“Shit!” she whispered. If only they had a gun.
Slowing the vehicle down, Tatiana tried to see what was going on. As she approached, it seemed the trouble was less than first anticipated.
“Two down,” she said quietly to Rosalyn. “But three still seem active. What’ll we do?”
Rosalyn said nothing. Leaning forward, she turned up the radio and forced Tatiana’s hand by hitting the horn.
Three heads swivelled at once.
Well, two did successfully, the third was still wedged in the window and his swivel resulted in a broken neck. It didn’t kill him, but it sure made it hard for him to see where he was going with a head that wouldn’t be told which was up.
“Drive!” Rosalyn screamed as she wrenched the crowbar and leaned out the window.
Tatiana suddenly liked this woman more than she’d ever care to admit.
The car lurched forward as Tatiana hit the accelerator. It didn’t matter though, Rosalyn was still able to swing that crowbar and detach one of the zombie’s heads. It flew up and over the power lines and made a repugnant splat as it hit a wall.
The zombie with the broken neck was still stuck in the car, being unable to lift its head up. There was a strange popping sound and the occasional tear as it attempted to free itself. The other remaining zombie shuffled towards the car.
Rosalyn didn’t need her crowbar for this one. The car did an excellent job of flattening it as it reversed back. Tatiana ran over it with the car several times until she heard the satisfying pop of the zombie’s skull.
Looking up, she was rewarded with the sight of a woman, a caged cat and a bloody swear gun emerging from the back seat of the car. Taking aim, the woman shot the gun clear through the ear of the still stuck zombie. It jerked once before slumping.
“Hi,” I’m Berta,” the woman said as she retrieved the spear and took aim at Tatiana and Rosalyn.
And What of Pippa?
The problem with being this far from the teller’s stalls was the lack of a stabbing implement, such as a pen.
Pippa writhed and kicked at the zombie that had her ankle. This one was a new one and not the woman from behind the glass. She must have been killed properly the second time her head hit the glass.
This new zombie had much more grunt to him. He was big and fat. His grey guts wobbled as they protruded from the bottom of his torn shirt. The mottled skin reminded Pippa of a dead seal she’d seen once at the beach. He smelled about the same too.
Kicking fiercely, she actually made contact with the dead man’s nose. A squelch and the splintering of bones could be heard. The blow wasn’t hard enough to be fatal though. She’d have to come up with something else.
While the surprise of a broken nose distracted the zombie momentarily, it still wasn’t enough for her to wriggle free from his vice-like grip. Her long skirt had ridden up around her knees as she’d fallen and it was now tangling with the fat zombie, making the situation more confusing.
Frantically, Pippa reached out and clawed at the ground. Her fingers clasped at brochures and random bits of tattered paper, but nothing more substantial.
A banjo played in the distance.
A banjo?
Pippa questioned her sanity. Was this really the end? A growl bubbled up from deep in her chest and she rolled herself upwards. Her baby bump prevented her from sitting up properly, but at least she could now prop herself up while still batting at the grotesque man. She looked around for anything that might work to get her away from the zombie.
Paper, paper, everywhere!
Shit!
And then she spied something glinting at her from between two sheets of paper on the ground to her left.
It was her only hope.
She kicked once more at the zombie and managed to poke her sandaled toe into the obese zombie’s eye. There was a squirt of eye fluid and a roar from the zombie. Bile rose in her throat and she vomited.
Damn being pregnant and her weak stomach!
Surprisingly, the smell of vomit distracted the zombie. His nostrils flared and his looked away from Pippa, following his nose. There was a look of doubt on his face – if zombies could even have facial expressions. She knew it wouldn’t be long before his realised his mistake and turned back to the real prize.
Rubbing harshly at her chin, she took her one golden opportunity and lurched sideways; reaching for the item she’d seen briefly before their frantic movement had moved everything. Her hand slapped down three or four times. Her legs kicked out with the ferocity only the undead can evoke and the small little baby in her stomach rolled about all over the place, thankful that it was safely protected by amniotic fluid and strong walls of muscles.
“Where are you?” she cried.
Off in the distance was the faint sound of a scream. Or was it the screech of car tyres? Pippa didn’t have time to wonder about it.
Another slap as her hand felt nothing but paper and floor beneath it. Pulling both her legs towards her, she pushed with all her might against the zombie’s head, trying desperately to keep his nasty teeth from her delicate flesh.
“I’m pregnant you fucker!” she screamed. Like he even cared. Could the undead still understand their native tongue?
Her hands splayed out and searched some more as her head hit the bank door. A ringing started in her ears and black spots danced in front of her eyes. It wasn’t time to black out now! The door moved under her weight, but not by much.
The chains through the door handles prevented it.
The movement bought her closer to the thing. With renewed energy, she stretched out. There was a pop and a deep burn in her side, but she couldn’t think about torn muscles just now for her hand had finally closed on the item.
Hopefully it was useful.
The zombie was now snapping at her ankles. His fetid teeth clicked and crunched together. Spit flew out of his mouth and splattered against her feet. Her stomach rolled again. She gulped and swallowed, not wanting to throw up again.
