Beta Test: 1st of the NanoWielder Saga, page 23
We were coming up on the point where the old barn was closest to the lake, with only a twenty or so yard space between them. It feels inevitable something's going to happen here. This has just been that kind of day.
Bo waved at us and made a throat-slashing motion, then mimed putting keys in a car and turning them. He was only around ten feet away, so I said, "Do you want us to turn off the car?" He held up a finger in front of his closed mouth and glared. Ahh, he means to be quiet.
Without the engine noise, there was the sound of an acoustic guitar. The deepest voice I'd ever heard sang, "My heroes have always been cowgirls. Still are, it seems." This had been one of my grandfather's favorite songs, but I don't think that's the way Willie Nelson sang it. "Sadly in search of, and one step in back of themselves and their slow-moving dreams."
A man came around the corner, sort of. I don't mean 'sort of came around the corner,' I mean sort of a man. From the neck down, he looked like a competition bodybuilder wearing painted-on jeans, a brown vest with no undershirt, and brown leather boots. The incongruous orange University of Texas ball cap was perched on his broadhead. He wore it in between the horns because he had the head of a bull. Weagle bayed at him.
The minotaur carried a beat-up guitar worn across his body on a strap. Slung low on his hip was an old-fashioned six-gun like you'd see in an old west movie. His left boot had an eagle, globe, and anchor tattoo across the shin with SEMPER FI written on it. That probably wasn't cowed leather.
The bull-man smiled broadly. He didn't have wide cow teeth as you'd expect, but his muzzle had the tearing fangs of a wolf. "We were just getting ready to serve up lunch but could use some dessert!" He pulled the guitar off his chest as Carmen started the car. I started to shoot, opened up with a three-round burst, but he was fast and dove to the side.
Two more creatures came around the corner of the barn. These had cows’ bodies but where the head should be was a woman's torso, head, and arms from the waist up. They both wore Stetson style hats, vests over long-sleeved shirts, and saddle blankets folded into a sort of a skirt on their bovine half. Each also carried a lever-action rifle. I shifted fire to them and got one with several of the thumb-sized rounds. Each hit made a red hole going in and a crater the size of a spread hand going out.
The monster, oh god, my notification called it a cowgirl that I shot slumped to the ground. The other two screamed and shot at us again. The Blue Blade was going forward at a good clip, fast enough that Carmen almost ran over Malik. She'd been looking to the side at the monstrous people rather than ahead where he was standing. Weagle jumped out and started running towards the creatures.
As we moved forward, a 55-gallon drum grill became visible. The charcoal smell and pork scent made me hungry. My appetite died when I saw two human legs being cooked. I shot another burst at the female near the barn and nicked her rear leg. She bleated out a pained moan.
With us quickly accelerating and stopping, I couldn't hit anything. I sprayed the whole barn with heavy weapons fire but didn't come close to any creature. The woman shot back with the dull boom of an antique-type weapon, putting at least one hole in my car. The minotaur had gotten up and drawn his sidearm while rushing towards us with a snarl stamped across his face. Clouds of evil smoke wreathed them with each shot from their black powder guns.
Malik dove to the side so he wouldn't get flattened by the car, but he rolled up to his feet. The young man's improved agility was incredible to watch. He moved like water. Bo started to run to The Blue Blade but stopped to lose flares of light from his finger guns. Mike ran over to check on his son shooting Carmen a harsh look. I was screaming for them all to get in between bursts of fire.
The minotaur was incredibly quick for a man his size. He was sprinting our way and kept taking these lateral hopping steps when I was aiming. It meant I kept shooting clods of dirt instead of monsters. He was also firing that six-gun our way. The flat crack of bullets whining near my head is a sound I had hoped to never hear again.
The monstrous woman, I'm not calling her a cowgirl regardless of what the stupid notifications say, kneeled down with her left foreleg and the right extended out. She carefully aimed and put a round through Bo's shoulder. It spun him around, and his head banged off the car door before he slumped to the ground. Carmen leaped out of her seat and over the door to help him. She left the car running, but when her foot came off the clutch, it lurched forward, throwing me into the passenger seat to lie in a twisted wad of sore. The engine clanked and died.
