Sensei nodded in satisfaction. “See how she separated them? Took them one at a time? Isolate them. Don’t let them surround you. Work around the edges. Turn and keep turning.”
We heard running feet then and Sensei said, “Rosa. Watch out, it’s recent.”
We all looked, fearful, but when it came out of the trees near the river, we saw it was a woman, almost normal looking, clothes still intact, not as pallid, but there was blood down its front and the eyes were insane. The recent ones, infected within a month, are much faster. Not supernaturally fast—just human fast and not as stupid. They retain more of their physical skills.
“Jesus,” said Richard. “It’s Mrs. Steckles.”
The Steckles had left three weeks before, traveling to the city, looking for family.
I walked out, putting myself well ahead of the others and it tracked on me. Excuse me if I still use “it”—all of these things were human once but no more.
I knelt, seiza, sitting back on my heels. It came on and its arms came up as it neared. I took both feet off slicing through the ankles, sliding off to the right to avoid the flailing, clawing hands. It thrashed as it fell but was up on knees and hands remarkably fast, coming back toward me. Standing, I cut down, aiming for the neck but it lurched forward and I ended up cutting through its spine lower down, below the shoulder blades. It lost control of it’s abdominal muscles and legs but it flopped down and pulled itself forward with its arms. It’s teeth snapped together within inches of my knee.
I jumped completely over it, turned, and cut its head off as it dragged itself back around. The rictus of the face relaxed and the eyes lost their focus. She looked like Mrs. Steckles again.
Now I felt like throwing up.
The others came up and Sensei was saying, “Imagine facing a large group and one of these faster ones charging into the mix.” He searched my face for a moment.
“I’m okay, Sensei,” I said, wiping the blade.
He gestured back toward the river. “Let’s see what we can find closer to the river.”
We dispatched over a hundred by mid-afternoon and still they marched out of the woods. We’d engage the larger groups in a line and, as we cut them down, we’d slowly move back to keep them from flanking us. The sheer monotony of it finally overcame Richard’s tenseness and he started looking more like he did in the dojo, relaxed and focused, spending his energy at the right instance to accelerate his blade instead of slowing it with excess tension.
We ran into two more from the Steckles’ party, or more specifically, they ran into us. One of them carried a baseball bat, his hands hadn’t lost their cunning. It came in and swung at Sensei, like a slugger going for a fast ball, and Sensei took one step back and cut the wrists, then finished it, kesa. Richard finished the other after Lou took off its leg mid-thigh.
It was so much worse, recognizing them. Fortunately the older ones are so changed—their hair falls out and their skin is scabbed, flaked, and swollen—that even if you knew them before, your chances of recognizing them are small.
That helps. Well, it helps a little.
Sensei led us back up the hill, to where an old soccer field gave a good view in all directions. “Rest,” he said. “Eat.”
I didn’t think I’d be able to eat but I washed carefully with my alcohol rags and waved my hands through the air to dry them. I served Sensei first, of course. It was tortillas with onions, eggs, and beans and my first bite showed me I could eat. That I was really hungry. Lou barely touched hers.
“Okay,” Sensei said. Let’s get back to the gate.”
Richard protested. “Sensei, we haven’t begun to look. Diego could be holed up somewhere, starving!”
Sensei shook his head. “Perhaps. But we need the light. It gets dark early down in the bottoms. We can try again, tomorrow.”
Lou looked miserable but she didn’t say anything. I was unhappy, too.
Diego had studied with Sensei longer than any of us, since before, when our sword study was just an adjunct to the aikido. Diego had brought his little brother, Richard, to learn the sword when it had become a practical matter, after ammo became scarcer and it became clear that noise would just bring more of them.
As far as I was concerned, Diego was like a brother to me and Lou, as if we’d shared parents. In a way, we did, in Sensei.
Danny wasn’t at the gate.
Sensei shrugged. “Walking the wall, perhaps.”
Lou asked, “Is he still on duty?”
“Oh, yes,” said Sensei. “Shifts change at eight, four, and midnight. He should be on for another hour easily.”
Richard went over and pounded on the gate, three times, hard.
“Stop it!” said Sensei, but it was too late.
There was a heavy rustling in the cornfield.
I wish I’d never read that book.
Lou was mad. “Are you insane? Why don’t you just put a cowbell on and run back to the river!”
Sensei shook his head. “Spilled milk. Keep your mind focused.”