Breakout

by Craig Jones

  “No, no, no,” she repeated. The dragging gait of the zombies was right on us, and their sound became more agitated, more high-pitched. And as the first one of the blood thirsty beasts fell on her rump, she closed her eyes and screamed. She tore her hands free of mine and her arms flapped up and down spastically as the raw pain of the zombies’ bites overcame her. Her neck muscles tightened as she bared her teeth in a terrible grin, and all I could do was watch as they fed on her. Chewing on her ankles, snapping at her thighs, the undead dined on her flesh and blood pulsed out of her lower body as the life ebbed away in the most brutal manner.

  Her eyes snapped open and she clawed at the grass in front of her face, leaving deep furrows and two bloody nails in the ground. I grabbed hold of Robbie and pulled his face into my chest so he’d not have to see anymore; he’d seen enough. Amanda tried to say her final words as a human being but instead spewed blood from her mouth, covering my shoes.

  I could do nothing for her, so I pushed Robbie up the grassy embankment to the street above, not knowing it was safe but knowing we had to put some distance between ourselves and the undead murderers who were pursuing us. It would only be a matter of time before their numbers swelled and the fence collapsed under their weight.

  “Are you okay?” I asked Robbie as I paused to try to rub some of the blood from my boots. The last thing I wanted to do was leave a trail for the Hell bound bloodhounds at our heels to follow.

  “Robbie?” When he finally looked up at me, I realized that he was completely and desperately broken. I also saw that he was still just a child. For all that he had been through, for all the strength that he’d shown, he was still younger than Danny or I had been when we’d lost our parents. And now it showed.

  “I want my mom,” he whispered. “I want Mommy.”

  He began to cry. Big, deep, gasping sobs. He was inconsolable. There was no way I would ever slap him like I had Amanda, but I didn’t know what other options I had available to me. Standing out here in the open, we were an easy target.

  Amanda did my job for me.

  As she began smashing her elbows into the wooden boards that held her captive, she let out a ferocious snarl from her snared position. Robbie and I spun towards her, looking down the grassy slope to her position. Her eyes had become the same dead dinosaur eggs I’d seen in Danny’s face, and her chin was slathered with her own blood that her tongue licked and flicked across her mottling skin to draw into her mouth. There was no doubt about it. She was dead hungry. I could see that the zombies that had been feasting on her had now stopped, realizing she was one of their own. They began to thump at the fence, trying to break it down.

  With a roar of delight, Amanda finally dragged herself through the space. She dug her hands into the earth and pulled, causing the sinews in her forearms to bulge. I readied myself, expecting her to charge right at me as soon as she was able to stand. But then I saw she was never going to stand. Her legs were still on the far side of the fence. She dragged her bloody torso across the grass, the tip of her spine leaving its own furrow in the ground, and the grass in her wake was stained red. I raised a single index finger to Robbie, telling him to stay where he was. I ran back down the embankment and planted the sole of my boot down as hard as I could onto her forehead. I heard her skull splinter. It was like cracking an ostrich egg. Her arms reached out, trying to snatch me. I stomped again and again, until finally she was still. I looked down at her as the Romeroes continued to pummel on the fence. She had been Amanda. She’d helped me look after Robbie. Now her head was caved in, her blood all over the ground, and her brain was exposed to the elements. Breathless, I walked back to up the slope.

  Robbie grabbed me by the hand, giving me just a second to wipe the remnants of Amanda’s head off my shoes.

  “Let’s go,” he said. Two small words that told me he was okay. For now.

  The street was deserted and we headed away from the supermarket back up toward the overpass. If anyone made it out of the parking lot in a vehicle, that was the way they would have to go. I hoped that if anyone did drive our way, they’d at least pause long enough for us to hop on board. From behind us, the zombies’ groans could still be heard and without a word, we picked up our pace when we heard another wooden board break.