Her hand yanked at the item and bought it up in front of her face.
It was a key - probably the one that opened the chains on the door.
If she was lucky.
With the last vestige of strength left, Pippa lunged at the zombie. She wasn’t sure if the key was long enough to do much damage, so she aimed for his popped eye.
She missed and got him in his flabby cheek. The zombie howled but more with fury than agony. She pulled back again.
Thirty seven stabs later, Pippa rolled the finally dead zombie off her and sat up.
Gasping and wheezing, she clutched at her stomach and hugged at her unborn child, hoping against hope that it had not been injured in the attack. Her arms felt like jelly and the key jangled out of her fingers and clattered against the hard tiles of the bank’s front entrance.
“Hey baby, mamma’s okay.” But for how long?
The fat zombie still clutched her ankle and the circulation was starting to falter. Reaching forward, she and loosened his grip. Only one finger was lost during the process. Pippa, unfortunately, lost her lunch again.
As she sat up, she noticed the revolver. So the fat man was once a security guard. She removed the gun and its holster too, strapping it around her own growing belly.
Wiping one shaking hand across her forehead, she leaned back against the sturdy glass door. She couldn’t help the tears as they flowed. Her breath sucked in great gulping sobs and she let herself be lost for a while.
A sharp sting to her thigh bought her out of her grief quickly.
The female was back!
She’d dragged herself silently across the floor while the fat zombie had her distracted. The broken leg had prevented her from getting at Pippa’s brains. The bite would have the same effect though – it would just be a slower process.
“No,” she screamed and fumbled for the key once more. She grabbed it quickly this time and killed the female zombie much quicker than the first.
It still didn’t undo the
damage.
Pippa jumped up and staggered as the pain in her side reminded her of her torn ligaments.
She had to act fast. Staggering through the bank, clutching at her side, she weaved her way through the teller area and through the big door that was held open with the pamphlet stand. She yanked it aside and pulled the door closed behind her.
Her heart hammered in her chest as she made her way down the narrow corridor and towards the staff room at the back. There was a first aid kit there and, surprisingly, running water.
She rushed as fast as her damaged muscles would allow and was tucked safely in the staff room within moments. Her muscles fought against her as she dragged a table across the door. It was heavy and therefore wasn’t much, but a warning was better than another bite.
She ripped open the cupboard over the microwave and pulled out the meagre first aid supplies. Throwing the Band-Aids aside, she reached for the Betadine and haphazardly set it down on the little sink in the kitchenette.
The water was slightly muddy as it started to run before clearing over time. In her travels, Pippa had discovered a large water tank on the roof of this building that collected and stored water from the gutters. With the lack of electricity, the pump didn’t work anymore but gravity still did its job.
Pulling a chair over, she climbed up and laid her leg in the sink. A few short months ago and she would not have to use the chair. Alas, it was probably time to say goodbye to her dancer’s physique. And her free will. When would the zombie gene kick in?
She didn’t know how long it would take, but she was ready to try anything to prolong her life. Pulling out a set of tweezers and a scalpel, she set to work.
At least there was nothing more in her grumbling stomach to throw up, although her gag reflex still worked. The poor baby inside her stomach felt a sharp contraction every time its mother heaved.
First, she washed the wound. That was the easy part.
Using the scalpel to remove all the flesh that had come in contact with the zombie’s teeth was more torturous. Still she scraped and dug at her thigh. The blood ran freely and sometimes she would have to stop, turn on the tap and clean the wound.
There was nothing in the kit that would aid her in sewing up the gaping wound, so she had to improvise. Pulling off her top, she checked it for signs of zombie blood.
It was spattered with the darn stuff!
So was her skirt.
She searched the room for anything she could use. Pulling her leg out of the sink, she tested its weight and cried out in pain as a result. Dragging the chair with her, she used it as a crutch and dragged it across the room as she hopped along with it. Blood gushed out and she was beginning to feel light-headed.
Still, she managed to reach the staff closet. There wasn’t much inside, but after riffling around, she came across a long discarded cardigan. The thin black thread would work, she decided.
She tried not to look at her blood trail as she made her way back to the sink.
She was not prepared for the agony of stitching her own flesh. Probably no one bar Chuck Norris would be. Clenching her teeth together, she suffering on; screaming with each incision. She didn’t have a needle to thread the cotton onto, so she had to poke holes in her own flesh and then push the thread through with the tweezers. It was slow, sickening work.
Eventually it was done. She was proud of herself for not fainting. Finally she poured the entire contents of Betadine over her handy work.
She’d done everything she could think of.
Covering her wound with a bandage, she limped out the door.
Slowly, she made her way to the front door, the key held tightly in her hands. Shaking with the shock of being bitten and then having to perform surgery on herself, she dropped it several times before managing to slide it into the padlock.
The click of freedom was loud in her ears as she exited the bank; her tomb.
The street was barren as she turned the corner and came face to face with three women and a cat.
Diary of Pippa Roscoe to her unborn child
January 23rd
(42 days after the first reported outbreak)
Little One,
I got bitten today.
