Whistlers

Meeting

Jack looked up as he scaled the ladder and saw two faces peering down on him. One of the men looked pale, as if he could throw up at any moment. The thought of being covered in vomit almost made him begin climbing down to take his chances with those below. The other man was a heavily-bearded fellow wearing a shit-eating grin, and looked like he enjoyed the Sixties a little too much.

He had no idea what to make of the two as he continued upward. They had saved him, but what exactly was he climbing into? That really didn’t matter at the moment. The reek and moans of the zombies below didn’t provide for too many options. Although, he hoped the one man could hold onto his lunch until he was off the ladder. As he approached the top, one of the men pulled back out of view. Jack didn’t know what to expect, all he could hope for was that his descent was not down the express lane.

“That’s far enough,” Mike said to Jack, leveling his rifle on Jack’s forehead. “I’d appreciate if you’d put your safety on and keep your hands away from those shiny grenades.”

“I would really love a grenadine,” Trip said, hopping back and forth from foot to foot.

“Easy, man. No worries,” Jack replied, reaching down to the M-4 that was hanging from the sling at his side. “There…better? And I’d appreciate it if you’d aim your weapon somewhere else. I’m not overly fond of a barrel in my face.”

“Sorry, man. It’s been a tough road, and friends and people you can trust have been hard to come by.” Mike lowered his weapon. Jack couldn’t help but notice that the man didn’t shoulder it or throw the safety on. “Who are you?”

“I can certainly understand that. I’m Jack. I don’t blame you for being cautious, but do you mind if I climb the rest of the way up? As much as I’m enjoying hanging out on the ladder, I’d feel better if I could get off it. Oh, and just so you know, I left my last two grenades on the ground below,” Jack answered.

“Can you tell my friend that you don’t have any grenadines?” Mike reached down and helped Jack up onto the parapet. “My name is Mike, and this bearded fellow here goes by John the Tripper or Trip, you’ll figure out why soon enough. Okay, next question. Are you from around here?”

“Grenadines? I’m not sure I even know what those are, and I can therefore assure you that I don’t have any. Nor do I have any pocket gnomes if that helps any. Nice to meet you, Mike,” Jack said, sticking his hand out. “From around here? Um, no. I don’t even know where the fuck here is, other than some mention of ‘Amissus’ or some fuck or the other.”

“Lost.” Trip stated, fumbling for something in his pocket.

“According to my learned friend, Amissus means Lost in Latin. Rich right? We found ourselves deposited in this shit hole two days ago and have been dealing with zombies and howlers ever since,” Mike stated.

Jack edged his hand closer to his M-4 as the man going by John dove into his pockets. He didn’t seem overly stable.

“Want a toke?” Trip asked Mike and Jack, producing a perfectly spun marijuana cigarette.

“I thought I smelled that above the reek of those fuckers below. By the way, thanks and nice shooting,” Jack said, relaxing. Answering John, he said, “No thanks, but it is nice meeting you, John.”

“Glad you’re not the shoot-first-and-ask-questions-later type,” Mike said as he released his empty magazine from its well. “And I could say the same about you, some amazing moves, man.”

“It depends on the situation, I guess. But it wouldn’t be overly friendly to shoot someone who just saved my butt. And thanks, I get lucky sometimes. By the way, I have to say it…nice shoes. Do they go with the poncho as part of some outfit?” Jack asked.

“Long story, and I doubt you’d believe a third of it, let’s just say I had some wardrobe help from my friend here.” Mike reached out and squeezed Trip’s shoulder.

“You mentioned howlers. What are those? Zombies I’ve already had the misfortune to become acquainted with,” Jack stated.

“Well, where I’m from, zombies rule the roost. The rest of us are just trying to survive. Then, my buddy and I find ourselves here, and it appears that zombies have made the journey with us. And there’s this super zombie, but not really because my zombies like to eat these new ones. We call them ‘howlers’ because of the noise they make. I’ll tell you what, they scare the hell out me. They made it up this tower like it was a sand castle…that’s another thing zombies can’t do,” Mike said with a shudder.

“Well, isn’t that just fucking peachy? I was hoping you were from here, and I could figure this place out. I’m just looking to get back home to my kids and girlfriend, but I’ll be damned if I know how. Shit, I don’t even know how I got here. I’ll admit that I’m not overly fond of zombies that can run. Fuck that nonsense. So…question. Do these howlers, as you call them, come out during the day, or have you only seen them at night?” Jack asked, trying to get a handle on a situation that seemed to be only getting worse.

