A state of shock, dread, and morbid fascination paralyzed every living being who bore witness to what had been lurking in the dark.
"A-Adam?" Ashley stammered, able to speak - to find words - when so many others could not. "Can that many...get in here?"
The only reply to her question, was an erupting torrent of gunfire.
Hundreds of infected bodies surged toward the cemetery walls like a sinister stampede of mindless animals. No one from the demolitions team even hesitated – they all double clapped the triggering device's in their hands, which set off a dozen ball-bearing claymore mines, and various IEDs.
Clouds of grey expanded violently, flattening the creatures like hurricane force winds would a field of wheat. Those not dispatched entirely by the bombs, would press on missing limbs and huge chunks of flesh.
Alleyways on either side of the street became tributaries that fed more of the infected into the current of the hideous masses flooding the streets of Stillwater. That flow crashed up against the nine foot stone walls of the cemetery. Bodies of the infected, and those trampled from just one misstep, began to create grotesque piles that only grew and bloated like a distended corpse in water.
Maybe at another place in time, the almost comical loose-footedness with which the creatures stumbled, tripped, and crawled over one another, would've been deserving of a Benny Hill soundtrack.
Ashley had crumpled to the floor of brass and covered her ears, screaming like she was shellshocked from an aerial bombardment. Yet, Adam had no trouble drowning her out completely. Whenever he found Fiona's rhythm, he would not fall out of step with her, so easily.
Although, regardless of a rhythm or a distraction, he could not miss his shots. Infected had reached the crest of the wall and Adam knew any errant shot could mean casualties. But, momentum and sheer numbers held a grave inevitability.
Stillwater Falls Memorial Garden, as it read in iron letters across a half crescent moon, frowning over the arcing front gates, had gone from a refuge, to a sanctuary. It's residents went from sleeping under tarps string up between headstones, to a shanty town of plywood and sheet metal, to an RV park.
This was a place where everyone served a purpose - a place where people could really feel like they were a contributing member of society. There was even a roll call for jury duty, though very rarely utilized. Successfully birthing a child had been a testament to their efficiency and relatively good healthcare.
It was also the place where Adam had met the prettiest girl he'd ever seen - regardless of having only spoken to her a handful of times over the course of the year.
But, none of that mattered now. Achievements and accolades certainly weren't at the forefront of anyone's mind. They were, instead, thinking to themselves: we'll need to save as many lives as possible.
More infected began to spill over the wall and tumble across the floorboards of the scaffolding. The planks of pinewood rattled and clapped together. Aluminum bones of the structure began to bend with ominous moans. Then, it rocked backwards and reached its tipping point.
When it fell, bodies – infected and people, alike – caught underneath the structure, actually softened the crash of metal and wood.
Then there was chaos.
Those who weren't crushed to death were now pinned to the ground under bars or wooden planks. As the infected swarmed over the wreckage, like a colony of ants would a dying wasp, many pleas for help heard only fleeting feet.
"No, no, no, no, fuck no!" Adam wasn't fully aware that he spoke. His words came out on brief puffs of warm breaths. Each dissipated into the cold air, as did the warmth of his breath.
Adam could see Maxwell - Charlie - Brian - all friends of his, pinned under debris, helplessly thrashing to escape, to defend themselves. Their eyes widewith fear, hope long since extinguished fromy braced for a truly cruel and gruesome death.
It was immediately clear to Adam that the only way he could help his friends now, was to spare them from a horrific demise. Each of which, had been the closest thing to family he'd had in two years. Maybe helping them would alleviate some of the constant, guilt and nightmares of impotence.
Maxwell was the youngest of the three - maybe seventeen - and he had been the most recent addition to the guard force. He passed through the training fairly quickly, though Adam had only given him one day of instruction with marksmanship.
Adam had considered how sharp the contrast between their experiences at that age were. Instead of chasing girls and ridiculous dreams, Maxwell witnessed gore beyond measure, and death, as commonplace.
He'd be better off, Adam thought, while he racked the bolt of his rifle. The action liberated a spent brass shell casing - the only memorandum of Brian's death.
Through Adam's scope, the magnified view of a small black cross matching up with a boyish face, was already etching itself into his subconscious. Adam hoped those desperate eyes understood what he was doing, and why.
Droves of the defenseless, the wide-eyed, the panicked – the doomed people of the community – charged up the hill away from the gates. They scattered like birds chased away from bread crumbs in a park. Except they could not take flight, had nowhere to go,
and were only headed for an exit they knew wouldn't be there.
.
Adam caught sight of Earl,. He was already a fair distance up the first slope crowded by grey headstones. He had turned around to look back at Adam and the two made eye-contact. It was impossible from that distance, in the dark, but they both sensed one another. Adam brought the rifle scope to his eye and let it settle on his friend.
Adam regarded his familiarity with the half zipped, grey onesie, and the truckers baseball cap that Earl always kept perched too high on his head. It was somehow both comforting and devastating to see in that moment. Adam could see the middle finger Earl was flicking him off with.
