The Rise of Macon: A Zombie Novel (Macon Saga Book 2) (3 page)

Gun in hand, Kyle back stepped, making sure his feet were
well planted. He couldn't afford to fall again; he'd gotten lucky that time. He
pulled his pistol up, taking aim at crispy, when its head exploded, sending
pieces of skull flying around the moat. The man crumpled to the ground. Kyle
found James at the top of the wall, rifle aimed in his general direction. He
hadn't realized it, but James had been dispatching the diseased as they got
close to him, giving him enough time to fight his way out of the situation. Good
man.

Kyle nodded to James, making a mental note to thank him
later, then started yelling again, trying once more to draw attention from the
door. It worked. Dozens dropped like sacks of wheat over the side of the
bridge, took a few seconds to get up, and then headed towards him. Kyle
couldn't tell how many were still on the bridge, but knew he had to move. He
backed up twelve feet, yelled, took a few shots and started to move again. He
heard James yelling, his voice jerking Kyle up. "Behind you!"

Kyle gave a quick glance, afraid to look away from those in
front, but what he saw behind him almost froze him. Somehow, they'd gotten
behind him, or fallen somewhere else; they swarmed in the moat. Twelve
diseased, all burnt black, were closing on him. The moat didn't seem big
anymore.

Kyle took a breath, and calmed his nerves. He'd have to run
between them. Kyle took off and ran like he was on fire. He moved ten feet
before he pivoted to the left, between two that were coming from opposite sides.
He didn't have time to stop and shoot, and aiming a pistol on the run was only
for the movies. Kyle's adrenalin surged through him, almost making his body
seem like it wasn't his. He needed to think.

  He twisted and ran parallel to the curving wall, keeping
beside it for a few seconds before the diseased followed him. He then darted
back to the other side and copied the same movement. He'd made it past half,
before his luck ran out.

Planning to charge through a few of them, he sprinted, but
stumbled when a diseased tripped and fell on the ground. It took both of them
by surprise. Having just jumped forward again, Kyle took flight and landed face
first on the ground.

 He made a strange cry, the air rushing from his lungs. He
fought down the dreaded feeling of not being able to breathe, closed down his
panic and began to suck air in.

Kyle decided he'd done enough and had recovered enough to
move, but the man he'd fallen over grabbed his leg. Kyle jerked his limb
forward, and the diseased's grip slid down his leg, until he latched onto
Kyle's boot. Kyle jerked again, but the guy wasn't letting go. He fell to the
ground, losing his balance on one foot, but jumped back up, almost falling
again, when his boot was released, the diseased thumping to the ground.

James!  Kyle didn't look, didn't have time. He turned over
on the ground and, on all fours, scrambled forward like a kid in a crab game. He
felt them surrounding him, their hands reaching, trying to catch him.

Kyle could smell them, burnt and rancid, it made him want
to gag. He tried to keep his movements jerky, rough, anything to keep the
diseased from catching a hold, but now it was all he could do to move. Finally,
he saw a clear space ahead, room to stand up. He regained his feet and took off.
He started running before he was all the way up.

The way in front was clear and Kyle sprinted forward,
moving along the outside of the wall so he could better see what was coming
around the curve of the moat. With no beretta, he clicked his gun belt release
and let it drop. He could get it later; if he made it. It didn't take Kyle long
to come to the backside of the fort, its wall looking identical to the front. He
saw James and someone else on the wall moving with him. James waved his hands,
gesturing for him to come over. Kyle ran towards them, not able to keep from
looking behind him.

Kyle made it to the rope, its feel in his hands was the
like the elixir of life. He started to climb, desperate to be out of the moat,
when he heard the instruction to walk up the side. He rearranged his body and
waited for them to start pulling. Before he had time to begin walking, the rope
was pulling him up the side of the brick wall, and he tilted his body backwards
in order to walk up. It was the longest vertical walk of his life.