“Only at night, and they fry like an egg left on an Arizona sidewalk during the day,” Mike answered. “You know about them?”

“I was going to tell you about some night runners I ran into last night. I’m guessing they’re one and same as your ‘howlers’. That’s the world I come from. They have night vision capabilities, can hear like a wolf, run around in packs, and can detect scent like nothing else. Oh yeah, and they’re stronger and faster. Fucking great, eh?” Jack replied. “What about these zombie things? Are there a lot that can run like that?”

“Shit, man. I thought we had it bad. When the outbreak happened, it was the slow ones that started the whole train. Thing was, they had to die and reanimate so, at first, they were slow. Then, as the virus, or whatever the hell it was, mutated, the human host didn’t die first, so the body was kept intact. So, we have zombie version two-point-oh, and your traditional slow shuffler. More of either of them than is worth counting. Are you guys overrun with these night runners? That’s a more apt (and scarier) name. How are any of you surviving?” Mike asked.

Jack chuckled at the mention of “zombie version two-point-oh” and realized that these two men he had run into weren’t that bad and, if he were to be honest, he rather enjoyed their company; or was at least comfortable with them, even if John did seem a little out there. I guess that’s why he was named ‘John the Tripper.’

“We survive one day at a time. We’ve built a sanctuary against them and we have the day to do what we need. It looks like we have time as we’re not going anywhere soon,” Jack said, looking over the railing. “Where I’m from, most of humanity was wiped out from a flu virus and subsequent vaccine. Seventy percent just died. Less than one percent lived through it; a lot less now. The rest turned into these night runners.”

“We’re from different worlds, but the similarities are too striking to be completely coincidental. Our world got screwed over by a tainted flu vaccine. Nearly all who received it died, most of those turned into zombies. I’ve got to figure ninety percent of the world’s population has become flesh eaters. Of the ten percent of humanity left, we’ve been culled pretty good. We’re holding on by a fingernail, and I’d still take that place over this one. At least I’d be with my family.”

Mike wasn’t sure why he was opening up to the man, but he seemed an honorable warrior, much like he considered himself. Just mentioning his girlfriend and kids had made Mike feel for him.

“My wife once made me watch a movie that had aliens in it. They took men and women from all different worlds and made them into prey for the predators. I can’t remember the name of the movie though,” Trip said as he took a big influx of smoke.

Mike and Jack both looked over at Trip, each deciding how much validity they wanted to put into Trip’s words.

“Yeah. I’m with you. This world sucks, although I’m not overly envious of the one you come from. At least I have my kids in my world. Look, it seems like we aren’t going to shoot each other. You’re going to need these if we’re dealing with night runners,” Jack said, removing his NVGs and handing them to Mike. Replying to Trip, “I’ve seen that movie. I can’t remember the name either.”

“Thank you,” Mike said, looking over his new toy. “Please tell me we’re not in someone’s experiment. Listen, I’ve got a fair amount of ammo, but I’m telling you that staying up here tonight is no bargain. The night runners know we’re here, and the zombies are somewhat of a deterrent. It didn’t stop them last night, and I can’t imagine it will stop them tonight. Me and Trip went through a military blockade a couple of miles away. We could go back and check the rest of the stuff. My last visit was cut short.”

“I hope we aren’t as well. I was really hoping you knew a way out of this place. I have a little ammo as well, and the last place I want to be is out in the open at night. Fuck that. I wish I had more grenades so we could carve a hole through our friends downstairs. Do you have anything that makes noise? We could make a distraction,” Jack asked.

Mike looked over the railing at the zombies that had coalesced around the ladder entrance.

“Want some more water, Ponch. I’m going to get some.” Trip asked, oblivious to the entire conversation going on around him.

“You going back up to the top?” Mike asked his friend.

Trip walked away.

“Excuse me for a sec, Jack,” Mike said as he followed Trip around the parapet.

Trip opened up a small utility access panel, a normal looking garden spigot was recessed inside.

“Jack!” Mike shouted, “I think you’re going to want to see this!”

Jack walked to where Mike and Trip were gathered around an opened hatch. “Well, that’s handy. It will be nice to fill up, but, honestly, I’m not all that keen on staying up here for long, although I haven’t the foggiest idea how to get through the horde below.”

