XIV
The Sacrifice
Sweat beaded down his forehead, the exhaustion evident in his rapid breathing. But Bill Overbeck wouldn't give up...he couldn't give up, not while the others depended on him. They looked so far away now, like ants on an elevated hill, watching as the gladiators below participated in their violent games.
Too many, Bill thought, the second Tank succumbing to his onslaught, another taking its place amongst the infected waiting to get to him. There's just too fucking many.
The others did what they could from their vantage point, Zoey taking pot shots at infected that got too close to comfort or those who were coming around Bill's flank. He was surrounded in the best sense of the word, wading through a pool of blood and flesh to push a button and get the others to safety. With the machine within reach, just an arm's length away, Bill fired desperately through the bodies of the infected that crowded in front of it, his M16 running dry as he did. He shot a quick look back to see how his six looked for the run back.
Somebody must've moved that bridge since I looked last because it looks a million miles away. No. Don't think like that. You can still make it back. You can still make it-
He felt a strong tug on his shirt. He turned to find a massive fist crashing into his ribcage, sending him to the floor before the hit even registered. Bones cracked like splintered wood, the fire escaping his lungs, the blood pouring from his mouth. The agony was too much to bear; he was unable to lift his head at that moment, let alone stand.
Bill coughed once before the massive fist found him again, lifting him into the air, the button still within reach. I can still make it, Bill said, looking at the behemoth before him. It was a monstrosity of decay and muscle, the woman it once was no longer evident save for the long wisps of hair that clung to its scalp.
Losing consciousness, the button still within reach, his assault rifle on the ground below him, Bill felt the spit and phlegm of the beast upon his face as it roared at him. Dammit, old man, think! Just think!
{break}
Several hours earlier, Bill overheard Zoey trying to stir Francis from his sleep, the latter still entranced within his dream, excited about women in bikinis and being on a tropical island. Zoey had barely spoken to Bill since their awkward argument earlier that day, and Bill was starting to wonder when the girl would finally speak with him. She had to know the reason why he chose to act the way he did. As he placed his Bowie knife in his shirt pocket, he began cleaning his 1911's. Zoey, having finally given up trying to wake Francis, turned to Bill and said, "Just because he's an idiot doesn't mean you're off the hook, Bill."
Bill sighed deeply, wanting to reply to her sudden outburst. When he attempted to, she cut him off. "The Florida Keys, Bill? Damn it, I trusted you! We let a doctor die, you asshole. We let soldiers die! And for what? So we can run and hide on an island somewhere?"
Silence filled the train car. Bill shook his head, not losing focus on the work before him. Zoey sat just beside him, her elbows on her knees, shaking her head as well. "Bill, we know there's more carriers out there; people like us. We could find them and fight back, you know?"
"Zoey, we've been fighting since we set out from Philly. We shot our way through hell and back to get to that safe zone. We almost died ten times over. We got lucky. And they locked us up and tried to kill us." Bill sighed deeply. "We tried it your way, kid."
Bill raised his head, letting it rest on the cool metal of the train, imagining what it'd be like to finally escape this madness and find some small measure of peace. "The Keys," he continued, "it's close enough to get from here. It's miles off the mainland. Full of inhabitable islands. Good weather all year round. No more army. No more jails. No more zombies."
Bill could see that his rationalization wasn't getting through to Zoey. He reassuringly nodded to himself and said, "I know it hurts, kid, but we can't save everybody. We gotta look out for our own or we'll die. That's as simple as I can make it, kiddo; I don't want any of us to die out there, not while I have a say in it."
"I'm not sad because we can't save everyone, Bill, I'm angry because I want my world back. Half the time I think you're enjoying this, like it's the war you've been waiting for. I hate this, Bill. But I'm willing to die if it means fighting back, if it means finding people like us that can make a difference and wiping these fuckers from the face of the earth. And you want to go hide on some island? Who else have you left behind, Bill? Who else are you going to leave behind?"
Bill's mind drifted to Beatrice, how he had sacrificed her so he could save Zoey. He ground his teeth, his hand clenching the silver heart locket around his neck until his knuckles turned white.
