Scavengers
By: Tom T.
“In total, five cans of bacon.” The faint, distant voice hit Davis’ ears, waking him from his slumber. He lay on the living room floor of a two-story private residence the companions had come across in northern Virginia. As he quickly gained consciousness, he crawled sluggishly out of his sleeping bag and grabbed his katana from against the wall. The clock, illuminated by the moon’s glow through the room’s beige curtains, indicated it was about one in the morning—Evan was on sentry. He was kneeling on the couch and had heard the voice as well. He put a finger on his lips to signal a silent “shh.” Brook was also alerted by the sound, but remained silent on the floor. The Border Collie did not bark or growl or make any other sound that would’ve revealed their position. He must have learned to be quieter than other canines because of his experiences so far in this new, hostile world. Davis rose and crept to the window. Very carefully, he pushed the left curtain away a few centimeters to get a tiny peep of the outside. It was very dark, with the full moon partly covered by thin clouds, and he could make out the faint, rigid silhouettes of several people.
Two men stood outside on the neighboring lawn to their left. The wispy cigarette smoke emanating from them was illuminated by the moonlight. They wore dirty work shirts and baseball caps, and on their backs slung bolt-action rifles. A third sat isolated by an upside-down car on the side of the road wearing a white A-shirt and a Stetson hat. One man leaned against a wooden fence and took sips from a cheap bottle of whiskey. Evan told Davis that his heightened sense of hearing had distinguished seven voices in total, and that they had just arrived a few minutes ago. They had not entered the neighboring house yet, and were only occupying in the yard as of now. At first, Davis and Evan had thought about them as being friendly travelers, just like them. The thought even brushed their minds that they could become acquainted and take them in as their own, as they had done many times before since their first days after the Great Collapse. However, the conversation they eavesdropped on proved otherwise:
“Reminds me of the time we killed those guys in New York,” they heard one of them say in a raspy voice.
“Yeah, remember how much that bitch screamed when we shot up her boyfriend?” the other cracked up in a most disturbing glee.
“Yeah, almost as loud as when we popped a cap into each of those kids!” he chuckled.
“How old do you they were?” the man sitting against the car asked.
“What, the kids? They couldn’t have been any older than ten.”
“Oh, and yesterday when we got those women in the bar, it was so funny when they begged us not to shoot ’em!” he was out of control now. “’Oh, please don’t kill us, we’ll do anything!’” he mimicked a woman’s voice with his falsetto.
“Got that right!” said the man against the fence. His words already showed signs of slurring.
“Man, I love this. No laws, no cops, we can just do whatever the hell we want!” One of the standing men let out a wild hoot into the air. Evan flinched at hearing this, almost sure an infected within a mile would’ve heard this senseless ruckus.
Davis stared pensively at them. He looked over and saw the anguished expression on Evan’s face. “These guys are sick,” he whispered tensely.
“Won’t argue with that,” said Davis. “But at heart, they’re all just a bunch of pansies.”
“Looks like they’re staying right next to us! They might cause us some trouble in the morning.”
“Absolutely.” Davis continued to observe the group of survivors.
“So what do we do? Tell them to leave?”
“Don’t be silly. Men like them won’t just be on their way because of people like us. They’ll end us before that happens.”
“Then, do we just stay quite in here and wait for them to leave in the morning?” Evan slumped down on the couch.
“What makes you think they’ll leave in the morning? For all we know, they might stay here a week, a month.” He paused, biting his cheeks. “We’re gonna waste ‘em.” Davis’ voice did not falter when uttering those words, as if this was all routine to him, and that he had absolutely no trouble with ending another’s life if it were to come to it.
“Are you insane?!” A look of sheer scrutiny plastered Evan’s narrow face.
“No,” Davis whispered soberly. “These guys have bad karma. They’ve got it comin’ anyways. Might as well just get it over with now.”
“But…they’ve got guns. If we use ours, it’ll get the attention of every damned infected for miles!”
“And if they get off a shot, they’ll get us killed too—no matter if they hit us or not. We’ll have to be silent…and fast. No hesitation. Riley told me about how they found you. You killed five guys all on your own.”
“But they didn’t have guns!”
“Doesn’t matter. If they can’t see you, they can’t shoot you. Just stay in the shadows.”
“Okay,” Evan eventually agreed, nodding, unsure of whether they should actually go through with this. “Just make sure we check the whole area, there might be more than just seven.”
“Yeah, and always be on guard.” Davis patted him on the shoulder and got up, going over to one of their duffel bags and sifting through. He pulled out Riley’s pair of night vision goggles and strapped them onto his head. He always took every opportunity to make the task easier. “We’ll get out through the back door. Better safe than sorry.”
“Alright,” Evan said, his voice wavering a tiny bit. He licked his lips. “Brook. Stay, please,” he commanded the dog, in order to keep him from causing trouble. Brook yawned, then scratched behind his ear with his back paw.
Davis unlocked the kitchen door and slowly turned the deadbolt. “Just follow me, and you’ll be fine.” Evan nodded. Davis silently turned the doorknob and opened the door a small way, enough so the two could squeeze through. He gingerly closed the door on way out. The night was cool, and crickets could be heard chirping in the distance. Through Evan’s blind eyes, it was complete black, but through Davis’s, it was a monochromatic array of green. “Let’s move. Stealthy. No noise.” The two set out to dispatch the marauders.
