JAMES
"Everyone, get back inside," Colonel Hayes shouted, raising his voice over the howls of the dead and the panicked screams of the living. "Establish a defensive line atop that wall. We can thin the herd from there."
He stood off to the side of the path, making sure that Castle's defenders escaped to the fort. All but four of them were going in the right direction.
He recognized Sergeant Lowe running after Stan, accompanied by two civilians. Where they were heading was a bigger mystery to him. If it were anyone but Lowe, he'd figure they were fleeing for the boats. Knowing her, they had something else in mind.
He couldn't follow everyone inside until he was sure all of his people made it back safely. He'd lost enough good soldiers in recent days. He watched Sergeant Lowe and the others race by their zombie pursuers around the northwestern corner of the fort. Seconds later, the dead filled in this side of the fence, swallowing up the path behind them.
"Move it!" A soldier crossed his line of vision, shouting to the others. "Go, go, go!"
"Corporal," James called out.
Corporal Tim Dawson was young, but next to him and the sergeant, he was the highest-ranking surviving soldier from their disastrous rout from Harvard. Despite the unfortunate circumstances of the past few days, he wore the burden of his station well.
Jumping at his commanding officer's voice, Dawson turned and snapped him a quick salute. "Sir."
James returned the gesture. With any luck, this night wouldn't end with Dawson assuming full command of what remained of Harvard's army.
"Your sidearm," James said. "Give it to me."
The corporal blinked in surprise. "Colonel?"
"You heard me, soldier. Hand it over. Along with any spare magazines you're carrying."
"Sir. Yes, sir." Dawson produced his weapon and passed it over without question. While James checked the ammo and slipped the handgun into his belt, the corporal collected the rest of his gear. Two additional magazines ended up in his pouch.
"Now get inside with the others. Organize our defenses from the wall. You're in charge."
"What about you, sir?" the corporal inquired.
James turned and marched away from the dead throwing themselves against what remained of their barricade. "I'll be in shortly."
Or not at all, he added mentally.
GRAVES
Carl was having a hard time finding solace in his role as one of Mystic's saviors. Plugging the hole in the fort's defenses left them with a bigger quandary – making it back safely. With their backs to the barricade, a horde approaching from the parking lot, and the dockyard wall to their left, the only escape route that made any sense led towards the freezing cold waters of the bay.
The direction bypassed the majority of the undead army amassed near Castle's walls, but it wasn't exactly smooth sailing either. Their ride across the parking lot provided a big distraction for the zombies. Creepy dark shapes filled the gloom between them and the shoreline, all of them coming their way.
"That's fuckin' perfect. Stuck in the blender again," Tommy grumbled.
"Where else would we be?" Carl muttered alongside him.
"Wouldn't mind a tropical beach, just once."
Popping a fresh magazine into her gun, Denise started running for the zombies between them and the shore. "Stay close."
Tommy gazed at the frigid water, grunted in frustration, and shouted, "I said tropical."
There was nothing tropical about their dash to the rocky coastline. The cold wind blew the unbearable stench of rot and death into their nostrils from the undead wall standing between them and the fort.
"What's the plan?" Tommy huffed, pushing a dead man out of his way. The zombie fell on his ass with an unhappy groan. "We're not really going to swim out of here, are we?"
"You'd rather take your chances with the herd?" Denise growled.
"Kid's got a point, Saint Denise." Graves blasted an approaching zombie teenager off its feet, sending it flying against a second one trailing behind it. "We'll freeze our balls off paddling through there."
"That's your problem, not mine," she reminded him while shooting the face off an encroaching zombie. "And quit it with the Saint Denise shit."
"This'd go a lot easier if it wasn't so dark," Tommy moaned, missing the kill shot of a nearby dead man and slicing off his cheek instead. The monster wavered on his feet, resuming the pursuit after they flew past him.
"Pay attention," Graves said. "There're more of those bastards ahead."
The zombies between them and the shoreline weren't as densely packed as they were by the fence, but they stood close enough together across the parking lot to pose a problem. Speaking for himself, his six-shooter would run empty before he could punch a hole through their lines.
Denise stopped to fish something out of a pouch on her belt. "Cover me," she requested, seeking protection from a group of zombies closing in on them.
Graves and Tommy stepped in on either side of her. They popped off rounds without a word, stacking bodies like cordwood until Carl finally had to stop to reload. The space between gunshots resounded with ominous growls.
