Chapter 33
Medieval Warfare
Cam
Cam and Key led a group of about fifteen people of varying ages out through the fields. Fear and adrenaline pumped through Cam’s veins as he took it all in.
He’d never seen the Plant in full mobilized defense like this. The place was usually calm, with Zs more or less under control for miles around, thanks to all the patrols and wide-ranging lookouts.
On the rare occasions their group had been there during Z attacks in the past, the Plant defenses had done the job well enough with pikers out on the barriers.
“Diversion towers” had become a key part of the Plant’s defense—three fortified speakers a distance from the Plant that would play music or podcasts from Before.
If Zs approached, the Plant would activate the speakers to pull as many Zs as possible off course.
Throughout it all, folks with guns were stationed on building roofs to keep shooting throughout the attack.
He could hear muffled gunshots from the tops of the buildings now. Underneath that and over the hum of activity around them came a popping sound that had to be the air guns.
Cam spotted Liam heading out with his group of fighters, which included Rachel, and he nudged Key.
They all converged as they headed out beyond the greenhouses toward where the zombies were attacking.
The solar-powered pole lights were fewer in that area, so Cam couldn’t see much—well, except glowing points of flickering red that filled the darkness beyond the barriers.
Sergeant Lee spoke up. Keep moving, Hale.
He took a breath and kept walking. Sir, yes, sir.
As they got closer, he could see Zs hung up in the twisted and gnarled barriers, and the pikers, working in pairs, wearing what looked like plastic body armor and safety glasses, were taking out the zombies through the eyes.
In other places, a few frantic and fast Zs squeezed through the barriers and down into the interior trench.
Then the pikers would stab down, presumably as the Zs tried to claw their way up.
It looked arduous, however, and throughout, the Zs kept coming at the barriers or spreading around each other to find new spots to push through.
All the fighters walking in—except Liam and Key—froze when they saw the crowd of Zs, eyes glowing that hateful red, spreading into the barriers.
Cam kept going, but ice spread through his spine.
Breathe. In. Out. A fragment of the Let’s Chips song filtered through his mind, and the jingle was enough to get his legs moving again.
“We can’t spread out the pikers like we usually do,” Liam told Key. “This wave is too big.”
His walkie crackled. “Estimated over five hundred Zs, over,” said someone on the other end.
“Keep shooting when you can. Over.” Then to Key, “That’s manageable, at least, if we hold steady and no one gets bitten.”
“Cameron!” Key snapped suddenly. “Eyes on me.”
He met her gaze, took a deep breath, and nodded. Get with it, marine. Improvise, adapt, overcome.
To Liam, Key said, “What if we relieve some of the trench pikers on the ends? Let them take more shifts in the center?”
Liam nodded, pointing over at where the piking lines were thinner. Cam and Key started leading half the group to the west end.
“Key.” Liam pointed toward a runner approaching with a box before he strode away with his half of the group.
When the runner handed Key the box, she opened it to find sets of plastic glasses.
Key picked one up and examined it. “What the hell?”
“Blue-light blockers with some kind of special glaze,” the runner said. “They help cut down on the Z-terror.”
“Mal’s full of surprises these days,” she muttered to Cam as she made sure everyone had the glasses.
Cam stuck with her.
She placed him and three others with her in front to kill Zs in the trench using the long-handled weapons, while the rest were stationed in back with machetes. “One gets lucky and climbs up? We break and call for machetes,” she instructed the fighters grouped behind. “You come in and take ’em out.”
The Zs spent the next hour trying to get through the barriers—and failing more often than not, thanks to the pikers.
For every five zombies, though, one Z would get through—often only half a Z—and into the trench it fell.
Whoever was closest would yell, “Got it!” and shove the blade of a shovel or hoe into its head.
Even with the noises the Zs made and those eyes coming out of the darkness in front of them, Cam was amazed to find that the glasses really did help alleviate the paralyzing fear. Not entirely, but enough.
So it went. Those working with Cam and Key in front tired and switched out with those in the back. Only one Z made it up from the trench, a snarling fresh zombie wearing a tattered backpack. It leapt halfway up while they were distracted by three others, then it jumped the remaining feet.
