Episode 203 Those We Love

On the last episode of Dead Limit:

“Get away from me you monster!” The man screamed, firing his pistol. The creature stopped charging, but still lumbered towards the man. Carlos came up behind it and fired his shotgun. Paul turned and swung his giant arm, knocking Carlos aside. The man fired at Paul’s head, putting holes in it but otherwise not stopping him. Everyone who had a weapon was about to charge and fire when, out of nowhere, a single bullet pierced Paul’s heart. He growled and raised his arm, but suddenly screamed as he burst into flames. A second, third and forth hit his chest, and soon he was immersed in hot fire. He fell to the ground, already charred. Someone pushed through the circle around the monster. Roger saw it was Gloria, who was crying heavily.

“Incendiary ammo. Charles preferred it,“ she explained. She looked sadly down at Paul, now a black, writhing mass of flaming flesh; and fired one last round into his skull.

=====

As the sun rose that morning so did something else, a soulless corpse awoke from death, covered in its own blood. It growled when it caught the scent of open flesh, but noticed it was only its wounds. Where its hands, the creature’s primary instinct weapons for killing, should be instead where double blades fashioned from the split open bone. The radius and ulna had lengthened into four-foot spikes, with tips as sharp as a katana blade. Moaning and taking in useless breathes the creature clambered clumsily to its feet. Looking around it noticed two severed hands lying in the yellow grass. It reached to grab them, not having the reasoning skill to realize these appendages were its own. After a minute of trying to grab the small meal with no success the mutated seeker raised its arms and leaned down, picking up a hand in its jaws. As it began to chew, the mutant heard faint sounds down the hill. There it saw a camp, filled with people. Filled with food.

· · · — — — · · ·

Day Thirteen of Infection:

“Have you heard this yet?” Pierall asked. “It’s been playing all morning.” He was inside his RV with Roger, Mason, and Carlos. They listened to the static as Pierall tuned his radio. On almost every station the same message was playing:

"-and civilians in Colorado and Wyoming. This message repeats. This is a broadcast from F.E. Warren Air Force Base. We offer food, shelter, and security for all surviving personnel and civilians in Colorado and Wyoming. This message-"

“Not saying much,” Mason muttered.

“You know what this means, right?” said Carlos. They all looked at each other.

“The virus is still spreading.” Roger whispered.

“I think it’s worth a try, going to Cheyenne.” Pierall announced.

Carlos nodded. “Small city. Not as big a threat. He looked out the window at Colorado Springs, the city just miles to the north.”

Mason gave a loud snort. “Estes was hit hard, and hardly anyone lived there. Now you idiots think a place thirty times bigger is any safer?”

“Look at where we are right now, Mason!” Roger snapped.  “‘Springs is over twice as big as Cheyenne. We aren’t safe here either!”

“We aren’t safe anywhere, goddamn it!” Mason yelled.

Before Roger could retaliate Mason kicked the door open and stomped out.

“Your friend better watch his temper,” Pierall stated.

“He’s just been through a lot,” Roger explained.

“Still, I don’t trust him. His aggression seems a bigger threat than the Mockers.”

Roger shrugged. “He saved my life. And at the time I also saved his. I have no quarrel with him.”

Roger left the RV. It was early in the morning still, so the sky was just beginning to turn blue. Smoke was rising from one of the grills; he smelled the delicious scent of smoked bacon and sausage. He saw Mary eating next to Gloria, who looked even more depressed than yesterday. He gave a glance towards the graves at the edge of camp, and then sat down next to Mary.

“She feeling any better?” he mouthed.

Mary shook her head. Gloria was pushing her food around her plate.

“You need to eat,” Mary told her.

“We need to leave,” Roger replied. Mary looked at him quizzically.

“Where would we go?” she wondered aloud.

“Cheyenne,” Roger explained, “I just heard that radio transmission Pierall’s been going on about.” He looked over his shoulder at the old man, who was conversing with several men over by the tents.

“Is that what they’re talking about?” Mary pointed at them. Roger nodded.

“I think so. You should probably pack up, just in case.” He got up and went over to join the conversation.

“-Put as many supplies as we can in the RVs, and everyone can ride in the cars.” Pierall was saying.

“But which way would we go?” someone spoke up.

“Yeah,” Carlos agreed, “Denver’s probably radioactive or something, we can’t go north.

“We could take twenty-four.” A gruff voice said from behind Roger. He looked back and saw Mason holding a map.

“Changed your mind?” Roger whispered. Mason shrugged.