On the right side of the neighboring home, two figures stood chatting in the shadows with flashlights in their hands; the beams of which pointed towards the street. They were not seen or heard by Davis and Evan from the living room window, but now they were in full view. The two swordsmen crept in the shadows cast by the oak trees in the yard and crouched by a large, overgrown copse, concealing themselves behind the hulking shrubbery. Evan poked his head out and pursed his lips to make a soft whistling sound. Clicking his tongue to echolocate would’ve given away their position. The leaves and twigs brushed against his skin and the long grass and weeds cushioned the soles of his sneakers. He tried his best not to rustle the leaves as he ducked back down. At night, every bit of sound seemed amplified. Even subtle shifts in his crouching position and the leaves rubbing against his back were like gunfire.
“We’ll take ‘em both at the same time,” Davis whispered. “I take the one on the right, you take the one on the left.” Evan unsheathed his karambit knife. Davis heard the soft sliding of the blade and advised, “If you’re using that, cover their mouths.”
“Got it,” said Evan, a bit anxious, and swallowing hard. A solid lump had formed in his throat. Who would have ever thought that out of everyone in the group, he had been one of the two chosen by fate to complete this daunting task?
“If you’re nervous, just don’t think about it,” Davis said as he gently drew his katana, keeping the movement slow and steady. Being an expert swordsman with over twenty years of experience under his belt, he felt it appropriate and decorative to apply a name to all of his blades. This one, his favorite, and the strongest and most beautiful of all his swords, was called the Autumn Rain. Custom-crafted by the most renowned swordsmiths in Japan, Davis cherished the katana above all his worldly possessions. The blade embodied his fiery, indomitable soul, and in the gleam it produced when reflecting the light of the sun, he saw himself. Incomprehensible is the record of mighty men he had cut down with this blade alone.
Evan took a deep breath. The chatter of the group in the front yard would tune out any subtle noise they made dispatching the strays.
Both marauders standing by the two-story house were facing away towards the street, making Davis and Evan’s task convenient. “On my go, we move. Fast, and silent,” Davis whispered. He tucked the lacquered wood saya (scabbard) of the Autumn Rain into his obi (belt) but continued to hold the sword in one hand—his right—to have more versatility. Evan slumped out from the side of the thicket, prepared to spring into action.
“Alright,” Davis muttered under his breath. “One…two…three!” The assassins emerged from the safety of the brush and crept through the blackness, keeping their movements as quite as possible. The two men they targeted were only a few meters from the hedge, so they did not have to stay silent for long. They were cautious about every step, wary of the long grass being trampled beneath their feet. Evan’s slender shape rose from behind the man on the left and wrapped a hand around his mouth. He raised the karambit with his right and plunged the blade deep into his carotid artery, jerking the blade backwards a few inches to rip through skin and muscle. Evan’s hand muffled any gurgling sounds emitted by the man’s panicking mouth, from which warm blood began churning forth. As Evan yanked the blade from his victim, crimson burst from the open vessel like oil from a punctured barrel, soaking Evan’s hand. At the same time, Davis severed the vertebral column on the back of the right man’s neck with a flick of his sword, killing him instantly. He caught the man as he fell, lowering him to the ground so the others would not hear the sound of his fall. Evan also lowered his kill.
Evan breathed heavily, feeling the blood caked on his hands and arms.
“Good job so far,” said Davis as he swung the Autumn Rain in the air to flick off the blood. Evan used the dead man’s shirt to wipe the blood off of his knife.
They crouched again in the grass and advanced, hearing the raucous sounds of the men’s chatter get louder as they came in proximity. Another man sat forlorn against the side of the house, his head leaned against the turquoise siding; a bottle of whiskey clutched in his hands. He was profoundly intoxicated; his senses were dulled to the point where he couldn’t tell a car from a tree. Easy game. Evan came up on his right flank and swiped the blade across his windpipe. He guy didn’t even see it coming.
“Alright, I’ll check around the corner,” whispered Davis. He stood and pressed himself up against the house and shuffled gradually over to the edge. He poked his head out around the corner and scanned the area.
“What do you see?” Evan asked.
“The four guys, just how we left them.”
“How do we take ‘em without them seeing us?”
“Follow me.” Davis turned around and observed the backyard of the house, scoping for any more of the gang that might be occupying the area. When he didn’t see anybody, he crossed the back of the house and approached the wooden fence the whiskey drinker they saw out the window was leaning on. Davis laid low behind a hedge that grew adjacent the house. Evan followed suit.
“We get this guy first,” declared Davis.
“How?”
Davis picked up a small stone from the patch of gravel behind the hedge, feeling its cold, smooth sides and palming it several times. He tossed it casually in front of him.
“What the hell are you doing?!” Evan asked in shock. “Are you crazy?”
“Shh!”
The man darted his head suddenly, looking into the darkness that shrouded the two assassins. He concentrated for a long time, squinting into the shadows, trying to pick up anything that might have caused the noise. Curious, he drew his Smith & Wesson .41 Magnum revolver, still clutching the whiskey bottle in his left hand. He left his place on the wall and walked slowly towards the source of the noise, not even bothering to use a flashlight. His companions did not seem to notice him leaving, for they were too busy with their conversation.
When he neared their hiding place, Davis at once lunged out and seized the man’s head and neck with his worn, sinewy hands, forcefully rotating the head to the right. Several muffled snaps and clicks were heard, before the man’s body went limp. He made sure he held and lowered the man’s body, in order to keep from making any more noise.
