by W. J. Lundy
He climbed atop the roof of a large SUV. Pausing to catch his breath, he took a quick survey. He could see he was only four more cars away from Susan’s side of the street. Most of the horde was now behind him with a thin single line on the remaining sides, like an oblong bubble slowly collapsing. He stood and watched as they all walked directly to him, rather than moving to where Susan was standing. They moved at a slow, staggering pace; moaning with every movement, some even crawling to get at him. He heard the low rumble of the Dodge and knew Herb was circling back. He had to get the mob back to the burning house. Seeing an opening, he turned and moved away from Susan back to the far side of the street. He juked and dodged, breaking out of the circle of zombies.
Now he was back in the open, running across low cut lawns, screaming and slapping mailboxes with his shovel as he passed them. He ran back to the street and climbed on another car, slapping the roof and looking back. The horde was taking the bait. Turning, they moved to his side of the street, clamoring over each other as they became caught up in the abandoned cars. Wyatt kept watch on the vehicles to his right, making sure he kept an exit lane, while letting them draw in to him. He turned and bound down two more cars and banged the hood, allowing the mass to get closer.
A fence exploded behind beside Susan’s house and Wyatt watched as the Dodge burst through and pulled up close to the front porch. Herb leaned out of an open window and shot him a thumb up. Susan ran from the high point on the roof to the porch, and then jumped to the top of the Dodge. Wyatt watched as the woman gracefully maneuvered her way through the obstacles, dropping and leaping from the SUV’s roof before climbing into the Dodge.
As he watched her reach safety, his thoughts flipped back to his immediate surroundings. The mass of zombies between them began to stumble in confusion, not knowing which path to take. Every time they turned toward the Dodge, Wyatt would slam the shovel against a car body, throwing the horde into a frenzy that would charge toward him at a turtle’s pace. He jumped off the sedan’s hood and stepped toward the Dodge. Looking back, he could see the mass was following, but so slowly they would never overtake him.
Wyatt reached the sidewalk just as Herb pulled up beside him in the Dodge. The vehicle stopped and the driver’s window came down. “Well, you done screwed up the neighborhood; there’s no going back to my place,” Herb said, pointing to his house. Wyatt looked over his shoulder; the home was surrounded by a flood of zombies with more moving in from the backyard.
Susan leaned over the seat, looking at him through Herb’s window. He smiled, his gaze focusing on her bright blue eyes. Even with her blonde hair a mess and her shirt torn, she mesmerized him. Wyatt lived across from Susan for years and this was the closest he had ever been to her.
She broke his stare with a harsh look. “Hey dummy! Are you going to get in or what?” she scowled.
Chapter Five
Herb kept the big Dodge on the sidewalk, driving through front lawns and easily running over lone zombies, or slowing to plow a path through larger mobs. The truck bounced over a curb and crunched over a crowd of the undead. The vehicle lurched forward and tipped to the side, the shocks squeaking as the thumped over objects. Herb accelerated and cut the wheel working his way onto clear ground.
Wyatt kept his arms crossed over his chest, the garden shovel resting between his knees and the door, as he watched Susan out of the corner of his eye. She sat on the bench seat between him and Herb. When Wyatt teetered over with the rolls of the Dodge, he brushed against Susan’s bare shoulder. “Eww! Could you keep your hands to yourself, please,” she said.
He pushed away from her pressing against the door. His knee bumped the blood spattered shovel, the gooey liquid rubbing off onto his already dirty jeans.
“Gross! Was it really necessary to bring that along?” she asked.
Wyatt looked at the shovel and his bloody jeans, suddenly embarrassed. “Well, I don’t know. I guess… I just thought—”
“You could have at least put it in the back,” she blurted out before he could finish.
“I always remembered you being nicer,” he said under his breath.
Herb chuckled behind the driver’s wheel. “I told you she was fine where she was at. If ‘in we’d left her she’d be fine on that roof, and we’d be fine in my attic. This is on you Wyatt, not me.”
