Knight of the Dead (Book 1): Knight of the Dead

by Smorynski, Ron

  “Dad, it's like a castle right? The fence, the yard, the building and the doors are all metal and the windows all have those metal screens.”

  “Yeah Dad, my class is so strong. With those door and windows, no one can get in!”

  Lena went there when she was younger. Charlotte goes there now. Dad knows it fairly well, having done some volunteer work and gone to events.

  “Well, I’m not sure it would stop The Horde,” Dad mumbles.

  “Well, this house definitely wouldn't stop The Horde,” Lena huffs.

  “I think it’s a good idea, if we can get in,” his wife says.

  “And we can save others,” Charlotte hopes.

  “You can save my friends Dad,” Lena says.

  “Well, let me go check it out first. The morning it started, the school was open I think. It could be infested with zombies since the gates were open. But before I do that, I want to get more food for us. I don't think we are going to last on granola, cereal and Doritos.”

  “Get more dog food Dad!” Charlotte blurts out, but not too loud. She covers her mouth.

  Dad motions for them to get back, away from the front window. They get back through the barricades to the kitchen.

  “Dad, I like the dog biscuits. Just get those,” Charlotte continues.

  “Dog food would be better. It will probably last longer too, any dry food. The pet store is just opposite the grocery store,” Dad realizes. “And they got all that organic and pricey stuff too. Quality.”

  “I'm fine with dog food, but get the donut ones!” Lena says. “They are guhhhhd.”

  Charlotte high fives Lena. “Yeah, you know what I'm talking about.”

  The wife and Dad share a smile.

  “Should I come with you?” Lena asks reluctantly.

  “No, it’s still too far. If you get in a bind, it could get difficult. I dunno. I may have to use a motorcycle to get away... if I need to. Not yet, okay?”

  Lena nods.

  “But you two can definitely be on the roof, fully armed, ammo ready, with spears too, for when I get back. Because I don't know what will be coming with me. I'll try to shake them off or maybe I can drop off whatever I get, then lead any zombies that followed away.”

  “And Lena and I can shoot some Zees!” Charlotte exclaims, a bit too loudly again.

  “Shhhhh.”

  Dad is dressed in full armor ready to go. They have a duel-purpose dolly and cart, which can be laid flat and its handle re-attached to upright holes to make a 4-wheel cart. He adds bungee cord to hold whatever he gets.

  “I'm gonna take Rondo on this one,” Dad says.

  “No, not Rondo,” Charlotte sighs, hugging the happy tail wagging canine.

  “We're going to a dog store.”

  “Yeah, and zombies don't even attack him Charlotte,” Lena reminds, putting on her armor just in case.

  “Ahhh, I guess,” Charlotte chimes.

  “Lemme just take him. I want to see if he's useful out there. He helped Lena and me a bit, well, until he ran off I guess. And he can find his way home.”

  “Ahhh.”

  “Ahhhh, yeah, yeah,” Dad puts his helmet on. “Now go.” Dad motions to the roof. The girls and wife kiss Dad's steel and then go back inside the master bedroom to the closet, up through the attic to the roof.

  Dad rambles down the driveway, tugging the cart between the parked Rav4 and the fence, scratching the car door as he pulls it. There isn't enough room. He has to push it out, then lift it above his steel helm. He hurries because he gets exhausted pretty quickly wearing the armor and lifting the cart.

  “Dad,” he hears a whisper from above. Two armored and fully armed girls peer down at him as he scratches the car, yanking himself and the heavy cart over.

  “What?” Dad shrugs.

  “You're scratching... oh yeah, guess with the zombie end of the world thing it doesn't matter,” Lena says.

  Dad gets the gate open. “Come on Rondo.”

  Rondo jaunts out, sniffing immediately. They go down the driveway. It seems clear.

  “Dang, no Zees,” Charlotte moans.

  Dad pulls the cart along. It seems louder than usual, probably because the sounds of mayhem have faded and all that is left is a palpable wait before something big. Dad shakes off that feeling. He pulls out a can of Off from a handy bag attached to the cart. He sprays himself. Rondo saunters along, sniffing. He walks through the streets, the river valley with cliff side cars, compliments of The Horde.

