The Necromancers of Santa Muerte (Part III)

"zombie attack" by Marcel Trindade is licensed under CC by 2.0

The others in the group struggled against the reanimated corpses, with special attention given to the mother carrying the infant. As the Rangers helplessly watched the horrific scene unfolding well outside rifle range, a young man, no older than 17, broke free of the grasp of the one-armed zombie wearing the tattered remains of a fuzzy pink bathrobe that was biting him. The youth charged the old man with the backpack and tackled him to the ground.

While the two struggled on the ground, their fight kicked up a small cloud of dust that obscured the Ranger’s vision. The undead paused their attack for a moment, as if a switch has been flipped to the ‘off’ position. The woman was able to break free and she sprinted toward the border crossing where the Rangers were. The other refugees were too wounded or tired to move quickly, but they tried to limp after her.

The scuffle on the ground ended with the old man raising to his feet, holding an obsidian knife covered in blood. The young man lay motionless in on the hot sand. He pulled out a red hooded robe from the backpack and casually put it on. As soon as the robe was on the old man, the shambling corpses resumed their assault with increased vigor and were able to overwhelm the survivors that were not fast enough to get away.

“I’ve seen enough! Someone is getting out of there alive,” James said as he grabbed the sides of the tower ladder and slid down, ignoring the burning sensation on his palms. As soon as his feet hit the ground, he sprinted toward the pick-up truck and sped toward the only remaining innocents out in the desert; the mother and child. As he got closer, she stumbled and fell. She curled her body around the infant to protect it as she hit the sand. The zombies approached her prostrate form and she screamed.

James slid the truck to a stop about 30 feet from her. He jumped out and approached her. She was crying and writhing in pain. He approached her and offered his hand.

“Get up! We gotta go,” he said. They didn’t share a language, but his words needed no translation. She reached out and handed James the child. He wrapped his left arm around the baby and lifted her to her feet. She took a step and fell down again, holding her right ankle, which James saw was swollen. The dead came closer and their putrid scent invaded his nostrils. James looked at the woman, the baby, and truck, then turned and jogged back to the truck.

The woman cried and turned her head toward the zombies with a resigned look on her face. At the truck, James put the infant in the passenger seat and secured the seat belt around the boy. He adjusted the strap on his carbine and brought it to bear. He walked purposely back toward the woman, as ten of the dead approached her.

Deputy Swift took a deep breath before pulling the trigger on the one-eyed zombie that was leaning over the woman. He had never fired on another living thing in his life and wasn’t sure if he could do it. The first two shots went wide, and the zombie utterly ignored his presence. No person would so casually ignore to gun shots that close to them.

James finally realized in his heart, what his head already knew: these were not alive. The next bullet fired went directly into the chest of one-eyed zombie. It fell back and ceased moving. He pulled the trigger again and again, dropping zombies left and right, but they kept coming.

Click. Click. Click.

He fumbled for a magazine and tried to reload quickly. What was easy at the gun range proved to be difficult in a real combat situation. His sweaty hands dropped the magazine on the ground. He squatted down to pick it up as the last three corpses surrounding the woman. After a quick shake to get the sand off, he jammed it home and hear a bloodcurdling scream.

The woman swung a rock at one of zombies and it connected squarely with its skull. The corpse died a second time and as she turned to face the other two, James got a shot off and dropped one. The final zombie grabbed the woman’s leg and scrapped it sharp fingernails across her skin. Blood dripped onto the sand and as it attempted to pull her leg out of its socket, a shot from James put it on the ground.

In the distance, the man in the red robe was doing some sort of ritual over the fallen refugees, but there was no immediate danger to James and the woman. He picked her up and she leaned on him, making sure that only her good leg touched the ground. They hobbled back to the truck, where mother and son were reunited. The sound of the engine roaring to life caused the baby to start crying. The woman cooed and whispered calming words into her son’s ear. Despite her trembling body betraying her true feelings, she projected an aura of peace that calmed the child.

Once they returned to the border crossing, James grabbed the first-aid kit out of the back of the truck and wrapped up her swollen ankle. He then handed her a bottle of water, as well as a stick of beef jerky from the meager stores that Rangers had. James walked over to the tower and called up to Ranger Robert.

“Do you know any Spanish? I’ve got two survivors that don’t know a lick of English.”

“A little,” replied the elder Ranger, “but we don’t have time to talk. The horde approaches.”

James looked out at the desert and swore.

Read Part I of the The Necromancers of Santa Muerte here: https://steemit.com/fiction/@notjohndaker/the-necromancers-of-santa-muerte-part-i

Read Part II of the The Necromancers of Santa Muerte here: https://steemit.com/fiction/@notjohndaker/the-necromancers-of-santa-muerte-part-ii

Read Part IV of the The Necromancers of Santa Muerte here: https://steemit.com/fiction/@notjohndaker/the-necromancers-of-santa-muerte-part-iv