“I wonder if running water would be enough of a distraction. It’s not all that far from we’re we’ll be leaving the ladder, but it’s something. Maybe we take a few pot shots at some of the faster ones and then make a break for it,” Mike said as he watched Trip place his entire mouth over the spigot. “You know other people would like to drink from that, right?” Mike asked.

“Dude chill-lax. There’s plenty of water in there,” Trip answered, tapping the tank.

“Speaking of which, you were swimming in it. I don’t feel so thirsty anymore,” Mike said queasily.

“Seriously? You were swimming in it? How in the hell were you swimming in it?” Taking the pack from his shoulder, Jack removed one of the water bottles from inside and handed it to Mike. “Here, you might like this a little better. It’s fresh from the Arcadia Mountains. Wherever the fuck that is. I’m just curious, how many were in the pack of night runners?”

“Thanks, man.” Mike took the bottle, making as little a show as possible of seeing if the safety cap was still sealed.

He’d only known Jack for a short amount of time and was unsure how many of his psychoses he was willing to share just yet.

“The pack, man. I bet there had to be at least thirty that I saw, maybe as many as fifty total. They fought the zombies tooth and nail just to get to the structure and the ladder. They used tactics as well. I wasn’t expecting that. We knew we weren’t going to be able to defend this position, and Trip found a way onto the top of the structure. There is only one way up there, and I killed them as they came. It got close a few times.”

“Yeah, they’re wily like that. You never know how they’re going to come at you. Looks like you got a few. How many do you think are left?” Jack asked, looking at the blood splashes on the parapet and against the side of the tower.

“I got ten-ish, the zombies…maybe half that. So I’d say this particular pack has roughly thirty really pissed off members left. Is that about a normal pack size? Will they merge with other groups?” Mike asked.

“They’re always pissed off. There isn’t really a ‘normal’ pack size. It’s just how strong the leader is and how many are in the area. An area can have many packs, several large ones, or just one massive one. The ones where I come from have merged into a pack numbering in the tens of thousands. I’m kinda hoping that hasn’t happened here. If it has, I’ll just take a puff of what Trip is offering and enjoy the day, because that’s all we’ll see if we stay here. How did the zombies react when the night runners showed up?”

“You’re just chock full of good news, Jack. I figured they were pissed off because they were former postal employees or some shit. As to the zombies, they fought the night runners tooth and nail.” Mike looked over to Trip, whose stomach was beginning to distend from taking in so much water. “Trip, buddy, breathe!” he shouted.

“Whoa! Sorry, man, I forgot,” Trip replied, pulling away from the spigot and wiping his mouth.

“Well, I figure we’ve got most of the day to get out of here, so let’s make the best of it,” Mike said as he reached over Trip and cranked the spigot closed. “I wonder if the water would be enough of a distraction?” Mike asked for the second time.

“There’s too many of them.” Jack looked over the railing.

“Dammit, you’re right. Worth a shot I suppose.” Mike looked over to the spigot a seemingly unquenchable thirst parched his mouth, but he’d be damned if he could drink from that thing now without a high pressure washer and twelve Clorox wipes to clean it first. “Can’t imagine that would keep their interest for too long anyway.”

Mike spun the top off his bottle and drank deeply, reveling in the feel of the cool liquid going down his throat.

“Too funny. Your postal workers go crazy as well? We call it going postal. John, are you going to be able to keep up?” Jack asked.

“Man, I’m hungry. I sure am glad they had some candy bars back at ‘The Man’ blockade,” John said as he reached into his pocket.

“What the hell are you talking about, Trip? There wasn’t any candy,” Mike replied, running his hand through his hair.

John pulled out a silicone-wrapped grey bar. “These look old. Do you think they’re alright to eat?” Trip asked as he pushed it under Mike’s nose to take a whiff.

“Are you seriously thinking about eating a block of C-4?” Jack asked, watching the conversation.

Mike pushed the bar away. “Are you kidding me? You just tried to shove C-4 up my nose?” Mike backed up a few paces.

“That would be handy if we had some fuses or blasting caps. As for how it is now, it might as well be a candy bar,” Jack said.

“So, can I or can’t I eat it then?” Trip asked with a slight pout on his face.

“Are you seriously asking that?” Jack responded, incredulous.

“Trust me, he is,” Mike replied. “Alright, the zombies are pretty straight forward, they’ll follow us forever. Some are slow, some are fast, and they don’t have much in the way of climbing or tactics. These night runners, though. Man, I don’t know anything about them, and they scare the shit out of me. Trip not so much, but definitely me. How are we going to get past them?”

