that wound up and around in serpentine fashion. It grew narrow at points, and they found themselves hemmed in by walls of birch and pine.
The undergrowth was thicker than Labrand recalled, but then, given that no one had been tending the trails, perhaps that wasn’t a surprise. He ranged ahead of the group, checking the condition of the trail. He liked walking point. He hadn’t been much for talking, even before the dead had risen. Even so, he listened to the quiet murmur of the others’ voices and took some comfort in it. Though he wasn’t by any means social-minded, he liked having other folks around.
That was part of the reason he’d sought shelter at the lodge in the first place. He’d tried to make it on his own for a month, give or take a few days. He’d been set up for a long weekend in the wilderness when things went bad, with plenty of camping gear and a burning desire to escape a recent divorce. She’d taken the house, the dog, and his record collection – all vinyl, lots of Nashville firsts.
He wasn’t bitter; he’d gotten away cheap, all things considered. Sometimes, he wondered what had happened to her. Whether she was still in their house, or whether she’d had the sense to find someplace safer. He hoped so. But part of him was glad he didn’t know either way. Ignorance was bliss, as the saying went.
Hell, he hadn’t even known what had happened until he’d stumbled across a hiker with a hole where his stomach had been and a mad-on for fresh meat. It had taken him more time than he liked to admit to figure out how to put the poor fellow down for good.
The solar-powered radio he’d brought with him filled him in on the rest. Not that there was much in the way of news. It had happened so quickly that most major media outlets had gone black before they even noticed what was going on.
These days, life was simple. He knew what he needed to do, and anything else was just a distraction. Maybe that would change once they’d found this place of Westlake’s. So long as it was bigger and easier to defend than the lodge, Labrand would count it a win. They needed one, especially after the last few months. Too many losses, too many close calls, too many scavenging trips coming back empty-handed.
He stopped suddenly and raised his hand, bringing the others to a halt. Branches cracked under the weight of something heavy. Labrand gestured to the others. “Back up a bit. Now. But don’t run.”
“Bear?” Ramirez asked, softly.
Labrand didn’t look at her. “Yep.” He lifted his rifle and sighted through the scope. “Big one.” The bear was still keeping itself out of sight, back among the trees at the bend of the trail. But from the sound of its grunts, it had caught their scent and was decidedly curious.
“I thought black bears didn’t get very big,” Westlake said, as they retreated.
“Seven feet, if they’re on their hind legs,” Labrand said.
“That’s bigger than I thought.” Westlake clutched his shotgun more tightly. “Animals shouldn’t be that big. It’s not right.”
“You sound scared, Westlake,” Ramirez said, glancing at him. “Worried that the big bad bear is going to eat you?”
“No. But then, I’m faster than you are.”
The black bear ambled into the open and pushed itself up onto its hind legs, surveying the trail with dark eyes. Labrand held his breath as the animal’s gaze fell on them. It scented the air, then, when they showed no sign of approaching, it fell back onto all fours and gave a grunt. Two cubs bumbled out of the underbrush, and together all three went on their way. Hutch whistled softly. “Don’t see that every day.”
Labrand lowered his rifle. “We’ll give her a few minutes to get clear, then keep going.” He looked at the others. “There’s a lot of bears up here, especially this time of year. And without people to bother them, they’ve been extending the range of their territories. There’s plenty of deer now, fish… carrion.”
“Extending the range back to their natural territories,” Kahwihta corrected softly.
“They do eat zombies, then?” Westlake asked. “I don’t know how I feel about that.”
“Better than eating us,” Ramirez said. “Now let’s keep…”
The explosion rocked them on the trail, and a boil of smoke came rushing down towards them. Everyone took cover as best they could. Labrand scrambled behind a fallen tree, seeking safety in its flare of roots. The dust settled, and no more explosions followed. Labrand took off his hat and peered around the roots.
There was nothing up ahead but trees and dust, and something red and wet that had splattered all over the ground. He looked back at Ramirez and signaled silently that he’d go up ahead. She nodded, looking shaken. He rose to his feet, but kept low, rifle at the ready.
He wondered if it was another of Sayers’ traps as he crept around the end of the tree, sweeping the trail ahead. There were bits and pieces of… something, everywhere. Several somethings, maybe. As the smoke cleared, he caught a flash of color in the dawn light – canary yellow. It was accompanied by a soft, animal grunt. Almost an exhalation, rather than a true sound. A walker.
Labrand turned and gestured, using two fingers to mime someone walking – their signal for a walker. Ramirez nodded and waved the others back into cover. Where there was one walker, there might be more. Labrand slung his rifle and drew his hunting knife. He crept through the trees towards the swaying figure. You didn’t often find walkers alone, even out here. They tended to clump up when they could.
The first thing he noticed about the walker was that it wasn’t dressed for a hike. Or for much of anything at all, save the remains of a flight attendant’s uniform that flapped alarmingly as the walker swung its head about in a motion reminiscent of a snake tasting the air. He could see no patches of gnawed flesh, and wondered how the woman had died. Not that it mattered. She – it – was covered in splashes of blood.
Labrand paused to take stock. Sometimes runners used walkers as bait, though he wasn’t sure that they knew that was what they were doing. Kahwihta would probably know. Hell, that girl probably had a whole damn thesis prepared on the subject.
He waited for any other zombies to show themselves. When none wandered into view, he took a low breath and crept forward. The walker was looking one way, and Labrand came from the other. He took the last few steps at a run and drove the knife up through the base of the zombie’s skull before it had noticed he was there.
