Zombie Chaos Box Set | Books 1-4

by Martone, D. L.

  So, I kneeled on the dusty floor and attempted to pull the crank toward me, trusting the chains would unfurl and lower the ramp on the other side of the wall. But, naturally, the damn thing wouldn’t budge. As I’d feared, it had rusted in place.

  “Goddammit!” I banged the heel of my hand against the lever. “Why must everything be so fucking difficult?!”

  While my cursing fit was more than understandable, given the dire circumstances, it only succeeded in riling up the zombies, who had spread along the entire wraparound decking. In other words, I was surrounded.

  Beside the crank, I noticed a small control panel featuring several levers presumably related to the ramp. Banking on one of them being a quick-release control for the chain, I fiddled with them all, then sat back and waited.

  For a few seconds, nothing happened, and my empty stomach sank in dismay. Then, an ungodly screech echoed beyond the door—louder than even the relentless zombies outside. I bolted upright and watched as the spool creaked forward, feeding the chain through the hole in the giant wall between the warehouses. It unfurled slowly but steadily, only halting when a reverberating thud sounded on the other side.

  Even from my vantage point, I could see part of the twenty-foot-long ramp, which had indeed slammed downward, hovering over the water. The Stargazer, idling mere yards away, rapidly closed the gap, and as soon as the crewmen secured the ramp, I held my breath, hoping to see the van roll aboard.

  But it didn’t.

  What the hell are you doing, Clare?

  Apparently, the crew and passengers of the Stargazer were as perplexed as I was. I could see a few of them standing near the railing, beckoning frantically. I couldn’t tell if any zombies had made it through the warehouse rubble, which would explain the nervous vibe of the folks on the boat, or if it was simply a matter of run-of-the-mill anxiety and impatience brought about by the horrendous events of the past few days.

  Either way, I suddenly wished I’d thought to grab a walkie-talkie before hopping out of the van. Then, maybe I could’ve urged Clare to get a move on.

  Because I couldn’t see her—or hear much of anything over the undead moans and hisses around me—I didn’t know what was happening down below. Maybe the van had conked out on her. Maybe zombies had gotten wedged beneath the rear tires. Maybe… maybe she refused to leave without me.

  Cuz let’s face it, I wouldn’t go without her either.

  Though the sentiment touched me, I didn’t want her to wait one second longer.

  “Go, Clare!” I shouted futilely. “Get your ass on that boat!”

  I doubted she could hear me, but she could certainly hear the ear-blasting horn that someone—probably Captain Sal himself—blared from the boat. Despite her reluctance to hit the gas, that seemed to do the trick. Slowly, the van rolled onto the ferry’s lower deck.

  Almost immediately, the crewmen released the ramp, and the ferry pulled away from the dock. I watched as Clare hopped out and ran toward the starboard side, arguing with the workers and waving her arms toward the tower.

  Clearly, the captain of the Stargazer had no intention of waiting for me. And really, who could blame him? He’d likely seen the zombies surrounding the control room. He probably figured I was a goner—and not worth risking his neck for.

  Besides, for all he knew, the creatures would find a way to crawl through the rubble or climb over the wall and ultimately invade the vessel. A lot of people, including his daughter, were counting on him to keep them alive. He had no choice but to move on down the river.

  Leaving me behind wouldn’t sit well with Clare, but as much as I didn’t want to die—or lose my family—I had to admit… if I’d been in Captain Sal’s shoes, I would’ve done the same damn thing.

  I exhaled. Clare and Azazel were safe. And that was all that mattered.

  As if mocking my relief, a window behind me shattered. I whirled around, unholstered my pistol, and executed the overeager zombie who’d busted through the glass. His body fell limply out of sight, but another goddamn monster soon took his place.

  One down. Hundreds more to go.

