The Railroad

Part 1: The Fear of Death

Mike Reynolds, or Mikey to his friends, sat quietly watching the darkness. His cold calculating eyes ever vigilant as his finger caressed the trigger of his M4 assault rifle. Mikey’s calloused finger traced a back and forth path on the cold metal. It seemed to offer him a comfort to the grim work they had set out to do. Yet the comfort never lasted long enough.

A person of any sane mind would never be caught out after dark. This was “their” time; and they were always watching. Mikey and his friends had a mission to complete and time was not on their side. Mikey remembered when they used to outright attack the bastards. They would come in blazing while the sun was high in the sky: futile as it may have been. It had made him feel better.

“Whiskey this is Yankee” a voice sounded in his ear. “I’ve got eyes on a bleeder 30 feet on you 2 o’clock.”

Mike glanced to his left but couldn’t make anything out in the almost pitched black state of the neighborhood. With his left hand he reached up and brought the night vision goggles down over his eyes. The darkness came to life in shades of bright green. His eyes flicked from the bushes, to the street, and finally on the overgrown lawn of the yard.

Mikey sighed as he flipped the switch on the side to infrared. The hidden figure came to life in a bright shade of blue. The one thing you could always count on. As cunning as the bleeders thought they were; you can’t hide a popsicle in an oven. They were just too cold compared to the life that still tried to go on in the world.

“I have eyes on Yankee .” Mikey spoke in a whisper.

His fingers left the two button on his throat as he saw the blue image turn it’s head in his direction. It had been two years since these creatures had plunged the world into chaos. Two long years of hiding and losing friends. It still amazed him how they had they managed to still get a rise out of him.

Even now, as his heart rate increased with the spike of adrenaline, the creature sensed him. It’s head painted in shades of blue swung back and forth on a swivel. Like a prized hound it was already narrowing in on his position. Mikey swallowed the knot that was already in his throat and aimed his M4 at the creature.

“Overwatch.” Yankee came across the static in his ear.

Mikey watched as the creatures head tilted violently to the side; it’s body crumpling to the ground. Mikey never heard the report from the rifle. As well he shouldn’t have. William Etses, callsign Overwatch, had been a force recon sniper with the Marines. What he lacked in manners he more than made up with ability. Mikey didn’t think he knew of a man more silent; or more lethal.

“Tango down.” Overwatch cut through the silence.

Mikey let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. His finger caressed the trigger again: once, twice, three times. He waited for the creature to get back up. The time always varied between death and reanimation. Out of the multi-hues of orange and red shades; he watched a figure come walking up to the crumpled mass. In one swift move; Yankee had his machete out and removed the bleeder’s head from its body.

“Kill confirmed.” Yankee said without emotion.

Oliver Pratt, or "Yankee" as the undead had comes to fear him, had been Mikey’s friend before all this. Back when there was still Starbucks iced coffee and Netflix. They had been friends in college and often found themselves a little too drunk. Oli had went off to fight the war in Afghanistan and Mikey had chose the life of an EMT.

Now they were both fighting a losing battle against foreign enemies. Except this time it wasn’t because of religious beliefs. It was the simple fact that humanity had lost its top tier in the food change. For once in a long time humans were prey. No one was prepared for that. Least not the generation whose shoulders were ill prepared for the burden of survival.

“Think were gonna have to go around this neighborhood.” Yankee suggested snapping Mikey from his thoughts.

Mikey cursed under his breath as he began to again scan the street for signs of the undead. This neighborhood was supposed to be abandoned. The bleeders had took up their central nest in center of the city. They had escaped that mess with only losing two people. Now they were in the suburbs and were again considering a costly detour. This entourage was wasting to much time.

“I think we should keep going.” Mikey said and released the button over his throat.

The movement behind him made him turn ; bringing the M4 around. The woman with the light brown hair quickly clutched the child to her chest. Mikey lowered the M4 and cursed himself on the inside for being so jumpy. He waved his hand in a motion for them to remain low and quiet. The six forms behind him clutched their possessions to their chest and crouched even lower to the ground.

Mikey turned back towards the front and once again scanned the neighborhood. When he saw it he didn’t believe it. Not a hundred yards down the street ,standing shoulder to shoulder, were about a half a dozen of the undead. Mikey felt his throat go dry as he reached to key up the mike again. Before he could Overwatch’s voice broke the silence.