With a shout, two people from the back came in to jam machetes through its skull, then others dragged the body out of the way.
They heard some occasional shouts and curses from the other flank, which probably signaled a Z climbing the trench on Liam’s end.
Still, no Zs had yet made it through the defenses with enough efficiency to bite anyone, as far as he could tell.
From his time in the military, Cam thought he’d known what to expect from a battle this size.
However, he’d been in a military designed for fighting other human beings with an array of technological advances.
This was medieval warfare with a modern spin targeting the undead—and their techniques were working now even better than they had in the past.
Although they were winning, their group was getting tired despite rotating people for periods of rest. With a steady stream of encouragement, Cam and Key kept the fighters going, helping them through the grim fatigue.
Once in a while, one person would stop and drop their weapon, their eyes glazed, but someone else would grab and shake them or slap them.
The zombies could get into your head that way, make you feel like there was no point in fighting.
Cam could only imagine how much worse it was among the pikers in the thick of the advance—and he hoped Ripper was okay.
When the last active Z in the barrier stopped growling, an exhausted cheer rang out among the pikers.
Key and Cam kept their eyes on the trenches, making sure all the Zs down there were truly dead.
Cam nearly missed one before it moved with an odd stealth toward the near side of the trench.
Can’t hide from me, fucker. He chopped it down with his gore-covered weapon.
After another thorough sweep, he announced, “Last one.”
“Good catch.” Key nodded at Cam, dropping her shovel to the ground and stretching. She directed the rest of their team to get water and head back to the medics.
Cam looked at her weapon, dripping with black goo and encrusted with the unmistakable gleam of bone shards. “They’re going to have to put that thing in an acid bath before they dig potatoes with it ever again.”
She laughed. They went to see if they could help the pikers, who were being hailed as heroes. Liam was pulling individuals out of the group one by one, shining a flashlight into their eyes, then talking to them while he checked their arms and upper bodies.
While removal teams went to the right and left, another group of runners rushed in with wheelbarrows to meet the pikers, help remove their body armor, and give them bottles of water before they headed back to the medics as well.
Once the pikers had been relieved, Liam began releasing his team one by one. Key did the same, then she and Cam went over to Liam. His rather harsh-looking face didn’t relax when he saw them approach, but he gave them a respectful nod.
“Liam,” Key said by way of greeting. “I realize it’s been a minute since we’ve been here, but since when are hordes of Zs getting this close to the Plant?”
Liam’s jaw clenched. “For over a month now. Since Newtown got overrun.”
Key’s eyebrows rose. “Excuse me?”
Newtown was the nearest settlement to the southeast. Small but well set up. Defensible.
“It was weeks ago.” He regarded her with tired eyes. “Most of the refugees came here.”
“Jesus,” Cam said. “What happened?”
Liam shook his head. “If you want details, you’ll need to talk to your brother,” he told Key, a sardonic expression on his face. “I just work here.”
Key frowned.
Liam looked at Cam. “Thanks for your help. I’m going to check the rest of my people.”
Allie
From a distance, the lights the Plant used to keep visibility optimal for the humans made the battle feel almost like a night game of baseball or football.
Almost.
While the group set things up, getting bandages ready and lawn chairs situated for patients, Frankie and Odette kept up a steady stream of instructions. Allie was so busy that she didn’t have time to be nervous... until the injured began to trickle in.
They first got a few cases of severe Z-terror, nearly catatonic people who had to be led back to the medical area. They were given hand warmers and blankets and were taken care of by a few medics off to the side.
The knife and machete injuries came later. Accidental cuts, most easy to bandage. A few were sent on for stitches or rest, and others were sent back to the fight. They got pikers with twisted ankles or sprained wrists. One dislocated shoulder. Allie lost count after the first few came through.
Hours later, they heard cheers from the front, and a runner brought the news a minute later. “We stopped ’em. No fatalities.”
At the news, they all exclaimed with relief, and Dette and Allie smiled at each other.
The runner glanced at Frankie. “Ready for bite checks on the pikers?”
Frankie looked up from where she was giving a bottle of water to a bruised fighter. “Heading there now. Helen and Min, you’re with me.” She walked toward the front, with the other two women flanking her.