“Net’ em and catch’ em,” I repeated.
So we trained.
And trained.
And trained.
We trained until Wood couldn’t get away. We trained until I never lost.
I spent my off-time with Sissy, my training with Duck and Wood, and then would go back to Sissy in the evenings. Molly clearly disagreed with our actions, but what could she do? Sissy was an adult who could do what she wished, and Molly had no control over me. So long as I wasn’t endangering the group, they had no reason to kick me out.
Peter didn’t see it that way. I could tell by his look. But if I kept training and helping around the mill, he wouldn’t say anything about it to either me or Sissy.
As for Sissy, I never used her name. She wanted to be called Sissy by me and the rest of the group, and I obeyed her request. Every day we seemed to become more attached.
Then one night, while we all sat together eating dinner, Peter stood and addressed the group.
“A new horde has moved into Cheney. Tomorrow, we go hunting.” He looked down at me and said, “All of us.” Looking back to the group, Peter continued, “Molly and Sissy will mind the truck. The rest of us will operate on a basic search and destroy. One team will be Duck and I, and the other will be you three,” he announced, pointing at Wood, Stuart, and I.
Still refusing to use real names, Pete? I mused humorlessly. He reluctantly called Stuart by his real name, but only when he was forced to. Maybe it was because Stuart and Peter were of a similar age, and I was young enough to be either one’s kid, but he never used my real name. In fact, he stopped calling me by any title all together. Peter just talked at me. It was an arrangement that gave me issues at first, but eventually I became proud of the fact, as though I held some power over him.
“Wood, Stuart, and Kyle,” I sang in a provoking manner. “Killin’ zombies.” Wood smiled uncomfortably and Stuart did nothing.
“We leave tomorrow after breakfast.” With that, Peter left the room.
◊◊◊
The truck was a big delivery van with a roll-up on the back and a loading door on the side of the box. Molly and Peter occupied the front while the rest of us piled in the back. Benches had been installed toward the front and a chain-link divider split the cargo area. “Zombie cage,” Duck had explained. “Trap’ em and toss’ em in the cage. Then Peter gets the bastards. The ones we don’t kill that is.”
The horde had been seen at the south side of town, and it was figured they numbered around two dozen. “Too many to face in the open,” Peter advised, “So we are going to corral the ones we can and kill the stragglers. We’ll lure them in and Molly will trap them with the van. Then we’ll rope them and eliminate all but a few. Those we’ll bring back to the mill for later.” The comment made Duck laugh, but the rest of us rode in silence.
A few miles out, the boys all exited the truck and Sissy joined her mother in the front seat. Peter and Duck took the left flank and Wood, Stuart and I took the right. Molly rolled behind us about twenty yards off. I kept glancing back to Sissy, trying to give her reassuring looks. She would smile weakly, but I could see that she was scared. I had seen her fight, and knew she could defend herself if she needed to, but in her eyes shone the light of a scared little girl. She had seen horrible things, I was certain, and she feared seeing them again. I adjusted my grip on the catchpole and doubled my resolve to keep her safe.
It wasn’t long before we saw our first zombie. They hunt by smell, and seven people make for a rather fragrant buffet. The first was roped and bludgeoned before I had time to react. I just stood there and watched Duck and Stuart do their thing. “Watch the rear!” Peter had ordered when he saw me staring slack-jawed. “There are more out here,” he snapped, clearly tense.
A group of four arrived. Duck roped one while Wood and I netted two others. Stuart played batting practice on the fourth before he went to work on mine. Duck finished off his and Peter eliminated Wood’s. I was starting to feel more confident.
That was my first mistake.
I spotted a zombie coming around a corner. “I got this,” I holler and make my way ahead.
“Wait,” Peter ordered. I gave him an irritated look, offended that he didn’t trust me to nab another one on my own. “There’s rarely ever only one. Wait.”
Sure enough, another followed.
Then another.
And another.
It quickly became clear that the horde had found us.
“To the van!” Wood screamed, but it was immediately apparent that the option was impossible. Another large group appeared behind the van.
“Flee!” Peter yelled.
At the command, Molly put the van in reverse and slammed it into the zombies behind her. We scattered and looked for high ground. The van flew down the drive and crashed into the other half of the horde, as I cut down an alley. It wouldn’t kill the zombies, hitting them with the truck, but it would slow them down. I mounted a dumpster, and climbed a pipe to the roof. Once there, I got a good assessment of the scene.
No less than forty zombies were crowding the street. Stuart was swinging his bat wildly. Peter and Duck were boarding themselves in a shop. Wood was missing. The truck kept moving up and down the drive, leaving mangled zombies in its wake.
Stuart went to a knee suddenly, bit from behind, and was swarmed.
The truck lost control and