"I, uh, never thought I'd say this," said a voice from across the room-Francis'-who had finally woken, "but I'm going to go hang out with Louis."
"I'll come with you," Zoey said, following Francis from the train car, leaving Bill alone to his thoughts.
When they left the train car and found themselves in a town Bill had said he visited earlier-before the outbreak-Bill took point with Louis while Zoey and Francis covered their rear. Bill could almost make out the conversation the two behind him were having, but thought it best not to pry in the business of others; people still needed their space, to blow off steam, and if this was Zoey's way of coping before she recollected herself, then so be it.
Walking along the coastline, slaughtering the occasional infected in their path, Louis sprinted onto a yacht he had found, waving for the others.
"No way!" Zoey said, the smile on her face the first since their supposed rescue from that farmhouse.
Too big, Bill thought. "Louis, I thought we agreed on a sailb-"
"Enough with the sailboat; I hate walkin'," Francis said. "If we gotta stop somewhere for gas, I'll go fetch it."
Before Bill came up with a reply, Louis' screams cut him off. "Help! Bill! Francis!" he cried, clinging to the deck of the yacht.
"Jesus, Louis, you fell two feet," Francis sighed. "Suck it up."
"Something's pulling me down!"
"It's called "gravity", Louis! It pulls everything down!"
By the time they had reached him, Louis pulled himself out of the compartment, panting as he did, the blood running from his leg. The gash looked terrible, deep and pulsating. It took one look from Louis for Bill to get the message. "This ain't our, boat," he said. "Everybody, get a Molotov ready and wait until I get to you. Burn it down."
As they threw their own respective Molotovs, Louis, now being helped by Bill, limped along with the others, feeling the heat of the flames coming from the yacht.
"So," Francis said, walking beside Louis and poking him with the butt of his shotgun, "What was it? A Witch? I'll bet it was a Witch. I know my Witch attacks, and that was a Witch attack. It was a Witch, right?"
"Somethin' like that," Louis replied simply.
The scenery of the marina was beautiful; you could tell many people had once come here to get away from the problems of life, which, coincidentally, they were doing as well. As they continued their walk, the Survivors found another boat docked not too far from a bridge that was much too low to sail under.
Bill signaled to the others to board, scolding the banter between Louis and Francis, as the latter suggested using his leg as Witch bait, hoping it would stir them out. "Cover me, I'll check it out," Bill said, descending the bloodstained wooden steps. As he emerged into a tiny lantern-lighted room, he noticed that it was stocked with provisions and weapons, enough for them to avoid any worry for quite some time. The only disconcerting thing in the room was dead civilian within, a pistol still clenched within his hand, his insides torn out. "Kids...I think we found our ticket off the mainland."
"Man! Look at all this stuff!" Louis exclaimed with glee. "Who'd leave all this behind?"
"Someone who meant to come back," Bill answered plainly. He looked to the bridge before him, a mechanical bridge that can be lowered with the use of a lever that accompanied its controls. "The bridge is down. Bet they left to raise it."
"I bet that makes a lot of noise going up," Zoey shuddered. "God. They must have called every zombie in the city."
"And now that's what we're gonna do, huh?" Francis watched Bill nod. "Of course we are. It sounded really stupid, so that's how I knew we were gonna do it."
Back in the provisions room, Bill and the others took little time to grab some ammunition before setting out. "We make this quick," Bill said. "We've come too far to get killed now. Louis-you stay with the boat."
"Whoa, are you kiddin' me?" Louis objected.
"Your leg's all busted, son. We don't have a lot of options here. We'll raise the bridge and come back for you."
"Bill...you see that guy?" Louis asked, pointing to the corpse in the room. "He stayed behind to watch the boat."
Logic knocked some sense into Bill's brain at that moment. "Good point," he agreed, leading the others towards the bridge, which wasn't too far from the boat. For an instant, Bill even pitied the others who had commandeered this boat before them. So close, he thought grimly. They met little resistance on the bridge. Bill, Louis, and Zoey acting as fire team while Louis ordered Francis to climb the ladder and raise the bridge, the latter taking exception to the command.
