Ambush
“I warned you,” Sayers called out again, her voice loud and clear. Calavera peered over the chunk of wing he’d taken cover behind, but saw nothing. “But you didn’t listen. And now there’s nothing I can do for you.”
“You make it sound like you’ve been doing us a favor,” Ramirez hollered back. She crouched nearby, one hand on her sidearm. Labrand and the others were scattered about the immediate area. They’d taken what cover they could, while still keeping an eye on the approaching walkers.
No answer. Calavera looked at Ramirez. “What now?” he asked.
“We can’t go forward, can’t go back,” Westlake said. He sprawled nearby, trying to make himself a smaller target behind a pile of broken seats. “Need a new plan.”
“I thought that was your thing,” Ramirez said, acidly.
“I’m thinking,” Westlake said. “All advice welcome.”
Calavera leaned towards Ramirez. “I believe I can make it, if someone can cover me.”
Ramirez looked at him. “Make it… what do you mean make it?”
“We are caught. We must rush her. A frontal attack.” He glanced back at the walkers. “At the very least, I can draw her fire and give the rest of you a chance to make a break for the trees.”
“We don’t even know where she is,” Ramirez protested.
Labrand low-crawled towards them. “I got an idea on that score, boss. I think she’s up around the rear of the plane. Probably been perched up there since before we arrived. It’s safe from walkers and she’s got a good view of everything.” He tipped up the brim of his hat and grinned weakly. “Might be we could smoke her out. Just need to get past the zombies.”
“Easy enough,” Kahwihta said. She caught Attila by the collar and dragged him close. She murmured something to him, then gave him a swat on the rear. The dog raced through the wreckage, barking. The closest zombies turned as Attila tore past them. He wove through their legs, avoiding their hands as they clutched for him. More and more zombies shambled after him, drawn by the sharp noise and sudden movement.
“I never get tired of watching that,” Hutch said.
Ramirez looked at Calavera. “Now’s your chance, big man. We’ll head for the trees, keep her eyes on us.” She paused. “Be quick.”
“As lightning,” Calavera said. He looked at Labrand. “Come. Cover me.”
Together, they crept through the debris field towards the upright rear compartment of the plane as the others began to head for the trees. Between them, those with Ramirez, and Attila, Calavera was confident that Sayers wouldn’t know where to look first. Labrand was wary, tense, twitching at every little thing. “You do not have to be frightened,” Calavera said, softly. “I will protect you from the dead.”
Labrand glanced at him. “And who’s going to protect you?”
“Santa Muerte.” Calavera flexed his hands, forcing back the ever-present ache that haunted him. Too many years of hard floors and physical abuse took their toll, even on the most magnificent physical specimen. He caught a flash of a reflection in a bit of broken glass. Santa Muerte looked at him from behind the glass, and smiled her wise, rictus smile. The aches and pains fled. “It is she who made me the hero I am.”
Labrand glanced at him, then away. “You’re crazy is what you are.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps one must be crazy to survive such madness.” Calavera smiled, knowing Labrand would never understand. “Either way, we are companions, and I will keep you safe.” He paused as he caught the sudden boom of Hutch’s Stoner. The wind shifted, carrying with it a low, agonized moaning – the hunting call of the dead. “Our pursuers have caught up with us, I fear.”
“Yeah well, day ends as it began, don’t it?” Labrand said. He hunkered down next to a chunk of crumpled hull, and Calavera followed suit. They’d circled the rear of the plane, away from the path the others were taking.
Up close, Calavera could see that it was not all in one piece as he’d first thought – rather, the rear of the plane had been broken into sections, forming a sort of ramshackle tower. At the top of the largest section was the tail assembly, and it was festooned with the remnants of broken trees.
Beneath it was another section, which leaned against the first, supported as it was on a web of broken trees. “She is up there somewhere, then?” he asked, quietly, gauging the climb ahead of him. Difficult, but not beyond his abilities.
“It’s where I’d be, if I were a no-good backshooting park ranger.” Labrand paused and studied him. “You sure about this?”
“I am.” Calavera gestured to himself and smiled. “I am not built for sneaking, if you hadn’t noticed.”
Labrand looked him up and down. “No, I suppose not.” He turned. “OK, here’s the plan. I’ll go up onto the wing there, try and get a bead on her from below. When I give the signal, you make your play. I’ll cover you.”
Calavera nodded. “I believe I can handle that.” He tensed, ready for action, but then turned as metal creaked behind him. “We have an audience.” The zombies had crept up behind them, moving silently through the debris that was their hunting ground. Five of them, by his count. All burnt to tatters and sticks, their remaining flesh pulled tight over blackened bones. They were still some distance away, but close enough to cause problems.
Labrand followed his gaze. “Oh, come on,” he muttered. He raised his rifle, but Calavera pushed the barrel down.
“Save your ammunition and get into position. I will deal with them.” Without waiting for a reply, he advanced on the zombies. As he did so, he snatched up a chunk of wing-flap and positioned it horizontally across his body. The metal slammed into the zombies like the edge of a saw blade, and those that weren’t driven back by the masked man as he bulldozed forward were broken in half. Three fell in as many seconds.