  He likes the space. He feels like he is walking through a gully of sorts. Like an old cowboy in a ravine... and the land is filled with injuns... At the Sunset Boulevard intersection where he and Lena had their fight, the cars are still smashed up against each other as walls of junk. He wonders if he could get a car through, at least for a few blocks, or perhaps along the path of The Horde, where it chased after him. The path he fled goes from his house to the pet store. Perfect.

  Rondo growls, then yelps and retreats. He was always a cowardly dog. Dad preferred a cautious, cowardly dog than some maniacal beast back when things were civilized. He didn't want his dog to accidentally bite someone no matter the reason. They lived in a litigious society, where even the burglars and homeless could sue a homeowner, defending his or her own home!

  Dad pulls out his gladius and approaches. A crawler is reaching out in a lethargic ghastly manner. It turns to look up at Dad, sensing a possible human. Dad hacks its skull in two. Rondo wags his tail happily and continues on. It’s as if Rondo knows which way Dad is going.

  He can see zombies down Sunset again. They haven't noticed him yet. There are not that many of them. He continues dragging the small wobbly cart. He wonders where the large horde is that attacked the apartment building last night. That horde, a few hundred, could be up one of the streets nearby. They must be rambling about somewhere. He seeks cover by a smashed up wall of cars and walks along that. If a zombie spotted him, it would belch out. Any that hear that would come.

  He keeps close to the wall of cars. Up ahead is the pet store, a small store known for its specialty pet food. It has lots of great snacks with healthy ingredients. The food is more of the organic froufrou that so many Hollywood types bought for their special family member dog. Dad could care less about froufrou for a dog. It wasn't a child. It's a dog. But now, that kind of naturally preserved, naturally cooked organic dog food is appreciated. His mouth waters at the thought of lamb and rice, chicken and rice, salmon and rice.

  Then he sees a liquor store across the street. Why didn't he think of that before? It's close. It always had plenty of food items. And maybe he could start drinking again? He quit drinking ten years ago. He was lucky as he was able to get sober. Or perhaps it was God's blessing even when he didn't believe in God, or rather, when he had left God. Back when he was a kid, as a Catholic, he accepted God in Confirmation, with a gladness he never felt before. He was riding his bicycle home. A warm incredible feeling flowed within him giving him strength and a feeling of joy.

  He always felt it was the Holy Spirit. But as time went on, as his public schools and universities began to deconstruct his Christianity and always paint it in a guilty oppressive light, he left it for a convenient god, atheism, agnosticism, or whatever.

  Somehow, he feels that the Holy Spirit remained, ever cutting off sinful opportunities and guiding him in the righteous path even against his own desires.

  Due to his drinking, he ended up in the E.R. It was a night of drinking and blacking out at a bar in Hollywood, which came from binge drinking. He got to the point that he drank without his wife, his health deteriorated, and he got angrier, even with his three year old daughter. And when he woke up in the hospital, this man knew, with the Holy Spirit swelling in his heart, that he had a daughter, Lena, and he was choosing to abandon her for drink. NO WAY. He never had another drop to drink after that. And through a slow long process, he began his path back to God, to wife, to daughters, to family, and to faith.

  But boy is that li
quor store across the street inviting him now. It isn't far. He could avoid having to sneak past zombies to the pet store. The dog donuts would have to wait.

  He turns the cart around to go the other way, only to stand facing three zombies who somehow followed him from behind without him noticing. Oh great.

  They are only a few feet from him and confused by their senses. He stands there, staring at them. Rondo comes back and barks. They hesitate, looking with their soulless rabid eyes at Rondo then Dad. They are confused by his steel armor, his face and body in square medieval shapes, and his scent covered by Off.

  Dad pulls out his sword and shield, and somehow they then know. He swings as one leaps at him. Its head flies off as its body slams against a wall of steel. The other two belch out their rabid alarm. Rondo barks a bit then takes off.

  Dad slams one down with his shield then catches the other biting down on his blade. He slides the blade across, cutting deep into the mouth, silencing it. He swings back down and hacks deep into its head. As that one drops, he crushes the throat of the grounded zombie then finishes it with a crushing boot stomp.

