Zomb-Pocalypse 5

by Megan Berry

  I hear a moan and it pulls me back to reality. I move forward as silently as I can, trying to pinpoint the creature in the darkness. I can see the parking lot lit up by the moonlight, but it doesn’t reach inside the store, so it’s like the inside of a cow in here. I head towards the rustling, but then I realize that it’s not blocking my way to the door anymore. The zombie has moved over towards the Slurpee machines in the far corner, and I only think about it for a split second before deciding to leave the zombie to be someone else’s problem. I can’t even see in here. I’ll most likely end up dead if I try and be the hero.

  I sneak past, making sure to keep low and using the tipped over shelves for cover. My heart nearly stops when my toe nudges the glass on the floor, and it lets out a faint tinkling sound. I hear the zombie’s movements pause like it’s trying to pinpoint the source of the noise. When I hear it inhale deeply and moan, I decide not to wait around to become its midnight snack. I take off running and my movements spur it into action. I run out into the parking lot and look wildly around, not sure what to do.

  I see a truck parked close by and run towards it. Somewhere behind me I hear a loud thump that makes me jump, and I can’t help turning around to look. The zombie hasn’t followed me outside the broken door; it must be so dumb that it can’t understand how to get out of the store. Instead it has run into the large glass wall, and it’s clawing and howling in fury, trying to get to me.

  I turn back to the truck, but it’s locked. I race around the other side to try the passenger door, but it’s the same. I search the nearby vicinity until I find a rock the size of my fist and pound away at the glass, but it’s surprisingly tough and it doesn’t so much as chip.

  Panting, I throw the damn rock away in anger and decide to just shoot the thing out and be done with it. I know it’s a risk, but the possibility of gaining a vehicle outweighs my caution.

  I take one more look around as I pull my gun from my belt, but other than the zombie in the store, I don’t see anything else around. I pull the trigger and the glass shatters and falls, leaving the window wide open. I reach for the lock and pop it up, then I open the door.

  It’s one of those push-button start vehicles and I step on the brake and hit the button, praying that it’s going to work, but my heart sinks when the No Key Detected message lights up the dash.

  “NO!” I can’t help yelling in anger as I lean back in the seat in frustration.

  I’m a failure. I should have checked those guys for keys. I briefly consider going inside and doing just that, but I immediately dismiss the idea. Even if I could get inside past the zombie, it’s been almost ten minutes. They might have gotten out of the zip ties, or at the very least are close to it, and I don’t think I would be so lucky a second time around.

  I look over and see that the zombie isn’t at the window anymore, which can only mean he’s gone deeper into the store. He probably heard something from the back. I get out of the truck and do a three hundred and sixty degree turn, trying to figure out my next move. The back of the truck catches my attention; they’ve got something back there covered with a loose tarp. I quickly lift a corner and see cans of food and other supplies. And an idea finally hits me.

  I run to the tailgate and climb up, lifting the tarp just enough to squeeze underneath. My heart is pounding like crazy and I’m pretty sure this is the worst idea I’ve ever had in my life, but I do it anyway.

  I know these guys are from Louisville, and they have a full load of stuff here, so chances are pretty good that they are heading back to town sooner rather than later. I’m either brilliant, or I’ve just trapped myself in here like an idiot.

  I lay in the complete darkness, my heart beating like crazy while I wait to see what will happen. Inside the store I hear a loud crash and then gun fire—something is definitely happening. I strain my ears and almost jump out of my skin when something bumps into the side of the truck. I’m confused for a minute. I didn’t think anyone had made it out of the store yet…

  I hear the horrible phlegmy rattle that can only mean one thing. It’s followed by a moan as another one joins the first, and I start to sweat even though the night air is cool. The sound of fingernails scratching along the side of the truck makes me cringe and I hold my breath, praying they don’t have a special sense to smell me in here. I still don’t know a lot about them, other than the fact that they’re soulless flesh-eating monsters. I want to grab my knife so bad, but I’m too scared I’ll make a noise, so I just lay curled up on my side and wait. The tarp crinkles loudly when one of them brushes against it, and I’m convinced I’m about to be torn to shreds at any minute.

