Mark Tufo - Whistlers

“Not this time,” I told him honestly.

“I’ll wait.”

The one that had gotten off the bike first was now standing and surveying the area. His gaze lingered the longest on the only place that afforded some cover for miles. It just so happened to be our location.

“This isn’t looking too promising,” Jack said. “I don’t see any weapons, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t hiding some.”

“Jack, I can’t tell if it’s the heat mirage coming off the pavement, but is that leader guy walking funny? I mean, it looks like his leg is bending too far back when he steps, like he doesn’t have a patella or he’s got some crazy stretched out ligaments. His gait just looks bizarre.”

“Yeah. His arms are doing the same thing, like he can swing his elbow both ways. I thought I was just seeing things. I really hate this fucking place,” Jack whispered.

“That’s creeping me out,” Trip said, even though he wasn’t looking. He had rolled over and was looking at the bottom of the bridge eating what looked like a Twinkie.

“Where’d you get that?” I asked him.

“Don’t,” Jack pleaded. I let it drop.

Lucy had been a zombie. Once, she’d been human, a sister, perhaps mother, daughter of someone. She did not deserve what happened to her next. She was to become a dragging victim as one of the things hoisted her up and another tied a rope around her chest underneath her arms. Lucy wasn’t a big woman. At five foot something-ish, the things towered over her, but even her diminutive body was nearly twice the width of the thing holding her up.

“We need to move,” Jack said.

I was watching them as they let Lucy fall hard to the ground.

“Mike, Gumby is pointing this way. We need to move.” Jack had tapped my shoulder as he crawled back and behind one of the large pillars.

“You should listen to him, he knows what he’s talking about,” Trip said as he pulled back as well.

“Bullshit, how would you know what anyone is talking about, Trip?” I grumbled. “Where to now?”

“Up.” Jack pointed.

It would be an easy enough climb, provided we could do it undetected. We were already off the roadway and over the guardrail. Now, we just needed to traverse a sloped cement pad which led all the way up to underneath the bridge. From there, we could get onto the bridge beams. They were massive ‘I’ beams and would afford us nearly two feet of metal to lie down on. We’d be extremely vulnerable if we were seen, so the key would be stealth. Jack, I had complete faith in, Trip not so much. I could see him dropping a lit joint down right into the midst of the gang.

I was looking from the slope to the bikers. Trip didn’t bother with the precaution and just headed up. Blind luck, cloak of invisibility, and/or blinding light from guardian angels, I don’t know which, but he made it up without attracting any attention. Jack was rubbing his eyes with his thumb and index finger, shaking his head. There really wasn’t a more apt way to show what we were both feeling.

“You’re next,” Jack said.

I grabbed the RPG and decided to pull a ‘Trip’ and just go for it. No sense to stopping and seeing if they were watching. If they caught my movements, I would hear the cries of alarm and then the revving of engines soon enough. I looked back after I got to the crux. Jack was doing the same pained expression. I shrugged my shoulders.

I had to stop Trip from crawling onto the side of the I-beam that was directly exposed to the oncoming bikers.

“Yeah, that makes more sense,” he said as he got onto the side of the beam I directed him to.

I looked back to Jack, who was watching the bikers. They were all back on their rides and getting ready to come our way. There was no way he could make it without being spotted. He waved to me with his hand to move. I quickly got behind Trip who had wriggled a good ten feet out onto the beam.

“That’s far enough,” I told Trip.

If I didn’t tell him, there would be a good chance he’d cross the entire structure and come down the other side.

“Where’s Mack?”

“Jack?” I assumed that’s who he was talking about, considering there were only the three of us, and I guess maybe all the others that lived in Trip’s head as well. “He’s going to have to stay where he is for now.”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

“Yeah, me either, Trip.”

I could just make out the back of Jack’s legs as he pivoted around the bridge support as the bikers neared. The reverberations off the steel became almost unbearably loud as the multitude of motorcycles approached. The steel vibrated from the sound. For a moment I could sympathize with Quasimodo as he sat in the bell tower of Notre Dame. I expected a crescendo of noise that would eventually start to tail off as they came through and passed on by. In a perfect world, that is what would have exactly happened. Not this world though, no. The group of bikers bunched together under that bridge and revved their engines even louder before shutting the machines down.

“Oh no,” I said, letting my head tap against the rusted metal.

They were stopping to take a break. Jack was in a world of hurt if any of them decided to check things out. I suppose even we would be screwed if they went past our beam and looked back and up. At least Jack had the ability to fire effectively. I’d be hanging my rifle over the side firing wildly.

Trip hadn’t moved or spoken in a minute or two, which was approaching a world record for him. I then heard a rhythmic breathing. He was asleep. I wasn’t sure if I was alarmed that he might become startled and roll off, or become startled and blurt something out loud, which would get us seen, or if I was just plain thrilled that he was asleep and quiet. It was a fine line with him. I just had to hope whatever unseen force kept him alive was working diligently now.

The things below us were getting off of their bikes. They were not fanning out; they were, however, starting to coalesce on Lucy. Some were taking off their masks. What I saw was horrifying. If what I was looking at had been human once, that certainly wasn’t the case anymore—at least, not from my angle anyway.

I could see the tops of their heads, which were a wrinkled mass of white. Skin folds large enough to lose a cigar in dominated. Tufts of hair stuck out at odd angles and in random places. I couldn’t see what they were doing, but the sounds of animalistic grunts and the rending of tissue from bone combined with the lip smacking crunch of matter was all I needed to know. They were eating Lucy. Humans, night runners, and even zombies didn’t eat zombies; this was something altogether different. That they didn’t like sunlight was evident from their skin tone and the heavy clothing they wore from head to foot to block out its harmful rays.

Were they experiments gone terribly wrong?

I didn’t think so, the changes to their physiology were just too fantastic for the human body to have endured or sustained. We were dealing with a whole new threat here. Trip snored on, oblivious to it all.

I’m half a step from following Mike and Trip up the embankment when I glance over at the riders. They are coming down the road, and coming fast. Mike is looking down at me, and I wave him off. My options at this point are extremely limited. I hope that the bikers just drive on through, but my gut tells me that it isn’t going to be that easy.

Glancing from Mike to rapidly approaching motorcycles, I wonder if Mike will help if I’m discovered. Do I really even want him to? We’re grossly outnumbered, and the only thing we have going for us is that I didn’t see them carrying any weapons. Again, that doesn’t mean that they don’t have any, only that I didn’t see them. If I am to die in this God-forsaken place, I want Mike to survive in the off chance that he could somehow get a message to Lynn and the kids. At the very least, that would give them some closure. How he would do that is beyond me, but then again, so many things are. And having spent days in this world, I’ve come to realize that anything is possible. If I do manage to make it through these next few moments, I’m going to make sure that I trade more information with him in the unlikely event that he can let them know.