The fourth walker lunged towards him, out from under the plane’s bent wing. Calavera caught it in mid-leap and tore it in half with a flex of his shoulders. He cast the still-writhing pieces aside and turned to snag the fifth as it lurched past him. He drove it face-first into a spar of metal and left it to dangle, twitching.
A cry from the plane caught his attention. Labrand, perched on a piece of the wing just beneath the largest section, studied something inside the body of the plane. He turned towards Calavera, mouth open, as if to call out, and then – in the blink of an eye – was gone. Calavera blinked in surprise. “What…?”
Labrand screamed from somewhere inside the plane. Calavera charged to the rescue. He leapt onto the wing and, an instant later, he hauled himself up into the back of the plane, grabbing any handholds he could find.
He heard Labrand cry out again and looked up to see Labrand struggling with… an indistinct mass. It was only when the other man fired his Colt that Calavera at last saw his attacker clearly in the flash of the gunshot.
The zombie had been crushed and flattened by the impact of the landing – splattered all over the rear of the compartment. But not destroyed. Instead, it had adapted. Calavera thought that might be the wrong word, but it was the only way to explain the loops of intestine and strands of flensed muscle tissue, squirming like the tentacles of an octopus, stretching down from the broken mass of the brute’s carcass. The tangle of guts hung from the rear of the compartment like a canopy of stinking jungle vines and had somehow ensnared the luckless Labrand.
Now, with a grunting gobbling sound, the brute reeled Labrand in. The Colt was empty now, and Labrand hacked at the tendrils of tissue with a knife – but not fast enough. Calavera hauled himself after the other man, using the backs of the seats like the steps on a ladder. But it was slow going, and the brute was strong and desperately hungry. He cursed himself for having paused, even for a moment.
“Labrand!” Calavera shouted. He stretched out a hand. Labrand reached for him – their fingers touched – then, with a final wrench, Labrand was yanked back into the cavernous maw of the brute. Its mouth had become a ruptured split stretching from its face to its gullet, and the wound pulsed wide as it shoved the struggling Labrand inside. He flailed, cursing, as teeth and ribs stabbed into him from all sides, and viscera choked him.
The brute gave a convulsive shudder, and there was a horrid squelching sound as Labrand was pulped and masticated within the zombie’s body. Blood splattered down, momentarily blinding Calavera and nearly causing him to lose his footing. As he wiped blood from his eyes, he saw fronds of ligament and glistening intestine edging towards him. The brute was focused on him now, ruined gums flapping with mindless greed. Labrand’s hat drifted past him, heading for the ground.
Calavera roared and caught hold of the flapping intestines, knotting them in his fists. “You like to eat men? Come eat me!” Bracing himself, he hauled back with all his strength. The brute rocked and roared, causing the wreckage to shift in its treetop perch. Calavera was thrown from one side of the compartment to the other, but he managed to keep his grip on its intestines. The brute thrashed as if trying to tear itself free. He decided to give it a helping hand and redoubled his efforts.
Its large intestine spilled loose, and Calavera found himself falling backwards. He held tight to his gory, makeshift rope and slid closer to the ground below. As he did so, he heard an awful, wet sound and saw that the brute was following him. Flabby fingers gripped at the sides of the compartment as the zombie squeezed itself along. Loops of intestine drooped, and a broken seat crashed down, nearly braining him. He took a chance and dropped the rest of the way to the ground.
He fell heavily, rolling down the wing and only barely landing on his feet. He looked up – and nearly lost his head to a crawler as it slithered out of a gap beneath the wing. He scrambled back as the broken zombie clutched at him, slamming his fist into its head repeatedly. The crawler went limp, and he slid out from beneath it, panting.
Above him, the body of the plane gave another loud creak. Leaves and broken branches rained down. Calavera tensed and leapt aside as his pursuer plummeted the rest of the way to the ground. The brute hit like a rock, splattering Calavera with foulness. He staggered back. The brute heaved itself upright and lumbered towards him even as he cleaned the slime from his mask.
The brute paused. Calavera saw that its intestines had gotten tangled in some of the wreckage. It didn’t notice and continued to strain towards him, grasping uselessly at the air. Then a shotgun roared, and the brute’s head snapped back. More gunfire, and the mangled carcass staggered back a step. Then, slowly, it gave a wheezy grunt and toppled backwards. Calavera straightened and turned, expecting to see Ramirez and the others.
Instead, an unfamiliar face smiled crookedly at him. “Jesus Christ,” the newcomer said, looking around. He was a heavyset man, clad in piecemeal tactical gear and carrying a shotgun. He lowered his sunglasses, peering at Calavera over the rims. “I thought Sayers was joking, but you really are a one-man wrecking crew, aren’t you?”
Calavera flexed his hands. “Who…?”
The click of a weapon being readied made him pause. He turned his head slightly, and saw Sayers standing behind him, her Mauser pressed lightly to the back of his skull.
“It’s over,” she said, softly. “Put your hands up, Calavera. Or so help me, I’ll send you to meet your saint in person.”