The man possessed a revovler with a double-action trigger, as most handguns are, and did not cock the hammer (much to the two swordsmen’s fortune) when going to investigate the noise—he was probably too plastered to do so. Because he did not, he trigger pull was much heavier, making it harder for him to fire on impulse. On top of that, his intoxication had caused his trigger finger and concentration to be considerably weak. Davis had laid his cards down on all those factors.
“Jesus, that was close!” Evan whispered harshly to him, with mixed fear and anger in his tone. Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead.
“Yeah, I know,” Davis said as he took a deep breath, dragging the body to conceal behind the hedge.
“What about the others?”
“Just hold on.”
After a few minutes of eavesdropping on the two men in the front yard, who were now talking about the last episode that aired of Jersey Shore, they tried to communicate to the man Davis had just done away with. Davis had also snickered and remarked, “Those bastards!” when they conversed about Jersey Shore.
“Hey, Mike!” one of them called in a raspy voice.
“Mikey, get over here. I wanna show you a picture,” another said. His voice was a bit deeper, seemingly older than the other one.
“Hello? Come on man, stop fuckin’ around!”
“James, I think he’s wasted.”
“Really? Alright, let’s just get him onto the porch, before he gets eaten.”
“Gotcha.”
Davis and Evan heard the footsteps of the men on the grass moving over to the wooden fence. After a few seconds, they stopped. “He’s not here,” said one of them.
“Where the hell do you think he went?”
“I don’t know. If he’s drunk, he could be anywhere.” The men turned and headed towards the concealment of the Davis and Evan, calling out Mike’s name. They held flashlights, sweeping the beams back and forth. They, however, had no weapons in their hands.
Davis turned to Evan. “Okay, when they come by, that’s when we strike.”
“What if they see us?”
“Doesn’t matter. If we’re correct, there’s only one more guy to deal with. As long as they don’t get off a shot, we’re fine.”
“OK.” Evan was more confident this time, having killed two people in stealth already.
“What do you detect of them?” Davis asked, making sure Evan had clear knowledge of the positions the men were arranged in.
“Well, there’s one guy with a hat, he’s closest to us. The other guy’s in a little bigger, he’s closer to the fence.”
“That’s right. You go for the hat, I go for the giant. Got it?”
“Roger.”
The men were now almost in sniffing distance—the odor of menthol cigarettes emanated from them—and the two could almost feel their flashlights casting on their skin. They were counting on the hedges providing them with cover for a stealthy attack, but if they were detected, it would be an all-out brawl. Davis pulled the saya from his obi and held it in his hand. He switched his grip of the Autumn Rain to a backhanded one, ready for close combat.
The white beams penetrated the sheltering darkness, illuminating the landscape. Once, one veil hit the hedge they hid behind, but the countless shadows of the leaves hid their bodies and broke up their silhouettes. The angle of the light allowed them to stay hidden by the shadow of the hedge itself. The two marauders now came directly in front of them. Evan’s heart began to beat furiously, and adrenaline overcame him. “Now!” Davis hissed. The two sprung from behind the bush, catching the men by surprise. Evan clutched the first man’s head and sliced his jugular with the karambit knife, letting the warm, hemorrhaging blood pour down his neck.
Davis had not stopped moving, and instead dove forward, tearing through the second man’s abdomen with the tip of his katana. For a split second, time stood still, with Davis lying spread-eagle in midair. The breeze from the dive smacked him, cooling his head. When that split second ended, the Autumn Rain sliced the man’s clothing and flesh like butter, allowing trickles of blood to rush out. Davis’s attack was too fast for the blood from the man’s cut to touch him. He rolled on his shoulder upon hitting the ground in order to spread out the impact of the dive. He crouched there, listening for the key sounds of the kill. He heard two flashlights hit the soft ground with muffled thumps. A few seconds passed, before a horrendous and utterly disgusting noise came. The gash on the man’s belly ripped itself open, spilling out its contents onto the grass. The intestines fell with a harsh sopping like that of a wet sponge or cold spaghetti. Evan, with his enhanced hearing, found this to purely gag-inducing. Following was the sound of two heavy knees hitting the ground, followed by a loud thud, which was the torso, arms, and head.
For a moment they stared at the two dead bodies, thinking about what had just happened. Evan was still panting, with his adrenaline gradually lowering. The exposed entrails gave off a repulsive stench, causing him to cover his mouth and nose with his shirt.
“Guys! You okay?” a voice called out from the street. They turned to face the noise, but quickly darted away around the back of the house. It was the last man, the one sitting against the car. Curious as to why his buddies had suddenly gone silent, he came to investigate. “Should we just get his ass right here?” Evan asked as the footsteps drew near.
“We could,” said Davis, an almost sinister smile stretching on his face. “But let’s mess around with him first.”
“How?” Evan asked shallowly, a little worried about how Davis seemed to enjoy this.
“Well, I don’t really mean messing around, I just want him to see some of the bodies.” Davis then scampered to the large oak tree in the backyard.
“Where are you going?” Evan asked.
“Better view from up there,” Davis said. “You should really go hide too.” With that he proceeded to climb, perching himself on one of the main branches as easily and silently as if he were a capuchin monkey. The broad leaves caressed his body and tickled his face and arms.