I also met people – finally.
They were hostile at first; one was pointing a spear gun at the other two. If I didn’t have the gun I wouldn’t have approached them. But I needed to be with people, little one. I needed someone to be there when I turned, so they could do what they had to do. The thought of you, my little baby, being alive inside of me and your mamma nothing but a mindless zombie, spurred me on.
Not telling them I’d been bitten was my own selfishness.
I guess I just want a few more hours with you little one.
And maybe I got to the wound quick enough. There is always hope, I guess…
Love always,
Mamma Pippa.
Secrets and Lies and What the Apocalypse Brings…
It had been three days since the women had banded together. And for people who know much about groups of women, even in the time of the zombie apocalypse, there were still obstacles to leap.
Tatiana hated cats. Rosalyn was allergic to them. Berta was happy to leave the group rather than leave her cat behind.
And she did for a time. Then Tatiana and Rosalyn had driven out and collected the woman and her cat. While the death of Martin as a result of their actions sat quite comfortably on their shoulders, the death of Berta did not.
Pippa got along with everyone and there was plenty of cooing over her growing belly. Still she kept her secret. It had been three days after all and still no sign of the fever that pre-empted the activation of the zombie gene. She was hopeful – and silent.
“How many tins of beans are left inside?” Tatiana asked as she leaned into the back of Rosalyn’s Patrol.
“None, but we still have to pack the crate of tomatoes,” Pippa replied as she handed Tatiana a box of supplies and wiped a thin film of sweat from her brow.
It had been agreed that they would all follow Tatiana’s plan of moving to a place in the country. It’s seemed likely there wouldn’t be as many of the undead all the way out past suburbia. None of them knew how to grow vegetables or tend to live stock, but there was always the local library to raid before they left.
Even packing lightly, there was still two 4WD’s laden with goods. They figured they could go lightly on clothing and utensils for the time being, since they should be able to scavenge for these once they found the perfect place to move into. None of them were prepared to leave behind one ounce of food or water though.
And Pippa was a stickler for bringing every sort of first aid item they could find. The others had just put it down to fear of childbirth. Pippa did nothing to correct them. Still she worried that the pain in her leg would never subside and she would have to go on blaming her wincing on a vigorous baby and pulled muscles.
“Any ideas on which way we should go?” Berta asked as she carefully loaded a whinging Martin into the back seat of the Patrol. Roslyn was happy to give up her car to Berta for a seat in Tatiana’s Navara.
“North-east, I figure,” Tatiana replied. “There’s a whole heap of national park out that way and hardly any towns.”
“The west has farmable land though,” Pippa replied. “My uncle used to grow wheat out past Ararat somewhere.” She sighed. Her uncle was probably dead yet still roaming his beloved farm now.
“North-east,” Rosalyn rushed in with. “Definitely north-east. That’s where Walter works…worked.”
“Walter?” Pippa asked. “Not Walter Shipley?”
“Y-yes, you know him?”
Pippa ducked her head to hide the threatening tears.
“My boyfriend went looking for him more nearly two weeks ago. I haven’t heard from him since.”
“Walter’s my husband,” Rosalyn answered while reaching out and squeezing Pippa’s shaking hand. “You know they’re both probably dead now?”
It
was a harsh thing to say, but the odds were not in their favour in this haunted new world. Even so, the emotion was still raw enough to make Rosalyn catch her breath and choke back a sob.
Pippa nodded her reply.
“Can we still look? I’m happy to go that way, so long as we can check on them.”
The agreement by all sealed their fate.
“Wesley’s house is just up ahead,” Pippa said. It was nearing dark, so they really needed somewhere to stay before they checked the Forensic Unit. “There it is! Number 24.”
Berta slowed and so did Tatiana in the vehicle behind. Pippa was bouncing in her seat with excitement, one hand clutching at her belly to steady it as hope grew.
Pippa and Rosalyn stayed in the cars while Berta and Tatiana investigated the seemingly abandoned building. Berta had her spear gun at the ready while Tatiana followed behind with the fat security guard’s gun. Pippa wanted to rush out and check for Wesley, but the little bundle of baby was the one thing that held her back. If they found a zombie, it would kill her.
Literally.
The house was silent, which meant absolutely nothing. There may be nothing inside or just maybe any zombies there hadn’t realised they’d dialled for a car full of people.
Berta’s breath was noisy. She clutched the spear gun with white-knuckled fear. Tatiana was quieter, although she was just better at hiding her emotions than most.
The door creaked as Berta turned the handle and pushed. Both women stood back and waited, their ears their only saviour right now.
Nothing.
One tentative step, then two and three. Berta held her weapon high as she entered. The setting sun bought false security to the dusty rooms. The kitchen was the first room presented to them. Flies buzzed over the spoiled food on the table and the dark hole of the kitchen pass through glared at them ominously. Berta poked at the food as she passed, for no other reason than wanting to know what Wesley’s last meal had been. Needless to say she would never be able to eat spaghetti again.
Zombie Apocalypse Now! Page 4