  But the alarm has been sent. They don't see him yet. He is behind the wall of piled cars. He quickly rushes to another car, crouches and moves along, away from their sight. He figures they must be coming from the side street, where the apartment was besieged, so he keeps hiding opposite that.

  Zombies rush into the area, but do not see him. Their growls at this point are louder than his minute clanks of steel. He keeps somewhat low as he moves along. More zombies fill the area but he keeps going out of their sight. He left the cart behind, but they aren't about to devour that. The zombies are merely crowding the area where he just killed the three. Rondo is long gone. Cowardly or a smart dog?

  Dad peers through some car windows. A few dozen zombies, a few car rows away, are rambling about. They are a bit excited but unfocused. The stream of zombies from up the street, though still there, is slowing, lumbering. He ran the wrong way. Now he is closer to the pet store. The liquor store has a wall of rambling zombies. The small horde spread from the apartment complex down the street to Sunset Boulevard to the three he just killed. Other than that, his way to the pet store or any store in that direction is relatively clear. At least it will stay clear as long as he stays low, he surmises. Guess God doesn't want him drinking just yet.

  He could go to any store, any of the stores along this way. There are several restaurants just across the sidewalk he could search in for some crates of food, noodles or restaurant bulk type purchases. But now that he's here and the path seems clear, he decides to head to the pet store. Maybe he'll find a shopping cart.

  He hustles toward the pet store as quietly as his metal armor permits. He is at the front, which looks untouched. There are no crashed in windows or broken down doors. It is sealed shut. He can't open it without making some noise. He decides to go around the back. The corner of the small shopping mall has a yogurt store with blood, dried body parts, and yogurt splats everywhere. Or blood splats. Or whatever. He passes by.

  He sneaks to the rear of the stores. A wall of stacked cars hides his way. In the lot behind the store is a large truck. He peers in. The door is unlocked and the driver left the keys in the ignition. Would it start? He reaches in and turns the key. The truck starts easily. He quickly turns it off and hustles around the corner to peer back. The zombies are crowding the main street but didn't pick up on the truck's noise. No zombies come.

  It's perfect. He goes to the back of the pet store. He uses the back end of his gladius, the pommel, and bangs on the door knob till it breaks. It takes longer than he likes but it works. He opens the door. An alarm blares. Great, arghh! He closes the door. The alarm is right there screaming down at him. He sees the pad to punch in the code. His mind is confused as the blaring continues. What does he do? Wait... he is in a zombie apocalypse, he shakes out of it, looks up, swings furiously at it. It's plastic easily cracks as the whole thing flies off, snagging with the connecting wire. It looks like a dead hanging thing. The alarm stops. He shrugs satisfied.

  Some zombies run to the front of the store, but the windows are dark and the zombies do not directly look in as they circle around outside. Dad waits patiently standing in the back. They meander. He sees before him rows of untouched fifty pound bags of dog food. Lots of it. Wow.

  He hears incredible choir music or Ode to Joy and raises his arms in glory and joy to God. Ahhhhhh!!!! Dah dah dah daaaahhhhh!!!

  He grabs a cookie biscuit, lifts his sweaty visor, and chews the treat scrumptiously. He waves it in the air with his pinky finger flared. Is he tasting gourmet food?

  There is a shopping cart, a small quaint mini one, but good enough for him to load half a dozen large bags. He opens the back door.

  RUFF!!

  Dad gets a heart attack, at least almost. Rondo stands out there, all excited.

  “Where the hell did you come from? Jiminy-crickets, lordy-lordy.”

  Rondo sniffs and licks Dad's steel gauntlet hand then rushes into the store.

  “Well, of course you'd find me now.”

  Dad lets him do whatever he needs to do. Dad pushes the cart out the back to the pick up truck. He peers about, no zombies. He tosses the bags in and goes back. Soon the truck is loaded with thirty bags of dog food. He finds the water service jugs, the five gallon jugs for the water dispenser, and he takes all ten of those. And finally, his last trip in for now, he fills the cart with all the dog treats he can. He would toss Rondo a few but the dog has already got a cow hoof, and like some rabid animal, he is in the corner eating it.

  Dad loads up on all kinds of doggy treats. Most look like human treats: cookies, biscuits, and donut ones. These are just a handy pile of dried healthy dog treats. He takes them to the truck and piles them in.