“Ah dammit.” Evan bounded to tree, noticing that the trunk was just wide enough for him to crouch behind. He pressed his body up against the trunk, praying that that goddamned light would not sweep him.
The last thug then came across his deceased comrades. “Oh my God!” He knelt beside them, examining the wounds inflicted. “What the hell happened?” He sat there for a moment, unable to comprehend the situation. His shock quickly transformed to anger. “Hey! Who did this?! Where are you?! Come out and stop hiding like a pussy! If I find you I’m gonna fuck you up worse than you can ever imagine!” He trudged to the backyard, sweeping his flashlight to and fro in search of the killers. In his other hand he brandished a MAC-11 submachine gun. He repeatedly spun around, trying in vain to spot any movement.
He came near the oak tree. Davis sat on the branch, looking down at him. The man didn’t seem to notice Evan lying behind the trunk. Davis was too busy watching the man that he failed to notice the fingers on his left hand slowly loosened without his knowledge. After a split second, he realized it, but it was too late. The Autumn Rain’s saya slipped from his grasp, dropping to the ground below. “Shit!” he whispered through his teeth. It landed near the man’s feet, startling him for a bit. He looked down at it, then peered up at the tree. Evan’s heart skipped a beat.
“Hey! Who the fuck’s up there?!” The man aimed his flashlight and MAC-11 at the leaves.
Davis thought quickly and jumped down from the foliage, his katana in both hands. His right hand grasped the upper part of the tsuka (hilt), while his left held the lower part of it for support. Before he could react, Davis brought the sword down on his head, slicing his body in half down the middle to the solar plexus. As Davis landed, he pulled his sword out, causing the man to fall backwards. The two halves of his head and upper body were split a good few inches apart. Davis wiped off the blood on the man’s shirt and sheathed the sword. Evan emerged from behind the oak, asking, “Is it all clear now?”
“Yeah. We’re fine.” Davis muttered.
They came around the house to the front to double check for anymore people, but there were none. Acting on a habit built up from living in a post-apocalyptic world for so long, they commenced looting the bodies for useful items. They took all the flashlights and items in the men’s pockets. They grabbed up the backpacks in order to scavenge the contents inside. The revolver Mike had carried was chambered in .41 Remington Magnum, a round none in the group had a gun for. It is difficult to find .41-caliber ammunition anywhere, so the revolver would just be unnecessary weight. The .380 ACP of the MAC-11 was also useless. It was harder to find, and did not provide sufficient stopping power. The gun itself was horribly inaccurate at semi-automatic, and even more so on full-auto, for it was used mostly for a spray-and-pray style of fighting.
The two men they had first killed carried Ruger double-action revolvers chambered in .38 Special. “Bingo.” Since taking both their guns would cause competition for ammo and add more unnecessary weight, Davis instead took just the rounds. Adrian’s Taurus 608 and Booth’s S&W Model 27 were both chambered in .357 Magnum, which could also fit .38 Special cartridges as well. This feature was a potential life saver. He looted the bodies for more ammunition and planned to give them to Adrian and Booth in the morning. In total, he salvaged twenty-six cartridges. The drunken man sitting by the side of the house carried a Kel-Tec P-32 inside his jacket; the handgun being useless to them, for .32-caliber rounds were scarce and weak.
The other two lying by the side of the house yielded somewhat fruitful results. The one with the hat possessed a Springfield Armory G.I. M1911 handgun. Evan picked it up and took the two other magazines the man carried. All three were full with seven .45 Auto cartridges.
“What are you doing?” Davis asked him, curious as to why he would want to carry a gun if he was blind.
“For up close,” he said. “Just in case I’m caught off guard by a bad guy, I could just shove it in their stomach.”
“True. But be careful.”
The larger man carried a matte chrome Desert Eagle Mark XIX in .50 Action Express. Davis thought he was foolish to do so. The weight of the gun and its ammunition would slow you down much more than a standard-caliber sidearm. The immensely strong .50-caliber rounds provided unnecessary overpower. You can kill an infected or a human just as well with a nine-millimeter to the skull. That kind of power was best reserved for a primary weapon, one which can reach out to ranges farther than a pistol can. The intimidating noise the Desert Eagle made when firing would be nothing but a meal beacon for infected miles around.
Davis didn’t even think of taking it. The two men carried rifles as well; they were the only ones in their group to do so. The one who carried the M1911 had a Savage 10 bolt-action rifle. However, it was chambered in .204 Ruger. Son of a bitch I can never catch a break! The other man possessed a Remington 700 bolt-action rifle with a Trijicon AccuPoint 5-20x50 magnification green mil-dot scope. Davis made out the chambering to be .308 Winchester and was thankful at this. He cycled the bolt four times to eject the rounds and looked through the man’s clothing, finding more loose ammunition. There were fourteen total. Riley’s Springfield M1A was chambered in 7.62x51mm, but that was just a .308 with higher pressure, so he would still be able to use these. The Trijicon scope would go to Booth.
The two put all the items in their pockets and arms, carrying them back inside the house. Once inside, they placed them on the living room table, wiped the blood off of their skin, and headed back out. They hastily dragged all seven of the bodies to a spot in the corner of the backyard, so the flies would be concentrated only in that one place. A few minutes later, Evan’s night sentry shift ended. It just so happened that Davis was next, so he stayed awake. The rest of the night went by with no more disturbances.