"Earl," Adam muttered to himself, a smile creeping just briefly onto his face, "that's just rude."
Then, Earl was swept up into the fleeing masses.
"Oh my god, Adam!" Ashley began to belt out hysterical cries, " Mom! My mom, my mom, my mom - they - they're going - please Adam, please -" she stomped and beat her hips with clenched fists, like a toddler demanding to see her mommy.
Adam snapped back to the world crumbling in front of their eyes. "What? Where is she?" he demanded, straightening up from his scope, looking to her, and following her gaze.
A band of the infected had broken away from the main onslaught among the indifferent headstones, and made a dash for the nearest RV's. One of which, just second in line to the attackers, was Mrs. Greene's. Everyone knew she preferred to be addressed as Mrs., though Mr. Greene had been dead awhile, she thought it ridiculous to advertise a single status. She loved her husband too much, and refused to let the world change her into anything Ashley would no longer recognize.
Adam spun his chair around, set the rifle on the thin ledge of the bucket, and dove into the scope. It was less than two seconds before his crosshairs were tracking an infected woman running alongside the first RV.
Boom.
His rifle bucked, and the scope resettled to see a wide, red V pattern on the white corrugated siding.
Ashley wondered what the last thing she said to mother was. Did I say bye, or were we still arguing about last night? Whatever they may have argued about before, now seemed like a frivolous waste of what could have ultimately been their last minutes together.
Another boom of the rifle startled Ashley.
An infected man clawing at the door to the first RV, suddenly bounced up against the siding.
No, Ashley thought, I had told her to stay in bed, that she needed to rest, and I'd deliver the food this time. She would've done the same for me. That is how I'll choose to remember her, Ashley decided.
Boom.
What looked like an adolescent infected, wearing a hospital gown, ran over the asphalt at an incredible pace. The force of the bullet yanked the body back, as if it had reached the end of a leash fixed to a tree.
There were no other gunshots, save for one lone rifle that worked tirelessly in vain. Screams became the only constant on that night – a night darker than any other
An hour after losing sight of Earl, Adam had stopped firing. The infected had moved in like an unrelenting wave and he had a vantage point much like the home videos taken from high-ground during a tsunami – helpless only to watch the mayhem washing passed.
Distant screams from over the hill had stopped, for the most part. The only ones Adam could hear anymore, came from within the RV's as those who had hidden when the wall was breached, were being discovered by the infected, one by one.
Adam's radio crackled. He snatched up the receiver connected to the radio unit on his chair by a pigtail wire, and held it close. He heard something didn't he? Of course he did, he wouldn't have just imagined it. Still not convinced, his 'lleyes searched the grated plastic speaker for any sound.
Then a guttural cough came through.
"How's the weather up there, little buddy?"
It was Earl. Adam felt relieved to hear the man's voice, though he grew immediately concerned with the labored breathing with which tbd man spoke, "where are you? Are you hurt?"
"You're one lucky son of a bitch, you know that?" Earl's voice croaked, "you get yourself stuck up there with the prettiest girl I seen in years."
"Earl –"
"I'm with someone she may want to talk to," Earl continued, holding his transmit button so Adam couldn't interrupt, "well, I reckon, it'd be to say goodbye."
Earl released the button and waited for a response. Adam regarded the girl sitting on the floor by his side. Who had fainted, or passed out – Adam couldn't be sure of which. Her head slid slightly across the plastic wall. As it did so, some hairs had caught the rough edges of Adam's kill count whittled into the plastic.
"Earl, tell me what's going on." Adam became impatient, feeling that Earl was baiting him along instead of just filling him in.
"Can she hear me?" Earl asked.
"No, she's been passed out for a while." He glanced back down at Ashley.
"I went for her ma's place. When I went in, one of the infected was all over her. I didn't have time to get my pistol, so all I could do was pull it off her. I snapped its neck and tossed it out the door. But, before I turned back around, her ma had changed. Man – she was on me in seconds."
Adam let his head drop between his shoulders and beat his forehead twice with the receiver. There was so much frustration, anger, disappointment. He keyed the mic to engage the line because he didn't want to hear the words – those god damn words he'd already heard far more times than he dared to imagine.
It bit me
"You gettin' me? Adam?" Earl said, just before a few wretched coughs.
Adam felt weak, half asleep, even frozen. His muscles were aching to move, to do something, anything, but his mind was preoccupied, and didn't see the point.
"Alright buddy," there was loud crashing behind Earl's voice, "I'm going to put her out of it. You two hold tight. I'm sure someone will be by to help you two down. You take care of Fiona."
Adam's mind was still blank, Earl's words just juggled around in there without meaning. There was plenty he wanted to say at that moment, but he could not find the will to speak.
It was only when the two muffled gunshots popped off inside Ashley's trailer, that things became clear to Adam. Spacing of the two shots was calm. He must've put her down with one well-placed shot, and then – well, Adam knew now that those would be his friend's last words.