“Take highway 24 to I-70, then get on 9 till you reach 34-“He traced the route with his fingers.

“That would lead to Estes,” Roger muttered, confused. Mason continued; “Follow 34 to I-25 and then it’s a straight shot north to Cheyenne.”

Everyone nodded in approval. Pierall raised an eyebrow, slightly impressed.

“Mason, I think that is a great path. It skips past Denver but isn’t overly complicated.” There were a few claps of agreement.

“Well, what are you stinkers waiting for?” Mason asked. “Let’s get a move-on, shall we?”

The group split off, everyone heading off to their tents or vehicles to start packing.

“So we’re hitting the road, then?” Mary asked when Roger sat down again. Gloria got up and trudged off to her tent.

“Poor girl,” said Mary.

“She must have really liked him.” Roger observed.

“I just can’t believe-I mean, what happened? I’ve never seen something like that happen before!”

“It’s probably like what makes screamers. Some sort of extra mutation I’m guessing.”

“Let us hope Ms. Mopey doesn’t cause any trouble,” Mason rudely joked while walking past.

One of the campers strolled into the clearing, saying, "Are we gonna bring the big tent or lea-" his sentence was interuped when two white spikes came out of his abdomen. The spikes withdrew and the camper fell, revealing a...

"What in the balls of holiness is this guy?" Mason yelled. Peiral garbbed his pistol from his waist and fired at the mutant. It flinched, then charged, swinging its spikes akwardly. Are those bones? Roger thought as he ran to grab a shotgun.

Back in the clearing, Peiral was running from the creature, which was swinging its bone-blades feircly. He ducked and barely missed being decapitaded, the tripped on a tree root. He fell, and rolled as the mutant stabbed at the ground. One of the spikes cuaght the leg of his pants, and the creature raised the other arm for the final blow. Before it could, however, Mason brought his axe down on the mutant's left shoulder, slicing off the arm that hel the old man in place. Before he could do further damage the creature spun on the spot, whiping the other double-spike around. Mason jumped back, and the spikes cut into the nearest tree.

"HA!" Mason luaghed, as the thing tried to yank its arm out of the trunk. He lifted his axe to decapitate the beast, but before he could swing the creature managed to pull the bones out, snapping the trunk. Peiral got to his feet and ran, followed by Mason, as the tree fell on the monster. Roger finally arived back at the scene with the shotgun and looked at the carnage. Half-buried under a two-foot thick trunk the mutant was struggling pointlessly. He looked at the arms curiuosly, then fired a shell point-blank. Red drops painted the leaves on the snapped branches.

Two fast-paced hours later the convoy move out of the campsite: 11 recreational vehicles, a green 2005 Jeep Wrangler, a tan 1978 Chevy G20 van, a new red Dodge Dart, and a Peterbil semi-truck cab. A large flag hang from one of the trees marked with a yellow S (They had left a few supplies for any travelers), and a few trailers remained.

The convoy sped down the highway, its passengers looking forward to the safety and shelter of a new, better home.

“Anybody up for lunch?” Roger’s two-way radio crackled. They had been driving for two hours, without much incident. They took the route Mason had described, going through Colorado Springs. They only saw and shot five Mockers. As they neared the city limits clouds had moved over the area, letting loose gray snow and dark rain.

“Hurry! That shit’s radioactive!” Peirall had warned. Luckily very little had fallen on them before they reached the safety of the Rocky Mountains.

 “Hell yeah I am,” he heard somebody answer. In every vehicle was at least one Intra-Squad Radio (IISR); courtesy of Otis Graham. There had been plenty of the military transmitters stashed in his tent.

Mason took the device from Roger and said, looking at his map, “there’s a town called Leadville up the road a few miles. We should stop for gas and snacks there.”

They looked west as they passed Mt. Elbert, the tallest mountain in the state. Mason insisted on Roger pulling over for a photo. The rest of the convoy drove on after he promised to be quick and catch up.

Mary, who had been in the van with them, took the photo. “Alright, let’s not fall behind,” she said. Mason groaned and Roger yawned, both men too bored to travel.

“Wish I could hunt here,” Roger told his friend, “It really is a nice place, empty and open, with no people, buildings,”

“Or zombies,” Mason retorted. Roger laughed. “Right, no zombies.”

“Let’s go guys!” Mary hollered. Reluctantly the shuffled back to the van, knowing there was still a lot of driving ahead.

The gas station was slammed. The Phillips 66 was two miles outside of town, and nobody wanted to get any closer. With all the vehicles needing to fill up it took half an hour, during which Roger, Mason, and Carlos went exploring.