  He goes back to the store. Rondo is still in the dark corner feasting on his meal. Dad waves him off. He thinks he should just leave him but if he did, Rondo would never leave. The dog might mess up this supply, this grand supply of food. And fortunately for his family, he can't think of anyone else who could fight out here like him and make it to this store. His food supply was safe, oddly, by zombies.

  “Come on Rondo.”

  Rondo ignores him, his master, his benefactor, the one who rescued him from a shelter. What a poof. Dad goes over and grabs Rondo by the collar and tugs at him. Rondo keeps the big bone in his mouth and comes out. Dad takes the bone and throws it into the truck. He lifts up the eighty pounds of Rondo quite easily, even in his steel, and pushes him onto the bed of the truck.

  “Please, sir, help us!”

  Dad looks around. Where did that come from?

  “Please, we need food,” a voice calls.

  Dad realizes the six-foot fence on the other side of the back alley is someone's home. He sees a small head peering from it's gate.

  Dad looks around for zombies. None hear the weak voice. Dad walks over to discern the person. A man in a robe with a shovel held very weakly looks desperately at Dad. The man is old, feeble. The shovel means nothing. He steps back seeing or realizing Dad's size and power.

  “A knight in shining armor?” he says nervously.

  Dad nods. He goes back to the truck, pulls out a bag of dog food and walks over to the gate. The old man drops his shovel and hobbles over, staying hidden within.

  Dad realizes the man doesn't have any strength. “I'll just put it where you want it.”

  “Oh please, shhh, in here, just inside,” the man hobbles back and opens the back door to the quaint home.

  An old lady, in a robe, is there inside the laundry door. She is weak, almost zombie like. She probably has seen or lost too much already.

  Dad sets the bag just inside.

  “Thank you. God bless you. God bless you.”

  “Take care, I'm sure help will be coming soon,” Dad says.

  “But you, my dear sir, are help,” the old man says, smiling through old tears and a deathly face. “A great warrior.”

>   “Look, I'm planning on helping, soon, okay, when my family is safe,” Dad says.

  “Of course, of course. Your family? They are safe? It is good to hear such things. We lost our family. We have no more family.”

  “I'm sorry. You know Gardener school?”

  “What? That's my bad ear. What school?”

  “Gardener School? You know it?”

  “I know of the Temple School. It's Jewish,” he smiles forlorn.

  “No, the public school, Gardener, over on Gardener Street,” Dad says.

  “Ah yes, yes, I know of it.”

  “Well, I plan on yah know maybe getting in there, setting that up for people. So when I do, when I come back for more food, I'll come back for you,” Dad says.

  The old man shrugs, “This is our home. We'll stay here until God takes us.”

  It is an odd admission or submission to their fate. The old man can see Dad's eyes, through the medieval helm, but the old man looks away. Dad nods and leaves.

  “God bless you.”

  Dad gets back to the truck. Rondo is in the back behind the pile of dog food with his bone. It has been awhile since he has had such a treat, even before all this.

  Dad gets in the roomy driver's seat. He can drive in armor but it is tight and awkward. He has to take off his helm and gauntlets. He sets his shield and sword inside. His gladius he keeps handy. He starts it up. Zombies immediately turn the corner. He runs them over. Nice. He drives on. He has to squeeze through a few openings, scraping his bumper or paint job but nothing major. He turns onto the main street towards the small horde meandering about.

  They turn and charge at the truck. Dad returns the challenge and races it along. The truck certainly bounces and shudders with each hit, but he never feels a loss of control as he drives through. At his window, the zombies leap up to grab in but Dad laughs them off, smashing their heads with his armored elbow. It's a tough squeeze but Dad's gotten used to the armor.

  Dad drives past the zombies and looks back. Rondo is unfazed, lying on the truck bed just below his window. Fine. He decides to reverse fast into the chasing zombies. Again, the truck has a bounce but holds steady and a half dozen more zombies are terrifically crushed. One grabs on to the side, climbing up. Rondo leaps up, but rolls over as Dad turns just enough to scrape the truck along cars ripping the zombie off. Rondo, toppled, is now scared stiff and doesn't want to ride anymore.