Mark Tufo - Whistlers

Trip is putting forth a gallant effort, but he is flagging nonetheless. There just comes a point in time when the body says ‘no more’ and stops. He is slowing and I know his time is about there. Mine is not far behind. If the trees were climbable, that would limit how they could come at us and make our situation more survivable. However, that’s just not the case. I could really use a little luck like that right now.

Where in the hell are Trip’s angels? We could really use them.

Screams, which were once only echoing from behind us, now begin from somewhere ahead. Hearing them, I feel my strength ebb. Now, it seems, an escape from the ones behind us will only push us closer to ones ahead. I don’t have a clue of exactly how many are behind, nor ahead, but it won’t take too many to overwhelm us in our current condition. The trees prevent decent lanes of fire and they can come at us from multiple directions, using the trunks for cover. Even an open area would be beneficial, but it looks like we are close to our ‘last stand’ moment.

The one hope I have is that, if I find my demise here, I will be transported back to my kids and Lynn. Of course, there is the alternative in that, if I die here, I won’t ever find my way back. That is unacceptable. Either way, I’m not going down without a fight.

“Trip, we’re about out of options and may have to fight our way out of this one,” I state.

“They made it ahead of us?” he asks.

“It appears so.”

“I’m tired of running anyway. I really would have liked to go on that ride, though.”

“Me too, bud…me too.”

I take a position near one of the larger trunks giving one of the better avenues of fire through the trees. Trip crouches just behind me near another tree and readies his slingshot. I don’t know how fast he is at reloading with it, but I know of his accuracy. I bring up my M-4, moving the selector switch to auto, and wait.

I’m hoping the shrieks bouncing off the trees are amplified and that there aren’t nearly as many night runners as the screams indicate. It seems there are just as many in my direction as there are in Trip’s. If the sounds are any indication, this could be a very short fight indeed.

The woods fill with noise, to the point that the limbs high overhead have to be shaking with the intensity. The laced boughs above keep the sounds confined and it’s difficult to tell exactly where the shrieks are coming from. Soon enough — too soon in my opinion — ghostly faces appear among the trunks, flashing in and out of existence as they streak toward us and are momentarily lost behind the giant boles.

“They’re coming,” I tell Trip.

“I don’t see anything,” he states.

I glance behind. His light is streaming through the trees but doesn’t reach very far. He is poking his head forward, attempting to see farther into the forest. Although his light affects my vision to a degree, I see several speeders as they flash between the trees. Their appearance is almost the same as the night runners except for having a slightly different kind of glow.

“I see some heading your way. I’ll take the uglies to my side, you take the ones in front of you as they appear,” I say. He merely nods as he continues staring into the darkness.

An increase in the volume of noise directs my attention back to my side. The night runners have made significant headway. I peer through my scope and place the crosshair in an open area, waiting for a night runner to appear. It’s going to be hard to get a shot in due to the limited time any of them is actually in view. My heart is pounding and adrenaline is coursing through. I take a few calming breaths.

Come on, Jack. You can do this , I think, watching faces appear, vanish, and appear again.

A light goes off in my head. There aren’t two enemies in these woods, there are three. The speeders aren’t working with the night runners and may not be overly particular about who they take on.

“Hey, Trip, do you have one more sprint in you?” I ask.

“I don’t like Sprite,” I hear him say behind me.

I mentally shake my head. “Can you run just once more?”

“I don’t see what that has to do with that nasty beverage, but I think I can manage one more.”

“We aren’t done for yet, and I think I may have a way out if you can,” I say.

“I can try, but I’m not drinking any Sprite, no matter what happens.”

“You won’t have to if we make a run for it. If not, then all bets are off and you may have to choke some down,” I say.

“Okay. Anything to keep that vile sugar water out of my system. I like to keep it pure, you know.”

“Whatever. Okay, we need to head just to the side of the speeders on your side. Follow me.” I stand.

Trip rises with me and I begin running at an angle through the trees. I head just to the side of where the speeders are rapidly drawing near. I know Trip is just behind me by the way the flashlight beam flashes up and down across the ground. The speeders change direction to intercept us, but we are by them in an instant, with the night runners close behind.

I hear the shrieks change in both intensity and tone. I open up and sense that the ones behind us are surprised by the appearance of the speeders. Apparently, they were too focused on Trip and me to notice that others shared the woods. Quick flashes of images flow through. Some indicating danger while others still focus on the prey they are chasing — us.

Growls, snarls, and screams fill the air between the trees. The sounds of bodies colliding and the noise of a full-scale fight develop behind us. We run, the direction of our flight unimportant at the moment — only that it carries us away from the two groups. I hear Trip panting again, but we can’t stop now. The images from the night runners are now fully focused on the fight with the speeders, with us being forgotten for the moment. I sense several night runners vanish from my mind.

I glance behind to see if any speeders are still after us, but there is nothing in sight. I shut down the part of my mind that is attuned to the night runners and we continue on through the dark. No one is on our tail. I slow to a jog in order to allow Trip to regain a measure of his wind. It’s important to put some distance between us and those engaged behind us. At the very least, if we are pursued again, their numbers should be diminished. The other added bonus is that anything chasing us will be coming from the rear — from one direction instead of multiple. I can’t imagine the night runners will stay and tangle with the speeders for long; zombies just aren’t a food source. They will be eager to continue their hunt and will more than likely try to disengage and follow after us. However, at the moment, we are safe.

Shrieks from the fight fade as Trip and I push farther into the forest, away from the battle. Screams still occasionally echo faintly behind, but the trees block most of the sound so that it’s just an indistinct noise in the woods. The beam from Trip’s flashlight wavers across the ground as we try to extend the distance from the night runners and speeders. The dense boughs overheard prevent any star or moonlight from filtering through, making the area beyond the splash of light a blanket of darkness.

The world under the trees is cast in varying shades of gray for me, but I’m sure Trip would be living up to his name if it weren’t for the flashlight. Leaving the screams behind, hopefully for good, we slow to a walk in order to regain our wind. Trip’s heaving breaths tell me that he’s almost reached the end of his rope. He was close to it before we made this last sprint and I’m surprised he hasn’t just collapse to the ground.