Susan leaned forward and turned on the Dodge’s radio, spinning the dial and getting static on every channel. “Of all the people in my neighborhood, I get dumb and dumber. Creepy Herb and Weirdo Wyatt to the rescue. I feel like I’m trapped in a shitty princess movie.”
“Yer welcome,” Herb exclaimed over her rant.
Wyatt turned to look; catching a glimpse of her angry glare, he immediately turned his head away. He watched the passing zombies from the passenger window as they shuffled along aimlessly, hardly aware of their presence. “Why are you still here anyway? Why didn’t you leave with everyone else?” he asked without looking at her.
She exhaled, seemingly annoyed that he was even speaking to her. She pulled her hands back into her lap. “If you must know, I was waiting on Reid,” she said.
“Officer Jamison? The cop?” Wyatt asked. “Why would you be waiting on him?”
She huffed. “The cop that just happens to be my boyfriend.”
Herb laughed again. “The married cop, you mean.”
Susan jerked back into the seat and spun, pointing a finger at Herb. “He’s leaving his wife, I’ll have you know.”
“Leaving with his wife to be exact,” Herb said, letting out another laugh. “All the metro police let out of here two days ago. Heard it all on the scanner myself.”
She shook her head. “It’s not true. Reid told me himself, he’d be coming to get me.”
“And how long ago was that, sweetheart?” he scoffed, not hiding the sarcasm. “If I had to reason a guess, I’d say more than three days ago.” Herb said. “Oh, don’t worry. I know what kinda boyfriend you had; I seen it. You shouldn’t be expecting any more 3 AM visits from Officer Jamison.”
Wyatt slowly turned toward her, trying to interject. “Maybe you’re right. I’m sure he was coming. Maybe he just got stuck in the traffic.”
“Shut up, Wyatt,” she said, ignoring him before turning back to Herb. “Just take me to the police station. Reid said everyone was staying there. I’m sure that’s where he’ll be.”
“No can do, sweetheart, we’re headed right out to the mountains,” Herb said.
Wyatt looked across at him. “We are? Well, maybe we should try the police–”
“Shut up, Wyatt,” Herb barked. “We’re going to the mountains. Less people out there; it’ll be safe.”
“But the television… they warning against trying to leave; they said anyone leaving will be shot.”
“They also said it was a chemical plant fire,” Herb countered. “Look around, we’re surrounded by zombies, and you all ruined my best hide out. So now we need to get to my backup spot up in the high lands.”
Susan put her hands up. “Nope, that’s it. I’m sorry, but you have to let me out. I’m not going out into the middle of the nowhere with a couple of creepers.”
The Dodge screeched to a stop in the middle of an intersection. “Suit yourself, missy. I was getting tired of listening to you anyway,” Herb shouted.
Wyatt spun in his seat, looking in all directions. They were on an empty stretch of roadway, still miles from the city limits. Off to the side, in a distant field, a man staggered toward them dragging a gimped leg. “Let’s just take her to the station,” he said.
“Get out of the way,” Susan shouted, trying to shove past him. “Move,” she said, her voice beginning to break as she lashed out, pummeling his back.
Wyatt held fast, taking the brunt of the abuse. “You really need to think about this, Susan. Where you will go? There’s nobody left,” he said, pushing back against her. “I think we all got off to a bad start here.”
Wyatt looked to the front and saw another pair
of zombies had joined the first shambling man. He pointed at the man. “See? Look, those things are everywhere. We need to stick together.”
“Open the door!” she screamed.
Wyatt relented and grasped the door handle, releasing the lock. He stepped out into the hot air. Taking the shovel with him, he moved away from the Dodge and stopped at the curb. She quickly followed him and looked in both directions before turning back toward the city center. Wyatt stepped up and followed her.
“What the hell are you doing?” she said.
“Going with you. I can’t let you go alone.”
She turned and shoved him away. “You idiot. I got out to get away from you. What sense does any of this make if you follow me?”
The truck door slammed shut and took her attention. Herb stepped away and moved to the back of the panel wagon. He grabbed the rear door and swung it open. Fishing around in the back, he finally pulled an electric 12-volt cooler toward him then dropped heavily onto the back gate and popped the top on a beer.