“Yep, there’s a few of ‘em down there,” Carlos said while looking down the scope of his new M82, the rifle Otis’s guard had used. Downhill from the station was a small neighborhood of mobile homes. The gun was loaded with a clip of incendiary ammo.

“Shall I fire?” Carlos questioned. Roger took a look through the scope and shook his head. “Not big enough a threat. Shooting them will just draw out more if there are any.”

Mason was squinting down the railroad tracks they were standing on; trying to make out a distant object. “We got one coming up the tracks,” he announced after a moment of though. Carlos looked at the object with the rifle scope. “Wow, it’s going so slow.” He muttered. In truth the Mocker was hardly moving, stumbling along but hardly walking.

“We’re almost done, four RVs left.” Pierall spoke on Roger’s IISR.

“Let’s head back,” Roger ordered. “They aren’t worth the ammunition. Save it for emergencies.” Neither Carlos nor Mason listened. Both were patiently watching the Mocker come closer. It was moving a little faster now, maybe a quarter mile away.

“Come on,” Roger began, but Mason shushed him, pointing at the Mocker. It was trying to run now. Mason took the M82 from Carlos and took aim. His finger was on the trigger when-

“Wait!” Carlos exclaimed. Mason could see why.

“Well hot damn, this guy’s alive,” he swore. The man was franticly waving his arms and sprinting. His clothes were dirty and torn, hair a mess, and was carrying nothing but a tattered book. He finally reached them, out of breath and exhausted. “You don’t know…how far…I’ve come…” he gasped.

Mason rolled his eyes. “You are lucky, man. I nearly-“

The man suddenly collapsed, and Roger quickly knelt beside him. “No pulse!” he yelled after checking. He tried compressions, but got no reaction.

“Damn it!” Carlos cursed.

“I’m not giving this dude mouth-to-mouth,” Mason joked.

“Now’s not a good time,” Roger scolded. Carlos picked up the book the man had dropped. “His name was Dave,” he said. “This is his journal.

“Why’d he carry that of all things?” Mason said incredulously.

 “Holy shit!” Carlos exclaimed while pouring through the contents. “Look at this stuff!”

As they walked back to the station they beheld a dissapointing sight: Seven RVs where starting up, the first one pulled out of the station and sped off towards the town. In dismay they looked on as one by one they drove away.

"What the hell is going on?" Mason hollered once they reached the station. Peiral and several others looked shocked.

"They just left," Peiral explained. "Wanted to find their own way. Thought the group was too large to be safe."

"Those idiots!" Mason growled.

"Where' they going?" Carlos asked.

"State border, eventually."

"They'll never make it out!"

"It was their choice, their mistake," said Roger. Mary looked at him in surprise.

"They aren't our responsibility now," Mason added.

"Let's get back on the road," Mary muttered.

“He was a genius, I’m telling you!” said Carlos. Roger, Mason, Pierall and he were in the lead RV, conversing on the journal’s amazing contents. It had been three hours since they’d left Leadville and were passing through Grand Lake. Estes Park was less than an hour away.

Dave, apparently, had discovered many of the military’s plans for Colorado as a state, had listened to hundreds of radio messages, knew which order cities got infected in; he had maps and notes about the Mockers.

            “Listen to this,” Carlos instructed, “I just reached Buena Vista and my car ran out of gas. No power at the stations. Nothing living or undead in sight. Where have all the Seekers gone? I know this place was hit!” he read aloud.

“He walked forty miles,” Mason gawked. “Unbelievable.”

“So their graves are in-“Pierall began.

“Estes, yes. Not far from the Stanley.” Mason replied.

“We’ll all stop and pay our respects.”  Pierall told him. For once, Mason beamed.

He stood in silence, staring at the three graves before him. Poorly dug and poorly covered, they were the best he had been able to make. The crosses had since fallen, but the three patches of dirt remained. A few tears fell on the bare ground.

“I’m going to kill them. All of them.” Mason growled, “Every last damn zombie in this town, MY town, is going to pay. I will send them back to the depths of hell.”

He stormed back down the hill to the parking lot where everyone else was waiting except Roger, who was following him. Mason said nothing as he threw the van door open and grabbed his axe.

“Is this really such a good idea?” Roger pleaded.

“Don’t do it!” Carlos yelled.

“Dammit, everyone grab a gun, let’s give him his revenge,” Pierall ordered. Most everyone looked surprised; they had though Pierall and Mason to be enemies.