Knocked a bit silly again, I'm wearing the least helpful helmet ever made; I managed to uncurl myself and get to a seated position. Malik was fighting the minotaur while Mike had dropped to a prone position to trade fire with the female who was surrounded in the dark sulfurous powder smoke. The bull-man had drawn a bowie knife longer than Mike's machete and was swinging wildly with foam dripping from his gaping jaws.
I watched the fight for a moment, pretty sure there is something I'm supposed to be doing. Malik dodged another slash and hit his enemy with the spear. Its tip crackled with blue flames as it sank into the minotaur's flesh. The monster bled from several other wounds but didn't seem to be slowing down. His enraged bellow was ear-shatteringly loud.
Healing! I'm the healer; I finally realized as the Dazed status finally expired. Carmen was kneeled by Bo, who was hacking and coughing from one of the moonshine healing potions being poured down his throat. His left shoulder looked bad. That whole side of his body was soaked in blood while his face was ghostly pale. I tagged him with a ranged heal, and I climbed out of the car. The two were close enough to the door. I would have hit them if I opened it, so I jumped right over.
The minotaur lowered his head and charged Malik. The young man set his jaw then set his spear. He quickly stuck the butt end into the ground and put his right foot on it, pressing down hard. He leaned forward to kneel on his left knee. You could see the blade of the spear trembling. Mike shouted, and the bull-man roared again.
Malik spitted the minotaur and the fishing spear flexed with the weight, but it was strengthened by the young warrior monk's chi. Almost like the monster was pole vaulting, he was carried over the young man to slam into my car. He twitched like a pithed frog until Malik drew one of the park service pistols I didn't know he had and put three into the back of the bull man's head.
I got down to Bo and put a hand on his injured shoulder. Carmen had put on a field dressing, but we needed to go ahead and get a pressure dressing on it. I pumped healing energy into him, and some color returned to the man's face.
Working on a casualty, you can lose track of a firefight. It was something I'd experienced before, but I was still surprised when Carmen and I looked up from treating the injury, and everything was silent. I'd felt Weagle's hot breath on my neck for a while. At least I hoped it was Weagle. Mike was kneeling beside us with a jar of healing in one hand with his other on Malik's shoulder. The young man had the biggest smile I'd ever seen. When I turned, I got my face licked for my trouble.
"Did you see it, Cody?" Malik asked, "Did you see me fight that monster?"
"I did, buddy. You saved us." I stood up and shook his hand firmly, "Bo was hurt. Carmen was helping him. I took another head injury. None of us could protect ourselves, but we didn't have to because you did it." Mike grinned at hearing the justified praise for his boy. Malik started excitedly telling us all about the fight and reenacted most of it while Bo struggled to his feet.
"Come on, son. Let's go see what our prizes are." Mike said, and the Jacksons went to go loot the bodies. I went with them to pull security, trailing bothwith weapon and shield ready. Seeing me follow, Mike asked with a sly look, "Try not to hit your head again. No telling how many brain cells you have left.
I did a loud, dramatic fake laugh, but he did make a good point. Malik looted the minotaur and Mike the first of the females. I could see where he'd hit her several times, but a big, powerful target like that really needs a heavier round than the M4 has to offer. It looked like Weagle finished her off as her left side, away from the rifle, was ripped up. The difference in that kill versus the one taken down by the .50 cal was dramatic. I got eleven nanocredits from each of the bovine creatures. We got a pile of coins, including a silver with jade center. It was a great reward but not at the cost of Bo's arm. Even after healing, he couldn't feel or move his left hand.
Mike got Bo fixed up with a sling and put him in the back seat with the dog. Having an old Eagle Scout was paying off yet again. I kept apologizing for not being able to fix him up, but we all knew I'd used the entirety of my more powerful Lay on of Hands when half the group got burned earlier. He just sat there quietly staring off into space.
