“If the park is blown out, it’s probably safest to try to go through there,” he mused, tapping his finger on Volunteer Park. He leaned over and peeked through two of the boards he’d nailed over the window next to the front door. There was a big enough slit that he could get a lay of the land, and his stomach knotted with dread and the sheer amount of ghouls heading up the street.
He was going to have to get creative.
He moved to the back of the house and peered out into the backyard. Luckily, there was nothing inside of his chest-high fence, which had thankfully held despite the hordes wandering around.
Lennox closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep, steadying breath, and then cracked open the back door. He clenched his jaw at the cracking of gunfire in the distance. It was louder out here, and he reminded himself that it would just get louder and louder the closer he got.
He slipped outside, closing the door quietly behind him, creeping across the grass as stealthily as he could. His heart pounded in his chest, and he took a deep breath before peeking through the slats of the privacy fence.
You got a long way to go, Lennox, he thought to himself. This isn’t the time to get all freaked out. You got this.
The groups of ghouls on the street here weren’t as thick, spread out in packs of three or four. He waited for a considerable gap and then wrapped his fingers around the top of the fence. He grunted as he pulled himself up and over, landing on the other side with a louder thud than he’d anticipated.
Two nearby zombies turned to him, mouths open, but he simply ran past them. He was out of shape and not the fastest, but he was still faster than shambling corpses.
He made it to a front yard across the street, and then crouched behind a line of bushes, staying low as he continued to move up. The next few yards were clear, but up ahead he spotted two ghouls hanging out in a front flower garden, mystified by the knee-high fence surrounding them.
How’d you even get in there… he wondered as he crept forward, drawing his knife. He knew that he had to save his guns for when he really needed them, considering he didn’t want to draw any attention to himself. He stayed low, pressing himself against the back of a white picket fence as he moved towards his target.
He pushed his way between two bushes, and then leapt out, burying his knife into the back of one zombie’s head. He wrenched it free and whipped to the side, stabbing the second one in the temple, and then ducked back into the bushes, waiting to see if he’d attracted any attention.
He didn’t hear any excited moans or feet shuffling closer and chanced peeking out at the street. He nodded to himself in triumph, and surveyed the yards ahead. They were all very open, and with the zombies in the street getting thicker, he wasn’t sure he wanted to chance jumping from tree trunk to tree trunk without anywhere to retreat to.
He peered through the gap between houses and realized the backyards didn’t have privacy fences. He’d been reluctant to do all the backyards on his side because he didn’t think he’d make it hopping every fence without being too winded to complete his mission.
He moved down the gap and pressed himself against the back corner, peering out. The backyards were all linked in a big long row, with no fences backing into thick brush. It would be a gamble as to whether or not there were monsters in the trees, but it was a better gamble than the ones he knew were on the street.
Lennox took off like a shot. He stayed closer to the houses, keeping his eyes forward and every so often glancing over at the brush to make sure nothing was hurtling out at him.
He had the fleeting thought that the more the military fought, the higher likelihood there would be of fresh zombies that would be fast, faster than him. He shook it off. He couldn’t worry about that right now. The troops would have tons more fast zombies if they got overrun by the ones breaking out of the convention center.
At the end of the row, he skidded to a stop, panting, pressing himself against the brick wall of the house. The zombie river continued on the main road, and he took a deep breath and sprinted across to the backyard ahead.
He darted through a kid’s sandbox, and then nearly bowled back over into it as a pack of zombies poured out from between the houses. He knew he wouldn’t be able to take them all. He backtracked, running along the side wall to the front yard. There was a dented van with flat tires in the driveway, and he ran behind it, catching his breath and hoping he wouldn’t catch the attention of the street zombies.
The yards ahead were fairly open, and he cursed under his breath. He looked around frantically for something he could use as a distraction and noticed the open garage door nearby. Inside was a lawnmower, one of the self-propelling ones.
He chewed his lip. He could probably avoid notice getting in there to fire it up, but if it didn’t work as he wanted it to, he’d be making a whole lot of noise that would give away his position without then diverting attention.
Think quick, think quick, he urged himself, weighing his options. As one of the backyard zombies stumbled into view, he realized he had to risk it.
Lennox tore for the garage, and quickly grabbed the rip cord for the lawnmower, giving it a quick jerk. The engine sputtered, but didn’t come to life.
“Fuck, come on,” he grunted, urging it to work. He pulled again, and nothing. Zombies in the street turned towards him excitedly. “Fuck, fuck, come ON!” he yelled, all semblance of stealth gone out the window.
He pulled again, and this time the lawnmower roared to life. He quickly pulled the lever and gave the mower a mighty push, sending it screaming down the driveway. It clipped a few zombies on the way by, and they turned in confusion towards the machine.
It hit the main stream, and then let out a loud whine as it couldn’t go any further. Lennox took his opportunity as the ghouls turned towards it, reaching down and losing fingers to the spinning blades as the lawnmower fell over onto its side.
He knew it wouldn’t last forever, so he took off like a shot, staying as close to the houses as he could, while the zombies concentrated on the cackling lawnmower.