“Yeah. I don’t see that we have that many options really. I guess we could try and use the night runners as a distraction, but that’s iffy at best. Perhaps we could hide out until night, toss down a shirt or something with our smell on it to lure them into the zombies, and make a break for it. I really don’t know. Avoidance was always the best choice and, if you did encounter them, firepower and an effective exit strategy is the best solution. I don’t see that we have either. Do you have any ideas?” Jack asked.

“We can’t spend another night up on the top of the tower. That’s only going to work for so long. I’d love to leave now while the getting is only fucking horrible. The night runners add a whole new wrinkle. I mean, once we toss the shirt, how much time are we actually looking at?” Mike asked. “Because then we have to get the hell off this thing.”

“I agree. I really don’t want to be out and about with night runners on the prowl. If they hold true to form, they’ll go immediately after the scent as long as they don’t see us. If we eliminate our scent as well, that would be ideal, but I don’t see how that’s going to happen. I’m hoping they may be distracted with fighting the zombies to give us some time to get away. But, if we can carve a hole through the zombies now, I’m all for that. I just don’t see that we have enough ammo to do that.”

“Shit, man, couldn’t you have been from a world that only had pissed off unicorns or something? Yeah, we definitely don’t have enough ammo to get through that horde, and then we have the added bonus that a fair number of them are speeders. I’d say we could take our chances if they were of the slow variety. We’ll give your idea a go. Worst case scenario, me and you become good huddle buddies on top of the tower. And then we figure something out the next day,” Mike said.

“Huddle buddies?” Jack asked with some trepidation

“Sorry. Don’t look at me that way. There isn’t much room. You’ll understand if we go up there.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Jack paused to look over the railing. “You had to go and bring fast zombies that run about during the day into the mix. I was marginally okay with night runners only coming out at night, but shit, man, we have this crap twenty-four-seven. Okay…so we hold out on the tower until night. We toss out a shirt or something close to dusk, hold out, and then see what we see, I guess,” Jack said. “Is John going to be able to keep up?”

“John has at least three friggin’ angels on his shoulders. If any of us make it through this thing, it’ll be him, I guarantee it. The problem is, he won’t know that he did.”

Jack chuckled. “Those are the guys I like to hang next to. Hopefully he can spare one or two to camp on our shoulders.”

“We could hide ourselves in the tower, that wouldn’t be a fun night. We’d literally have to stand on a ladder the entire night, and I don’t know if the hatch actually locks though. We’d have to hold our end of the handle so they couldn’t open it. I don’t know how far his angels’ wings extend, but I guess I’m still alive, so that counts for something.”

“I’ll carry the dude on my shoulders then. Heaven knows I could use an angel or two. I think I’ve used up mine and am having to borrow from others. Okay, so the interior is out of the question. So, we just hang here ‘til dusk and go from there. Do you have any cards?”

“Well, I can tell you’re from a military background. Haven’t met a vet yet who doesn’t play cards during downtime. No cards, no food, plenty of water though,” Mike replied.

“Okay, no cards, then perhaps a story or two. I’d like to know about your world.”

* * * * * *

I had my doubts about Jack. On the plus side, he hadn’t shot at me or even pointed his gun in my direction, which was as near to a win as was possible in this new world. The negative was basically my mistrust of all mankind even before the shit hit the rapidly twirling blades of the fan. It seemed much too fortuitous that he had stumbled upon us. I know, I know, not everything can be a conspiracy, BUT, some things can be. To what point, though? He’d proved himself invaluable in a pinch. And what possible state secrets could he hope to glean from me? Who knows, maybe he was sent to pluck secrets from John the Tripper. Lord knows the man had a past. Problem was, he probably didn’t remember half of it. More like a tenth, I suppose.

Fuck it. We had time to kill, and I’m not sure what I had to lose from letting him know a little of the world I came from. Did I believe his tale? Jury is still out. I did, however, believe the part about the night runners. Those fuckers were all too real. Truth be told, if something seemed a little too fishy about him, I’d kill him. Right now, though, I kind of liked him. We were kindred spirits and, until he proved otherwise, we were good to go. Talk about doing a one-eighty, maybe Tracy (my wife) was right, I do have a feminine side after all—changing my mind at the drop of a hat.

* * * * * *

“Alright, I’m looking at your clothes and your impressive weapon. They seem exceedingly earth-like. So I’ve got to assume you’re not an alien. That leaves alternate realities, which I can relate to as well. We’ve established that in my particularly much better NOW reality, we do not have night runners, just your garden-variety zombies. Who would have thought that would be a good thing?” I asked. He nodded at that statement.