  Chapter

  25

  “We are now up against live, hostile targets. So, if Little Red Riding Hood should show up with a bazooka and a bad attitude, I expect you to chin the bitch.” – Sergeant Harry Wells, Dog Soldiers (2002)

  More glass cracked and broke apart under the pressure, but thankfully, all the windows surrounding the control room sported small, rectangular panes, held together by metal lattices. As with the shelving unit blocking the door, they wouldn’t prevent the inevitable invasion, but they might ensure me a little time to figure out my next—and possibly last—move.

  Cuz fuck this, I’m not giving up yet.

  I didn’t have the foggiest idea where I’d go if I managed to extricate myself from such a no-win situation, but after all I’d done to survive the zombie apocalypse thus far, I couldn’t simply throw in the towel.

  I faced the door I’d entered, the one straining from the pressure of countless zombies on the landing. Unfortunately, it was the only obvious way out.

  While a second winching device sat opposite the first one—and likely operated the boat ramp next to the tower—there was no door on that side. The control room had just one, solitary entrance—and a crap-ton of useless windows. Useless because my would-be attackers had them all covered.

  “Well, Joe, what the fuck are you gonna do now?”

  Originally, I’d hoped to scramble back over the wall and follow the van onto the ferryboat, but clearly, that option was out. Too many damn zombies stood between me and the wall—and too large a gap now lay between me and the slowly drifting vessel.

  I glanced up at the sagging ceiling and spotted a skylight. If I could somehow reach the opening and bust myself through it, perhaps I could climb onto the roof of the tower, leap over the zombie-filled landing, and grab the wall on the way down.

  Yeah, right. And if farts were bars of gold, I’d be a rich man.

  Obviously, that was a no-go. Same with trying to battle my way down the staircase. I only had two guns, a handful of bullets, and mere fumes left in the tank. Adrenaline had kept me standing when I should’ve been hibernating, but even self-preservation had its limits. The rotten fuckers would devour me before I got halfway to the ground.

  Sighing in frustration, I turned toward the windows facing the river. Beyond the walking corpses pounding on the glass, I could still see the Stargazer. Although Captain Sal had guided her away from shore, he hadn’t left the area yet.

  Apparently, Clare wouldn’t give in without a fight either. She’d already lost enough today.

  I was grateful for having such a loyal, determined wife, but sadly, that didn’t solve my immediate problem. I still needed to get clear of the dilapidated tower, especially since having a shitload of zombies rocking and pounding against it only weakened it further.

  As far as I could tell, I only had one viable alternative. Yep, you guessed it. I had to jump into the fucking river.

  The tower stood right beside the muddy water, between the wall and the other boat ramp—which, naturally, sat in the “up” position as well. Thank the universe for that because, otherwise, I would’ve felt like a jackass for not driving through the second warehouse in the first place.

  Since the grated deck surrounding the control room overlooked the water, it wouldn’t take much to dive safely into the Mississippi. I’d simply have to sit on the railing and go for it. The only hitch? Countless frenzied flesh-seekers stood between me and the railing, and as long as they were focused on the human meal trapped inside the control room, they wouldn’t vacate the premises any time soon.

  While I visualized my death-defying leap, glass continued to shatter around me. I needed to thin the herd, but until the zombies figured out how to bend the metal bars of the windows, I didn’t want to waste any more bullets.

  Just then, a particularly enterprising young zombie managed to punch out the panes that co
mposed the upper half of the door. As his hand reached inside, grappling with the knob, I began to wonder if the not-so-brainless creatures had figured out how to deal with pesky impediments like deadbolts.

  Wouldn’t that be awesome?

  Standing before the solitary entrance, I slipped the AR-15 off my shoulder and opened fire. Though it felt good to take action, it really was a pointless defense. For every zombie I shot in the head, another two would take its place.

  Still, I strived to make every shot count. Bodies piled up outside the door and the closest windows, but it didn’t matter. As soon as the creatures fell, another wave of zombies would simply mount the corpses and attempt to finish what their compatriots had started.