"We'll see who's orderin' who on the island. Me. Givin' lots of orders. You: 'That was a great order, Francis.' 'Louis was dead weight after all.' 'You're so goddamn smart. I should read a shit-tonna books so I can keep up with how goddamn smart-'"
When Francis pressed the button and didn't get a response, he cursed. Loudly. "Bill! Nothin's happening!"
"Doesn't that just fucking figure," Bill answered. "New plan! Francis, you stay with Louis! Zoey, with me!"
The pair sprinted ahead, Zoey blowing the head off a Hunter that was slyly crawling close to Bill. Bill shot an infected in the abdomen and watched as its small intestines began seeping through the wound before he finished it off with a pot shot to the neck. Now that he had Zoey alone, Bill thought it was a perfect time to try to quench this aggression between the two.
"Look, kid, I, uh...know we haven't been-"
"Forget it," she cut him off. "The boat's the plan now and I'm here. Let's get this done with."
As they cleared the infected from the front of the generator, Bill heard the disappointment from Zoey's voice as she commented on the age and shape of the generator. Bill covered her as she attempted to lift the generator. Once righted, Zoey pressed the button on the generator and heard it thrumming to life. "Yes!" she exclaimed. "The generator's a little shaky, but we're in business, Bill!"
"Good. Let's get to that island in the Keys..." He heard the wailing sink into the night, the sound of countless infected no doubt making their way to them, as well as the roar of a Tank that was nearby. So I never have to hear that goddamn sound again.
"Francis! Put up the bridge!" Zoey screamed, the pair racing back to the bridge.
"It's on, it's on! Get up here! We ain't seen a safe house in a real long time, so don't make me waste the last of my ammo coverin' your slow asses!"
Bill helped Louis up to his feet and onto the ladder as the bridge slowly started to rise. He breathed a sigh of relief when the four were safe from the oncoming horde.
Kulunkkulunkkulunk!
"Wow, I knew it was gonna be loud," Zoey said, "but I didn't know it was gonna be this goddamn loud!"
"Don't worry," Louis said, reassuring the group. "We'll be too high up before the horde reaches us. We're good!"
Kulunkkulunkkulunk!
"We keep quiet? They'll probably just hang around til-"
Kulunkkulunkkulunk-ccreeeaakkk!
The bridge suddenly stopped ascending, leaving the Survivors high and dry, the cries and shouts of the infected below them filling the cool night's air.
"I knew this would happen!" Zoey cried. "I hate that generator!"
"And now four tanks are making their way to us. Thanks, Louis."
"What! What the hell did I do, Francis?"
"Optimism. You jinxed us."
Louis put his hands against the handrail, running a hand across his smooth, bald head. "Guys, I have a bad feeling about this."
"What?" Francis said with shock. "Louis, we've been through far worse than this. This-is nothing."
"You should be the one that's sad, Francis. If the world righted itself, I was gonna give your ass a job." Louis smiled despite himself, trying to muster all the courage he could.
"Shut up with that kind of talk," Zoey said, teary-eyed. "We've got some ammo left. All we have to do is... We... Shit! We've come too far! It can't end like this!"
"I love you, Zoey," Louis continued. "I love all you guys. Listen, I want you to kill me before they tear me apart. Francis, I'll give you the honor."
"Bullshit!"Bill shouted. "I won't have it!"
"The doc's dead, Bill; there isn't anyone else who can patch my leg up or make me a splint or a cast. I'm as good as dead anyway. I'd only slow the lot of you down in the long run. It makes sense for me to go."
"I won't let you do it, Louis," Bill insisted.
Francis tugged on Bill's arm forcefully. "Lou's got a point, Bill; we're not going to be able to patch him up. If we keep him with us, we may be stuck up here for awhile 'til his leg heals up, if it ever will. No offense there, Lou."
"Speaking your mind, Francis," Louis agreed. "No shame in using something you never did before."