Chapter 26
We got moving again. Instead of standing by the .50 cal, I sat on the rear hood with my feet on the seat. There was no saving this car now. The stupid minotaur put a dent in the hood as it got hit by a transfer truck, so I'm just going with it. I was also tired of getting thrown forward head first into things, but the old car didn't have seat belts in the back. A better helmet and maybe some brain surgery were high on my list of things to acquire.
We made it across the rest of this small piece of the farm without incident. Removing the fence, we again got a notification that we were leaving the dungeon. The top of the metal industrial building was in sight. It was getting late in the day, and this was the last chance Mike knew of for escaping the national forest. Our hopes weren't high, but we may as well exhaust all possibilities.
The scrub grass gave way to a poorly tended garden of stone. Rows of memorial markers stretched off into the distance. Several hundred yards away, on the other side of the graveyard, was our destination. We stopped the car and got out to look for potential threats.
"There's a hundred percent chance something really unpleasant is lurking in the cemetery," Mike told us. I just nodded. Bo still hadn't said a word.
"Do you think it's zombies?" Malik was almost bouncing up and down, "I hope it's zombies."
"That wouldn't actually surprise me, son." The dark-skinned man scratched at his shaven head. "Wouldn't surprise me at all."
"Something's wrong," I told them. "That's for sure."
"What do you mean?" Carmen asked. She sounded a bit distracted like she'd just tuned into the conversation.
"Look at the flags." I pointed to the poles on a low hill in the rough center of the graveyard beside the old brick driveway. This was a veteran's cemetery. All of them have flags for the individual services and a taller US flag. The American flag was lying on the ground, which made my eye twitch. The service flags should be displayed from left to right with Army going first, then The Marines, Navy, Air Force, Space Force, then Coast Guard. None of them were present.
Instead of the large rectangular flags for the services, there were slim ribbons on the flagpoles. I had a decent set of binoculars in the car, so I went and got them. The Army flag pole had a bunch of streamers. One with blue, gold, then blue bars had Puerto Rico written on it. Then a Red, stripe, blue stripe, and red strip one had Iloilo. A rainbow one of indigo, green, yellow, orange, then a center stripe of red before repeating those colors had St. Mihiel. After that, they got pretty thick, but I recognized Guadalcanal, Anzio, Normandy, and Ardennes as battles from WW2. A blue, white, then blue streamer under all the second world war ones said Second Korean Winter. Numerous others from Vietnam, Grenada, Liberation of Kuwait in the first Gulf War, Global War on Terrorism, Afghanistan, Iran, and Second Syria blew in the gentle breeze. The other services were similar though they normally listed wars rather than major battles. I read all of that out to my friends.
"What do they mean?" Asked Carmen.
"Those are battles." I took a deep breath. "Each of those streamers on the left-most pole is for a major battle. The other poles have different rules, usually just a streamer per war."
"There are a lot of streamers. Have we been in so many wars?" Carmen put a hand on Bo, massaging his neck. He leaned into her.
"Yeah. We've been bleeding since the nation was founded. I don't know why they have those particular streamers, though. There are many more." On Memorial Day, it was hard to look over the unmown lawn and see the flag on the ground. I got a little choked up reading the campaign streamers where my brothers and sisters, our fathers and grandfathers bled and died for this nation.
This was an old cemetery that had been filled long ago. They probably haven't had new internment in twenty years. The grounds should still be cared for, though. That's part of the promise we made these people when they went off to war. At least we vowed to honor their grave. They paid a high price for these little plots of land.
"I think I'm going to put that flag up," I told everyone.
"Hey brother," Mike told me, "I don't like it either, but that's a terribly exposed spot. It's too risky."
"None of you have to go. I just have some promises to keep." I couldn't get the thought of all these soldier graves being abandoned out of my head. On Memorial Day of all days. "I'll be back in a minute."
For so many people, it's silly to invest any emotion into a flag. It is silly. Emotions are like that. My oath of enlistment was sworn before a flag just like that one. I'd buried friends when a folded flag was all their family had left of their loved ones. So there was a lot of emotion bound up into that ratty piece of nylon.
