Lena wants to wipe her tears but can't, not with the helmet on. She paces to the edge of the house to look down the driveway, then back to see her mother caring for and examining her father.
He seems so much smaller with each piece of armor taken off, paler, weaker, then before he left. He plops on a bench, hunkered over. The wife sees the hole in the steel shoulder piece, the bullet hole. She pulls that off and Dad moans and quivers in pain. The wife is at first reluctant, but there is no hospital, no doctor, no ambulance. She realizes she must do it and pushes through her fears and begins the process.
The bullet penetrated the steel and went into the back of his shoulder. She can not tell if it came out or not, or where, with the blood and mess. She gets a water bottle and pours that over the known wound. It still bleeds. She gets her expensive bottle of vodka and large knitting needles. She pours the vodka on the wound then wipes quickly to see. Dad, his eyes blurring in pain, contorts around to grab the bottle of vodka and drinks his first alcohol in ten years. He chugs. He grits.
“Wow, that tastes good,” he coughs. He chugs again. “Do what you gotta do. You were so far away. I saw you. I saw Lena. I saw Charlotte, so far away. I wanted to go away, to go far away.” He drops to his knees and falls forward on the deck coughing and heaving.
She tries to catch him, but he face plants. She sits next to him, bending over and looking close. She cleans further and uses the vodka to sterilize a large knitting needle. She pokes it gently into the wound. She can feel the bullet nestled just under the tissue. The bullet penetrated a thick steel plate, then some thick clothe and embedded into his muscle against the bone. Rivulets of his blood streak down his arm and back. She realizes she can get to it. She grabs another needle, sterilizes it with vodka, then uses both needles like chopsticks. She angles inside the wound, as Lena cringes. Still passed out, her husband finds the unconscious ability to rip the bottle of vodka from her hand and waste half of it as he drinks.
She wrestles out the bullet with the chopstick needles. She sees a shred of clothe partially come out. She digs and pulls it out, a tiny blood soaked bit. She stares closely in the wound, using the vodka as a lens. It looks clean as the blood clouds the vodka pool.
She dresses the wound, sealing it tightly with a wrap. After fully undressing him, she wipes his skin to see if any of the red sweaty swollen bite marks pierced the skin. She prays with each stroke of the towel, with each wipe of the blood. None are found. Lena and her pray, thanking God that they have their father, husband back.
They encourage him, with a swig of vodka, to get up. He moans but does. Holding his right side, Lena is able to get him to stumble inside. His wife treats him to a sip. She gets to the kitchen and pops out six Advil pills. He takes them.
Lena lugs him onto the master bed.
“It's not safe here,” his wife says.
“We are not getting him up there.”
Both look at the step ladder leading up through the small hatchway to the attic.
He begins a slight snore. He looks so weak and feeble, like some gaunt prisoner in a medieval dungeon. They shrug. It's at least hidden.
18. Healing
Dad sleeps throughout the day. At first, he shivers with a fever and the girls and mother pray over him. It only lasts a day. They give thanks. They eat next to him, talking to him about him. They laugh in that way where none can stop. But when they do finally stop, all it takes is a little Dad impersonation to get them going again. Even warning of a zombie attack does not stop them from laughing but at least it’s a controllable giggle. Eventually, he is able to make it up to the attic.
Charlotte watches from her sniper perch. No one comes. She looks up to where the hooligans live beyond the school. She can not see the building, but sees both streets that lead to it. She looks through her gun site and sees only zombies meandering about. She then hears a whimper from below. She crawls up to look over the roof and down. She sees Rondo. He is trying to get through the gate.
“Hey Rondo,” Charlotte whispers, lying flat on the roof. “Come on, Rondo, squeeze through. You can make it. Come on...”
Rondo wags his tail and butt. He sniffs up at Charlotte. She encourages and waves him in. “Come on Rondo, come on...”
Rondo finally nudges the fence bars with his nose and squeezes through the rickety gate. Charlotte suddenly looks up and across the way – nothing. She sighs and crawls back to the attic opening.