Suddenly, the bucket rattled hard enough to make the brass shells tinkle. It felt like turbulence on an airplane – unexpected and jarring. Ashley woke up in a panic, thrashing her arms defensively. Adam put a hand on her shoulder and a finger to his lips to quiet her.
The bucket shivered violently, again. Ashley screamed before having a chance to clasp both hands over her mouth. Adam was motioning downward with one palm to try and settle her. She just stared wide-eyed back up at him. Adam looked over the edge and saw the mass of infected just below.
When he realized what was happening, his heart pumped a heavy, single beat.
"What'd you see?" Ashley whispered, trying to see for herself by looking over Adam's shoulder.
Adam sat back with a defeated sigh.
"The child lock." He mumbled absently, having yet to look at Ashley.
Ashley hesitated, expecting him to elaborate. But he offered nothing further.
"Ok, and?" her tone was laced with impatience, "child lock, that means nothing to me."
"Means I disengaged it earlier when you wanted to play with the controls." His voice remained dull, while he flattened the thigh of his pants with one hand.
Ashley was still having trouble piecing togeth – 'Oh. Shit' She thought when she realized what he meant.
Adam had taken off the override controls for the bucket so that she could control it from the truck earlier. Now, the joystick to raise and lower the bucket from the trucks control panel was active. Only while the crane was lowered to the ground, could the override be reset, giving primary control back to the bucket.
Ashley hated herself so intensely in that moment. Her childishness could be what gets them killed. As the mass of crowded bodies shifted, they'd bump into the joystick. And each time they did, it would bring Ashley and Adam down a bit more.
"Adam, I..." what could she possibly say to apologize for feeding the two of them to the infected.
He said nothing and grabbed Fiona. Then, he threaded an arm through the sling, and whirled the leather around his forearm to pull the strap taught and set the rifle butt firmly against his shoulder.
"Ashley, I need you to hold that joystick up for as long as you can, ok?" Adam spoke to her like she'd been his first pick of schoolyard buddies for his kickball team.
The bucket shuttered and dropped another three feet. Ashley stifled her scream with one hand, and pushed the joystick up with the other.
Adam pushed himself to the edge of his seat, and put the rifle over the edge. He quickly drew a bead on the infected pushed up against the truck. But, that's when a morbid thought crept into his mind:
I only have two shots left - if we fall into that crowd - Im going to wish I had them, for us.
The bucket dropped further down. Ashley's hand was clamped over her mouth like a vice. Tears seeped out through eyes shut tight. She began to sob.
"Ashley." Adam whispered to her like a lover softly waking her in the morning.
She opened her eyes half expecting to be in that place, tangled up in white linen with him next to her. At least, Adam's face was there, kind, warm, comforting.
"Come sit with me." He said, offering her a hand.
Ashley thought for a second, then took his hand and stood up. She was careful to keep one hand on the controls as she sat across his lap.
"There's nothing we can do is there?" Ashley asked, leaning her head on his shoulder, sniffling.
"I don't think so." He replied, noticing burn marks on her neck from where the spent shell casings had landed on her skin. She must've been in shock to have not noticed, or brushed them away.
Adam wasn't sure what had compelled him to do it, but he leaned in and pressed his lips gently to the burns. Ashley tucked her chin and turned to meet his lips. That's when Adam leaned in and kissed her deeply.
Hands began to paw curiously at the bottom of the bucket.
Adam pulled away from her lips and pressed his forehead to hers, "Ashley, I don't want them to get to you."
She backed off slightly and looked at him with puzzled eyes.
"I have to two bullets left." he said with a gesture towards Fiona, propped against his wheelchair.
"Oh." Was all she offered in response, dropping her eyes to the rifle.
The bucket dropped again and Ashley yelped before she could stop herself. Groans and hisses reacted to the sound. Hands began to claw at the outside of the bucket. Long, grey, writhing fingers with grotesquely mangled fingernails, began to curl around the edges of the bucket. Ashley looked on, horrified, until Adam placed two fingers on her chin and gently pulled her face to look at his.
Another rumble and creak brought them lower. Ashley screamed and looked around with wide, teary eyes.
"Ashley." Adam's voice's came to her as if beckoning her from a dream. He pulled her panicked face back to look into his eyes – but hers darted around him and passed him. He clasped his hands delicately on either side of her face.
"Ashley." He whispered in the same comforting, almost loving tone he had been speaking in, and waited until she focused on him, "Are you ready?"
Ashley let out a quick sob and shut her eyes tight. Droplets of tears gathered there and tumbled down her cheeks when she nodded.
Adam pulled the rifle up into his lap.
"It'll be okay. There will be nothing to worry about anymore. No more hunger, no more living in fear. We won't have to live in such an ugly, unforgiving world another minute."
Ashley opened her eyes and kissed Adam while he racked the bolt, stood the rifle butt on his leg, and rested Ashley's chin on the barrel. Hideous growls became louder, hungrier, just outside the confines of the small plastic bucket.
Then, the bucket dropped into its final plunge.
ns 15.158.61.55da2