Chapter 2

Kyle made it to the top of the wall, not letting go of the
rope until he was a few feet from the edge. He dropped to the ground, his body
needing a minute to recover. His legs shook, almost uncontrollable. His heart
felt like it belonged in an Olympian god, it was beating so fast. He loved and
hated this feeling, but he knew it kept him alive when the shit hit the fan. He
leaned forward, over his knees and sucked in air. He felt his stomach about to
give and tried to calm himself, taking deep breaths. His heart slowed, his body
calming and he felt a hand on his back, but not rushing him.

He spent another minute sucking air into his nose and
breathing out of mouth. It worked. Kyle felt his heart slowing more, the
feeling return to his limbs. He sat back on his butt and looked up at James and
Patrick.They were looking down, one with concern, one with a retarded smile. Kyle
raised a questioning eyebrow at Patrick and the man smiled, then burst out
laughing. "That was Awesome!"

Kyle, dumbstruck, stared at his friend. Awesome? A sudden
desire seized Kyle to shoot Patrick in his Mohawk, but he remembered he had no
gun. Pity. He looked at Patrick and said, "I think..." his voice was
hoarse and scratchy. James handed him a canteen of water and he took a small
sip, then another. He waited a minute and then took a gratifying large couple
of gulps that tasted like liquid gold. "Thanks. Patrick, I think next time
we'll switch places."

Patrick burst out laughing again. "No way man, that
was crazy. Awesome, but crazy. Besides, Jasmine would kill me if I did
something like that."

The mention of Jasmine brought Abe back to Kyle's thoughts,
and then he remembered the door.

"The door’s closed?" he asked, knowing it must be
for Patrick to be here, but still he needed to hear the answer.

"Yeah man, it was a tight thing for a minute, but when
they all started going after you, we had enough people to slam it shut. Dude,
that door's heavy!  Anyways, your brother cursed you up good, that boys not the
saint he pretends to be. He grabbed me and told me to go help James. I think he
wanted to come, but maybe his shooting isn't that great?"

Kyle relaxed at the confirmation of the sealed door. They
were safe, at least for a while, but he felt a little guilty about his brother.
He'd get over it. Kyle reached out and grabbed Patrick's arm, squeezing it a
little harder than necessary, and pulled himself off the ground. He felt light
headed for a minute and didn't let go of Patrick.

James spoke up for the first time. "Let's go down
stairs so you can get some water and relax for a minute. You need a few minutes
after that."

"Ah, I'm fine, just fat and out of shape," Kyle
said, letting go of Patrick and flicking him in the head. "Guess I need to
change that."

On the far side of the fort, the three of them began to
walk around the inner wall, back towards the main gate. As they walked, Kyle
noticed the sun breaking the horizon across the ocean that lied a hundred yards
away. Beams of orange and yellow light shot out and crawled across the land,
the promise of warmth a welcoming hope. Keeping his eyes away from the moat,
Kyle noticed for the first time a light, almost sparse, trickle of...ash. It
floated softly down on their heads as they walked, a reminder that the world
burned.

"Is everyone still at the gate?" Kyle asked
Patrick as they walked.

"They were when I left, but they were getting more
magazines also. We ran out."

Kyle stopped at this and turned to Patrick. "How many
magazines did we go through?"

"Not sure, but it couldn't have been that many if we
ran out them, right?"

Kyle didn't answer, but turned back around and kept walking.
He hoped they didn't use many. Bullets were a commodity now.

"Patrick, get everyone back up, we need to take care
of the rest of them."

"Copy that," answered Patrick seriously, a
strange switch from his usual responses. Patrick jogged ahead and left James
and Kyle walking behind them.

"Wasn't sure you were going to make it," James
said stoically.

Kyle laughed. "You and me both. And thanks, I owe
you."

James, in his typical fashion, just gave a slight nod but
didn't say anything. The two made it to the top of the wall, which stood above
the gate. Kyle looked down and couldn't help but notice all the diseased
roaming the moat, their growls of frustration breaking the peace of the morning.
There were over fifty near the bridge, and more wandering the moat. Kyle could
have sworn there were thousands of the things when he was down there. Just his
mind freaking out.