  Disturbed by the loudening moans, thuds, and crashes behind me, I whirled around and scanned the perimeter. Almost every pane of glass appeared to be broken, and still, the zombies hadn’t made it inside. So far, they’d failed to bust through the metal lattices of the windows, but they had certainly bent the shit out of them. Wouldn’t take long for the persistent creatures to clear a path into the control room.

  The screeching sound of grinding metal compelled me to turn back toward the door. The wood had warped inward, and the hinges had taken a major beating from all the pressure.

  Quickly, I reloaded both weapons, stepped toward the shelving unit, and shot as many pus-sacks as possible. While I managed to kill numerous zombies on the landing and partway down the stairs, the effort was ultimately futile. The creatures on the ground level might’ve found it difficult but certainly not impossible to clamber over the bodies strewn across the steps, and too many of their buddies still filled the upper deck.

  I needed time to get outside, climb the railing, and carefully position myself—at least if I had any hope of diving out far enough to avoid the shallow edge of the Mississippi and keep from breaking my stupid neck. But I couldn’t think of a way to bypass all the zombies converging upon my only exit.

  Bang. Bang.

  Two bullets nailed a pair of pus-sacks pressing their undead weight against the creaking door. I whipped my head toward the river and spotted George and Casey on the upper deck of the ferryboat, aiming rifles toward the tower.

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  Clare had joined them, so I had at least three guns supporting my effort to stay alive.

  I couldn’t see it, but I could certainly feel the shit-eating grin plastered across my scruffy face.

  This crap ain’t over yet.

  Between the four of us, we managed to take out most of the undead creatures encircling the control room. Unfortunately, though, there seemed to be an endless supply of the fuckers. Even as the corpses piled up on the upper decking, more of them were crawling over their cohorts on the stairs. I had no choice but to make a move. A brash and foolhardy one.

  Before I could second-guess myself, I dragged the shelving unit away from the door, which caved inward as soon as I removed the added support. Gore oozed into the room as I darted through the opening, almost slipping on a puddle of zombie guts.

  I hadn’t made it halfway to the railing when I spotted it on the staircase. Another one of those motherfucking wildlings, clambering over countless zombies and corpses to reach me.

  How do these goddamn things keep finding me?

  I could hear whistles and shouts coming from the Stargazer. No doubt Clare and my pals, possibly several strangers as well, were hollering at me to jump for it.

  But I couldn’t move. I knew if I didn’t execute—or at least incapacitate—the creature, it would likely close the gap before I could leap off the railing. After all, it was far stronger, far more agile, and infinitely more intelligent than the average zombie. And it was headed straight for me.

  Summoning what little energy I had left, I targeted the wildling’s head with my 9mm and pulled the trigger. As if demonstrating its prowess, the creature ducked behind a support post. Two wasted bullets ricocheted off the beam. I tried again, but the wildling thwarted my second attempt by yanking a hapless zombie into the path of my shots.

  “Shit!”

  I was officially out of bullets, and the wildling seemed to know it. How did I guess that? Because it unleashed a self-satisfied yowl and charged up the stairs. Even if I managed to climb over the rickety railing behind me, I’d witnessed enough of these fuckers running and jumping to know I couldn’t possibly escape its claws.

  So, I did the only thing I could. I holstered my empty gun and backed into the control room. The zombies had done a number on the door, but I managed to shut the useless thing and once again block it with the overturned shelving unit. The creature bounded onto the landing but slowed as it stepped toward the warped door, eyeing me through the shattered window.

  Bang. Bang. Bang.

  More shots rang out from the ferryboat, but they merely hit the exterior of the tower. As if sensing the bullets, the wildling had ducked at the last second and rammed itself into the door.

  I retreated a few steps, frantically patting my pockets for any extra ammo, but as I’d suspected, I was tapped out.

  “Course I fucking am,” I grumbled.

  As the creature shoved the door loose, busting it from its rusty hinges, I stumbled over a piece of debris and fell hard on my ass. The impact stunned me momentarily, long enough for the liberated door to soar across the shelving unit and almost take my blasted head off.

