Timothy Long - Beyond the Barriers

We were tense, expecting them to come upon us at any time—a horde of the undead intent on either dragging us back or simply eating us. I didn’t think I had the strength to last much longer.

Then I heard someone talking.

I put my hand on Scott’s knee, and with the other, I motioned for him to be quiet by putting one finger to my lips. He opened his eyes and stared at me like I was a stranger. He was just as muddled as I was.

I motioned toward my ears, but I didn’t know if he understood, so I did a little movement with my hand, the thumb and first two fingers coming together as if I were casting a shadow puppet on the wall. Scott shook his head again.

Then a branch snapped nearby, and the voice came again. I couldn’t make out what he was saying, but it was male. Maybe it was a survivor. Maybe it was a ghoul. I held my breath and rose ever so slowly to my feet.

A shape drifted nearby; it rose in the gloom then slipped away like a shadow. I took one step after it then another. A second shape followed not too far from the first. They moved in a direct line—not confused at all. I knew the sort. These were either military or trained individuals.

A flash of camo reassured me of my assessment. I had to be careful, very careful. If they were tightly wound, they might shoot before asking questions. I knew I would.

“Scott. Do we have any dry wood for a fire?”

My voice echoed in my ears like I had just shouted in a deserted warehouse. Scott just about leapt out of his skin; his eyes went wide as he stared at me.

“The hell, man?”

“Go with it.” I made a rolling motion with my hands, hoping my gestures would guide him.

The shape didn’t move for a few seconds, and I imagined a gun coming up to take aim at my head or Scott’s. I play-acted as best I could, which probably wasn’t very well. Leaning over like I was scrounging for wood nearly made me fall flat on my face. I pushed aside some leaves and brush, the ground cold and wet against my hand. There was an earthy smell, and it made me think of my body buried in its depths. That was how I wanted to go out—not in someone’s stomach.

“Don’t move,” a voice said to my left. He was good; he had moved from his location with barely a sound.

I hoped he didn’t mean it, because I put my hands up and then slowly straightened my back. When he didn’t shoot my fool head off, I decided that maybe he wasn’t as trigger happy as I had assumed.

“Someone there?” My eyes darted around the dark space as I searched for his form.

“You know I’m here. And you know I have a gun pointed at you, so stop the dog and pony and tell me just what in the fuck you are doing out here?” The voice was gruff but sounded young, based on the timbre and the way it wavered ever so slightly.

“Okay, but can you lower the weapon and show yourself? There are four of us, and one is a young girl. You are probably scaring the crap out of her.”

“Sorry. For all I know, you’re one of them and this is a trick.”

“No trick. We just escaped the zombie camp back there.” I motioned in the general direction from which we had come, but to be honest, with all the walking and confusion, I could have been pointing in the opposite direction.

The man stepped out of the woods. He was tall, lanky, and held his gun like a pro. I took one look in his eyes, which were hard, then I looked at his rifle. It was a very nicely kitted-out AR-15 with short stock, laser sight, probably fully automatic. He could cut us down in a split second.

The man was younger than I. He looked like he was twenty or so. His clothing was in good shape, and his shoes weren’t polished, but they were clean except for the fresh mud caked around the soles.

Jack rose beside me, with Scott on my other side. The man looked from face to face, and I wondered how we appeared. He didn’t betray any emotion, but we had to be in bad shape. It was nearing dawn, and the breaking light of morning had revealed Jack to be a bloody mess. His face was red, and his clothing was covered in crimson. Scott wasn’t too bad off, but the days in the cage were rough, and his clothing was dirty and drenched in water. He stood shivering like the rest of us.

Haley peeked around my side. Her face was dirty, and her dark hair looked like it would make a good nest for a bird. Mud and small sticks caked it, making her look almost wild.

The man looked from face to face and settled on Haley. I motioned for her to stay behind me. I was judging our distance, considering how far I would have to move to close and get my hand on the gun. He stood about eight feet from me, and his legs were spread, so he had decent base from which to fire. If I made a grab, I doubted I would have a chance. Even if I could get close and knock the barrel aside, there was a chance the bullets would hit some of the others in my troop.

We stood in silence for a while longer, and I felt like, once again, my life hung in the balance. I wondered if it would be best to just give up here and now. A bullet to the head seemed more desirable that hanging out in the woods, being hunted, waiting for death every moment of the day. Despair was something I had faced before, and it was something I faced now.

I grinned at the kid, and he relaxed.

“You are one sorry group.”

“We just got our asses kicked, tossed in a cage, and then left to die. Been in that place for almost a week,” Scott said.

“We heard there was a ghoul camp around here. Let’s go talk to the old man. He’ll know what to do.” He lowered his gun, looked around the area, and motioned for us to go ahead of him. When we passed him, he didn’t level the rifle at us, but he did keep it at the ready.

“Old man?” I asked.

“Our leader. A lot of the men in our troop owe their lives to him,” the man recited this like a litany. His eyes lit up with something approaching religious reverence. “He even brings in some of the creepers. That’s what you guys remind me of, you know. Creepers. With any luck, he’ll be willing to help.”

I knew this kid’s sort. Didn’t have a plan until he joined the ‘corp’ or army and found a purpose in life—like killing other men in faraway places, or protecting the country from terrorists. That had been the ultimate slap in the face as far as I was concerned. It was bad enough that thousands of our guys died in the jungles of Vietnam to protect the world from communism. On more than one occasion, I had wondered if the war on terror was just another excuse to get young men killed.

I knew this firsthand, because I had joined up thinking I would make a difference. But the war dragged on, and I was lucky enough—although at the time extremely bitter—to get out while the getting was good.

Allison—it had been she who saved me.

“Is he close?” Scott looked around, as if the mysterious leader were about to pop out from behind a bush at any moment.

“Near enough. That way.” He pointed with the barrel of the rifle. “I’m Andrew, by the way.”

We did introductions.

“I don’t know if I can make it. I’m really tired, man,” Jack said.

He was in bad shape, probably the worst of us. All that blood, was it his? His eyes were bloodshot, and shone with an angry glint as he looked back at the man with the rifle. Not too long ago, he had been in a cage, expecting to be eaten. And before that, he watched his family being dragged away and slaughtered. I wondered if he were even sane.

“We have food and water,” the soldier said.

Jack looked between him and me, then nodded.

We marched into more misery.

The break in the woods came much sooner than I had thought it would, and I never would have found it had we proceeded on our prior path. Not even a quarter mile from our resting spot. As we stepped out of the close-grown trees, we stumbled into a small creek. It ran parallel to the nearby road, but it wasn’t the first thing I saw. That vision was reserved for the military-grade vehicles pulled up alongside it. I went down with a splash and had a vision of the bloody water we had seen a few hours ago, but some of the stuff splashed in my mouth and tasted like heaven. Instead of hauling myself to my feet, I drank my fill as I lay shivering in the water.