The Deadlands (PG-13/R)

Episode 1: Pilot (3 - 4)

3

John stood before the hill’s crest. More stones fell, and he knew that whatever was over the hill’s crest was possibly right in front of him. He could show himself, or he could wait like the trained killer and hunter he was. Not affected by fear, he crouched and kept his gaze straight ahead, his thoughts only on the task at hand.

Soon, the yellow-eyed and bestial, hairless face of a krall appeared. The krall, dark yellow-skinned body covered with tattered rags, launched itself at John with a peace-shattering yell.

John side-stepped as the krall’s long, five fingered hand raked his left cheek, and he managed to slice the krall’s chest with his knife before it fell, howling in pain. Hand over the wound, it rose. “Come on, you bastard,” John snarled, waiting.

It rushed forwards again, and John twisted his body to the side, placing his arm out and about the krall’s chest, then shoved his knife into the back of its head. The krall convulseded for a moment and when it stopped moving, he put his foot on the krall’s back and pushed while he tugged the knife free and watched the krall fall.

He turned, free hand touching his raked, bloodied cheek as he looked at Kira who visibly cowered. The krall, likely a scout of those who had unleashed the plague that made the dead walk again in a bid to wipe out humanity and claim the world for their kind, might have been dead, but he knew they couldn’t stay on the hill. The plan to rest would no longer work. If no other krall appeared, then the dead would certainly be on their trail. And it was night. The dead, likely roaming the open wasteland, scrap piles and ruins between the hill and Haven, would be hard to see.

Kira did not move, and he walked to the other end of the hill to see if any threat was nearby. He believed he couldn’t see anything, but then he heard a low moan, thought he could see the odd figure shambling forth in the darkness.

John turned, saw Kira still cowering. “We have company, Kira. You need to get up.” Still she did not rise. He bent to roughly grasp her arm and yanked her to her feet. She quivered cried. He shook her. “Get a grip!”

She became silent, stopped quivering, but said nothing and stared at him.

John returned the stare. “You calm now?”

She nodded. “Yes . . .” she forced with a swallow.

“Good.” He let go and peered down the hill again. There were indeed forms shambling forth. It likely wouldn’t be long before they started to make their way up the hill. They were left with two options. Stay and take their chances, hoping there weren’t many zombies, or run. Running was the best option because it was possible they’d end up surrounded on the hill.

John continued, “We keep moving, no matter what. If we get separated, find cover if necessary and when it seems clear, you keep going to Haven. And I’ll do my best to find you. But as long as we’re together, we keep going until we find shelter."

Quickly, she removed John's coat from around her and handed it to him. He took it and slipped it on. Then John walked back to the krall’s corpse and picked it up, dragged it over to Kira, and threw it down to the ground below. With that, they carefully made their descent. At the hill’s base, John picked up the corpse again and threw it at the nearest group of zombies to keep them busy. When they took the bait, they ran across the open terrain, only occasionally stopping for a breather or to take out a zombie that had gotten too close.

Eventually, they reached one of the many scrap piles and backed up against it. A narrow bit of land lay between it and another scrap pile on the other side, and they tried to catch their breath. The zombies they’d left in the dust were well behind them.

John edged to the corner of the scrap pile and peered round. He could see about five zombies milling about the area, moaning softly. One’s jaw was hanging off, another’s guts were spilling out and one was built like a tank. The other two, one female and one male, were unremarkable.

He turned back to Kira, saw her bent over with her hands on her knees, still struggling for breath. “There are five zombies around the corner, clogging up the passage.”

She looked up. “What do we do?”

“We have to go by them. We can’t wait until daybreak and there’s nowhere else to go that I can see. At least places where there is no less danger. We’ll run until we’re past them and hope there are no more in the darkness beyond what I can see. Remember what I said . . . if we get split up, keep going.”

She nodded slightly. “All right. . . .”

“Ready?”

Again she nodded.

He grabbed a hold of her arm and led her out onto the stretch of land. They edged forwards along the side of the scrap pile, trying not to draw any attention. As they neared the zombies, more came into view, further down the way. He silently cursed. He knew at that instant that she’d need to run, fend for herself. He said quietly, “Kira . . . you’re going to need to run. I’ll distract them.”

Kira looked at him, eyes wide. “I—”

“You can and you must. I’ll be okay. I want you to go back to where we hid, and I’ll draw their attention. Once they’re focused on me, run.”

She stalled, torn, then nodded. He glanced back to the zombies and made sure they weren’t aware of their presence. When she was around the corner, he yelled, “Hey, you stupid bastards!” and when they slowly turned their heads toward him, he started to climb up the scrap pile, looking for anything he could grab a hold of to keep his balance and prevent himself from falling as the occasional item fell and zombies lurched forwards to make a grab for his foot. He kicked at them, continued climbing until he reached the top, the zombies attempting to climb the scrap pile after him and some of them spectacularly failing to do so. All he could do was thrust his knife into the head of any zombies who made it up top, or knock them back down with his fist or foot until he saw Kira slinking away behind the herd.

4

The sun rose, casting its light down upon the barren wasteland, and Kira sat with her back against the wall of a small, roofless, one storied and ruined building. The walls had partly crumbled, and the building’s floor was not visible due to the thick layer of sand covering it. She had ran as she’d been told, only stopping once to look back and see John stood atop the scrap pile, waving her on. After that, the only time she’d stopped running had been to catch her breath or to hide.

Kira felt alone, scared, and like she’d abandoned John so she could save her own skin. Feeling that she’d abandoned him was the only thing right now that kept her waiting in the building, else she’d have continued onto Haven as it wasn’t far away now.

She gazed up at the sun as a hawk flew across the clear sky, struggled to keep her torn shirt about her slim frame, and wondered if she should move, whether it was time to forget John. Even if he wasn’t dead, what would she be able to do to help him? She had the gun he’d given back to her, but if she used it, it’d only make noise. There was the problem of limited ammunition as well. And she was no fighter. After all, he’d also told her to keep going to Haven.

She made her mind up that very moment to go. But first, she thought about what she’d experienced, what she’d say to Reese and everyone else who’d ask what had happened. She didn’t want to discuss it with anyone and if the topic came up, she’d simply say that she’s fine while attempting to put on a brave face and hope that no-one noticed she was anything but fine.

And as she made to stand with a groan due to her aching body, something reached over the crumbling wall and yanked her head back, trying to tug her over the wall as she screamed and fought to free herself.