“I come from a relatively long line of survivalist types, I used it as more of an excuse to get my wife to acquiesce to me getting more guns.”

Jack laughed.

“She hates…sorry, hated them. Maybe on some level she realized I was full of shit when I kept telling her that anarchy was only five missed meals away. Then, you throw kids in the mix and what mother wouldn’t protect them by any means possible? I had ten or twelve guns when the thing started and damn near a thousand rounds for each one of them. It wasn’t near enough. It was like three weeks before Christmas, do you have that where you’re from? Because that would make for some fascinating conversation if you didn’t.”

“We have Christmas,” Jack replied.

“Too bad,” I answered. He looked at me strangely. “Oh, I just meant in a philosophical way. I was wondering for a sec what a world without religion might be like. Sorry, I tend to digress at the worst times. I…um…had a colorful youth, though not near as sustained as Trip over there, but I had my moments.”

Jack looked a little concerned that he had hitched himself to my cart.

“Right…moving on. So, I was in the shower of all damn places when the zombies came. I just got back from work and wanted to relax. No sooner did I get in when I hear this blood curdling scream from my wife. I’m thinking, is it bad enough that I need to get out? It was. I ran downstairs almost in my birthday suit. It’s a zombie apocalypse and I’m wrapped up in a towel, go figure. It got real bad, real quick. It went from a few zeds ambling about my shared front yard to an all-out war for the preservation of the human race. Once I made sure my kids were safe, our hope had been to ride the whole thing out in my walled community.”

“How’d that go?” Jack asked.

“Not so well. I knew I should have packed up my friends and family and took off long before they could get in.”

“Why didn’t you?” he asked.

“Duty, honor, morality, stupidity, a combination of any of them. Take your pick, feel free to mix and match. I stuck it out until the bitter end, and my family almost paid the ultimate price for my indecision. Once we struck out on the road, I figured I’d head back east and see if my family was alright.”

We had more than a few detours along the way and there were many more variables involved than I was telling him, but he was getting the gist of the story

“Where were you headed?” he asked.

“Started in Colorado and headed for Maine.”

He took in a big inhalation. “Those are states, right?

I nodded.

“We have the same names for a couple of ours. We may be from the same place. Did you have a plane?”

“I wish. That would have saved us a lot of heartache. I never thought to ask anybody if they knew how to fly. Although I’ve got to hope that it would have come up in a conversation. I was in the Corps, and most of my time involved jumping out of them. I never thought to figure out how to fly them.”

“Colorado to Maine is quite the road trip,” Jack stated.

“Is it the same for you? I’m really having a hard time with this cross-over happening here. I mean, it sounds very much like we are from the same place…and then there’s here. Wherever the hell here is.”

“Twenty-one hundred miles, give or take a few,” he replied.

“Well, that’s the same.” I paused for a moment, reflecting back on all that had happened on that trip. “Lost a lot of good people on that journey. Made it though, somehow.”

“And your family?” he asked with concern.

“Better than I could have hoped. Took some hits, lost a brother and his family, plus a niece.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I appreciate that,” I told him, looking him in the eyes. His response seemed genuine enough and I liked him all the more for it.

* * * * * *

I’m not sure what to think about this whole thing. First of all, there is arriving in this place that I’m still not certain is real. Then, rapidly approaching the end of the line, I’m snatched from the proverbial jaws by a pair that is from yet another world. It seems like the quantum world gone haywire. Yet, here I am.

Mike seems like a pretty good guy and someone you can trust at your back, once that trust is established. I don’t think we’re there yet, for either of us. I’m just not all that trusting right off the bat. However, he did save my life, so there’s that. I’ll trust him to a certain point, but keep my reservations. I’m sure if we lived in the same world and hadn’t met up in this one, we’d probably be great friends. I kind of like his attitude and can certainly understand his reservations.

Trip is seriously that…a trip. I don’t know what to think about him. He doesn’t really seem all there. He seems like some kind of savant, pulling shit out of thin air. I’ve been snatched from my kids and Lynn and thrown into this. I can’t figure anything out, and I’m surviving one moment to the next in the hopes that this all vanishes in a wisp of smoke.

Listening to his story, especially about losing part of his family, I have a sort of kindred feeling toward him. We seem to have been through the same kind of thing, albeit in different worlds. If this didn’t seem so real, I’d say he was an extension of me in some way. Perhaps this is all a dream and I’m seeing another part of me. Hell, I don’t know.

