As Bob trudged along, he did his best to keep his wits about him. He tried to stop every once in a while and check out the area he was in. Scan the woods with his eyes and ears to make sure nothing was sneaking up on him.
The going was slow and the progress even slower. Bob tired easily, and he knew it was from his shoulder wound. He wasn’t entirely stupid. He knew that his blood loss, lack of sleep, and the high altitude were all playing a part in him being one step up from a slug. But he was a slug with self-righteous rage. Rage fueled by the senseless killing of his teenage daughter, and he was determined to have his pound of flesh.
Bob paused and pulled the backpack off for a drink. He pulled a soda from the back and popped the tab, listening to the satisfying hiss and fizz of the soda as he leaned against a tree. The fizz continued far longer than expected and slowly increased in volume to a growl. It took Bob a moment to realize he was hearing the truck return. He took a long pull from the soda and drank as much of the liquid as he could, letting the carbonation burn his throat before he tossed the can aside and stole a glance around the tree he was using as cover. The large truck came lumbering down the road again, this time slowing as it neared him.
Bob feared he hadn’t found a good enough hiding place until he watched the truck pass him and finally stop a mere hundred yards away. Bob lowered himself to the ground and peered underneath the brush along the road. He was so close to the ranger station, but…it wasn’t a ranger station anymore. Now it was some kind of military complex with tents and military vehicles scattered about. There weren’t very many people milling about. Perhaps they were all out in the woods hunting the zombies?
Bob slipped back into the woods and continued toward the compound. As he drew closer, he went from tree to tree, doing his best to remain concealed. He watched from cover as the men in the truck unloaded the last of a few crates and stacked them near a large white tent. Then the soldiers scattered, with most going to a large green tent and disappearing from view. Bob stayed low and watched for any kind of roving security. He didn’t see any perimeter guards, and he didn’t notice any kind of security systems. Something seemed hokey about the whole thing.
He started to step out into the clear when he heard voices approaching. Muttering a curse under his breath, Bob slipped back into the woods and hid behind the largest tree he could find. He waited as the two uniformed men strolled by, security the least of their worries. They would walk a bit, stop, talk, walk a bit farther, stop, and talk some more. Bob lay in wait, hoping that they would come close enough for him to brain one of them hard enough with the tire tool to end his miserable existence. One good strike across the back of the neck should do it. If the other one got him, well…so be it.
He tried not to think about how much his legs hurt as he lay crouched in the shadows and waited for the soldiers to get close enough for him to possibly strike. He shifted his weight slightly, trying to regain circulation to his feet when the two soldiers’ attention shifted. They both turned, their rifles coming to their shoulders. Neither soldier fired, and one finally chuckled, tapping his partner. Bob couldn’t see what had them so enraptured, so he risked standing. He looked beyond the soldiers and saw the zombie creatures slowly approaching the compound. They weren’t acting crazed, nor were they screaming. They weren’t sprinting or running. They were simply…walking. They didn’t look totally enraged, either. Bob stood there a moment and took in the sight of the two soldiers chuckling while the zombies slowly approached.
He stepped out of the clearing and slowly walked up behind the two soldiers as they intently watched the approaching creatures. Although they kept their rifles on them, neither soldier had his finger on the trigger…as if they knew the zombies wouldn’t attack. Bob didn’t know why this made him so angry, but it did.
He hefted the tire tool and brought it down in an angry arc across the nearest soldier’s neck where it attached to his shoulder. The reverberations through his hand and arm nearly caused him to lose his grip on the tire tool, but Bob stepped into the second soldier and swung upward as the man turned toward him, a shocked expression painted across his face. The lug wrench end of the tool caught him right under the front of his jaw, and the sickening crunch told Bob that if the man woke up, he was going to need some serious dental work.
Bob stepped back and admired his work for a moment. He smiled at himself as the tire tool slipped from his hands. He reached down and removed the rifle from the first man he had dropped and pulled a spare magazine from his belt. Slipping the magazine into his pocket, Bob began shambling toward the zombies as they came shambling toward him. He leveled the rifle at them, but their eyes never fell upon him. They were staring off into the distance as their feet carried them to whatever Fate had in store for them.
Bob stopped and stared at them as they shambled