In a bucket, he pukes, he shits, he pees. The girls take turns taking it down, dumping it and wiping with some old dirty rags. They are used to it now. Still sucks but used to it. The wife examines and redresses the wound. Dad lays in the bed, not too hungover. He takes a lot of Advil and drinks a bit too much of the water. He gets another low grade fever for a few days. That feels scary for awhile. They pray with him so much. He wonders out loud if they pray too much. Charlotte reminds him, probably a lot less people praying these days, and when they do, definitely not for lame stuff.
They play every board game they have, even the ones with missing parts. They read the Bible, especially Psalms. Dad gets the wife to sing some for him. Charlotte joins in. They are very good at singing the Psalms. Making up the music, like a wonderful choir, it soothes Dad to sleep.
He is able to move his shoulder, though it hurts. It feels odd, stiff, and painful, but he moves it. A few days later, he goes down to the ground.
His armor is on the table, cleaned, repaired, in order. His wife looks at him with that look. It is the look of near loss – loss of everything, and then given a momentary second chance.
His sword and shield are on the street where he was shot. His gladius he also dropped, perhaps closer to his house, where they saved him. The only blades left are the machete and a ghurka which Lena used to fight with. She shows him how she used the curved blade to cut behind their knees.
The ghurka was a gift from a friend who traveled to Nepal. He never considered using it as a weapon and had it on a shelf. She remembered it when they heard the shots and saw Dad fall. Her telling Dad about getting ready to save him, her crying with her mother and Charlotte, made Dad cry. It was that choking cry, where bubbles and spittle choked their expressions.
Finally, in her focused courage, Lena explains, “Yeah Dad, they'd charge me, and as they pushed on my shield, I'd just swing real hard under the knee. Then I’d pull up and let the blade cut, so they couldn't walk or run anymore.”
It is a curved blade with a wide end, perfect for reaching around and slicing through.
“That's good Lena. Thank you for saving me.” Dad hugs his grown up daughter. She hugs him back. It becomes almost too much for both of them. He shrugs and switches his attention.
“I like your technique, especially for your size. To take on a charging zombie would be much riskier, it could bowl you over. But giving in to the charge and going low to damage the leg of the zombie, to hinder it, is perfect.”
She nods, wiping her tears and smiling.
“You could then attack it as it falls or … you could just run away.”
“Yeah... the loud ones I try to kill quick. And... Charlotte can shoot the rest.”
“Yep.”
They hug again, a little lighter this time, a little less draining.
They had gotten the dog food from the truck when Dad was asleep. It was piled in the guest house, over two dozen bags of it, plus the treats. They are crunchy and dry, but not bad. They eat well.
And the water is going to last awhile. Dad feels good about that, about their safety, as long as The Horde never comes.
However, that is not what keeps him up at night now. He crawls each night to the opening and sits, staring out past the school, to see just a tip of the building, the apartment where the hooligans shot him. He methodically messages and rotates his left shoulder, staring.
His wife crawls up, next to him, to look out.
“You're going to kill them, aren't you?”
“Yes, all of them.”
“Is th
ere any other way? Can't you save them?”
“No, only God can save them. I'm going to kill them. They are demonic, from hell. They are everything I despise. I'm going to kill them.”
What must be understood is that Dad did not just have his armor, and his sword and shield skills, he also thought much about another skill set, something beyond just shooting or home defense. He thought it through quite well. With an amalgam of skills and awareness, he had a bullet proof shield as well. He never pulled it out before, because zombies did not shoot at him. The shield is semi-flexible and rated for all handguns. He holds it just like a shield but being flexible, it can be placed on car seats or doors, a protection for dignitaries or what not. For him, it was a great home defense that he could use. He could walk out to confront a home invader, not just with his .45 handgun, but with a bullet proof shield. This is the shield he is going to use for vengeance.
“Let me come with you Dad, please. I'm ready,” Lena pleads.
“No.”
Dad looks at her and his wife and Charlotte. His face is different. They have seen this face only a few times, when he wanted to protect his daughter from her own desires of going out or a boy who sex texted her repeatedly. This look was reserved for moments when nothing they could say would change his decision and saying anything would only make it worse. His wife is silent.