“The things people do for those we love,” Mary whispered to Roger.

Mason also took with him an AK-101 and two frag grenades. He went down the road a little then fired two three-round bursts. The gunshots rang and echoed over the valley. What answered was unexpected; a loud shrieking arose from further in town, followed by another, and another- and then the sound of many shuffling feet. Pierall was on the roof of his RV with the M82, searching for the sources of all the sound.

“Three Screamers!? Carlos yelled. Pierall fired the sniper rifle then hollered, “Nope. Only two now!”

“How many Seekers?” One of the girls screamed.

By now everybody was ready for battle: Pierall was sniping, Roger had a Benelli M4 shotgun, Gloria had ‘flesh-ripper’; Carlos was using an AR-50, Mary and three men were using the Browning Pistols provided by James Patcorn; and Martin Kray, brother of the late Charles Kray, was using  his older brother’s Ruger  revolver.

“Fifty or so getting close!” Pierall shouted. Mason needed no more encouragement. He charged the horde, swinging his axe violently. A head went soaring thirty feet and across the main road, the same street he’d found Roger just days ago. The decapitated body fell and he stomped on it with fury, then pulled out a lighter and set it aflame. He dashed at the next Seeker, and at the same time all the other campers capable of fighting rushed to his aid. Even Sarah and Emily, the two teenage girls, charged with long knives in hand. Soon there was nothing but a large mass of fighting bodies, living and undead, in the middle of the road. Gloria caught a female’s hair in her whacker, and ended up pulling the corpse’s face off before Emily stabbed it in the head.

“Come at me, tubby!” Carlos was yelling at an obese zombie as he shot it over and over.

“Get back! Duck!” Mason roared as he ran into the center of the horde. Seconds later a huge explosion knocked half the Seekers to the ground, many of them burning.

“More!” Pierall yelled pointing south, “Way more!”

There were, in fact, almost a thousand of the sickly creatures heading towards the battle scene. Somebody had the Ak-101 and was firing randomly into the oncoming army. Sarah screamed as one of the fallen Seekers grabbed her foot and bit into her leg. She screamed and kicked it, snapping its spine. However the damage was done. It was if all the seekers could sense she was injured, because every single head turned in her direction, staring with their bloodless eyes, and dashed after her. She tried to run but tripped, spraining her knee. Before she could get back to her feet it was too late; a zombie pushed her to the ground and started clawing.

“No!!!” Mason cried, knocking the foul monster to the asphalt. He dug his axe’s blade deep in its chest, then chrushed its skull in one stomp. Dark blood and mushed gray matter oozed out. He held his hand out to Sarah, who shook her head. Eyes full of tears she picked up her knife and slit her own throat.

Damn it, God! Why are you doing this to me? he cursed in his mind. He noticed a hand moving eerily after him. Its so creepy, he thought in disgust. Each finger was moving in a pattern, allowing the dismembered limb to basically walk. He walked around it, oblivious to anything else. Where the stub should be was actually a gross surface covered in tiny needles and suckers. Then he noticed the ring on one of the fingers.  Dear god, no, he thought sadly. He glanced around; there were a few Seekers close to him but none of his friends, so he made a move he would later regret:

He shouted and waved at the nearest zombies, then placed a live grenade by the crawling hand. He then ran away as quickly as possible. The explosive killed the closer zombies but only startled the others around him. What he hadn’t noticed was that one of them was a Screamer. It let loose one its high-pitched wails, catching the attention of more than a score of the creatures. He realized that he was on the wrong side of the battle; all the others were at least a hundred feet away and, to his dismay, dealing with greater problems. The army of a thousand living dead had arrived...

On the Next Episode:

Roger and Mary where trapped. Their van was surrounded by Seekers; who were relentlessly beating against it. The windows were rolled down so they could shoot out, but the creatures were able to grope at them. A Mocker pushed the others aside and tried to grab the door handle. Roger punched it in the nose, and bloody mucus splattered everywhere. The Mocker stumbled back a little and Mary shot it in the neck. A fountain of blood sprang from the carotid artery as the zombie fell.

He heard many of the other vehicles start up; but there was simply no way the van would make it through the throng. Still he revved the engine and released the brakes, hoping there was a way out. There was. The van burst forward, running over several Seekers and pushing aside more before- CLUNK! There was a sudden impact that caused the vehicle to spin, and then roll. Both passengers yelled and screamed as the dumpy clunker tumbled over eight times, coming to a halt on its side in the center of the intersection.