  Wasting no time, the wildling flung the shelves across the room, as if they weighed no more than a pencil would to me. I scrambled to my feet, and another volley of bullets hit the windows and walls, but the wildling ignored them all. He only had eyes for me.

  Or is that a she?

  Like the others I’d seen, this one had menacing fangs and claws, sporadic tufts of hair, and a wild, cunning look in its eyes. In typical fashion, it wore shredded pants and no shoes, but the chest was decidedly curvier than usual.

  Female or not, the wildling proved to be too wily for even skilled shooters like George and Casey. Several shots whizzed past as she crouched closer to the floor, leaving little surface area for my friends to target.

  Likely realizing I was now trapped inside a small room with the hairy creature, my support team no doubt worried about my safety, but unfortunately, other monsters awaited. So, they turned their attention and their rifles to the zombies creeping over the bodies on the stairs—and left me to deal with the wildling.

  For a moment, nothing happened. The creature remained in a crouch, staring at me with her unnerving yellow eyes, while I stood stock-still, questioning if it was too late to make a run for the skylight.

  My rifle started to slip from my right shoulder. Instinctively, I reached for the strap with my left hand, and as I did so, I brushed against my left-side jacket pocket, detecting three odd lumps inside.

  “What the—”

  Keeping an eye on the wildling and the three zombies that had dodged the whizzing bullets from the river, I slowly unzipped the pocket and slipped my hand within. Not a second later, I plucked out one of the tiny baggies that Myriam Beauvoir had given me two mornings prior. I couldn’t remember stowing them there, but I must’ve done so before heading into Home Depot.

  Whatever the case, I wasn’t sure what good the discovery would do me.

  I opened my hand in front of my face, the baggie of grayish “frog” powder resting in the middle of my palm. When Miss Myriam had given me the three small bundles, I’d almost scoffed. Though I’d witnessed the rosemary plants at her laundromat and at her sister’s place outside Gramercy inexplicably repelling several zombies, I hadn’t thought much of the so-called frog powder.

  But, now, I was out of bullets—and, worse, out of options.

  What the fuck. Nothing else to lose.

  I let the rifle slip from my arm. It clattered to the floorboards, jolting the wildling to her feet. But as she sprang toward me, I managed to untie the bag and pour all the powder into my right hand.

  “Rougarou this, motherfucker,” I yelled, then threw
the powder at the creature’s face.

  I winced. The words had sounded much cooler in my head.

  Guess I figured, if I was gonna die, I might as well shout a cheesy, action-movie one-liner before I perished. Even if nobody but a crazed wildling and three disgusting zombies were there to hear it.

  As if mocking my disbelief, the frog powder offered instantaneous results. As soon as it touched the three zombies behind the wildling, the creatures gurgled and gripped their faces. What little skin they possessed promptly disintegrated into ash, followed by the rest of them. Essentially, they’d vaporized in a matter of seconds.

  Unfortunately, the wildling didn’t go the way of her undead pals. But she didn’t like the powder either. As soon as the stuff hit the creature, the skin on her face, arms, and chest reddened and blistered. Howling in anguish, the wildling whirled around, bolted through the open doorway, and bowled through a posse of zombies attempting to creep over the mound of corpses on the stairs.

  “Huh. Well, I’ll be damned.”

  A cacophony of shouts came from the ferryboat. Snapped back to reality, I picked up my rifle and darted through the doorway. The fallen zombies had recovered and were once again climbing toward me. The wildling, however, was nowhere to be seen.

  Nevertheless, it was time to go. The longer I stayed, the greater my chances that I’d be eaten alive or buried beneath the rubble of a disintegrating tower. So, I stepped onto the lowest bar of the unstable railing, swung my legs over the top, and balanced my butt on the upper bar. Then, I took a deep breath, steadied my feet on the swaying platform, and launched myself into Ol’ Man River.

  As I plummeted thirty feet toward the churning brown water below, I abruptly remembered something I’d completely forgotten.