With some reservations, I begin telling a little more of my story. I leave out some parts, such as the changes that have occurred to me. I’m sure he suspects something by the look on his face at times. I’m sure when night falls, he’ll have more of those when I manage to make my way through the dark without goggles.

* * * * * *

I relate how the deaths from the Cape Town virus spurred a quick reaction from the pharmaceutical companies to produce a vaccine. The live virus vaccine triggered an increased number of deaths, eventually causing seventy percent of the world’s population to simply fall over dead. It then produced a genetic mutation in the rest, creating the night runners; a ferocious, unrelenting new species which hunted the streets at night. Only one percent was left to face this onslaught — either immune to the vaccine or they didn’t take it. By the time I found myself in this strange world, that one percent had fallen even farther.

“There are still some groups that are holding out, but they are spread throughout a small part of what used to be the country. It’s pretty much day-by-day survival, but we’ve built a sanctuary where we hope to stave off the extinction of humankind,” I say.

“That’s pretty fucked up, man,” Mike interjects.

“Yeah. And it’s not just the night runners. We’ve run into more than a few marauding bands as well. We’re trying to scout for other survivors, but we’re finding less and less each day. We do manage to locate a few here and there, but the odds lessen every day; time is running out.”

“And they run in packs like we’ve seen here?”

“Initially, yes. They were in small to medium-sized packs, but we just discovered that they’re gathering in larger ones numbering in the thousands. I hate to think what will happen should they all start getting together into larger ones. If we take the percentages into account, there is something in the neighborhood of half a million in our area alone,” I state.

Mike just looks on. I recognize the expression of someone who has been through very similar events.

“We’ve started hitting them with an AC-130 gunship, but they disperse almost immediately. It’s hard to catch the larger-sized packs, and I have the feeling our effort at whittling them down isn’t really doing much,” I continue.

“Holy shit! You have a gunship?” Mike asks, incredulous.

“Yeah. We just acquired it,” I answer.

“And you have someone who can fly it?”

“Well, I have some experience in a similar aircraft.”

He shakes his head. “We could definitely use something like that.”

“I wish we had one here, but I’m not even sure they have something like that. We also just met up with the crew from an attack sub. Do you have something like that where you’re from?” I ask.

“Yeah, but I’m not sure we do anymore.”

“Well, they left to explore what remains of the coastline and, even though we maintain a form of contact, I’m not sure we’ll hear from them again. I tell you the worst part, there are some very crazy-ass people out there. The breakdown of the rules and structure has allowed them the freedom of their minds to do as they please.”

“Some people, man,” Mike states. “You mentioned your kids before. How are they holding up?”

I pause for a moment. “They’re doing as well as they can. I think it’s me that’s having a problem. It’s that balance between keeping them safe versus giving them experience in order to survive. I still haven’t figured that one out and probably never will. They’ve seen some firefights and have held up well, but it tightens my gut thinking of them having to live in that kind of world. I need to get back to them.”

“You will, man. We both need to get back to our loved ones. How about the rest of your family?”

I pause even longer before looking into Mike’s eyes, my vision blurring. “I lost one of my daughters.”

His expression saddens as he places a hand on my shoulder. “I’m really sorry, Jack.”

* * * * * *

“Is that a loon?” John asked.

The only loon you hear is…Jack thought.

Jack then heard an all-too-familiar shriek in the distance.

Damn, how did he hear that before me? Jack thought, shaking his head in wonder.

The distant cries of the night runners drifted across the night air, reaching the top of the tower as Mike and Jack stood near the railing.

“It’s getting close to go time,” Mike said nervously. “I sure do wish I had a beer.”

“A beer would go down nicely,” Jack agreed.

“Those sounds make my blood run cold, Jack. Are you we sure that waiting for them to come in is the best move?” Mike asked, questioning the only plan they really had afforded to them.

Mike turned to watch Trip scribble something on the side of the smooth, steel structure. “What are you doing, Trip?”

“Graffiti, man, I want people to know we were here…kind of like Kilroy,” Trip said as he tried to write. “But this pencil I borrowed doesn’t really work.”

“Pencil? That doesn’t really look like a pencil. Jack, you see this thing?” Mike asked.

Turning, Jack saw John trying to scratch the surface of the tower with what appeared to be a fuse pencil.

“Whoa! Dude! Stop! Do you mind if I take a look at that?” Jack asked, reaching his hand out.

