Whistlers

Jack Walker — Cage Match

I’m in for a long evening, but it’s better than roaming around at night with no cover. That would quickly determine whether this is a dream or not as I’d not last long. I can tell almost the precise moment the sun sets and darkness descends upon the land as shrieks from night runners fill the air. That is a sound I’ll never be comfortable with. Their presence, and the fear they cause, is so great that the motor home suddenly feels like it’s made of tissue paper. I don’t want to be in here…trapped.

I take a deep breath to calm myself. There’s nothing to be done about it now, and I can’t let fear take over my senses. In the cramped space, if they do get in, it will be close quarters. I’m not sure if that’s a disadvantage or not. I’d prefer longer range where I have the distinct advantage as long as I have ammo available. Basically, I’m just plain fucked. I want to open up my mind to ‘see’ where they are, but that will give me away, as they’ll be able to sense me as well. No, I’ll just have to fold up and become a dark hole in the fabric of space and time.

The shrieks increase in volume. From the sound of it, one or more of the packs I sensed earlier are drawing near. The odor from the zombies outside are permeating the area to the extent that I can’t even smell myself, so I know I’m relatively safe from being discovered in that manner. Of course, that’s assuming the night runners in this world behave the same as the ones where I came from. Maybe they can see through walls here, which would suck mightily. Or sense heat.

Fuck, I never thought about that one.

The shrieks nearby stop, although I can hear faint ones farther off in the night. Shortly, I hear noise of movement coming from just outside of the thin metal shell I’m holed up in. There is the same metallic crunch I heard earlier in the day as something lands on a nearby vehicle. Then, there comes the noise of something shuffling outside and quick footsteps… several footsteps. During intervals of quiet, I hear sniffing. I’ve heard that sniffing sound enough times to know that there are night runners just outside searching for prey.

They aren’t running or trotting by in their hunt for food; they are lingering nearby. I hear them circle the motor home several times. It’s obvious they sense something, but they aren’t trying to break in. I’m hoping I’m not the thing they sense. I could have left a presence of odor farther off that they may be detecting, but why would they home in here. I didn’t urinate close by as that would have left a definite clue. I have an urge to open up my mind to sense what they are seeing but, again, I don’t dare, lest I reveal myself.

I run my thumb along the selector switch, ensuring I am on full auto. Looking down at the two full mags gives me a sense of security, but there is little of that with night runners on the prowl just scant feet away. A thump on the roof — side — draws my immediate attention. Something just landed over my head, and I’m pretty sure it isn’t Santa and his reindeer announcing their arrival. I hope the manufacturer who built this coffin prided themselves on workmanship. I didn’t feel the walls give when I was on top, but that doesn’t mean they won’t if several jump up on it.

Another thump on top follows. I now have two night runners above me. I hope the zombies I hauled on top cover any smell I might be giving off, or left behind. I’m now wishing I had the fortitude to cut them open as well. There’s a scraping as the two on top walk forward and come to a stop near the door.

Please don’t open the door…please don’t open the door, I think, listening intently for the squeak of a knob being turned.

As quietly as I can, I raise my barrel toward the door. If they open it and peer in, I’ll fire, but keep in my mind that they may just quickly drop through the opening. One of the night runners on top shrieks. I swear it vibrates the motor home with its intensity. I’m not sure what the shriek is about, but I’m hoping it isn’t one of discovery. I’ve heard that one far too many times. This one sounds a little different than the eagerness that’s portrayed when we’ve been found in one of their lairs. It still doesn’t make me feel very comfortable…like any of this does.

Bang!

A night runner slams against the side — which is actually the roof — of the motor home. I startle as my heart kicks up a notch, pounding furiously. It feels so loud in my chest that I’m sure the night runners can hear it outside. Another night runner pounds on the metal skin of the motor home by the door. Shrieks erupt in the night, filling the air. I stay still and silent.

I hear other screams mixing with the shrieks until I don’t think the air can hold any more. The pounding against the side and top cease. Footsteps run along the top as the night runners make for the front. It’s obvious something is up outside, but I don’t dare move. Whatever it is can’t be good. Outside, there is a large commotion. Shrieks…screams…footsteps pounding on the pavement. A loud thump against the side and something large, or several, slam into it. Snarling mixes in amongst the screams and shrieks. From the sound of it, it seems that a brawl is taking place.

What in the hell could be fighting the night runners? Surely it can’t be the zombie runners?

The possibility is so intriguing that I almost want to open up a window and watch. But, yeah, that’s not going to happen.