“In total, five cans of bacon.” The faint, distant voice hit Davis’ ears, waking him from his slumber. He lay on the living room floor of a two-story private residence the companions had come across in northern Virginia. As he quickly gained consciousness, he crawled sluggishly out of his sleeping bag and grabbed his katana from against the wall. The clock, illuminated by the moon’s glow through the room’s beige curtains, indicated it was about one in the morning—Evan was on sentry. He was kneeling on the couch and had heard the voice as well. He put a finger on his lips to signal a silent “shh.” Brook was also alerted by the sound, but remained silent on the floor. The Border Collie did not bark or growl or make any other sound that would’ve revealed their position. He must have learned to be quieter than other canines because of his experiences so far in this new, hostile world. Davis rose and crept to the window. Very carefully, he pushed the left curtain away a few centimeters to get a tiny peep of the outside. It was very dark, with the full moon partly covered by thin clouds, and he could make out the faint, rigid silhouettes of several people.
Two men stood outside on the neighboring lawn to their left. The wispy cigarette smoke emanating from them was illuminated by the moonlight. They wore dirty work shirts and baseball caps, and on their backs slung bolt-action rifles. A third sat isolated by an upside-down car on the side of the road wearing a white A-shirt and a Stetson hat. One man leaned against a wooden fence and took sips from a cheap bottle of whiskey. Evan told Davis that his heightened sense of hearing had distinguished seven voices in total, and that they had just arrived a few minutes ago. They had not entered the neighboring house yet, and were only occupying in the yard as of now. At first, Davis and Evan had thought about them as being friendly travelers, just like them. The thought even brushed their minds that they could become acquainted and take them in as their own, as they had done many times before since their first days after the Great Collapse. However, the conversation they eavesdropped on proved otherwise:
“Reminds me of the time we killed those guys in New York,” they heard one of them say in a raspy voice.
“Yeah, remember how much that bitch screamed when we shot up her boyfriend?” the other cracked up in a most disturbing glee.
“Yeah, almost as loud as when we popped a cap into each of those kids!” he chuckled.
“How old do you they were?” the man sitting against the car asked.
“What, the kids? They couldn’t have been any older than ten.”
“Oh, and yesterday when we got those women in the bar, it was so funny when they begged us not to shoot ’em!” he was out of control now. “’Oh, please don’t kill us, we’ll do anything!’” he mimicked a woman’s voice with his falsetto.
“Got that right!” said the man against the fence. His words already showed signs of slurring.
“Man, I love this. No laws, no cops, we can just do whatever the hell we want!” One of the standing men let out a wild hoot into the air. Evan flinched at hearing this, almost sure an infected within a mile would’ve heard this senseless ruckus.
Davis stared pensively at them. He looked over and saw the anguished expression on Evan’s face. “These guys are sick,” he whispered tensely.
“Won’t argue with that,” said Davis. “But at heart, they’re all just a bunch of pansies.”
“Looks like they’re staying right next to us! They might cause us some trouble in the morning.”
“Absolutely.” Davis continued to observe the group of survivors.
“So what do we do? Tell them to leave?”
“Don’t be silly. Men like them won’t just be on their way because of people like us. They’ll end us before that happens.”
“Then, do we just stay quite in here and wait for them to leave in the morning?” Evan slumped down on the couch.
“What makes you think they’ll leave in the morning? For all we know, they might stay here a week, a month.” He paused, biting his cheeks. “We’re gonna waste ‘em.” Davis’ voice did not falter when uttering those words, as if this was all routine to him, and that he had absolutely no trouble with ending another’s life if it were to come to it.
“Are you insane?!” A look of sheer scrutiny plastered Evan’s narrow face.
“No,” Davis whispered soberly. “These guys have bad karma. They’ve got it comin’ anyways. Might as well just get it over with now.”
“But…they’ve got guns. If we use ours, it’ll get the attention of every damned infected for miles!”
“And if they get off a shot, they’ll get us killed too—no matter if they hit us or not. We’ll have to be silent…and fast. No hesitation. Riley told me about how they found you. You killed five guys all on your own.”
“But they didn’t have guns!”
“Doesn’t matter. If they can’t see you, they can’t shoot you. Just stay in the shadows.”
“Okay,” Evan eventually agreed, nodding, unsure of whether they should actually go through with this. “Just make sure we check the whole area, there might be more than just seven.”
“Yeah, and always be on guard.” Davis patted him on the shoulder and got up, going over to one of their duffel bags and sifting through. He pulled out Riley’s pair of night vision goggles and strapped them onto his head. He always took every opportunity to make the task easier. “We’ll get out through the back door. Better safe than sorry.”
“Alright,” Evan said, his voice wavering a tiny bit. He licked his lips. “Brook. Stay, please,” he commanded the dog, in order to keep him from causing trouble. Brook yawned, then scratched behind his ear with his back paw.
Davis unlocked the kitchen door and slowly turned the deadbolt. “Just follow me, and you’ll be fine.” Evan nodded. Davis silently turned the doorknob and opened the door a small way, enough so the two could squeeze through. He gingerly closed the door on way out. The night was cool, and crickets could be heard chirping in the distance. Through Evan’s blind eyes, it was complete black, but through Davis’s, it was a monochromatic array of green. “Let’s move. Stealthy. No noise.” The two set out to dispatch the marauders.