"We need to burn the bodies afterwards," James stated.

Kyle agreed, but didn't relish the idea of going down there
again and stacking them. He also didn't want a human bonfire just outside their
walls, but there was no way they could move that many up and out of the moat.

The sound of the scuffling feet on the stairs announced the
others coming. Kyle and James turned to greet them. Abe walked up and handed
Kyle's rifle to him. Kyle gave his brother a smile, but Abe shook his head,
like Kyle had forgotten to make his bed. The others joined the group chatting
and commenting on the diseased that walked around in the moat, groaning and
reaching their hands up in the air. Many of the diseased were bloody, but even
more had burn marks in various spots of their bodies.

Kyle hit the eject button, popped his magazine out, checked
it to make sure it was full and reinserted it into the well.

"It's full," Abe said in irritation.

"Just checking little brother," replied Kyle,
knowing that would just piss him off. "Okay guys, we need to clear out the
rest of these diseased and then burn them.

"Bloody hell, we're going to burn them down
there?" asked Edmund with a look of revulsion on his face.

"Have to," said Kyle, "unless you have a way
to move them out of there. But we can dig a pit in the moat for the
bodies."

"Not it," said Patrick and everyone laughed.

"Okay, let's split up and each walk one way around the
wall. They're not going anywhere, so take your time. We don't need to use up
any more ammo than we have to."

The group split up, and Kyle held back Eric, which meant
his protégée Edmund stayed behind. Kyle said, "Eric, we need to get that
bridge out of there, or make a way to make it smaller. Take Edmund with you,
since his rifle work probably isn't that great."

"Hey," the young Brit interjected, "I'll
have you know, I shot them right proper. Must have gotten at least five of
them."

"No kidding?" scoffed Eric. "Regular Wyatt
Earp here."

"Excuse me for not being born with a gun in hands like
you Yanks. We British are a more civilized people."

"I've told you boy, I'm no Yankee," growled Eric,
turning on the pale kid.

"Okay, you two get started on that." said Kyle,
regretting getting this started. How did these two become joined at the hip?
"Have Old Ben help you also.”

The two nodded and started down the narrow steps, still
arguing about something. Kyle turned to Abe, who was waiting for them. They had
some diseased to finish off.

***

Abe closed the facet, picked up the pail of water and
carried it to the edge of the parade ground, the designated place to wash. The
ground had turned to slush, the ice of last night giving way to the sun's
warmth. He set the bucket down, cupped his hands, bringing the cold water up to
his face. He cringed as the freezing water touched his skin, but rubbed himself
anyways. He needed to clean himself, rid himself of all he'd just seen and done.

For thirty minutes, the group had killed the wandering
diseased trapped in the moat. He couldn't get the images, sounds and smells out
of his head. It seemed more like murder than survival. They just stood there,
their milky eyes looking up, hands upstretched, as one by one they fell with
bullets in their heads. The diseased didn't run, didn't hide, just growled,
thrashed and scratched the walls until their fingers dangled from pieces of
skin.

Blood. Blood was everywhere, it coated the bottom of the
moat like a plague of horror. The worst thing about the diseased, apart from
them trying to kill you, was that they weren't dead. They breathed, moved and
ate all with a beating heart. Abe didn't understand it, but he'd seen it
himself. What could make them act like that and still be alive? 

Walking slowly along the top of the wall, aiming down into
the moat, Abe had seen one man, whose hands were completely burnt off. His arms
were pure black, except for veins which leaked red blood. His face and hair
were burnt completely off, with one eye still open and following him, as Abe
had put the red dot on his head and ended him. The back part of his head
exploded in blood and bone, then he fell to the ground, still bleeding as his
breathing stopped.

Abe doused himself with water again and scrubbed his arms,
head, ears and eyes, anything he could reach without stripping. Not enough, but
it would have to do. He was late already. He'd hung back to collect himself,
using being filthy as his pre-text. He needed to get going. He emptied the rest
of the water along the side off the wall, set the bucket down and walked back
across the empty parade ground. He noticed James standing, back towards him on
the top of the inner wall. He'd said he didn't need to be in the meeting and
volunteered for watch. Abe looked back towards the door and hurried through.