Both Wyatt and Susan watched him with open mouths.
“Don’t mind me,” Herb said. “Just having a break while you all sort this one out.”
“You’re having a beer?” she asked.
Herb held up the can and stared at it in an exaggerated way, shook his head, took another long drink, and then nodded. He looked at Wyatt and grinned. “And she calls us dummies.”
Wyatt shrugged and turned back, walking toward the Dodge. Before he was half way there, Herb tossed him a beer of his own. He popped the top and sat next to the old man.
“And now you two are just going to sit here and drink?” she asked.
“Why not?” Herb said before letting out a loud belch. “I thought you were leaving.”
She spun and looked back at them, shouting, “I cannot believe with everyone in this city, you two are all that’s left.” She looked up at the sky. “Anybody, anybody but these two!”
Wyatt tipped his head back and took a long drink of the cold beer. Susan, still in front of him, was waving her arms and yelling into the sky. Behind her, Wyatt spotted a trail of dust. He squinted into the sunlight, trying to focus through the waves of heat rolling over the pavement. As the object approached, he began to make out its shape. A large van was speeding toward them and it didn't appear as though the driver saw them.
“Ahh, Susan,” Wyatt said, pointing at the quickly approaching vehicle. Failing to hear him, she continued her prayer for someone to take her away.
Now Herb sees it too. “He isn’t stopping.” The old man shouts jumping to his feet, and running to get clear.
The van is so close Wyatt can now make out every detail. White with a green apple and red infinity symbol on the hood. The driver is weaving, slumped over the wheel. “Susan!” Wyatt shouts at her.
She stops and looks directly at him, “What!”
No time left he runs at her, she throws up her arms in a defensive stance as he tackles her, both of them flying to the side and rolling across the ground as the van collides with the back of the Dodge.
Chapter Six
“Get off your girlfriend, and help me; somebody is still alive in here,” Herb said.
Wyatt rolled to his side, moving away from Susan as she slowly opened her eyes and looked up at him. She pushed up to her elbows and took in the scene of the collision; the cargo van, twisted and smoking, was compacted with the crumpled remains of the Dodge, smoke already pouring from the front of the antique.
She turned back to Wyatt. “You saved me,” she said.
Wyatt shrugged. “Yeah, I guess I did.” He looked down at her and smiled.
“Come on, boy, get your ass over here,” Herb shouted again.
Susan grinned at him and said, “Go on, he needs your help.”
Wyatt rolled back to his feet and ran forward. The van completely pressed into the rear of the panel truck. The passenger doors crushed, Herb was by the long, sliding door of the van. As he got closer, he could hear moans from inside. Herb threw a shoulder at the door, causing the latch to give and the door break free.
“Gimme a hand, would ya?” Herb said, grunting as he shoved at the metal door. “I want to see the sun’ bitch that wrecked my truck.”
Wyatt wrapped his hands around the edge of the door and pulled back. Finally moving it onto the rollers, the door flew back freely and opened completely. He leaned in and could see the man strapped into the driver’s seat was hunched over the wheel. His arm was reaching back wildly, while his head rolled side to side.
“Are you okay?” Wyatt asked, pushing aside two large black duffle bags and climbing into the back of the van.
The man’s body shuddered as he tried to reach back to unfasten the seat belt. “Could ya bloody help me? I seem to be trapped here, mate.”
Wyatt stretched forward, preparing to unbuckle the seat belt, when he saw the man’s hand was a bleach white, the skin looking cold and translucent. Wyatt snapped his hand back. “Your skin? Are you bit?” he asked.
The man grunted and struggled to reach the belt. “Bloody hell, do I look bit?”
Herb pushed himself into the van and took a look at the man’s skin. “Damn, you’re about three shades brighter than snow.”
“Give me a break, mate,” the man said. “I’m British; we’re pale. Just get me out of this seat.”
Wyatt glanced across at Herb, looking for an answer. The old man shrugged and showed his palms.
“Will you just help him?” Susan said.
