Iain McKinnon - Remains of the Dead

The dozen or so zombies that had trailed them here had been reinforced by a legion of undead. But worse still, there were the handful of zombies trudging across the field towards the school.

“Oh fuck,” Ryan whispered and he turned and fled.

As he barreled back into the classroom Cahz slammed into him. The nude soldier had his gun in one hand his armoured vest in the other.

“They’re in the field!” Ryan’s voice exploded.

“I saw,” Cahz said. “Bring desks and chairs-anything you can. There must be a break in the fence.”

“Can’t we just barricade ourselves in here?”

“Hold this.” Cahz thrust his carbine at him. “Would love to,” he said as he squeezed into his body armour, “but we need space for the chopper to land.”

“Right,” Ryan said, looking around. “Where are you going?”

Cahz snatched the weapon back from Ryan and ran off down the corridor. “I’m going to stem the tide,” he called as he turned the corner.

Ryan called after him, “Dressed like that? You’ll catch your death-”

Ignoring the broken glass, Cahz ran out into the playground. The flare was still casting the peculiar daybreak glow over everything.

Looking around, the nearest zombie was a good ten metres away. The woman’s hair was matted and wild. The sequined vest top she wore was still clean enough to sparkle slightly under the light. The skin on her bare arms looked warmer, more alive under the artificial light, but the fingers missing from her outstretched hands and the gaping maw left Cahz in no doubt that she was walking dead.

He aimed and fired.

The dead partygoer was floored.

There were a dozen or so zombies in the playground now making a beeline for Cahz, but none were dangerously close.

There was the sound of breaking glass behind him. Cahz turned to see a desk half out the already shattered window and Ryan shoving at it from inside.

Cahz looked up. The shamooli flare was halfway down. It wouldn’t be long before it landed, and although it would continue to burn on the ground for a time, it wouldn’t throw out as much light.

With the carbine snug against his shoulder again, he marched off over the playing field to engage the shambling cadavers. Calmly and efficiently he walked up to within a few metres of the closest zombie and put a bullet between its eyes.

It was now that he wished Ryan had confronted him earlier. On the march over here, Cahz had succumbed to his anger and foolishly shot all the zombies he’d encountered. He knew he could have clubbed them when he’d come across them individually. Now he didn’t have the time to waste; he had to dispatch these cadavers as efficiently as possible before they had a chance to push through in force. He wished he’d conserved his ammunition.

Pressing in against the rusted fence, unperturbed by the rain, a thousand dead eyes watched the half-naked soldier executing their brethren. Already there were far too many to deal with. He had to find and plug that gap.

In the gloom and the rain Cahz couldn’t see the break in the fence, but the stream of zombies were all coming from one direction, leading him back to the source. From behind him the angle of the light flattened and his shadow stretched out over the tall grass.

“Fuck,” he cursed as the illumination from the flare dimmed.

Ahead of him, zombies were squeezing between a pair of broken slats in the fence. It wasn’t a large gap, just enough for the zombies to exploit.

Close enough to see the breach, Cahz stood his ground. The rain was bouncing off his skin; slick droplets trickled down his back. He held the M4 carbine in position and aimed at the approaching dead.

“Come get some!” he shouted.

Unaffected by the taunt, the undead marched on at their steady, lumbering pace, moving as fast as they could muster. Taunt or no taunt, all they knew was that warm, succulent flesh was only a few strides away and that was all the motivation they required.

Cahz nuzzled into the sighting line and picked his first target.

The machine gun barked. Quickly, effectively, Cahz dispatched the approaching cadavers until all the invading zombies lay motionless.

From the gap in the fence, a fresh zombie pushed from the crowd behind onto the playing field. It stumbled from its ejection like a new born fawn getting used to its unsteady legs. Eventually finding its footing in the slippery mud, it scanned the terrain ahead, its mouth open in a gormless pose. When it saw nothing of interest it turned its head and caught sight of Cahz. With a gurgling cry, it stretched its arms out and threw its stiff legs forward.

Cahz popped a round in its skull, ending the flicker of existence it had perversely maintained.

The next zombie to poke through the fence had its head blown clean off. Its lifeless body collapsed and partially blocked the breach.

“Ryan!” Cahz shouted.

A distant voice cut through the moans, “Just… coming.”

Another zombie forced its way through the slats. Cahz aimed, then it went dark. The last of the orange glow from the flare burned out.

Cahz hastily pulled the trigger, the lightning flash from his muzzle burning the negative image of the balding zombie’s pate into his eyes.

“Fuck.”

He stood only feet away from the breach, not knowing whether he had gotten a clean shot off. In an instant he felt utterly vulnerable. In the dark he was deprived of his primary sense and the noise of the droning zombies made it impossible to hear from which direction he was being approached.

He hesitated.

Stay or retreat?

He knew if he left he would have to clear the landing zone all over again. He unconsciously felt for the magazine in his pouch. Would he have enough ammo to clear the field a second time? But if he stayed and fought on in the dark, his chances of survival would be slim.

Without thinking, he already had his hand on the last flare.

He dropped his carbine into its sling and pulled the flare out. In the burst of ignition light, he saw the zombie lunge. Eyes wide open, Cahz reacted with military-trained reflexes. He leveled his weapon at the cadaver without registering what weapon he had.

The flare rocketed forward, catching the bald zombie on the shoulder. The exhaust plume scorched Cahz across the arm, making him yelp in pain.

Knocked off balance by the impact, the zombie slipped in the wet grass and fell at Cahz’s feet. The creature twisted and writhed in the mud, trying to crawl. The signal flare hurtled off and rattled against the fence, its chemical rocket illuminating the scene in golden flashes.

Invigorated by the commotion, the lights, the sounds, and the movement, the undead spectators slapped the metal struts of the fence and hollered as best they could through their rigid throats. The whole fence reverberated with the sound of the pounding.

Cahz leapt backwards and swept his carbine up into the firing position. Falling back on his pre-Z training, he put a double tap into the zombie’s head. The fear, surprise and sheer volume of adrenaline conspired to rob him of his aim. The first shot narrowly missed, but the second silenced the undead creature.

As he looked up to check for more zombies, the signal flare lit up with a loud crack. The parachute deployed ineffectively, snagging the rocket on the fencing, but the bright radiance of the orange burn caught Cahz square on. He winced and turned away, screwing his eyes up as he did. His vision was filled with the bright green afterburn.

“Ryan!” he shouted.

“Cahz,” came Ryan’s reply from close at hand.

Cahz pressed the balls of his palms to his eyes. “I can’t see! Shoot the pus bags!”

“What with?”

“Where’s your pistol?”