“How do you spell ‘Ponch’?” Trip asked as he turned, placing the ‘pencil’ in his mouth in a questioning manner.

“You seriously don’t want to be doing that, John,” Jack stated, slowly shaking his head with amazement.

“He’s eating explosives, isn’t he?” Mike asked, but it was more of a statement. “You have got to be kidding me. John, buddy, could I maybe borrow that pencil?” Mike nervously shuffled closer, his trembling hand extending toward Trip.

“Yeah…he is. Bite down on that hard enough and you won’t have to worry about further dental work.”

“Sure, Mike, not a problem. What’s mine is yours, except for the Phrito’s. Those were pretty much mine,” Trip said with a smile.

He pulled the pencil from his mouth, the end of it catching on his front tooth. His fingers fumbled and the cylinder plummeted towards the ground.

Jack watched as the fuse pencil fell through John’s fumbling hands. It struck the steel grating with a clink and rolled toward one of the openings. Seeing it start to fall through one of the spaces in the grating, Jack dove for the side of the walkway, falling onto the metallic structure chest first. The fuse pencil fell all of the way through. Reaching his hand quickly underneath, he felt the chilled metal of the object land in his hand before it could begin its long journey to the ground, and to the waiting walking dead below.

Mike had made a move for the pencil as he watched it fall from John’s hand, but Jack had been quicker. There was something here he didn’t understand. Jack had a secret; Mike would keep his eye on him. Thus far, they were allies, but only because of common enemies.

“Damn nice grab, man. Hundreds of zombies and dozens of night runners and we almost did ourselves in. Although, if I had my choice between being eaten or blown up…”

“I just get lucky sometimes,” Jack replied, rising. He glanced to see a look of thoughtful concentration, perhaps a glimmer of distrust, cross Mike’s face.

Yeah, we may be allies, but it’s obvious the complete trust factor isn’t there yet…perhaps for either of us.

“And I don’t think we’d be blown up with this, but it sure would have sucked mightily to lose it,” Jack continued, holding the fuse pencil up to find it still intact. “I think we’ve found our distraction.”

“Alright, let’s get by the ladder and I’ll toss what Trip volunteered.” Mike held Trip’s skivvies as far away from himself as possible. “Oh, God, I think I see some brown on there,” Mike said, trying to hold back some bile.

“Damn, I could have really gone without seeing that. We could use both. The skivvies for smell and the C-4 for noise. If we went partway down the ladder and tossed them, we could wait for the ensuing fight and make our way through the woods. Where we’ll go after that is another story, but at least it’s away from here. Are you going to guide John?” Jack asked as he watched Mike don the NVGs.

“Sounds good, Jack. You lead the way, we’ll follow.” And that way I can keep my eye on you, Mike thought. “You tell me when to toss the underwear,” Mike said.

“Toss them?” Trip asked, shocked. “I thought you wanted to wear them. I’ve had those since 1978, man.”

And apparently wearing them ever since, Jack thought.

“Oh, God. I think I’m going to be sick. Jack, get us the fuck out of here,” Mike said.

“Okay. Let’s shimmy down. Weapons ready. And, John, it would be much appreciated if you didn’t launch that thing into my back,” Jack said, nodding toward Trip’s slingshot.

Jack secured his M-4 by his side and swung his legs onto the ladder. Looking down, he saw the milling group of zombies below become agitated as darkness settled firmly upon the land. The distant shrieks carried on the night air, drawing closer by the second. Night runners approached from the surrounding trees. The plan looked a lot different and a lot less appetizing as they descended the ladder with the inky blackness of night all around.

This looked like a much better plan during the day, Jack thought, visualizing the shake of Lynn’s head.

“I wish the moon was out so we could see a little better,” Mike said so softly that no one else could hear. “What is it about the daytime that makes plans seem all that much better? Because right now, I’m heading towards a shitload of zombies and night runners with dirty fucking underwear in one of my hands. How did that ever sound like a good idea?”

Jack looked upward, past John to where Mike was.

Can this fucker read minds? Mike thought.

“I was just thinking that.” Jack confirmed Mike’s fears.

Jack opened up and casted outward, sensing a pack of night runners closing in. He wasn’t really sure that holding up on the tower for the night wasn’t actually the better option but, here they were, and they might as well give it a try.

“We have about twenty-five night runners about to interrupt our little get-together. Are you ready for this?” Jack asked.

“No,” Mike answered honestly. “Just tell me when I can heave this thing, and we’ll go from there.”