Francis and Louis tried to force a smile, but they knew the circumstances in which they faced. They knew the cards that were dealt in their hands. A real crap-shoot.
Bill tapped Louis on the shoulder lightly and tapped Francis on the shoulder forcefully. He pulled out both of his .45 pistols, as well as his journal, and held them out. "I'm going."
"Old man, what are you doing?" Francis asked. "Don't be stupid! You know you're the one who really needs to be one of the three. You aren't going."
Bill shook his head. "Who said I'm gonna die? I'm gonna need you guys to cover me while I get to the generator. I need you all to be on your game with this; I may have a whole lot of company on both sides of me when I get back. …And incase I don't, I want you to know that I've lived. I've lost. And I'll be damned if I have one of you guys sacrifices yourselves while an old man like me saves himself. If I don't make it back, I need you guys to get to the Keys, start fresh, and live."
"Bill, you can't do this. Use your head." Bill was shocked to hear Louis say this; he has really matured as a soldier since he first met him as a scared civilian in that warehouse building.
"You've come a long way," Bill smiled. "You've made me proud."
Louis bit his lip, his eyes getting glassy; he knew that there was no way to convince Bill to stay behind with the others. Once he got something stuck in his head, he went with it, and he never looked back.
Bill nodded to Zoey and Francis. "Make sure you get him to the boat safely."
Zoey, the tough girl who's more than pulled her weight since their first meeting, couldn't stop the tears that fell from her eyes. "You can't do this," she said. "You can't make a choice like this without thinking it through. It isn't fair, Bill."
Bill placed his hand delicately against her cheek and rubbed some of the tears from her eyes. "I wish we could've met before all this happened," he said, his voice cracking. "Maybe then my boy could've been with someone as beautiful and strong as you. You know, after all this time, it wasn't until now that I realize I have a beautiful daughter as well a son. I'm sorry for the rift that came between us; I did everything in my power to keep you safe. I want you to remember that. You'll survive this, Zoey."
Zoey rushed forward and grabbed Bill and sobbed on his shoulder. He pat her hair softly and held out his .45 pistols and journal to Francis once more, mouthing, "Take this."
Francis, still shaking his head, reluctantly took it. "You sure? I can come with you ,you know?" he asked.
Bill shook his head, not answering. When Zoey let go of Bill, she walked over to Louis and readied her rifle, aiming her sight at the advancing Tanks. Zoey turned to look at Bill for what she hoped wouldn't be the last time.
"Keep them safe," Bill whispered to Francis. "Keep them alive. If there's anybody who can do it, it's you, Francis. Now I know we've had our differences in the past, son, but—"
Francis shook his head and holstered both .45 pistols and placed Bill's journal in his back pocket. "You don't need to say anything else. I hate goodbyes." Francis readied his shotgun and took a vantage point closest to where the infected were coming from. "You heard the man! Cover him!"
Bill took one massive leap from the platform, rolled on his shoulder, and began firing at anything in sight, tearing through the wall of flesh before him. The sound of gunshots behind him gave him reassurance; his squad would not allow anything to harm him. Almost there. Do it, you useless old bastard. Get to work. Get them out of here. Get them safe. Don't let her down.
{break}
Think! Bill thought, bringing himself to the present. With his rifle out of reach and Francis in possession of his 1911's, Bill stared at the Tank knowing there was nothing he could do. He felt like a rag doll, his clothes weighing nothing, save for the item in his right shirt pocket, which pulled his shirt down. The knife! You had the knife the whole time, you old idiot!
Bill, with will alone guiding his hand, weakly grabbed the hilt of the Bowie knife in his shirt pocket and jabbed the knife into the mouth of the Tank, pulling up as far as he could. The Tank was beginning to squeeze him to death. Once the knife found the sweet soft spot of its brain, the Tank, ready to grab its new wound, threw Bill against the generator, his body slamming against it and crumbling beneath it.
"Just…die. You…son of a bitch."
The Tank roared and flailed about, trying to grab the knife out of its brain. Its hands were too large, the wound was too deep, and after a few seconds, the Tank fell to its knees and had a few spasms before it stopped completely.