  I’m still trying to decide if I should go for my weapon and risk a bit of noise, or keep waiting it out, when I’m saved having to decide by the pop of gunfire. I wince, worried a bullet could come right through the side of the truck and hit me—I don’t know that much about ballistics. I hear a dull thump as the nearest zombie drops to the ground and then I hear feet running fast—too fast to be a zombie.

  “At least that little bitch didn’t take our keys,” I hear the one guy say, making me frown underneath the tarp.

  The second guy grunts in agreement. “Let’s get the hell out of he—” His sentence is cut off by a horrible scream and a gurgle.

  “Lyle!?” I hear the first guy shout.

  I’m pretty sure Lyle just got bit, probably in the throat.

  “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” the other guy yells, his voice climbing higher with each lament.

  “Help,” I hear the second guy rasp out, but it sounds bad, like he’s choking on his own blood.

  “I’m sorry man, I can’t. I just can’t!” The first guy sobs and I hear the door open then slam shut. He’s running away.

  Lyle lets out a scream of pain, but the sound is cut short by the roar of the truck firing to life, and I can’t stop myself from rolling and slamming against the tail gate as the truck takes off, fishtailing in the gravel before the guy manages to straighten it out.

  I feel the truck shudder as we hit something leaving the parking lot, and the thumping I feel underneath where I’m laying has me convinced it just rolled right underneath the bottom of the truck. The crunch I hear under the back wheels confirms it. The guy inside the cab is shrieking and now I’m scared for another reason. I’m stuck in the back of this truck, no seatbelt or anything, and the guy driving the truck is having a major meltdown.

  I have no idea how fast he’s going, I just know it’s too fast. Every bump hurts my hips and ribs, and they begin to ache, pressed against the unforgiving metal of the truck bed. My whole body becomes stiff and cold within ten minutes, and I tuck my fingers inside my armpits to try and avoid frostbite. It may not be as cold in Kentucky as it is back home at the cabin, but it’s plenty cold enough stuck in the back of a truck whipping along at sixty miles per hour or better.

  I’m berating myself for getting into this situation when the guy slams on the brakes without warning, and I’m thrown forward to bang my head against the case of canned goods in front of me. I hear him open the door and get out, and I panic and start crawling forward on my belly, wedging myself closer to the front of the cab and curving my body around the unbending tin cans ahead of me.

  The tarp rustles as he reaches inside. It’s pitch-black but I can see his hand illuminated in the sliver of moonlight that he’s letting in. I want to disappear inside of myself, but that’s not physically possible, so I press as far back as I can. His hand is reaching around blindly, searching for something not too far from my boot. I slowly start to reach for my gun. I can probably take him by surprise…

  His hand stops reaching when it lands on something that’s too dark to see. As he pulls it out from under the tarp, I can see it’s a case of beer. He heads back into the truck and I let out a sigh of relief—that was way too close. I never actually thought of the logistics when I crawled back here, like how I was going to get out without being noticed. If anyone in Louisville sees me, I’ll be join
ing Silas, and I don’t know if that means dead or behind bars. The gravel voiced man earlier did say that Silas was alive, but I’m not sure what to believe, maybe he just said that to shut me up. A dull ache hits me dead center in my chest and I press my hand against the pain. No, I refuse to even consider the possibility that Silas is anything but okay.

  I keep expecting the truck to take off again and I brace myself, waiting for the guy to pull away like he’s in the Indy 500. I don’t want to get thrown around again and hurt myself on the sharp edges of the tin cans. After a good fifteen minutes my shoulders start to droop under the strain, and I cautiously pull my hands away from the sides of the truck. What is this guy doing? How come he’s just sitting here idling, in what I can only assume is the middle of the road, in the dark, in the middle of a zombie apocalypse? I long to sit up and take a look around to try and get my bearings, but I know I can’t. I’m stuck under this tarp unless I decide to make a run for it. I might get over the edge and be able to disappear into the dark before the guy can line me up in his sites. It’s definitely a risk though. Even if I can escape this guy, I’ll still be running around in the dark with who knows how many hungry zombies between me and day break. I decide to give it a little more time and see what happens. I always have my gun, and I can take a shot at him if he tries to pull anything.