Lots of people revile it and use it as part of protests. That's fine, though. Their right to do that is literally part of what we fought to protect. I don't normally agree with it, but hardly anyone cares about my opinion. I'm going to hang that one up, though. This Memorial Day, it will fly properly.
I was out of ammo for my shotgun, so I left it in the car. I had my banged-up gas station sign shield and my pistol. With ax holstered on my belt, I crept forward. The minute my foot stepped down in the graveyard proper. A moaning sound came from the lone mausoleum near the hillock with the flags.
"Ah shit." Mike sighed and readied his rifle. He checked to make sure there was a full magazine in and charged the handle. Carmen hopped up on the car to get behind the machine gun. She patted the runic tire tool on her belt and grabbed the two butterfly handles of the heavy weapon. The drawn-out moan broke up almost like someone clearing their throat.
"I do hope it's zombies," Malik whispered as he took a ready stance. Weagle was right beside me, but he whined when we heard a groaning noise that seemed to come from all around. The intellectual certainty that since you were in a graveyard during a monster apocalypse and an undead attack was inevitable was different than seeing bony fingers clawing their way up out of the ground. In real life, the wafting rot was horrible rather than cheezy and funny like the movies.
Carmen opened up with the .50 cal. The dull roar of its heavy rounds seemed to accelerate the skeletal monsters bursting free. She did hit several of them, and that type of weapon doesn't just impact. It causes amputations. Bones and fragments of rotting flesh were scattered around liberally. I hit the ground. A skull emerged beside my left shoulder, so I shot a hole in it. That seemed to do the trick as the creature stopped moving.
I low crawled forward, honestly more concerned with Carmen shooting me than the emergent undead.
*Dead* He paused, which was a bit unusual.
*Don't like*
The dog's thoughts were pretty similar to my own. I didn't like this much either.
"Sargent Major!", wheezed an old school southern accent. It sounded like everyone in a movie thinks we all talk but the way nobody had since The Civil War. "Rally the men." A limping corpse in the khaki uniform of an officer of the volunteer regiments was behind the mausoleum. His yellow shoulder boards had the double gold lines that symbolized a captain during The Spanish American War.
A mummified man, wearing a world war two Eisenhower-style jacket over his olive drab uniform duckwalked over to the standing officer. "I'll get 'em together, sir." He said in a box of rocks gravelly voice, which sounded perfect for his sergeant major rank. "Rally boys. Rally to the flag!" He cried out, waving his left arm. The undead was crawling up from their graves and shuffling, limping, crawling, or marching to the exact place I was trying to go. I got up to run back to the car, staying as low as possible.
"Nice going," Carmen shouted as she reloaded the machine gun. I shrugged. She was right, so there wasn't any point in arguing. The undead was forming into units near the flag poles. There looked to be over a hundred of them armed with a multitude of weapons from their era. They had everything from Winchester lever-action rifles of The Spanish American War, bolt action 1903 Springfield's from World War 1, M1 Garand's from World War 2, original model M16's from Vietnam to the M-4 variants similar to what I used in the Middle East. The mummified sergeant major even carried a prohibition-era Tommy Gun.
The group of undead formed up into loose squares, apparently by generation. Sergeants called out to the junior enlisted to create squads, then all lined up in understrength platoons. These five platoons, one from the first world war, another from world war two, a third from Vietnam, a fourth from the modern conflicts, and a very small fifth platoon was created from odds and ends of other conflicts or times of service.
From where we were, I could hear their dead, raspy voices making fun of the various other services. One of the world war 1 guys yelling, "What in the hell is a Space Force?" to general quease inducing laughter. The huge majority were from the Army with good numbers of Navy corpses, mainly from the world war two-platoon. A Marine sergeant that was missing an arm was giving his air force squad members hell in the colorful swearing you'd expect from the Vietnam era. The more modern dead murmured among themselves and stood in the loosest formation.
The ancient-looking uniform of that Spanish American War Captain seemed terribly out of place as he stepped to the front of the formation. "Men," He wheezed.
