A week later Covington was just two days out from their evacuation. Big Mack found himself on the deck of a persona yacht, looking out toward the ocean. A little over a hundred boats had arrived, and Covington was currently housing around five thousand people. Five thousand was relatively nothing, but they had all been enclosed in the six square blocks the early Covington settlers had managed to wall off, and tensions were high, and fistfights were a common occurrence. Big Mack watched smaller boats run out to the boats too large to dock so close to the shore, each one loaded down with supplies. It seemed to Big Mack that they would be able to stay at sea for years, if not a full decade.
From behind him came the sound of a trumpet, picked up by another horn, and then another. Big Mack new every few sentries on the wall had a trumpet or similar instrument. As more and more joined the call Big Mack understood it could only mean one thing, trouble. Big Mack spun around and leapt onto the dock, and then headed through the streets to the main gate.
The biker ran up makeshift stairs leading to the top of the ten foot high wall, pulling his handgun from his waistband as he did so. The view from the top of the wall caught Big Mack’s next breath in his own throat. His heart skipped a beat, maybe two, maybe a hundred. Spilling up and over the small crest, heading straight for the wall were hundreds of zombies. As Big Mack watched hundreds turned into thousands, and still they came. The top of the wall was alive with gun fire, bullet whizzing through the air and finding the rotting flesh of their targets, but for every zombie that was downed three appeared to take their place. Big Mack came to and pointed his own weapon, beginning to pick off the ghouls nearest the wall.
This tact was apparently shared by everyone else on the front of the wall, but still the zombies reached the gate and the wall surrounding it. They climbed over their fallen brethren, continuing on until they could press against the gate, the wall, pounding with their hands on the metal.
“We need back up!” Big Mack called, turning around for the first time to see that the whole group of survivors in Covington had gathered in the streets below. “If you can shoot, get up here!”
A few men and even fewer women began climbing up the stairs, but still most remained in the streets below. Big Mack turned and saw the situation was hopeless anyways. Still moving zombies came marching over the rise, and more and more were pressing on the wall with each moment. Big Mack could feel the manmade contraption swaying beneath his feet. Big Mack stopped firing, a sense of desperation spreading throughout his body, one that was replaced by an ice cold chill that it made it hard for him to breathe when his eyes swept over Bard.
There was his friend, unmistakable, his guitar pack still slung over his shoulder. His skin was gray and he had dozens of cuts across his face and the exposed skin at his arms and hands. His eyes were cold and dull, and his hair limp and falling out, but it was Bard. Big Mack couldn’t believe it. Surely someone would put his friend down, and he didn’t want to stand here and see it. Big Mack spun and stumbled down the stairs to the streets below, shoving his way through the thick crowd towards the drugstore and his apartment above.
Big Mack had seen Toga since Willy had been killed, but the two hadn’t really spoken since then, so he was surprised to see his friend in his apartment.
“Listen,” Toga began. I’m pissed as hell at you, but there ain’t no one I’d rather have covering my back, and judging by the shit out there, we’re about to be in for it.”
“I know. They need to be getting everyone on the ships now. We’re going to have to leave some supplies behind.”
“How much is left?” Toga asked.
“Not much,’ replied Big Mack. “Some, but we can make it on what we have on the ships already.”
“We should find Bobby. He’s running this show now it seems,” Toga said. Big Mack nodded, his friend was right. In the weeks since they had arrived Bobby seemed more and more in charge. When they first arrived the decisions seemed to be made by a council, and all would be present when they had a town meeting to discuss what they had decided. Now it was Bobby himself, standing on a raised stage in the middle of town that he had pulled workers from the wall and ships to build for him. Big Mack didn’t know what Bobby did in his life previous to the zombie apocalypse, but he wouldn’t be surprised to find out he was a politician, or a used car salesman. The fucker was slimy but persuasive.
“Well, lets go see if he’s home,” Big Mack said, and he and Toga hurried out the door. They cut through the still busy streets, heading towards the movie theater that had been used as a town hall of sorts. Two armed men stood in front of the doors.
“Let us in, Big Mack growled, but one man shook his head.
“Bobby doesn’t want to be bothered,” the other man said.
“Well too fucking bad,” Toga said before Big Mack spoke once more.
“He’s about to bothered when thousands of zombies come rushing in here.”
The guard thought for a minute and then tapped his pal on the shoulder and both men moved out of the way. Big Mack and Toga rushed in. The theater was