On the right side of the neighboring home, two figures stood chatting in the shadows with flashlights in their hands; the beams of which pointed towards the street. They were not seen or heard by Davis and Evan from the living room window, but now they were in full view. The two swordsmen crept in the shadows cast by the oak trees in the yard and crouched by a large, overgrown copse, concealing themselves behind the hulking shrubbery. Evan poked his head out and pursed his lips to make a soft whistling sound. Clicking his tongue to echolocate would’ve given away their position. The leaves and twigs brushed against his skin and the long grass and weeds cushioned the soles of his sneakers. He tried his best not to rustle the leaves as he ducked back down. At night, every bit of sound seemed amplified. Even subtle shifts in his crouching position and the leaves rubbing against his back were like gunfire.
“We’ll take ‘em both at the same time,” Davis whispered. “I take the one on the right, you take the one on the left.” Evan unsheathed his karambit knife. Davis heard the soft sliding of the blade and advised, “If you’re using that, cover their mouths.”
“Got it,” said Evan, a bit anxious, and swallowing hard. A solid lump had formed in his throat. Who would have ever thought that out of everyone in the group, he had been one of the two chosen by fate to complete this daunting task?
“If you’re nervous, just don’t think about it,” Davis said as he gently drew his katana, keeping the movement slow and steady. Being an expert swordsman with over twenty years of experience under his belt, he felt it appropriate and decorative to apply a name to all of his blades. This one, his favorite, and the strongest and most beautiful of all his swords, was called the Autumn Rain. Custom-crafted by the most renowned swordsmiths in Japan, Davis cherished the katana above all his worldly possessions. The blade embodied his fiery, indomitable soul, and in the gleam it produced when reflecting the light of the sun, he saw himself. Incomprehensible is the record of mighty men he had cut down with this blade alone.
Evan took a deep breath. The chatter of the group in the front yard would tune out any subtle noise they made dispatching the strays.
Both marauders standing by the two-story house were facing away towards the street, making Davis and Evan’s task convenient. “On my go, we move. Fast, and silent,” Davis whispered. He tucked the lacquered wood saya (scabbard) of the Autumn Rain into his obi (belt) but continued to hold the sword in one hand—his right—to have more versatility. Evan slumped out from the side of the thicket, prepared to spring into action.
“Alright,” Davis muttered under his breath. “One…two…three!” The assassins emerged from the safety of the brush and crept through the blackness, keeping their movements as quite as possible. The two men they targeted were only a few meters from the hedge, so they did not have to stay silent for long. They were cautious about every step, wary of the long grass being trampled beneath their feet. Evan’s slender shape rose from behind the man on the left and wrapped a hand around his mouth. He raised the karambit with his right and plunged the blade deep into his carotid artery, jerking the blade backwards a few inches to rip through skin and muscle. Evan’s hand muffled any gurgling sounds emitted by the man’s panicking mouth, from which warm blood began churning forth. As Evan yanked the blade from his victim, crimson burst from the open vessel like oil from a punctured barrel, soaking Evan’s hand. At the same time, Davis severed the vertebral column on the back of the right man’s neck with a flick of his sword, killing him instantly. He caught the man as he fell, lowering him to the ground so the others would not hear the sound of his fall. Evan also lowered his kill.
Evan breathed heavily, feeling the blood caked on his hands and arms.
“Good job so far,” said Davis as he swung the Autumn Rain in the air to flick off the blood. Evan used the dead man’s shirt to wipe the blood off of his knife.
They crouched again in the grass and advanced, hearing the raucous sounds of the men’s chatter get louder as they came in proximity. Another man sat forlorn against the side of the house, his head leaned against the turquoise siding; a bottle of whiskey clutched in his hands. He was profoundly intoxicated; his senses were dulled to the point where he couldn’t tell a car from a tree. Easy game. Evan came up on his right flank and swiped the blade across his windpipe. He guy didn’t even see it coming.
“Alright, I’ll check around the corner,” whispered Davis. He stood and pressed himself up against the house and shuffled gradually over to the edge. He poked his head out around the corner and scanned the area.
“What do you see?” Evan asked.
“The four guys, just how we left them.”
“How do we take ‘em without them seeing us?”
“Follow me.” Davis turned around and observed the backyard of the house, scoping for any more of the gang that might be occupying the area. When he didn’t see anybody, he crossed the back of the house and approached the wooden fence the whiskey drinker they saw out the window was leaning on. Davis laid low behind a hedge that grew adjacent the house. Evan followed suit.
“We get this guy first,” declared Davis.
“How?”
Davis picked up a small stone from the patch of gravel behind the hedge, feeling its cold, smooth sides and palming it several times. He tossed it casually in front of him.
“What the hell are you doing?!” Evan asked in shock. “Are you crazy?”
“Shh!”
The man darted his head suddenly, looking into the darkness that shrouded the two assassins. He concentrated for a long time, squinting into the shadows, trying to pick up anything that might have caused the noise. Curious, he drew his Smith & Wesson .41 Magnum revolver, still clutching the whiskey bottle in his left hand. He left his place on the wall and walked slowly towards the source of the noise, not even bothering to use a flashlight. His companions did not seem to notice him leaving, for they were too busy with their conversation.
When he neared their hiding place, Davis at once lunged out and seized the man’s head and neck with his worn, sinewy hands, forcefully rotating the head to the right. Several muffled snaps and clicks were heard, before the man’s body went limp. He made sure he held and lowered the man’s body, in order to keep from making any more noise.