Wyatt turned back and saw her standing in the doorway. He nodded to her and looked to the injured man. He reached ahead and placed his hand on the seat belt latch. “Okay, just relax; we’re going to get you out,” he said.
Herb reached down and unsnapped the holster on his hip. “Just want ya to know, stranger, I got a gun on ya. Any funny business and you eat a bullet.”
The man put his hands up, allowing Wyatt to reach the seat belt. “Okay, okay, just get me out.”
Wyatt undid the buckle and let the man slide forward into the crushed dashboard. “Let me drag you out,” he said, stooping ahead and grabbing him before helping to slide him back and out of the seat. As he pulled the man into the passenger compartment, Herb lent a hand pulling the injured man from the vehicle and onto the street.
Outside of the vehicle in the sunlight, the man looked even worse. His skin was a pallid grey, a wide purple vein climbed up his neck, and his eyes were a putrid shade of yellow. Wyatt stepped back, his jaw dropping as he looked over the man’s sickly figure.
“He looks like one of them damn zombies,” Herb blurted out, then, pointing the pistol at the man, asked, “You sure you ain’t bit?”
“No, I already told you. Look,” he said, lifting his shirt. “I’m not bit.”
Herb holstered his pistol and circled around the man. “What the hell you doing driving like that? You nearly killed us!”
The man dipped his chin and rubbed the side of his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember. I must have fallen asleep maybe.”
Susan stepped toward the man. “Why are you out here? Where did you come from?”
Curling his lips, the sallow man looked up at her and licked his teeth. He stared coldly at her. “Do you have any food? Any meat?”
She backed away, her face showing unease with the man’s stare. Wyatt stepped in front of her, distracting him. He leaned in and looked him over, looked to Susan who was now standing closer to Herb, and then looked down at the man. “We don’t have any food.”
The man tensed up and flexed his fists. Wyatt heard a low moan and looked up, seeing a group of undead drawing closer, attracted by the sounds of the crash. “Can you walk?” he asked. “We need to get out of here.”
The man nodded. “I think so,” he said. He flattened his palms and pushed himself up to his feet. He staggered for a moment and then stepped back and rested against the van. “I have food and water in those bags. Would you gentlemen assist me with them?” he said.
Wyatt grabbed the first bag, slung it over his back, and went to step away when Herb stopped him, the old man pointed at the group of zombies closing in on them. Herb pointed at the ground and then at the smoking van. “That’s gas leaking. This area could go up anytime. We need to get out of here now. You go on up there and distract those things so I can get these fellas into that gas station and make sure it’s safe.”
Wyatt followed his hand. Behind them and off the road was a small one-story building. Old and abandoned, the pumps were still out front, but the store signs gone, the windows covered with sheets of plywood. Between them and the gas station were at least six zombies that Wyatt could see. They were spread out and stumbling ahead. The closest seemed to look at him with jelly eyes, its arms leading the way, open hands pumping and reaching for him.
“Can I have one of the guns?” Wyatt asked.
Herb shook his head. Taking the sick man’s second duffle bag from the van, he hoisted it up to his shoulder and turned to Wyatt. “Nope. You best get your shovel and lead the way. I’ll be right behind you with your girlfriend and Powder.”
“My name is Nigel,” the sick man said.
Herb nudged Nigel ahead of him. “Alright, Powder, we can save introductions for later, just calm yourself down, and let’s worry about staying on your feet,” he said, watching the man stumble ahead of him.
Susan quickened her pace, following close behind the pasty-skinned man. “Don’t worry about Herb; he doesn’t know any better.”
The old man grunted and turned back to Wyatt. “You need to get going boy, you need to clear us a path before more of those things show up.”
Wyatt swallowed and stepped off, taking large strides. As he moved directly toward the pack of zombies, he watched as they locked on. One at a time, each one corrected its course and moved directly toward him. Remembering the zombies from earlier, he stepped off to the right sharply and took off at a near jog. When he was sure they were following him, he stopped. As predicted, each of the things had now turned and locked onto his new position.