The ghouls farther up seemed confused, unsure of whether to go towards the gunfire, the lawnmower, or pay attention to the blur running to their right. Lennox didn’t pay attention to them. He had his eye on the prize, needing to take this a block at a time.
He managed to clear the second block, the wind whipping through his hair and heart pounding in his ears. Eight more to go.
CHAPTER FOUR
Four blocks from the park, Lennox ducked into a child’s wooden playhouse in a backyard. He needed to take a breather, and the zombies were thick everywhere. The yard was surrounded by a waist-high chain link fence, and before long ghouls pressed up against it.
How the hell do you know that I’m in here? He grunted. He didn’t want to get caught stuck in this little playhouse. It was nice, for a playhouse, but there were lots of open windows and he’d be zombie chow for sure if he got surrounded.
He groaned as he crawled out of the little house, swallowing hard at the sight of ghouls all along the fences. Shit, he thought, shouldn’t have stopped.
He jogged across the yard, stepping up onto the back porch and peering in the sliding door. There was no movement inside, so he tried opening it, but it was locked.
“Of fucking course,” he muttered, and looked around. The patio set, though overturned and splattered with blood, looked relatively sturdy, with thick metal chair legs. He picked one up and gave it a mighty swing, cracking the glass of the sliding door.
There was a sickening creak behind him, and he glanced over his shoulder to see the fence buckling beneath the weight of the hungry ghouls. He took another swing, and this time the glass gave way. He shoved the chair forward, knocking out any little pieces that could cut him on the way in.
He jumped through the frame and grabbed a hold of the massive refrigerator beside him, dragging it over and shoving it into place to block the door. He peered around it, seeing ghouls tripping over the chain link, pouring in
from the neighboring area.
Need to scope out the front… he thought. Need a plan of escape… this thing won’t hold for long.
He turned around, and then immediately threw his hands out as a zombie snapped at his face.
Lennox screamed something unintelligible, shock turning his brain to mush as he struggled to keep the monster’s teeth away from his tender flesh. He needed a weapon, to grab for something on his person, but if he let go with one arm, he was worried he wouldn’t be able to hold the corpse back.
“How are these things so damn strong?!” he huffed and pushed as hard as he could. He was able to shove the ghoul back into the stove, and wrestled with it, trying to bend it back far enough so he could lock his arm and grab for his knife.
There was a thump at the sliding door, and he looked frantically over his shoulder, seeing a cluster of zombies smacking into the glass. The fridge shuddered, and his vigor renewed, a burst of strength pouring through his arm as he bent the zombie back under the fume hood.
He pulled his knife and plunged it into the ghoul’s face, tearing it free and then darting through the kitchen towards the front of the house. A zombie staggered out of a door to the left, and he instinctively kicked at it, knocking it back with a firm boot to the chest.
He quickly glanced into the living room to make sure nothing else was going to come out at him, and then dove onto the fallen ghoul, stabbing it in the forehead.
Lennox scrambled to his feet as the fridge began to squeak against the linoleum, and tore for the front door. He peered out the front window, seeing clusters of zombies milling about. None of them were paying attention to the house, but they were enough close to the door that he wouldn’t have an easy time running through them.
He muttered obscenities under his breath and whirled around at the sound of a muffled bang. Down the hallway, arms began to flail around the side of the fridge. He knew he didn’t have much time.
He looked up the stairs. If the banging was coming from there, that meant more ghouls upstairs. But if they were banging around, there was a good chance they were locked in a room. He glanced back at the front door. A zombie shambled close to it, and he shook his head. He knew it would be suicide to go out that way. But he couldn’t waffle for much longer, with the horde pushing through the makeshift barricade at the back.
Lennox shook his head and ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He stopped on the landing, checking all the doors, and a bang came from the closed one on the left. He selected the bathroom, which was adjacent to the house next door, and slammed the door behind him, locking it for good measure.
“Okay, okay, what now?” He hurried to the small frosted-glass window and slid it open. It would be a tight squeeze, but he’d be able to make it through if he sucked in his gut. He punched out the screen and stuck his head out.
There were a few zombies wandering around in the grass below, but he wasn’t keen on dropping all the way to the ground. He looked left and right, noting that just to the right of him was a little outcropping of roof that overhung a small room on the side of the house. Across from that was a tree, with decently strong looking branches, and then the roof of the bungalow next door.
He wasn’t too excited by the prospect of being treed by zombies, or potentially being stuck on a roof surrounded by a sea of them. The bathroom door rattled on its hinges, wet smacks resonating, and he took a deep breath. There was no backtracking now.
At least if I can get across without detection, maybe there’s less on the other side of the bungalow, he thought, and took a deep breath. The banging on the door intensified, and he shook his head.
He took his rifle from his shoulder and hung it out the window, giving it a light toss to the outcropping of roof. It hit on the butt and slid down the shingles. He watched in horror as it slipped off of the edge, and then his breath resumed as the strap caught on the eavestrough. It swung dangerously by half of the strap, and he shook his head. At least he had his other weapons, but the rifle was a nice little extra feeling of security in the world of flesh-eating monsters.