The man possessed a revovler with a double-action trigger, as most handguns are, and did not cock the hammer (much to the two swordsmen’s fortune) when going to investigate the noise—he was probably too plastered to do so. Because he did not, he trigger pull was much heavier, making it harder for him to fire on impulse. On top of that, his intoxication had caused his trigger finger and concentration to be considerably weak. Davis had laid his cards down on all those factors.
“Jesus, that was close!” Evan whispered harshly to him, with mixed fear and anger in his tone. Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead.
“Yeah, I know,” Davis said as he took a deep breath, dragging the body to conceal behind the hedge.
“What about the others?”
“Just hold on.”
After a few minutes of eavesdropping on the two men in the front yard, who were now talking about the last episode that aired of Jersey Shore, they tried to communicate to the man Davis had just done away with. Davis had also snickered and remarked, “Those bastards!” when they conversed about Jersey Shore.
“Hey, Mike!” one of them called in a raspy voice.
“Mikey, get over here. I wanna show you a picture,” another said. His voice was a bit deeper, seemingly older than the other one.
“Hello? Come on man, stop fuckin’ around!”
“James, I think he’s wasted.”
“Really? Alright, let’s just get him onto the porch, before he gets eaten.”
“Gotcha.”
Davis and Evan heard the footsteps of the men on the grass moving over to the wooden fence. After a few seconds, they stopped. “He’s not here,” said one of them.
“Where the hell do you think he went?”
“I don’t know. If he’s drunk, he could be anywhere.” The men turned and headed towards the concealment of the Davis and Evan, calling out Mike’s name. They held flashlights, sweeping the beams back and forth. They, however, had no weapons in their hands.
Davis turned to Evan. “Okay, when they come by, that’s when we strike.”
“What if they see us?”
“Doesn’t matter. If we’re correct, there’s only one more guy to deal with. As long as they don’t get off a shot, we’re fine.”
“OK.” Evan was more confident this time, having killed two people in stealth already.
“What do you detect of them?” Davis asked, making sure Evan had clear knowledge of the positions the men were arranged in.
“Well, there’s one guy with a hat, he’s closest to us. The other guy’s in a little bigger, he’s closer to the fence.”
“That’s right. You go for the hat, I go for the giant. Got it?”
“Roger.”
The men were now almost in sniffing distance—the odor of menthol cigarettes emanated from them—and the two could almost feel their flashlights casting on their skin. They were counting on the hedges providing them with cover for a stealthy attack, but if they were detected, it would be an all-out brawl. Davis pulled the saya from his obi and held it in his hand. He switched his grip of the Autumn Rain to a backhanded one, ready for close combat.
The white beams penetrated the sheltering darkness, illuminating the landscape. Once, one veil hit the hedge they hid behind, but the countless shadows of the leaves hid their bodies and broke up their silhouettes. The angle of the light allowed them to stay hidden by the shadow of the hedge itself. The two marauders now came directly in front of them. Evan’s heart began to beat furiously, and adrenaline overcame him. “Now!” Davis hissed. The two sprung from behind the bush, catching the men by surprise. Evan clutched the first man’s head and sliced his jugular with the karambit knife, letting the warm, hemorrhaging blood pour down his neck.
Davis had not stopped moving, and instead dove forward, tearing through the second man’s abdomen with the tip of his katana. For a split second, time stood still, with Davis lying spread-eagle in midair. The breeze from the dive smacked him, cooling his head. When that split second ended, the Autumn Rain sliced the man’s clothing and flesh like butter, allowing trickles of blood to rush out. Davis’s attack was too fast for the blood from the man’s cut to touch him. He rolled on his shoulder upon hitting the ground in order to spread out the impact of the dive. He crouched there, listening for the key sounds of the kill. He heard two flashlights hit the soft ground with muffled thumps. A few seconds passed, before a horrendous and utterly disgusting noise came. The gash on the man’s belly ripped itself open, spilling out its contents onto the grass. The intestines fell with a harsh sopping like that of a wet sponge or cold spaghetti. Evan, with his enhanced hearing, found this to purely gag-inducing. Following was the sound of two heavy knees hitting the ground, followed by a loud thud, which was the torso, arms, and head.
For a moment they stared at the two dead bodies, thinking about what had just happened. Evan was still panting, with his adrenaline gradually lowering. The exposed entrails gave off a repulsive stench, causing him to cover his mouth and nose with his shirt.
“Guys! You okay?” a voice called out from the street. They turned to face the noise, but quickly darted away around the back of the house. It was the last man, the one sitting against the car. Curious as to why his buddies had suddenly gone silent, he came to investigate. “Should we just get his ass right here?” Evan asked as the footsteps drew near.
“We could,” said Davis, an almost sinister smile stretching on his face. “But let’s mess around with him first.”
“How?” Evan asked shallowly, a little worried about how Davis seemed to enjoy this.
“Well, I don’t really mean messing around, I just want him to see some of the bodies.” Davis then scampered to the large oak tree in the backyard.
“Where are you going?” Evan asked.
“Better view from up there,” Davis said. “You should really go hide too.” With that he proceeded to climb, perching himself on one of the main branches as easily and silently as if he were a capuchin monkey. The broad leaves caressed his body and tickled his face and arms.