A shriek of agony momentarily rises above the other sounds. I hear the thumps of bodies on cars and just like that, the shrieks and screams diminish and then fade off into the night. I’m left with the silence in the aftermath of whatever occurred. The stench is still pervasive, but the sounds of anything nearby have vanished. Far off in the distance, there are faint sounds of gunshots — automatic gunfire at that. This perks me up a little as it’s indicative of someone else around. I was beginning to think the evidence I found earlier was just an illusion and that I was leading myself on. I’ll investigate in the morning provided I make it through the night. It’s still a long ways until dawn and anything can happen. I just hope the night runners don’t return…or whatever chased them off. I can’t imagine night runners running from anything and, if I hadn’t heard it first hand, I wouldn’t have believed it. I hope that whoever is firing makes it through the night and can tell me what the fuck is going on here. I’m so ready to go home and won’t complain about it ever again. Okay, I probably will, but I just want to see my kids again.

The night passes with sporadic gunfire throughout most of it. That, and the putrid air, keeps me awake. I feel my head drooping when I look at my watch and notice that dawn should be here.

Night runners and zombies? When does one sleep here? I think, pulling myself up.

My bones creak and my back is sore from sitting in an uncomfortable position for hours on end. My head feels a little better but is still sore from the lack of sleep. I pull the mattress back a little from the front and verify that daylight has come to this section of the world. However, what greets me on the other side of the glass is not what I wanted to be seeing. Shamblers…and lots of them. I look out the back window and see the same. The horde has caught up.

“If it’s not one thing, it’s another,” I say softly to myself, closing the window back up.

The one thing I didn’t want to happen has — I’m trapped. I can’t see out of the sides as they are now the floor and roof, but I imagine it’s the same. I have enough food and water to last for a while but not for an eternity. I can hole up here and hope they move on, but they don’t seem to want to do that anytime soon. They are just milling randomly, without any set direction.

I stretch and settle back in to think over the situation. I could create another fire block with my remaining grenades and clear a hole through them. That’s if there aren’t runners among them, which I’m sure there must be. I can’t climb on top to get a better picture and don’t even know the extent of how much I am surrounded.

This is majorly fucked up.

Thinking for a while, I’m not able to come up with a single option without knowing what truly lies outside. I was hoping the multitude would move on, but they appear to be content with where they’re at. I have to get a better look from up top. If runners appear, I’ll pop back in. I’d be in the same position as I am now, except they’ll know I’m in here; but I have to do something.

I quietly raise the ladder to the door and anchor it in place. Easing the door open, I use the rearview mirror I procured and make sure the top is clear. It is, and I pan around. To the best that I can see, zombies encircle the motor home, meandering in random directions. I poke my head out. Sure enough, I’m surrounded, but it’s not as bad in front as it is to the sides and behind. For whatever reason, the horde has chosen to stop here.

They all have the ravaged and decaying look that the shamblers I’ve witnessed so far have. The runners look, well, more fresh, if that’s even remotely possible. The mirror doesn’t give a very detailed look, but I don’t see any that look like runners. What I need is a distraction to draw them away and then make a run for it, creating another fiery blockade to slow them further. Easing the door shut, I climb back down and begin searching through the debris. I know what I’m looking for and hoping that whoever owned this house on wheels had one. Sure enough, I locate a kitchen timer with the turn knob for the minutes. Looking through the bedroom, I manage to find a wind up alarm clock — one of the foldable travel alarms. They aren’t the most accurate, but it will do for my purposes. Thankfully, unlike the compass, the numbers are readable. I also locate a couple of road flares in the glove box. I was hoping for a map, but I’m almost glad I couldn’t find one. Although wanting to find out where I am, I also don’t think I’m ready for what it might show.

I set the time for noon and the alarm for shortly thereafter. It’s hard to set an exact time for the alarm, but I try for ten minutes. I set the kitchen timer for the same ten minutes and climb the ladder. Opening the door, I toss both alarms as far as I can into the grass behind the motor home. Having them hit the pavement or another vehicle and shattering would really, really suck. I wait with the door partially open for the alarms to go off and see what happens.

It seems like an eternity. It’s so long that I think I broke both of them with the toss, but I finally hear a ringing. The shamblers immediately turn toward the noise and begin a slow shuffle toward it. The other alarm goes off and it draws more in that direction. Now is the one time that I wish the creatures could move faster. I don’t want the alarms to go quiet when the zombies haven’t cleared out of the way and start their ambling again. The alarms continue ringing and a path ahead opens up. I open the door quietly and try to minimize my movement as I crawl across the top.

Reaching the edge, I drop over the side to the pavement below. I need to minimize my noise as I don’t want to alert any of them to my presence. I have a clear route, but that could close in a moment if there are runners about. I notice a couple of night runner bodies on the ground with a fair number of the zombie runners lying tangled with them. It must have been a hell of a fight last night and I’m thankful that I wasn’t caught up in it. I edge past a few vehicles, managing to keep my presence as yet unknown. I would like to catch up to whoever was shooting last night.

I’m tired and need to find a place where I can hole up and rest; a place where I won’t be surrounded during the night. I used to be able to stay up all night and function the next day, but not now. First, however, I want to put a little distance between me and the horde.