  My body goes numb first, and eventually my spinning mind does too. I lose track of how long I lay there, my body shaking and miserable from the cold.

  It takes me almost a full minute before I realize something has changed. The truck is moving again. I pull my head out of my jacket, and the cold assaults my face as I try to gauge exactly what’s happening. The truck wanders off to the left a little before the guy jerks the wheel, steering us back into the center of the road. At first, I assume he’s swerved to avoid something on the road, but then he does it again and again, and the realization finally hits me like a bucket of ice water thrown right in my face.

  This idiot is drunk.

  Chapter Six

  My brain barely has time to start thinking up all the horrible scenario’s, when the truck slams into something on the road. Its jarring at this speed, and I roll forward, but manage to use my arms to block my face. Pain radiates through my elbow, and I bite my lip to keep from crying out. Today has been hell on my body. Through the broken driver’s side window, I hear the guy let out a shout, then a string of cuss words. The car is at a stand-still and I strain my ears trying to figure out what we just hit.

  I’m tossed backwards again when the guy takes off with a weave, and this time my face smashes into the corner of a box full of cans and my teeth sink into the soft flesh of my lower lip. I can taste blood- and I’m sure it’s the same place the man hit me earlier today. I have gotten myself into a very serious situation and I need to figure out how to get out of it.

  I’m pretty sure whatever we hit was a zombie… because other than maybe a deer, what else would be wandering around on the road right now? The guy slows down a bit but doesn’t stop- another indication that it wasn’t something warm and fuzzy.

  The truck keeps going and there’s nothing I can do, but sit in abject terror, waiting to see what’s going to happen next.

  I lay in the back of the truck for probably another ten minutes before the truck finally starts to slow down. It takes a sharp right, but this time I’m ready for it and I brace myself to keep from rolling into anything else. The truck rolls to a stop and I hear him cut the engine and I lift my head, straining to hear anything that might tell me where we are. My gut tells me we haven’t reached Louisville yet, it wasn’t enough time, and there was no check stop, no people or voices.

  I hear the door open and then the clattering of… what I assume must be the ping of aluminum beer cans hitting the pavement, and I wince. This guy really is an idiot. I hold my breath, hoping that he hasn’t attracted every zombie in the area with his drunken shenanigans. I have no idea how he’s managed to survive this long- but it does gives me a tiny bit of hope that he, and by extension me, might just survive the night.

  A huge part of me wants to jump out of the back of this truck and either try and take control, so I have a truck, or just plain make a run for it. Both ideas have their pros and cons. I still have my gun strapped to my hip, and I could use it… but I really don’t want to have to add another person to my murder list. Neither do I want to die, of drunk driving, of all things during a zombie outbreak.

  “Come on. Come and get some!” I hear his voice suddenly booming through the silence. I should really expect this kind of stupidity from him by now, but it still makes me jump. My stomach clenches in disbelief, this dumbass is actually trying to ring the dinner bell. I hear the roar of his gun firing off and I’m not sure if he’s aiming at anything, or just shooting it at shadows.

  “Please, please, please get back in the truck.” I urge him in a whisper, panic starting to claw at me. I take a deep breath trying to ward off the oncoming attack- this isn’t going to end well. It’s not even a full minute before I hear the moans and snarls signaling the zombies have found us. Their noise runs a chill down my already frozen spine. The worse part though is the snapping and clicking of so many sets of teeth. The dead have come, drawn by the noise. His gun continues to fire, though he pauses to punctuate each shot with a word. “This.” Bang, “Is.” Bang, “For.” Bang, “Lyyyyleee.” Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang.

  I hear his gun fire dry and I wince knowing it won’t be long now, unless he is ridiculously lucky and makes it back inside the truck. When he starts to scream a second later, I know his luck has run out. His screams tear through me, just as surely as the zombies are tearing through him. Tears stream down my cheeks, not because I feel bad for this idiot, he brought this on himself, but because I am selfishly terrified. The zombies sound like they are right beside the truck, and it only takes a minute for his screams to end in a gurgle. I try and guess how many of them are out there, based on the growls and moans, but as the zombies fight over the remains like a pack of dogs, it’s impossible to tell. All the sounds blend together, and seem to echo, to create a gruesome chorus that is impossible to tell apart.