He walked through the small opening in the plex-glass that
used to separate the tourist from the recreation of an officer’s life. The
mannequins had moved out and Patrick's family had moved in. Abe took a seat on
the wooden floor, joining everyone else there. The kids played in a far corner
of the room with Eric's dogs playfully biting them.

Abe saw Kyle mouth the word
late
to him, then give a
smirk and turned away before Abe could reply. Idiot. Even at the end of the
world, family could still get under your skin.

 Before the meeting started, Abe took a look around the
room they were in, or casement as Kyle called it. It was twenty feet long and
had a solid wood floor. Kyle told him the rooms were surrounded by over four
feet of stone and brick. All of the casements were vaulted, something to do
with engineering, but to him, the shape seemed like a Twinkie.

Abe saw Kyle move to the center of the room, drawing
attention as he did. Abe noticed his brother had started fiddling with his ear
whenever he was thinking. Kyle now sported a nice round hole through his ear,
courtesy of Neil and his thugs. Abe guessed it gave his brother something to do
with his hands.

 Abe thought Kyle seemed older, more tired, which was too
be expected, all things considered. His dark blond hair was unkempt and he
hadn't shaved in a few days, something that always made him look older. But
Kyle still carried leadership well, the way he talked to others, the way he
took responsibility and made the hard decisions. Not always right, but even
when he messed up, he owned it like a man.

Yeah, the last few days had been tough; first the disease hit,
then getting to Fort Macon, a story on its own, and this morning they almost
lost everything. Yeah, a hard couple of days.

Abe had to admit, this place, this fort was the perfect
location to fight these things, these diseased. The moat surrounding the place
was ideal, almost as if the fort was in Kyle's zombie guide to surviving. When
a diseased dropped into the moat, it was simply stuck, there was no way to
reach the top of the twenty foot high inner wall. Abe felt safer inside the
fort than anywhere else so far, at least in this new world.

Kyle gave a little cough and began to speak, so Abe shut
down his appraisal of the fort and listened.

"Big day huh?" Kyle said. A few people chuckled.
"I don't know what to say, except, we're still all here and alive. Everyone
did good. It was a close thing, one that, I hope, we don't have to deal with
again, but we must be prepared for it, if we do. Anyone have anything to say on
it?"

Jasmine jumped in, apparently waiting for the question.
"But, what is the plan Kyle? We can't just stay here forever, can we? We
need the police or the military. We need help."

Silence lingered as Jasmine finished talking, everyone
looking at her or Patrick, who almost looked a little guilty.

"Jasmine," said Kyle gently, "I don't think
there are cops anymore, at least, that can come and help us. And the military,
who knows what's going on there? My plan is to find out what's going on and get
help, but until then, we survive. I'm not out to wreak havoc on the diseased,
save anyone across the country or restore order. I just want to keep everyone
here safe."

"I know that Kyle, and I'm thankful we're here. I just
want my kids to be safe. And I'm willing to trade Patrick for that."

Abe jerked his head at the offer. What?  He looked at
Jasmine, who was smiling at her husband. Abe began to see why the yellow haired,
Mohawk wearing Patrick would marry her; she was funny. Still though, an odd
group of friends.

Old Ben stood, his body popping like a bowl full of
Kellogg's. "Listen here, I've got something to say-"

"You don't need to stand Uncle Ben," Eric said,
watching his uncle struggle up from the cot.

Old Ben turned to face Eric, "Listen here you hairy
barbarian, I'll stand if I want to and stop calling me Uncle. We're not
kin."

Eric rolled his eyes, "You know you're my Great
Uncle."

Old Ben rubbed his ancient hand through his pure white
hair, "I know nothing."

Edmund, loving to hear Eric get put in his place, burst out
laughing at Old Ben. "You know nothing?"

Eric, ready to lash out at somebody, turned to the young
man from England. "You keep your yap shut Queen's boy, this here is
American business."