The water tower ahead grows larger. It’s the only thing I’ve really seen on this miserable stretch of highway, and it acts as a beacon. It’s something manmade along this road and that means something — however small. I mean something manmade beside all of these bloody cars. A scream to the side in the trees halts my meandering thoughts. Runners appear from the woods slightly behind on the far side of the road.

Fuck, there goes Plan A.

They are too close to create a fire block like I did before and too numerous to take down before many more of them are upon me.

Time for Plan B…the water tower.

I just don’t have the energy to run all day and I need somewhere safe for the moment. Of course, that means I’ll be trapped again, but my choices are dwindling with each footstep. I take off running, maneuvering over and around the vehicles.

I’m quickly winded from the lack of sleep and exertion over the last day. The runners are gaining with each passing moment. I’m making for the water tower with runners on my heels…lots of them. During brief glances behind, it seems more have joined their ranks, emerging from the woods. I think about tossing my two remaining grenades over my shoulder, but the mass of cars would limit their effectiveness, unless I was lucky enough to ignite a gas tank. No, I’ll save them for a last ditch effort. I’m not there yet, but that moment is quickly approaching.

The side of the road opens up where the water tower stands. It’s much like a rest area with a couple of concrete brick buildings in the middle and the tower rising off to the side. I really hope it isn’t fenced off as I doubt my ability to scale a chain link fence right now. I’m barely able to keep moving and feel my breath shortening with each stride. It’ll be even odds making it to the tower as it is. I also hope there is a ladder leading upward without having to figure out some engineering marvel that makes it inaccessible. If that’s the case, well, I just don’t want it to be.

The screams from the runners are unnerving, especially considering they appear to be coming from the pack on my back. I round the corner and my last hope fades. Standing around the base of the tower is a crowd of shamblers, who, at this very moment, seem very interested in me. There aren’t many, but they are there — completely encircling it. I think about using the buildings to defend myself, but a quick glance closes that option down as some of the walls have fallen in. My thoughts race for a way out, but coming up with a solution and enough time are at complete odds with one another.

So, this is it? This is how it goes down? I’ll expend my grenades and make sure there’s a pile of brass beside me before I’m taken. What I won’t do is become one of them. I’ll leave one grenade on my vest and just pull the pin — game over…quickly.

I turn toward the rubble of the buildings, thinking to at least have the higher ground, when I hear a voice rise above the screams behind me. Looking up, I see two people standing on the catwalk encircling the water tower. I can’t hear what they are saying, but it’s a human voice and not the screech of the undead. I continue to run and hear rifle fire.

I hope that’s not me they’re shooting at.

After all, I’m bringing a horde of zombies with me, and they may not like that fact. Or maybe I do hope they are shooting at me. Maybe they hope to end my misery.

Please be a good shot, I think.

Unpinning my two grenades, I arc them at the shamblers. The grenades go off one after the other with a tremendous blast. Although the explosions may not have taken the shamblers out entirely, it did create a hole. I turn toward it and the safety of the tower. More gunfire erupts, and it’s then that I notice a few of the runners on the ground. Whoever is above is picking them off my backside. It’s not enough to keep them from my back pocket, but it helps. Feeling a hand grab the pack I’m wearing, I feel the zip of something heavy and fast pass near my ear. The weight of the hand falls, only to be replaced by another. This time, the zipping sound by my ear is definitely a streaking bullet. I feel a thick spray against my neck and am again free.

Charging through the narrow corridor created by the grenades, I fire shots into the nearest shamblers, not caring if they are head shots. I just want the lane to be kept clear, even if that means only rocking the zombies back a little. The ladder draws near and I switch to a better grip on my M-4. The bottom rung of the ladder is about ten feet off the ground. Leaping into the air, I catch a rung with my free hand and start pulling myself upward — yes, a scratch from a night runner, in addition to the increased hearing and night vision abilities, has given me a little extra strength. Something grabs my heel and I kick out, feeling a solid connection.

I continue climbing until my feet connect with the bottom run. I’m out of reach from the ground. Looking down, I assure myself that the zombie runners can’t climb. Scaling a few more rungs to give myself more of a margin, I hook my legs in, leaning back against the metal shielding around the ladder. Adjusting my M-4 tightly against my body, I start my climb in earnest , resting halfway up. I’m just plain beat and it’s hard to catch my breath. Adrenaline is still coursing through, but that only provides marginal help. The fact that I’m still alive, when I had prepared my mind that it was all but over, makes the climb feel surreal.

I’m eager to meet my saviors. I just hope they are as eager to see me. I didn’t arrive in the best of circumstances, but they didn’t appear to have been in the best one either. If they aren’t friendly…well…I’m just too tired to do anything about it. The fact that they saved my bacon, and I have a lot of bacon, at least tells me they can’t be that bad.

Looking down, I see that I, and whoever is on the catwalk above, are surrounded once again. The screams and stench of the already dead rises and follows me on the climb. Looking up, the ladder seems to stretch for an eternity, but I’m also greeted by a couple of faces peering down. Taking a deep breath to calm my racing heart, I climb.