Life Goes On by Tayell, Frank (large ebook reader txt) 📗

walked the monsoon-soaked embankment path between the fence and the river. Until it slipped, splashing into the water. The river rippled as dozens of semi-submerged crocs sped towards the floundering prey. The water churned, bubbled, and foamed black as the zombie was tugged underneath. But the zom kept on fighting. So did the croc. Finally, the zombie resurfaced. Not swimming, not even floating, just thrashing until it disappeared beneath the churn as another caiman took its turn.

“Let’s go through,” Tess said.

“What, in there?” Zach asked.

“Someone has to, and we’re the ones here,” she said. “The fence keeps the crocs outside.”

“Tell that to the bones,” Zach said.

“More zoms coming,” Clyde said. “Two, on the embankment side of the fence.”

Tess pulled the gate open, kicking the bones out of her path. “Two more in front of us,” she said.

“Got them,” Clyde said, raising his rifle. They fell, thudding into the dirt, causing a flock of iridescent birds to scatter from within the trees’ broad branches.

“Hold,” Tess said. The birds circled, landed on a distant hut’s roof, only to dart skywards again before disappearing into the forest canopy. From behind the hut the birds had rejected as a roost, a zombie staggered out. A second followed. A third.

“Hold fire,” Tess said, but only until she counted to ten. “Take them, Clyde. Zach, radio the ship. We need sailors, ammo, and something better than a broken chain to secure this gate. Same for the gate at the far end of the pier. Go.”

Clyde kept firing, shifting aim from one rotting head to the next, but they came on faster than he could fire.

“Rivers and rainforest,” he said. “Stops people leaving as much as arriving, doesn’t it?”

She’d come ashore with a carbine, and without a suppressor, but silence wouldn’t help them now. She raised her weapon, firing five shots before stepping back, and nearly losing her footing on a bone.

“Back through the gate,” she said, taking up a position on the far side. At least two hundred zombies were heading towards them now, with more still emerging from around the buildings on the western side of the camp. “If we close the gate, can you fire through that fence?” she asked when her carbine clicked empty. The nearest zombies were now at the sentry post.

“No worries,” Clyde said.

They slammed the gate shut, rethreading the chain. Clyde drew a bayonet, forcing it through two links, before replacing the original metal pin.

“That won’t hold them for long,” Tess said.

“No worries,” Clyde said, balancing his barrel on a diagonal of chain-link. “The crocs aren’t massing by the shore,” he added as he fired. “Did you notice that? The caimans are survivors, too. Chased here by the zoms.”

“Rescuing a bunch of gators is definitely beyond our remit,” Tess said. “Can we blow up the pier?”

“Fuel tanks must be inland,” Clyde said. “Pipe runs underneath. Just down there. We’d be blowing up the fuel-pipe.”

Feet pounded the metal walkway behind them. Mackay, Zach, and Avalon all sprinted to a halt by the gate.

“Mackay, my left,” Clyde said. “Doc, you’re on the Commish’s right. Zach, you get ready to sub in when I say. Count about five hundred so far.”

“Where’d they all come from?” Zach asked.

“Nowhere,” Avalon said. “They were here all along. In the trees, I suspect, and ventured further into the rainforest when our helicopter flew inland.”

Conversation ceased as the zombies staggered nearer. Some wore uniform. Some wore civilian garb. Many wore unidentifiable rags, coated in oily mud.

Above, the helicopter buzzed low, returning from its inshore survey mission. Behind, feet clanged on the pier’s metal planking as the captain led twenty sailors to their relief. Half were armed with rifles, the rest carried tools.

“Mr Renton, form a firing line,” the captain said.

Tess stepped back, surveying the still approaching foe. The dead lay knee-deep, but even more walking corpses staggered out of the rainforest and around the huts, pressing up around the perimeter fence.

“Captain, how long will it take to refuel?” Tess asked.

“Which time?” she asked. “Because we’ll need to refuel on our return. Unless we make Robben Island our next destination, we must hold this position.”

“But how much weight can this bridge take?” Tess looked around for inspiration, and found her gaze caught by the V-shaped waves rippling across the river. “Can we dismantle the fence there, at the side of the pier, and build a new wall further back? Give the zoms somewhere else to go but straight on. Let them fall into the river.”

Adams looked from the approaching undead to the caimans below. “Feed them to the crocs? Major Brook, hold this position. Mr Renton, your team with me. We’re dismantling the causeway.”

Four sailors began unbolting the metal plates that formed the pier’s roadway. Two more detached a long section of chain-link, and then the horizontal support bars. Adams, with the rest, began bolting the plates into place. Tess returned to the firing line. The dead zombies had created a trip-hazard. In turn, that spoiled her aim. Every other bullet was wasted as the lurching column fell into a crawling mass now pushing against the gate.

“Fall back!” the captain called.

“Zach, get the doc to safety,” Tess said. But she waited with Clyde. “Time for us,” she said when everyone else had retreated.

“You go,” Clyde said, not lowering his carbine.

“You first,” Tess said.

Clyde lowered his weapon. “We need to pull that pin, and the bayonet, from the chain,” he said.

“Exactly. You’ve got a son to get home to,” she said. “You’ve got that rope, haven’t you? Seal off the causeway. Tie the rope to the open gap, and tie it short. I’ll jump off the gap and swing back to safety on the other side of the wall. Go on, before we run out of time. Go!” She pushed him back,