  “This way,” I told Robbie, leading him across the road. There was a row of parked cars, and they had the potential to offer us some cover if anything nasty began to stalk us. Also, I thought that the shops on that side of the street may not all be locked down and hoped that they could provide us with somewhere to hide. As we stepped onto the sidewalk, we could hear fast footsteps approaching from the direction we’d just come.

  “Hide! Now!” I said, pushing Robbie face down on the floor behind a blue car. I squatted and watched as two soldiers sprinted towards us. I was about to make them aware of our presence when the reason for their pace appeared in the distance.

  Two Remakes were chasing them at full speed. One of the undead was missing an arm but that disability didn’t impair its progress. My mind was drawn back to the first one of this new breed that I’d seen as it chased me around the walls of my house back in Usk. They were an insane combination of flesh-hungry killing machines and feline grace. The two zombies were closing the gap on the terrorized troops with ease, and one of the soldiers made the mistake of looking over his shoulder just as they came level with our hiding position.

  His legs wrapped around themselves and he fell to the floor with a thud, his helmet bouncing off his head. His colleague ran on, not realizing his partner was down. The zombies accelerated like lions sensing an injured gazelle, and I could see the drool spilling from their mouths as they ran. The downed soldier swung his machine gun towards them, and I heard the click of the trigger but nothing happened. The zombies were almost on him and he drew his pistol. He never fired a shot.

  The one-armed zombie jinked around him, carrying on in pursuit of the other man as the fully able beast leapt into the air, twisting as it rose. It landed just behind the soldier. Facing him, it grabbed his head in its hands. It dug its filthy nails into the soldier’s scalp and then twisted. I heard the crunch of vertebrae snapping. Finally, the zombie let him go and re-joined the pursuit. That meal was going nowhere. It was time for the fiend to hunt down some human fast food.

  I watched through the windows of the car as the zombies easily caught up with the final soldier. He stopped, breath spitting out of his mouth, eyes wide, chest puffing up and down with his exertions. He panned his rifle from one zombie to the other as they circled him; their movements now slow and deliberate, goading him to make some sort of move, to take them on. And then he made his decision. He dropped his rifle, drew his handgun and placed the barrel against the roof of his mouth. I was glad Robbie couldn’t see what was going on, but I couldn’t look away as he pulled the trigger and his helmet flicked off his head like a bright red firework. The zombies looked at each other and screeched. Then they fell on his still pulsing body to feed.

  “Stay here,” I whispered. And although Robbie tensed as if he was going to follow me, he held his position. I scooted out into the road and picked up the dead soldier’s pistol, desperately trying not to look at the twisted angle of his neck. The gun was heavier than I’d expected, and I almost dropped it to the tarmac. As quietly, and as carefully as my battered body would allow, I sneaked back to where Robbie lay and watched for any reaction from the ravenous undead, holding the gun, ready to at least attempt to use it properly. When they’d finished feeding, the one-armed zombie ran off in the direction we’d been heading but the other strutted back towards us, back towards the other dead soldier, licking its crimson, bloody lips. It was time for it to enjoy its spoils. If we could just wait it out, let it fill its putrid guts with more dead flesh then we’d...

  It stopped and sniffed the air. I stiffened, the hairs on the back of my neck bristling. Beneath me, Robbie almost sprang to his feet, so palpable was the tension. I placed my hand on his back, hoping he could cont
rol his panic. I watched the zombie through two sets of car windows as it turned our way. I had the gun but I didn’t know how to use it effectively. Any attempt to save our lives would be a pathetic gesture when, in truth, I knew that if that thing attacked, I’d never be able to save Robbie. And if the monster wasn’t hungry? What would it do with us? Would it just turn us into one of its own kind? I couldn’t let that happen to Robbie.

  The creature’s head snapped my way and we made eye contact through the glass. I’d failed Danny. I’d failed Nick. And now I’d failed Robbie. But there was no way I was letting him become one of the undead. I held the barrel of the gun an inch away from the back of his head. As soon as the monster made its move, I’d pull the trigger and Robbie’s suffering would be over. This is what I should have done for Danny. I’d gotten that wrong, but I wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

  The zombie bared its teeth, snarled and bounced up on top of the car. I began to squeeze the trigger, just as the shot rang out.