He loads up his .45 handgun and four magazines. He uses some new weapons for the occasion. One is a mace with spiked nails. He hopes to use the mace on the hooligans, but if needed, it would work nicely in piercing a zombie head. The other is a strong utility axe. Perhaps it could be used for zombie severing, but he will use it for ripping down doors. These weapons he puts in his belt. The bullet proof shield has loops that carry the magazines and a holster. He puts his .45 handgun in it. Also, fitted in the loops of the shield is the scabbard with a Scottish long blade or dirk.
He had forgotten about the Scottish dirk till he pulled the shield out. It was attached to the shield. What a wonderful surprise, he thinks. It is essentially a long blade. It was meant as a back up to his handgun in the house, for close quarter home defense. With a bulletproof shield, he could shoot, and if he ran out of bullets, advance on any home invader and slice them with the Scottish dirk.
There is one ceramic plate in the shield's front pocket. It is an additional rifle caliber plate. He pulls that out of the shield and has his wife sew that into the backside of his medieval breastplate. Hopefully, his steel armor with the flexible Kevlar shield will be enough to stop any front shots, rifle or handgun and the ceramic plate will protect most of his back.
He sprays himself with Off. He kisses his wife and daughters. They are not afraid this time. They do not cry. They pray in a circle, holding hands.
“Dear God, allow me this vengeance. Whether it is good or bad, I hope it is justice, for you God, for this city, against evil that tries to prosper in evil times. Please help guide my hand, in justice, and I will do more for you God, to help others, in Jesus Christ's name, amen.”
“Amen.”
“And keep Rondo here.”
19. Retribution
In the early A.M., he crashes the famed pick-up truck into the apartment barricade, pushing aside the other car. The crash explodes the furniture back into the lobby, flattening several zombies in the process. He steps out and aims his shotgun up at the balcony. There is a shell already in the chamber, no need for the movie cliche of pumping the shotgun. A dude rushes to the balcony and looks down to see a giant knight aiming a shotgun at him. His neck explodes. His head dangles on fleshy threads as his body folds limp on the balcony wall.
The knight pumps his shotgun. Zombies jump at him. He stands like a statue, aiming up. His left shoulder has a little pang. He rolls it out. Zombies leap and bounce off of him. Another person runs to the balcony while rubbing his eyes and looking at the dripping body of his buddy hanging over the balcony.
“What the fuck man!?” His shoulder explodes as he flies back. His scream is gut wrenching.
The knight pumps the shotgun and then twists and turns, butting zombies off with his steel elbows. He pulls out the ballistic shield just as some asshole from above aims his gun down and fires randomly, hitting the ground, a zombie, a car, whatever. He screams as he fires but he cannot see the knight under the balcony.
The knight stands by the entrance and sees the muzzle flash from the crazed gunman. He aims and fires his slug round through the balcony stucco and into the guy firing down blindly. The guy screams and falls back grabbing his crotch.
The knight shoulders his shotgun, tramps through the broken barricade to the apartment lobby door. He pulls out his axe as zombies are pulling and biting at him. He bashes a few back and axes one in the head just to give him some room. He axes the grated door with his weight and strength. The axe penetrates the metal grating around the lock, just enough for him to kick it open.
“What the fuck is going on down there!?”
The knight walks into the foyer. It is littered with dead zombies and piled barricades. The stairwell is his target. He goes over and kicks away the chairs and tables. He easily smashes the door open with his steel gauntlets and smashes several zombies that cling to him while he's working.
He leaves the door wide open as he clambers up the stairs. At this point, zombies scramble over the broken barricades and run in. The knight reaches the first apartment floor and stands ready to open the door. Below him, zombies are coming up the stairs. Two guys inside wait with their shaking handguns. The knight bursts through the door. The guys fire in joyful glee.
“Come and get it motherfucker!!”
The knight takes a few bullets to his shield. It feels like hammers hitting it.
“You dead motherfucker!!!” one yells. Both stop firing and look at the strange shield with bullets in it. The knight lowers it. They see it is him.