He gave the blade an expert twist, severing the spinal column and turning off the walker’s lights. He lowered the body gently to the ground, and then saw there was a blackened crater in the trail, still smoldering. A large chunk of something that might once have been human lay nearby, twitching mindlessly.
Labrand wasn’t a military man, as such. Peripherally, perhaps. But he’d been some places and seen some things, and one of those things was IEDs – improvised explosive devices – and what they left behind. The hole and the splatter looked awfully familiar, and he felt a chill sweep through him as he considered the trail.
The zombie – probably one of several – had been torn apart by the blast. Unlike the others, it was still moving. Its arms and legs were gone, leaving only most of a torso and part of a head. The newly made crawler snapped its splintered teeth at him as he raised his knife to finish it off. When he’d done so, he cleaned his knife in the grass and sheathed it. He looked up as a twig cracked.
“Everything copacetic?” Hutch asked. He stopped. “What happened here?”
“Some zombies stepped on a mine and blew themselves up.”
Hutch glanced at the one Labrand had knifed. “That one?”
“That one didn’t,” Labrand drawled. He was about to continue when he saw the mound of dirt a few inches behind Hutch’s foot. “Don’t move,” he growled. Hutch, true to form, stepped back.
Click.
“Damn,” Labrand said. “Now, definitely don’t move.”
Hutch froze. “Why?”
“Because you stepped on a goddamn mine.”
“I did what now?” Hutch said, in a wheezy voice.
“A mine, Hutch. An explosive device, which is activated by a pressure plate. Like the one that blew these walkers up. You have stepped on it – like an idiot – and now it is activated. So shut up and don’t move, or we’re both going to die. You dig?”
“I dig.”
“Right.” Labrand peered past Hutch and gave a whistle. Ramirez led the others up the trail towards them, a look of concern on her face.
“What is it?” she asked, as she drew close.
“Hutch stepped on a mine,” Labrand said, calmly.
“What?” Ramirez said, startled. She looked past him. “Is he…?”
“He’s fine.”
Hutch twisted his head around. “I am not fine. I am standing on a land mine!”
Labrand didn’t look at him. “I thought I told you not to move.”
Hutch muttered an obscenity and hunched his shoulders. Labrand paused and rubbed the back of his neck. “What do I do?” Hutch asked.
“Don’t move.”
“I’m already doing that. What are you going to do?”
“I’m thinking.”
“Think faster,” Hutch said.
“Not a time to rush me, Hutch.”
“I beg to differ.”
Westlake snorted.
Hutch looked at him. “You think this is funny?” he demanded.
“A bit, yeah.”
Hutch looked appealingly at Ramirez. “Boss…”
Ramirez couldn’t repress a chuckle. “Tell him, Labrand.”
“Tell me what?”
Labrand grinned at Hutch. “Relax. It’s a dud. If it wasn’t, it’d have already gone boom. I just wanted you to stay still until the others got here. Teach you a lesson about listening.”
“Asshole,” Hutch growled, stepping gingerly off the mine. Labrand’s grin widened and he stooped to brush the dirt from the device. It was shaped something like a small pancake, and made from what he thought might be aluminum. That meant it was an old one – World War 2, or thereabouts.
“Others?” Ramirez asked, crouching beside him so she could get a look at it as well.
“We’re in a minefield,” Westlake said. Labrand nodded and looked up at Ptolemy.
“Maybe. How many of these would you say she had?”
Ptolemy paused, then shook his head. “I would expect no more than a handful.” He peered up at the trees and then at the trail ahead of them. “I cannot imagine that she has enough to mine the entire trail.”
“She don’t have to,” Labrand said, scratching his chin. “One or two on the trail would be enough. She knew we’d come this way, probably figured the odds were good we’d step on it. We’re just lucky it didn’t go off.”
“We?” Hutch said, looking pale. “Me. That thing would have taken my leg off.”
“It would have taken more than that,” Labrand said, poking Hutch.
“Quiet, both of you,” Ramirez said, sharply. She looked up. “Anyone else hear that?”
“What?” Westlake asked, looking confused.
“Nothing,” Labrand said, rising to his feet. The forest was silent, save for the creak of branches in the mid-morning breeze. The lack of birdsong, even at night, left him chilled to the bone. The woods were supposed to be noisy. But not here, not now. Something was wrong. “The birds have gone quiet.”
“So? Maybe the blast scared them.”
Labrand shook his head. “If it had, they’d have come back by now.”
“Walkers,” Kahwihta said, softly. “Birds always go quiet when a lot of zombies are in the area. They’ve learned to shut up and sit still.” She reached for her cattle-prod. “The explosion must have drawn them.”
“Let’s keep moving,” Labrand said, eyeing the way they’d come. The wind shifted, and Attila began to growl, deep in his throat.
“Yeah, about that,” Westlake said. “If she’s planted mines on the trail, is it a smart idea to follow it?” When Labrand and the others looked at him, he spread his hands. “I’m just saying, this might be what she wants us to do.”
“You have a suggestion to go with that?” Ramirez asked. “Because if not, Labrand is right, and we need to move.”
“We’ll take it slow,” Labrand said. “I’ll stay on point, mark a safe path along the trail. Step on my shadow and keep tight. Don’t veer off.” He tipped his hat and smiled.
“We’ll be right as rain.”