  The zombie’s head exploded, covering me and Robbie in a grey, sticky mess. It collapsed onto the roof of the car, no longer a threat to us. I threw the handgun aside, sure that Robbie had no idea of what my intentions had been. It felt as if my heart was trying to escape my chest through my mouth.

  Along the road, the sound of a Jeep engine approached. Chris Garlick was in the passenger seat, his sniper rifle across his lap.

  “How many times am I going to have to save you two?” he asked. “Get in! Now!”

  18

  The Jeep sped through the streets at break neck speed. There were seven of us clinging to the vehicle as it weaved from side to side, avoiding abandoned cars and the bloodied carcasses of the dead. I’d squeezed myself onto the back seat alongside two heavily armed soldiers. As I slammed the door, I smashed my already bleeding elbow once more and winced from the pain. Robbie crouched in the tiny space in the foot well between Chris Garlick’s feet, his hands over his head and his eyes drawn down. The soldier at the steering wheel slowed and glanced over his shoulder.

  “Keep your eyes open!” he instructed the final soldier. He was positioned on the rear footplate of the Jeep. “And reload while you’ve got the chance!”

  “Already on it!” came the reply, and I turned to see the soldier ram a fresh ammo cartridge into the machine gun mounted on the back of the Jeep. He wore the name tag Clayton on his camouflage jacket. I was pretty sure that the roar of gunfire would deafen me if he pulled the trigger. As the speedy vehicle accelerated again, I leaned forward.

  “Chris! How many of us made it out of there?” I had to shout just to make myself heard above the noise of the engine and the wind, as it whistled around us. The Jeep bounced as the driver, who had no other option, ploughed through a pile of corpses.

  “I don’t know,” Chris replied, his fingers working with dexterous precision as he replenished his sniper rifle with three-inch-long rounds. “The general called the retreat, told us to get the hell out of there, and that’s what we did. Next thing--”

  “Oh God!” shouted our driver, his voice full of panic and pure terror. “Here they come!”

  I lifted my eyes to the road ahead and understood the driver’s fear. Twenty, thirty, maybe even fifty Remakes were sprinting along the road towards us, their lips pulled back in a grotesque grimace and their teeth bared like the hungry beasts they were.

  “Opening fire!” bellowed Clayton and I threw myself back into my seat, jamming my fists tightly over my ears. The explosion of noise from just above my head made my ears want to bleed, and the release of gunfire made the Jeep vibrate even more. Clayton cut a swath through the ranks of the undead, not caring if he made the vital head shots but trying to make sure he cut them down to allow us to drive through the hole he made in their ominous advance. The rapid fire of the automatic weapon sliced the rampant zombies in half, separating their legs from their torsos just as Amanda had been chewed in two by our undead pursuers. I knew losing limbs wouldn’t stop these things.

  A heavy crunch brought the onslaught to an abrupt halt.

  “Weapons jam!”

  “Keep going!” urged Chris, seeing that enough of the zombies had been brought down to allow us reasonably safe passage. The soldier on the far side of the Jeep pushed himself upright and brought his rifle up to his shoulder. He opened fire in sporadic bursts, accurately picking off the undead as they tried to regroup and block the road. Three zombies were still on their feet, running straight for us. He snapped off a shot and the lead zombie tumbled, bringing its grim brethren down with it in a tangle of decomposing arms and legs.

  “Good work, Gordon,” Chris shouted, his fist raised in victory as the Jeep once more gained speed and the road opened up beyond the downed dead.

  “More Remakes inbound!” the driver shrieked, his nerves clearly failing him. He took his foot off the gas and the Jeep cruised forward, losing momentum. We’d clearly taken a wrong turn somewhere, and he’d driven us back towards the supermarket--back to where the bulk of the zombies were. There were dozens of them. And they saw us.

  “Clayton!” Chris barked. “The machine gun?”

  The undead began to lope towards us. It was like they sensed our weakness, as if our main form of defense was useless and our driver was losing his ability to function under such pressure.