He put his hands on the window frame and wriggled his way through the opening. As expected, it was tight around his middle, and he cursed his lack of activity since his military years. PTSD and cheesies were good for nobody.
There was a moment of panic where he thought for sure he wouldn’t make it through, and be forced to stay here, stuck as his legs got eaten on the other side. He couldn’t even reach any of his weapons to shoot himself and spare the pain and agony.
“Fuck that,” he grunted, and took a deep breath, flexing his abs as hard as he could and sucking in.
Lennox finally managed to budge, and struggle free of the window frame. He sat on it for a moment, legs hanging over the toilet, and tried to ignore the furious slamming on the bathroom door. The gap between the window and the roof wasn’t small, and he needed to psych himself up.
Remember that raid where you were stuck in that flaming house, and you had to jump across to a flimsy old truck? He pulled his knees in, carefully planting his feet on the windowsill and hanging there in a crouch. That was a way bigger jump than this. You did that, and you got four greenie Privates to do it. They’d make fun of you now old man, waffling over this piddly ass jump.
He reached up and grabbed a hold of the top of the window frame, bending his knees and getting ready to spring.
The bathroom door gave a sickening crunch as he leapt, kicking off as hard as he could. He curled his legs up, willing them to catch the shingles, willing his body to fly far enough.
As soon as hit boots hit the roof, he immediately scrabbled for hand holds, not wanting to succumb to the same fate as his rifle. When he managed to steady himself, he stayed stock still, a tableau of relief on his hands and feet on the roof like a cat.
He took a few deep, shuddering breaths, and then there was a great crack from the bathroom and moans echoed through the window. Before long, rotted arms reached through the hole, and he clenched his jaw, marveling at how quickly he could have become their snack.
He leaned down and grabbed the strap of the rifle, somehow still hanging by the eavestrough, and pulled it up, slinging securely over his back once again.
Lennox turned, careful to steady his boots on the declined surface, and eyed the tree. The branches suddenly didn’t look so sturdy now that he was faced with jumping to them, but he had no choice now.
He studied his points of entry, choosing a thick branch off shooting the trunk at an angle that was just right for a foothold. He rocked back and forth a few times, but before he could doubt himself he took a step and launched himself off of the shingles and into the tree.
Branches smacked him in the face, slowing his momentum, but his front foot managed to find its target. He slipped, arms flailing and grabbing whatever he could, and he managed to hang on, feet pressed against the trunk as he gripped bowing branches in his fists.
Hungry moans floated up to him, and though he knew it was a bad idea to look down, he did it anyway. He had quite the audience down there, and they were just waiting for him to fail so they could get their snack.
“Not today, fuckers,” he grunted, and kicked up his leg until it was securely between the trunk and branch he’d originally been aiming for. He heaved himself up, swinging an arm to grab onto the trunk.
He pulled, groaning loudly as he managed to get his body wedged between the two branches.
What was that about a big jump? Lennox stared across at the bungalow roof and chewed his bottom lip for a moment. This was a significantly bigger gap, and he couldn’t take a run at it. He looked around to see if there were any other sturdy branches he could use as a stepping stone.
One jutted out from the trunk at an angle, and he reached down to push on it, testing its strength. He planted one of his boots onto it, and gently swung over, putting his body weight on it.
Okay, a little closer now, he thought, but he couldn’t go any further out on that branch without it bowing
too much, potentially breaking. He looked down at his audience again, and shook his head. So much for doing this stealthily.
All he could do was hope to get across the bungalow fast enough to find a gap to jump down through.
“Is this trip over yet?” he muttered and then rocked back and forth a bit to wind up his leap.
He finally pushed off, raising his feet again, and when the balls of his feet connected with the edge of the bungalow, he seemed to hang in the air for a moment, nearly bowling back over into the sea of death below.
He windmilled his arms wildly, managing to tip the scales just enough to fall forward, and dug his nails into one of the seams where the steel roof slats were bolted together. He hissed at the zing of pain in his fingers and managed to dig his toes into the eavestrough to alleviate the pressure on his fingernails.
He stayed like that for a moment, and then when he was sure he was secure, he reached over and grabbed one of the corner shingles, managing to get a good grip on the raised decorative pieces there. He made his way up to the top of the low roof and then swung around so he could climb down on the front corner opposite to him.
The road didn’t look too packed, thankfully, and he hoped there was a good gap in the front yard. He made his way down to the edge as quickly as he could, before his audience found their way around the house, and leaned back as far as he could to take stock of the ground.
Miraculously, there were no ghouls below him, and before he could overthink it, he lowered his feet off of the edge until he dangled from the eavestrough by his hands.
The metal groaned, and he panicked, letting go before the trough could break free of the roof. A zing went up his legs as he landed, his body landing with a jolt. A few ghouls from the road turned in his direction, and he took off like a shot, tearing through front yards until he could barely breathe.
Dead America The Northwest Invasion | Book 10 | Dead America: Seattle [Part 8] Page 2