  I decide to risk the possible rustle of fabric and my trembling fingers grab for my gun, I can barely hear myself think over the feeding frenzy, I don’t think the dead are going to pay too much attention to me- at least not yet. My clumsy, frozen fingers, combined with my nerves, make me fumble the gun as I pull it free of its holster and I drop it, making it clang loudly off the metal truck bed, where it falls at my side. I want to crawl out of my own skin I’m so horrified by what I’ve done. I quickly scoop the gun up, and then lay there, gripping it so hard the metal cuts into my fingers, waiting to see if it’s now my turn to die from stupidity.

  I don’t know why I thought having my gun in my hand would make me feel any better- it doesn’t. I really only have one option, stay hidden and try to wait it out… That isn’t really my only option, my adrenaline-soaked brain reminds me, but I’m too paralyzed with fear to crawl out from underneath this tarp and go cowboy on these zombies- it didn’t work out too well for the last guy that tried it- granted he was drunk and an idiot.

  The zombies eventually finish picking over the scraps of my recently departed chauffer, and then the really horrible part begins. They wander over to the truck and begin to check stuff out. I hear them kicking up the beer cans on the ground as they stagger in closer and I squeeze my eyes shut, before giving my head a shake and deciding to open them. It really doesn’t matter though because its pitch black either way. The zombies bump into the side of the truck and the gentle swaying could almost be peaceful if it wasn’t for the stink of rotting flesh permeating the air, and the very real possibility that any one of these minutes could be my last.

  Zombies can’t climb, I remind myself, even though I don’t one hundred percent know that for a fact. I’ve never seen one be too nimble on its feet, so it stands to reason they wouldn’t be climbing up into the box of a pick-up truck, b
ut my imagination is in overactive mode right now and everything is terrifying and completely possible. I even cross my fingers that the tarp will hide me. Even if they can’t climb up, if enough of them crowd around they could tip the truck over- that I have seen. I don’t want to get eaten, but I also don’t want to be trapped in here by an undead mob that never gets tired or needs to sleep.

  My mind can’t help but drift to Silas. I wish he was here with me right now, he would know what to do- hell, we probably wouldn’t even be in this mess right now if he was here. My mind brutally clamps down on that type of thinking- it won’t help. Could’ve, should’ve, would’ve- If had the ability to go back and change the past, Silas wouldn’t have been taken to begin with, my Dad wouldn’t be missing because I would have never suggested that leaving the cabin was a good idea, and my Mom wouldn’t have died of common and preventable influenza. Hell, while I’m at it, might as well go back and erase zombies from the history books too, save us all the heart ache. If only.

  I give my head a silent, but stern shake. I need to focus. I need a plan. I lay in the dark while the zombies lumber around, for what seems like forever. I don’t even blink at first and my eyes become dry and itchy. No plan comes to me though. I either stay in this truck and hope for the best, which hasn’t really served me well in the recent past, or I try and make a break for it and most likely end up becoming zombified in the process. I start forcing myself to blink.

  First thing first, I can’t do jack shit in the dark. Either way, I’ll have to wait till the sun comes up. My hands are already so cold that I can’t feel my fingers anymore, but I make damn sure I don’t drop my gun again. For lack of anything better to do I start counting silently in my head. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi, four…

  I don’t sleep a wink all night, how could I when adrenaline is pounding through my veins every time the dead clumsily walk into the side of the truck with a bang or leans against it and lets out a growl as they walk by. The worst yet, was when a zombie must have walked by and scraped its fingernails down the entire length of the truck, a shiver races down my spine at the memory. I’m not sure how long I sit in the overbearing silence freezing, before I start to notice a tiny bit of light that wasn’t there before. Dawn is breaking and it felt like it took forever, when really it was probably more like two and a half hours- three tops. My entire body has been shaking for most of that, even though I’m trying so hard not to let my teeth chatter together. I don’t want the zombies to hear. I’m not sure if any of them are still out there, I haven’t heard more than the odd scraping lately.