“Yankee I got multiple bogies inbound on your six.” William Estes calmly stated like it was nothing to be alarmed about.

Mikey felt his heart rate start to climb again. He quickly started slow rhythmic breaths to quiet his nerves. To the undead; fear was practically palpable. They could not have a visual and would find you on the scent of it alone. In the weeks following the initial outbreak. The creatures had culled entire towns by this new innate talent. Since then people had learned the errors of their ways.

Mikey watched through his goggles as his friend calmly made his way to the closest house. Oliver tried the door and found it locked. Mikey could hear the thoughts going through his head. Should he break the lock and hoped they didn’t notice or should he run for it. Running would spike Oli’s “fight or flight” response in his body. The adrenaline would take over and you might as well hang a neon “all you can eat” sign around your neck. That only left one option; fight.

“Assume fighting position Valkerie.” Overwatch called across the radio.

The last time they had done this scenario they had lost Phillips and and Martinez; along with two of their cargo. It was a losing gambit to even try it. It was leap frog combat meant for extractions from hot combat zones. When the combatants get back up in a blood rage. It doesn’t fare well for the fleeing.

“No they are too close” Oliver came back across the radio.

“Then we dump the cargo and bug out.” Overwatch said as if it was an option.

They had spent weeks getting these people out of the city. To cut ties and run would meant all the deaths up to this point had been a loss. When their little squad had left New York over 2 months ago. There had been 20 people. 9 combatants and 11 survivors seeking the refuge in the southern climate. Now they were 3 combatants and 6 survivors, and they had only made the Kentucky/Ohio border. They had only a week left to meet up with the convoy in Tennessee.

“You know that’s not an option Will.” Oliver said in a calmness that was as scary as it was reassuring.

“Welcome to the Railroad.” William Estes said as Mikey watched the first blue form now 50 yards from Yankee fall.

The report from the rifle was loud as it cut through the silence of the street. As typical fashion for this scenario. William had removed the silencer from his sniper rifle. It was an attempt to draw the bleeders in his direction and away from the cargo. Mikey flipped on his laser and zeroed in on the running forms and took shots aimed to cripple. He knew that it would only slow the creatures down. They healed and often healed fast, but they weren’t aiming to kill. They were aiming to flee.

Mikey continued to shoot at legs and knees as Yankee came running towards his position. The creatures would tumble and fall. They would have no more hit the ground before they were back on their feet and charging. Thanks to his silencer the bleeders had yet to narrow in on his locations. Mikey continued to pull the trigger as Oliver came running up huffing under the weight of his weapons and pack.

“We gotta move Mike.” Were his only words to his long time friend as he moved past him to the survivors.

“Okay people let's go.” Oliver choked out between huffs. “Follow me and stay quiet.”

Mikey glanced back as his friend began leading the people down a side street and away from the undead. He directed his attention back to the advancing creatures; now hell bent on finding the shooter. The booming gun shots from Overwatch’s rifle were loud in the tomb like silence of the neighborhood. The blood curdling screams of the damned were the only other sound in the night. Both had drowned out the muted cracks of his silenced rifle and he continued to track the enemy with his laser.

As soon as the creatures were fifty feet past his location he turned and headed in the direction Oliver had herded the survivors. He could see their orange and yellow glow fading as the last one ducked in behind a fence down the narrow suburban street. Mikey reached up and keyed up his mike as he slowly jogged down the street. His own footfalls echoing off the wooden fences and garages that littered the road side.

“Overwatch this is Yankee.” Mikey whispered as he jogged forward.” We are east bound and package is secure….we’ll see you in the sunlight brother.”

The rifle stopped shooting as Mikey removed the magazine from the rifle and stored it in his tactical vest. He quickly loaded a fresh magazine in the rifle and pulled the charging handle. They had less than and hour to daylight. A part of Mikey wanted to pray that they would make it. They had made it so many times before when others had not.

He was not stupid when it came to the aspect of death. He had seen it so many times before in his line of work. He hoped that with all those lives he had manage to save. Maybe whoever was upstairs would see fitting to cut them some slack. It had been a harrowing journey so far. So much death and loss had followed them. They were due a change in luck. He lifted the goggles off his face and looked where the black sky in front of him was slowly turning purple. He said that prayer anyways.