  “Working on it.” The response was short, clipped. I glanced backwards to see Clayton working quickly with his head down. He knew what was coming our way, no doubt about that, but I guessed that keeping them out of his line of vision allowed him to focus on the job in hand, just as I had when I’d kicked a hole in the fence.

  “Work faster! Go left here,” Chris directed the driver. “Quickly! Swing it around!”

  The Jeep continued to cruise along the road.

  “Now!” we all screamed. The driver crunched the gears and swung on the steering wheel. The Jeep lurched to the left, threatened to topple over and lifted up onto two wheels as he gunned the accelerator. Robbie cried out in alarm and then the Jeep leveled up and began to move back along the road. Slowly.

  The zombies flew toward us, teeth snapping, feet slapping on the tarmac.

  “Put your foot down!” Clayton implored.

  “I am… it’s--”

  “You’re in the wrong gear!” Chris spat, shifting the gear stick himself. The engine whined as he found the lower gear, and we jerked forward picking up speed quickly but not quickly enough.

  One of the zombies launched itself at the Jeep, hooking its repulsive, blood streaked arm over the back of the tail gate. It panted as it held on, its legs dragging on the road below. Clayton spun on his heels, ignoring the machine gun, and stamped his heel down onto the elbow of the creature. Bone splintered with a crack that could be heard even above the engine but still, it clung on.

  “Throw me a gun!” Clayton shouted, turning to face us, and Gordon extended the butt of his rifle towards him.

  Clayton reached down to take it just as the zombie’s other arm swung up over the tailgate and snared the back of his trousers in a vice like death grip. Clayton didn’t even have a moment to react before the Remake released its grip on the Jeep, and it tumbled backwards onto the road, dragging Clayton with him.

  “Stop! Stop!” I commanded as I watched the two of them roll towards the gutter in a grim bundle of life and death. I saw Clayton throw a punch but then more zombies were on him, and I was glad that the distance between us was made wide very quickly. I didn’t want to have to hear his screams. He had been taken in an instant. Just like any of us could be.

  The Jeep continued through the streets, the only noise being its overstrained engine. The soldiers were silent, all except the driver sat with their heads in their hands. I could just see the top of Robbie’s head, and although it looked like he was shaking, I could hear no sobs. Finally, Chris signaled for the driver to pull over.

  “Check each other for bites,” he advised, but the first thing I did as I climbed down from the Jeep was to hug Robbie.
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  “You okay?” I asked, looking over his clothes for rips and tears and his skin for blood.

  “I didn’t see Dad there.”

  I turned his wrists over. He was okay.

  “Did you? Did you see Dad?”

  I shook my head and placed my finger to my lips.

  “We’ll talk about that later,” I whispered.

  Calls of all clear came from the soldiers after they checked each other and then Chris came and checked me for bites.

  “You’re bite free for now. I’m starting to believe it’s just a matter of time before we’re all like those things,” he told me. “Gordon! Get on the radio. Find out who else made it. If you get a reply, set up a rendezvous point. The rest of you, weapons ready, eyes open!”

  “On it!”

  Chris jumped onto the back of the Jeep and released the jammed ammunition cartridge. He carefully slid a new clip into the housing.

  “Chris! They made it! Rogers and Bateman!” Gordon shouted. “They got two buses and the troop transport out of there! I’ve got the coordinates to meet up!”

  “Good work. Back on the Jeep,” Chris told us. “We’re moving out.”

  19

  We stopped once on the way to the regroup point where we siphoned some diesel from an abandoned truck. The last thing we wanted to happen was to run out of fuel before we were completely clear of the city. Our pace was now steady, different from the one-hundred-mile-per-hour approach that had been necessary to get away from the supermarket. On more than one occasion, we had to double back to avoid clogged up roads. Our target was a truck stop not far from the motorway. It was just a few miles outside of the city center. According to the messages we’d received through the radio, Rogers and the rest of the convoy were already there, and it was a zombie-free zone.