Jack stopped about twenty feet from the ground. The reek of the dead below threatened to bring tears to his eyes, and he felt bile rise in his throat from the stench. Taking a few shallow breaths to calm himself, he sensed the pack of night runners drawing closer. They were still hidden within the dark folds of the trees, but their high-pitched screams mixed with the moaning of the zombies just beneath his feet. Hooking his legs in the rungs, he took the block of C-4 from his pocket. He then took the fuse pencil and held it at the ready.

“They’re close. Anytime will do,” Jack replied.

“Hey, Trip, can I borrow a couple of marbles?” Mike asked.

“Why? Do you just want to toss them, too?” Trip asked, still a little saddened over the prospect of losing his beloved underwear.

When Mike didn’t immediately reply, Trip began anew. “That’s it, isn’t it? You’re going to toss my marbles as well!?”

“Trip, man, first off, I think you’re marbles were tossed out a long time ago, and you need to keep it down a bit. We’re kind of in a life or death situation here,” Mike said, trying to placate the man.

Mike felt a hand hit the bottom of his foot. He reached down and grabbed the handful of marbles that Trip had reluctantly handed over. Mike wrapped the underwear around the marbles for weight.

“I swear to God, if I get pink eye or something from touching these things, I’m going to be really angry. Here goes nothing.” Mike hurled the package.

The shorts, carrying the stains from years of concerts, motorcycle rides, and partying, launched into the night air. The ends not wrapped around the marbles fluttered as they sailed. They flew over the heads of the waiting zombies and came to rest just beyond the agitated horde. Night runners broke into the opening, their excited shrieks rising and their pale faces seeming to glow in the darkness. They came to a stop, lifting their noses to the night air. As one, they turned slightly and, with a scream, streaked toward the marble-filled shorts. Jack readied the fuse pencil and C-4.

Mike watched as the shorts arced into open space. The zombies, which had been mostly looking upwards as their meal came to meet them, were now somewhat distracted. They had caught scent of the stained clothing…and also something else. The night runners were coming into range. The zombies seemed torn. The trio on the side of the water tower they could still see, but they could not get. Some of the zombies peeled off, heading toward the underwear. Others ranged farther out trying to get a line of sight on the new food source.

Seeing some of the horde below streak off toward the night runners emerging from the woods, Jack slammed the pencil against one of the rungs in order to activate it. He then placed it into the block of C-4 and brought his hand back, ready to toss it.

“I’m going to get my slingshot ready,” Trip said, not really talking to anyone. With his hand, he reached in to grab a couple of pieces of his ammunition.

Jack threw the block away from the tower in the opposite direction than their intended route of flight. With the strong scent and noise from the C-4 going off, he hoped that enough of the zombies and night runners would be drawn off, allowing them to escape. There were already signs of the night runners and zombies tangling with each other near the pair of downed shorts.

“PULL!” Trip shouted.

“What the f—?” Mike began, hearing Trip shout.

He watched as Jack tossed the C-4 and Trip honed in on it with his slingshot, like it was a clay pigeon

“NO! Trip!”

But it was too late. Mike knew the second Trip released that marble that he’d strike the explosive. The guy was nearly flawless with the weapon. The marble made a solid ‘thunking’ sound as it slammed into the side of the C-4. Mike braced for the explosion he figured was coming entirely too soon. He would count his blessings if a brilliant flash didn’t melt their faces off.

“Damn, that was close.”

Mike watched the fall of the explosive as it landed by one of the support legs for the tower.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” Jack said, watching the block of C-4 get knocked out of the air. “Cover yourself,” he shouted, and buried his face in his arms.

A blast shattered the air around them and the ripple of the explosion threatened to tear them from their moorings on the ladder.

“WHOA!” Trip shouted. “What a rush!”

Mike could see little more than a bright flare in his field of vision, but once his ears stopped ringing, the groan and creak of metal stressed to its capacity dominated.

“Jack, man, the tower’s gonna go! We have to get off this thing!”

“Too late. Hang on,” Jack cried out.

“You’re kidding, right? You and Trip think this shit up?” Mike asked. The tower began to lean. It was minute at first and then it became a full-fledged list. “Shit,” Mike muttered. “I always hated those dreams where I fell.”

With a shrieking twist of metal, the tower leaned farther. The support structure snapped with a loud clang. The group wrapped their legs and arms tightly around the rungs as the list became a free-for-all tumble towards the ground.