“Ah dammit.” Evan bounded to tree, noticing that the trunk was just wide enough for him to crouch behind. He pressed his body up against the trunk, praying that that goddamned light would not sweep him.
The last thug then came across his deceased comrades. “Oh my God!” He knelt beside them, examining the wounds inflicted. “What the hell happened?” He sat there for a moment, unable to comprehend the situation. His shock quickly transformed to anger. “Hey! Who did this?! Where are you?! Come out and stop hiding like a pussy! If I find you I’m gonna fuck you up worse than you can ever imagine!” He trudged to the backyard, sweeping his flashlight to and fro in search of the killers. In his other hand he brandished a MAC-11 submachine gun. He repeatedly spun around, trying in vain to spot any movement.
He came near the oak tree. Davis sat on the branch, looking down at him. The man didn’t seem to notice Evan lying behind the trunk. Davis was too busy watching the man that he failed to notice the fingers on his left hand slowly loosened without his knowledge. After a split second, he realized it, but it was too late. The Autumn Rain’s saya slipped from his grasp, dropping to the ground below. “Shit!” he whispered through his teeth. It landed near the man’s feet, startling him for a bit. He looked down at it, then peered up at the tree. Evan’s heart skipped a beat.
“Hey! Who the fuck’s up there?!” The man aimed his flashlight and MAC-11 at the leaves.
Davis thought quickly and jumped down from the foliage, his katana in both hands. His right hand grasped the upper part of the tsuka (hilt), while his left held the lower part of it for support. Before he could react, Davis brought the sword down on his head, slicing his body in half down the middle to the solar plexus. As Davis landed, he pulled his sword out, causing the man to fall backwards. The two halves of his head and upper body were split a good few inches apart. Davis wiped off the blood on the man’s shirt and sheathed the sword. Evan emerged from behind the oak, asking, “Is it all clear now?”
“Yeah. We’re fine.” Davis muttered.
They came around the house to the front to double check for anymore people, but there were none. Acting on a habit built up from living in a post-apocalyptic world for so long, they commenced looting the bodies for useful items. They took all the flashlights and items in the men’s pockets. They grabbed up the backpacks in order to scavenge the contents inside. The revolver Mike had carried was chambered in .41 Remington Magnum, a round none in the group had a gun for. It is difficult to find .41-caliber ammunition anywhere, so the revolver would just be unnecessary weight. The .380 ACP of the MAC-11 was also useless. It was harder to find, and did not provide sufficient stopping power. The gun itself was horribly inaccurate at semi-automatic, and even more so on full-auto, for it was used mostly for a spray-and-pray style of fighting.
The two men they had first killed carried Ruger double-action revolvers chambered in .38 Special. “Bingo.” Since taking both their guns would cause competition for ammo and add more unnecessary weight, Davis instead took just the rounds. Adrian’s Taurus 608 and Booth’s S&W Model 27 were both chambered in .357 Magnum, which could also fit .38 Special cartridges as well. This feature was a potential life saver. He looted the bodies for more ammunition and planned to give them to Adrian and Booth in the morning. In total, he salvaged twenty-six cartridges. The drunken man sitting by the side of the house carried a Kel-Tec P-32 inside his jacket; the handgun being useless to them, for .32-caliber rounds were scarce and weak.
The other two lying by the side of the house yielded somewhat fruitful results. The one with the hat possessed a Springfield Armory G.I. M1911 handgun. Evan picked it up and took the two other magazines the man carried. All three were full with seven .45 Auto cartridges.
“What are you doing?” Davis asked him, curious as to why he would want to carry a gun if he was blind.
“For up close,” he said. “Just in case I’m caught off guard by a bad guy, I could just shove it in their stomach.”
“True. But be careful.”
The larger man carried a matte chrome Desert Eagle Mark XIX in .50 Action Express. Davis thought he was foolish to do so. The weight of the gun and its ammunition would slow you down much more than a standard-caliber sidearm. The immensely strong .50-caliber rounds provided unnecessary overpower. You can kill an infected or a human just as well with a nine-millimeter to the skull. That kind of power was best reserved for a primary weapon, one which can reach out to ranges farther than a pistol can. The intimidating noise the Desert Eagle made when firing would be nothing but a meal beacon for infected miles around.
Davis didn’t even think of taking it. The two men carried rifles as well; they were the only ones in their group to do so. The one who carried the M1911 had a Savage 10 bolt-action rifle. However, it was chambered in .204 Ruger. Son of a bitch I can never catch a break! The other man possessed a Remington 700 bolt-action rifle with a Trijicon AccuPoint 5-20x50 magnification green mil-dot scope. Davis made out the chambering to be .308 Winchester and was thankful at this. He cycled the bolt four times to eject the rounds and looked through the man’s clothing, finding more loose ammunition. There were fourteen total. Riley’s Springfield M1A was chambered in 7.62x51mm, but that was just a .308 with higher pressure, so he would still be able to use these. The Trijicon scope would go to Booth.
The two put all the items in their pockets and arms, carrying them back inside the house. Once inside, they placed them on the living room table, wiped the blood off of their skin, and headed back out. They hastily dragged all seven of the bodies to a spot in the corner of the backyard, so the flies would be concentrated only in that one place. A few minutes later, Evan’s night sentry shift ended. It just so happened that Davis was next, so he stayed awake. The rest of the night went by with no more disturbances.