"Whatever you're doing, do it faster, huh?" Tommy mewled.
"Frag out," Denise announced, pulling the pin on the grenade she produced. She tossed it at the closest cluster of zombies blocking their path to the water. It bounced and rolled to their feet, giving her time to grab her gun and wait for their chance to proceed.
The explosion lit up the night, driving the entire horde into a gargled frenzy of howls. Fire ripped apart flesh and cloth, spraying burning body parts in all directions.
The smoke cleared a moment later, revealing a sizable gap in the line, illuminated by burning corpses. Among the smoldering remains, a few cooked stragglers roamed around blindly. They swiped the air as if trying to kill the blaze consuming their hair and clothes.
"Run for it!" Denise yelled.
The trio bolted for the opening before the herd moved in to reseal it. Without firing a shot, they safely passed through the still-smoking gap that the grenade punched into the moaning, biting wall. The gentle splash of freezing water on icy rock greeted them on the other side.
That and something else...
"Look!" Tommy shouted, pointing at an object skimming across the bay towards them.
The Zodiac, occupied by a lone individual in camo, splashed across the windswept surface of Pleasure Bay from the dock of the Harry McDonough Sailing Center. Its outboard motor was a mosquito's buzz, barely audible under the roars of the provoked throng. The sight was so unexpected that even Carl stopped to take it in.
The boat's operator veered close to shore, enticing the dead to chase after him. With almost synchronized precision, scores of zombies threw themselves over the wooden barricade between the parking lot and the bay. Bodies slid down the rocky embankment one after another, sinking to the bottom of the deep water as if tied to cement blocks.
"Who is that?" Tommy wondered, straining to make out the soldier floating to their rescue.
"This way," Denise said, pointing to a strip of sandy shore to their right, where the boat presumably intended to pick them up.
Graves fired into the nearby crowd, clearing a path to the beach. The Anaconda slammed the walking dead off their feet like a wrecking ball. It bought them the opportunity they needed to slip through to the shoreline.
The Zodiac maneuvered offshore, revealing its captain clearly for the first time. Colonel Hayes waved them on from the dinghy, before reaching for a second gun to cover their retreat.
"Come on!" he shouted.
Denise holstered her sidearm and ran into the freezing cold water first. Carl could almost see the air suck out of her lungs in one shocked gasp. He steeled himself for the biting pain before following her into the bay.
"F-Fuck!" Tommy wailed, splashing after her. "So... cold... Goddamn!"
Carl entered the water last. Icy daggers stabbed his legs through his clothes, growing more intense with every step deeper. Frozen tendrils wound through his veins and painfully squeezed his lungs and heart. Wading through the bay to the waiting boat was sheer torture. It took everything he had not to turn and take his chances with the undead bastards chasing after them from the shoreline.
Hayes blasted gunfire from both hands. Graves didn't look back. The occasional splash of water from plunging bodies meant their pursuers were closer than he would have preferred.
Time seemed to freeze along with his extremities, surrounding him in a bubble of gunshots and growls. Denise dove into the water and started swimming for the Zodiac. Tommy cursed under his breath and followed her. The splashes from their progress looked so cold that Carl half expected to see water crystals form in midair.
"World couldn't end in August, could it?" he grumbled. "Fuckin' typical."
With his legs practically frozen stiff, he didn't dive into the water as much as fall forward. Somehow, he managed to find the power to start kicking once the frigid bay slapped him in the face. His progress was less graceful than a dog paddle, but at least it was getting him where he needed to be. Anything was better than staying put and ending up an evening snack for monstrosities.
Or so he kept reminding himself every time his aching hands plunged into the icy bath.
"Sergeant Lowe. Let me help you." Hayes' voice drifted from somewhere behind Carl's freezing ears. He pushed himself harder to reach the boat before the subzero water sapped the last of his strength.
There was a splash from ahead, followed by the wet thump of Denise landing in the boat.
"H-H-H—" she stuttered.
"Give me your hand," Hayes said. Judging by the racket of a second frozen body extracted from the water, Carl guessed that he was fishing Tommy out right behind her.
"G-G-Goddamn that's c-cold," the kid wailed. His voice echoed across the bay, chattering teeth and all.
"H-How?" Denise finally managed to blurt.
"I noticed you all headed in the other direction. Wasn't sure what you were up to, so I grabbed a boat thinking that I could keep an eye on things from a safe distance," Hayes answered. "After I saw what you were doing, I knew you'd need an extraction."