“You're that guy we shot?”
He sidesteps as zombies rush forward. The two flail back in confusion. They try to fire again but the zombies begin grabbing and biting.
“Aaaagggghhhhh!!!”
The knight stands quietly in a non-recognition shape, a non-recognition smell, and not moving, as zombies rush in to the first floor apartments, past him at the flailing hooligans. They are torn to pieces. He watches.
“Jordie, what the fuck is going on down there!? Jordie!? Ahh, motherfucker, who drove that fucking truck into our door man! Is it him!?”
Zombies rush up the stairs.
“They're coming up! The door is open!”
Gun fire erupts from the stairwell above, blasting zombies and concrete. The knight ducks into the first floor hallway. The hooligans unleash a torrent of gunfire down the stairwell at the zombie rush. They must have a lot of ammo.
“Take that mother fuckers! Ah yeah!”
The hooligans are coming down the stairwell, shooting their way to the first floor. The knight waits patiently against the wall next to the stairwell entrance with half a dozen zombies devouring two of their ilk in the corridor.
“They got Yuri and Joe!”
Zombies growl, guns fire, and flesh bursts.
At the stairwell door, out of view from the knight, a hooligan enters. The zombies turn and look. The hooligan fires with an assault rifle blasting limbs apart.
“God damnit!!! Close the fucking door down there! Jesus fucking Christ! Who the fuck did that!?”
As assault rifle hooligan walks in, his eyes flick cross-eyed. Spikes from a mace penetrate his brain. The knight moves into view of the stairwell entrance, tossing the man off his mace. He sees the second hooligan stepping back. He looks stunned to see a massive knight in steel with a Kevlar shield, staring at him. He is a towering terror. The knight pins the man's assault rifle against the wall with his shield. The spiked mace twirls up and sticks into the hooligan's head. The man has no functioning motor skills to resist.
“You? No,” he twitches as he talks.
The knight plucks the mace out of his skull and
twirls it again.
“Oh uh, no,” he moans. He can't quite focus his eyes or move.
The knight brings it down like a giant prickly cactus, only heavier, deadlier, gruesome, bursting upon the skinny guy's neck and shoulder, causing spittle and blood to fly out. The ripping retraction of the mace and spikes opens the wounds for a gusher. The guy convulses with his head cocked at a bad angle. The knight grabs him and pushes him into the stairwell, into the arms of zombies and shuts the door.
Down the hallway, a guy comes out of another room to see the death of a friend by a towering steel giant. He fires his handgun into the knight's back. The knight stumbles into another room.
The guy rushes forward. “I got you, you motherfucker!”
The guy thrusts his gun around the corner and fires erratic. “Die! Die!” He leaps in and sees a black wall that confuses him. The knight's shield pushes into the guy and his gun. The guy raises his gun to angle over the shield but he doesn't see the mace swinging around from behind. Several large nails pierce the back of his skull and tweak his ability to see, think, breathe, aim, hold his arm up, pull a trigger or live. He drops twitching.
The knight looks at him twitching. The guy is able to angle one eyeball up at the knight but still twitches uncontrollably. The knight raises his mace again. The guy convulses, trying to raise an arm in defense. The knight flings the mace down into the man's skull, right and proper. The twitches are forever cured.
The knight picks up the 9mm handgun and looks into the next room. It is a drug den and a torture den with a dead girl on the floor. Not a zombie, but a dead girl. Some old lady in the corner is also dead. He continues on, kicking open each door to each apartment, bashing the doors in.
In another, an old shirtless guy fires wildly at him with a small revolver. The knight fires the 9mm creating small almost bloodless holes in the cowering gaunt figure.
The knight goes back to the stairwell. They are firing their guns on the level above, killing the zombies in the stairwell coming up from the street. He sees an emergency plaque, a map, that shows another stairwell in the back. He goes back toward the other stairwell. He picks up an AK-47 and an extra mag from the assault rifle dead guy. Might as well.
Knight of the Dead (Book 1): Knight of the Dead Page 17