Bill coughed and sat up, looking at the building parallel to where he was. He saw Francis mouthing something to him, but couldn't hear him as there was a constant ringing in his ears. He reached up and just barely managed to push the button. When he pushed it, he saw Francis look to his left, signaling that the bridge was ascending again.
His job was done.
Bill knew that being out in the open was a dangerous thing. He grabbed his assault rifle and willed his body to drag itself across the open area, passing over some bodies of the infected he killed. He noticed that his blood was leaving a trail as his body dragged on.
Shit, he thought, looking forward, squirming for that little extra boost to get into the generator room for some cover. Just a little further, Overbeck. Just a little further.
He sighed when he made it to the generator room and noticed that there were no infected inside. He crawled for every inch his body would give him and put his back to the generator. Placing the assault rifle in his lap, Bill reached in his shirt pocket for his crumpled box of cigarettes. Thumbing through them, he saw that there was one cigarette that was still left whole. He took it out delicately and placed it between his lips.
Bill fumbled through his left shirt pocket and cursed that he didn't have a lighter with him at that moment. He looked outside the room and noticed that his brass lighter was glimmering in the street light; it must have fallen out of his pocket as he made his way into the generator room.
"William, what are you doing, sweetheart?"
Bill raised his head and looked forward with one good eye; the other was covered in blood. What he saw before him made his heart stop: a beautiful woman, more beautiful than he had ever seen, was standing before him, smiling softly at him, her lips a shade of pink.
"Beatrice?"Bill called out. He slowly shook his head. "No…that can't be… You died."
Beatrice kept her smile and pointed at the cigarette in Bill's mouth. "What did I tell you about those things, William? They're bad for you. Have you been bad since I've been gone?"
Bill smiled weakly and nodded his head slowly, removing the cigarette from his mouth. "'Fraid so, hon. I'm sorry I haven't been listening to you."
"It's all right, William," Beatrice said, her piercing blue eyes seeing through his body and soothing his soul. "You know, you don't need to hang on any longer. You can come with me if you'd like."
Bill shook his head, fighting the tears that were forming in his eyes, the blood seeping into his right eye and stinging it. He knew that he couldn't let go, not at that moment.
"I…can't…" Bill breathed, gasping for air. "I can't now, not just yet, not while there's so much to do…"
Beatrice got on her knees before him and stroked his hair softly, placing her cool hand behind his neck. Bill could smell the perfume she had on; the smell of lilacs, his favorite. She had always worn it on a special occasion.
Bill wondered just what was so special about this moment.
"You're warm," Beatrice said, giggling. "You were always warm. Remember when I used to put my feet on your chest when I was freezing? I was always so cold."
Bill smiled, blood escaping his lips. His body was broken; he could feel the agony in his body slowly going to numbness. "Always cold," he said, laughing, hacking up more blood. "Always kept me around to keep you warm."
Beatrice's pain was seen through her face; her brow frowned, as did her smile. She looked as if her blue eyes would shatter and tears would fall upon his leg. He watched her grab his hand, bring it to her lips, and kissed it softly. "You need to let go, William."
Bill shook his head once again, more quickly this time. "The boy… My boy… Our boy… I need to find him. I need to…keep him safe."
Beatrice smiled once again, possibly remembering the boy she had long forgotten. "He is our son, William. He's got your spirit, your fighting spirit. He's a survivor. You know you don't need to worry about him."
Deep down, Bill knew that this was what he really felt. He had trained his boy growing up like one of his soldiers, in case something was to happen in America. Like it was now. He hoped that the tears and blood his son shed were being put to good use somewhere.
"I see you've taken care of it," Beatrice said, pointing to the locket hanging around Bill's neck. "I'm glad you had me with you this whole time."
"That's…what's been…keeping me going."
Bill watched Beatrice caress his hand and then she spoke. "I just don't want to be alone anymore, William. I miss having you with me. I miss holding you, kissing you, your smiles, your sighs, your laugh…everything."