Carl touched something solid. He patted rubber and grabbed tight. A cold hand gripped his frozen wrist.
"I got you," Hayes said.
The colonel pulled him from the water all on his own. Graves went limp and collapsed on the dinghy's floor like a hooked fish. It took all of his strength to make it this far. What meager energy remained in him was too busy trying to keep his exhausted, frozen body from succumbing to sleep.
"G-Graves, y-you okay?" Denise asked.
Keeping his face buried in the rubber floor, his only response was a tired grunt and a shaky thumbs-up.
"Hang on," Hayes said, bouncing across the boat to his original spot by the motor. "I'll get us back to the boathouse. You can warm up there until it's safe to try for the fort."
What happened next occurred so quickly that by the time Carl raised his head, he'd almost missed it entirely. Water splashed. The boat bobbed. Denise yelled. Tommy dived for the floor beside him. Colonel Hayes gasped. The darkness roared in hunger.
Graves lifted his eyes. The first thing he spotted was the sticker affixed to the side of the pontoon, advertising Pleasure Bay Tours. The second thing was the dead man trying to climb into the raft with them.
The zombie, probably one of many who had fallen in while chasing the sound of the Zodiac's motor, must have bobbed to the surface and managed to snag the inflated craft. It currently had hold of Hayes and seemed determined to either climb into the boat with them or drag him under. From the way the colonel was dangling off the Zodiac's inflated side, Graves suspected the latter might happen first.
"Sir!" Denise yelled, reaching for her sidearm.
Hayes held out his free hand to stop her. "Don't! You'll hit the boat."
Despite the man's protest, Graves reached for the Colt tucked in its shoulder holster. He sat up, trying to find a shot before the encounter turned fatal.
Lying face down across the side pontoon with the monster holding his arm, the colonel couldn't find his balance, much less fight back. He needed help, but like everyone else on the opposite end of the boat, Carl couldn't line up a shot from his position. Hayes was as good as dead.
The floating zombie clung to the colonel's arm, its mouth hovering dangerously close to his fingers. All it had to do was bite down and he'd would be wiping his ass with a stump for the rest of his brief life.
Hayes likely knew that better than anyone, yet for some strange reason he didn't outwardly allow his fear to get the better of him. He wasn't trying to shake off his attacker, or succumb to panic in any way. After stopping Denise from intervening, he returned his attention to the monster hanging from his limb. He watched it in silence, waiting to see how the situation played out as if it were happening to someone else. What transpired next caught everyone by surprise, including him.
Instead of taking a bite of its captured prey, the dead man sniffed the colonel's hand curiously. The discouraged scowl that crossed its ugly features a moment later was almost comical.
It pulled away, searching for the scent of others sharing the raft with him. Uttering a low growl, it reached out with its other hand and resumed its attempts to climb onboard.
"Get off me," Hayes grumbled. He shook his arm vigorously. The zombie's wet fingers slipped free. It immediately sunk under the surface of the bay like some hideously misshapen stone.
Carl eyed the colonel while he silently reclaimed his spot by the outboard. Hayes' features were inscrutable, appearing both satisfied by the result of his experiment and more than a little rattled by it. The hitman always prided himself on being a cool customer in a crisis, but the colonel's composure in the face of certain death was nothing less than epic.
"Are you... all right?" Denise asked, shaken by the experience.
"It didn't bite you," Tommy gasped. "Why didn't it bite you?"
Understanding dawned on Denise's face. She settled into her seat, deflated by whatever realization she had.
The colonel didn't respond. Looking troubled, he gunned the motor and steered them back to the dock without saying another word on the matter.
It took Carl a little longer to piece together what happened, but he eventually got there on his own. The deadly clash between the military and a swarm of zombie rats on Beacon Street occurred before he and the DiMarcos reached Harvard. Word of the strange battle that ensued, involving Lloyd Pruett and his reputed invulnerability, had become the stuff of rumors and legend by the time they arrived. Honestly, he didn't put much stock in the tale, brushing it off as soon as that nonsense reached his ears. Watching the colonel manage something that should have been impossible left him rethinking his position.
Carl studied the officer's stony features during the ride back. Considering how things ended for the last guy with this "superpower," Graves was glad that his plans for leaving Fort Independence were already in motion. He wasn't keen to stick around to watch Boston's final refuge fall to the dead.