"Beatrice…"
Bill tried to lift his weapon; the stock was empty. There were no more bullets, there was no more ammunition, there was no more need to fight. Irony took him by surprise: a soldier with no weapon to fight with, in a moment of peace, a moment of love. He took his hand from Beatrice and placed both hands on his assault rifle.
"All right," he said, nodding his head.
"What?"
"All right," he repeated, "I'll come with you… I'm so sorry…it took me so long…"
Bill raised his head and saw his beautiful wife once more, his beautiful bride, the beautiful mother of their beautiful son. He saw her stand and walk toward the door, looking back at him, holding her hand out for him to take. Bill, the blood pooling from his broken body, felt more numbness take over. Bill thought of Beatrice waiting for him when he went off to war. He thought of the men he served with who were waiting for their sergeant to come home. He thought of the day his son was brought into this world.
"…I love you…" Bill whispered out loud, thinking of his son, tears falling from his eyes. Live…
He thought of his little soldier and how he had tried so hard to make his daddy proud, the times he would scrape his knee and made it seem like nothing was wrong even though he wanted nothing more than to cry. He remembered the smiles on Christmas mornings and when Bill taught him how to ride a bike; all of it came flooding back to him at that moment.
He used the remaining strength in his body to pull his lips apart and smiled. His head drooped a bit, and he took a long, deep breath, letting it out into a relieved sigh.
And his chest never rose again.
{break}
Elsewhere, on top of the building parallel from the generator, Francis saw a trail of blood leading from the generator to the generator room, a trail of bullet shells pooled on top of it, a dead Tank and countless bodies of infected littering the areas. "Bill!" he called out. "Bill! Can you hear me? Old man, can you hear me? Bill! Fuck this, I'm going to get him!"
Zoey grabbed Francis' arm forcefully, stopping his action. "He's gone, Francis!"
"You don't know that!" Francis shouted. "Bill's the toughest old geezer I've ever known and he's down there and he needs us! It'll take a lot more than that to stop him. I know it!"
"If you go down there, then everything Bill had just done would have been for nothing. Don't make me say it again, Francis!" Zoey's eyes glistened, shaking her head and grabbing hold of Francis. "He's gone, Francis… He's gone…"
Francis brushed the back of Zoey's hair and closed his eyes, Zoey's sobs engrained into his soul. God damn it, he thought, unsure as to what he had to do.
Louis felt his heart drop into his stomach. He didn't feel the pain in his leg anymore; he stood on both of his legs, without a splint, and called out Bill's name. Louis ran his hands over his smooth forehead and placed them on top of his head."This can't be happening! Oh, God, this can't be happening! Bill!"
"We'll wait for the infected to scatter and then make our way to the boat," Zoey said. "Keep an eye out for Smokers and we'll be fine. We look after our own."
Francis looked away, making sure Louis or Zoey wasn't watching him. The shotgun in his hand suddenly became heavy, and Bill's .45s clipped to his waist felt like they weighed a hundred pounds each. He had Bill's journal in his back pocket; he figured they'd take a look at it when they were ready to. The night was brisk and the moon full, the sounds of howling having died down since the initial attack.
Was it worth it, old man? Was saving us worth never seeing your boy again, Bill?
Though he would never admit what he was doing at that moment—not even to himself—Francis wiped the tears that fell from his eyes.
{break}
Watching the world burn and crumble beneath me, I wondered what was to become with all of this. What was there to look forward to? Death? Contempt that we had survived while so many others died? Whichever the answer, I wish not to know. I only know that it is a cruel joke that an old man like me survived while so many women and children have perished. But that's all passed us now.
If by chance you happen upon this journal, I'm afraid my story has come to its end, and it is my hope that the others who had journeyed with me are still safe and have found a small measure of peace they fought so hard to attain. At first, we all had our differences, our likes, our dislikes, and everything in-between. But we became much more than acquaintances during our travels. We became family. We trust each other. We look after our own. Francis was right; we live for today and tomorrow…
…And whatever days may come after that.
- Sergeant William Overbeck, United Stated Army (Ret.)