As I began my approach, I heard Gus shooting behind me, and wished him well. I just hoped he was doing the same for me, ‘cause we both needed a little luck right at that moment.
Since there was no apparent easy approach, I just ran, shooting as I did, straight for the nearest zombies that were in my path to the house, parting them mofo’s like Moses did the Red Sea (if you’re stupid enough to believe that shit, ‘cause it was painfully obvious that neither God nor miracles existed - unless you consider the walking dead a miracle).
They were fuckin’ thick (like I prefer my women, oh yeah) in there, and I ran like a fool right in to the middle of them. Seemed to be a recurring theme - me rushing headlong into doom - but fuck it, what else was I gonna do, stay inside during the coolest (really, it was) thing to ever happen in my life? I mean, it’s real fuckin’ zombies, man! They were so fuckin’ thick that after I shot the first few, at the back of the pack, the rest I shot didn’t fall down, just got lodged, and I had to yank them outta my way so I could move forward. The hole I made to get through closed up right behind me as soon as I entered, and then I was trapped amongst the dead.
It became a knock-down, drag-out street brawl after that. Up until I was entombed, none of them zombies knew I was there - the fuckin’ bag-pipes were so loud that they drowned out my gunshots. As soon as that hole closed up and I started fighting and shooting my way through, though, they knew and it was on like Donkey Kong - only this dude wasn’t gonna get crushed by no stupid barrel. Fuck that shit! My name’s Dave, not Mario, muthafucka!
I shot three execution-style in the backs of their heads, then threw myself backwards ‘cause I felt a couple of them grab me and try to pull me in their direction - I just figured I’d help them out. I figured if this tactic works in fights with living people, throwing them off balance, the same rule would apply to these things, maybe more-so. Like I thought, they stumbled and lost their balance, but since it was so tight in there, they were kept from falling completely. Didn’t save them, though, ‘cause I quickly spun around and put one in the forehead of each.
As soon as I put one in the second zombie, I was grabbed again, this time from the left side, and had a few coming at me from the right, at the same motherfuckin’ time. Uh oh. Now, I don’t know why, but for some reason, I felt like being a little adventurous, trying things I had never done before. So, I figured I’d try to do a leg-sweep on the ones approaching from the left.
Must’ve been beginners luck or some shit, cause that leg-sweep was fuckin’ perfect! Two zombies in one fell swoop! I was getting torqued again. Couldn’t help it. The three from the right were coming in for the kill as I was rising out of the magnificence of the sweep, and I lunged right up at them. Fuck it. Street rules. Coming up out of the lunge, I swung my .40 as hard as I possibly could at the face of the one on the far right, caving that fuckers face in like Gallagher with a watermelon, slammed into to him (which was fuckin’ nasty ‘cause his face had been torn off, and the right side of his neck to his right nipple was a ragged, gaping wound), and the two of us slammed right into his buddies.
The three of us went down hard. It did not look good. Now, not only was I on the ground with five zombies, ‘cause the two I had swept hadn’t got up yet, the pack was closing in on top of me, as well. I rolled over the three I had went down with, shooting them in their faces as I did, and came off them onto my back. Right when I stopped rolling, a female zombie literally tripped over my feet and fell right on top of me, her head coming down right next to mine, like she wanted to share a deep dark, personal secret with me. Or lick and nibble on my ear, which is something I actually like a lot. But she didn’t, she just wanted to eat me. The fuckin’ tease.
This might sound bad, but she was pretty fuckin’ hot. I mean smokin’ hot. And she was naked. Seriously. As a jay-bird. What was even more fucked up, is that all she had wrong with her was a small scratch from a zombie on her right hand. What a fucking waste! Also, I still had a boner, from all the excitement, that was pressed up on her pussy. I didn’t know what to do - puke or cum.
Oh, well. I put the .40 to her left ear and ventilated that bitch. Unfortunately, I had to keep her body on top of me, ‘cause like I said, they were closing in fast. I was straight-up fuckin’ surrounded. I figured that since my legs and body were covered by her, I’d clear the ones coming at my head first. I shot two right under their chins, their bright, red blood geysering as the backs of their heads exploded outward. I shot at two more that were almost on top of me, but due to the angles of the shots and the zombies erratic movement, I only shot the chest of one and grazed the forehead of the other.
I quickly, and I mean very fucking quickly, adjusted my aim on the one closest (the chest-shot one) and pulled the trigger. The outcome was both good and bad. I blew the top of his head clean off, killing him - which was good. What was bad, was that my slide had locked back to the rear - I was out of fucking bullets! And my spare mags were stuck in my LBV between me and the hot-zombies sweet fuckin’ titties! I was fucked, for real this time.
I reached under her, accidentally squeezing a tit in the process (seriously, accidentally - I’m no freak), and rolled her off enough so I could get my hand in the pouch. The zombies were on me by then, and all I could do to try to keep them from biting me was to kick my feet and swing the .40 around with my free arm while I went for my mag. I was crying again - twice in one day - only this time for myself. Somebody call Guinness! I had just got the new mag in the .40, and had put the barrel to my own head - ‘cause there was no way I was gonna get myself out of that jam alive - when the thunder came. Sweet, blessed thunder!
The eight zombies (I couldn’t help but count them as they were trying to eat me) were thrown from me in a blaze of fire and blood - in two’s and three’s, arms and heads were blown clean from their bodies, their torso’s were separated from their hips - and I was saved. The air was glistening with their blood; the sun shined through the spraying mist and made the most oddly beautiful rainbow I had ever seen.
I laid there, even after the threat of the agonizingly slow and tortuous death that I was so close to have underwent had passed, unable to move and too tired to care to try. As I lay there listening to the shotgun go off all around me, to Gus yell in victory as he slay the horde, I couldn’t help but to take back something that I had thought earlier: that there was no such thing as miracles. There was.
But the miracle wasn’t the fact that I was still alive after all that crap (even though it was pretty fuckin’ amazing) or that Gus had somehow saved me, even though that was a part of it: the miracle was human perseverance. The fact that no matter how bad things got, no matter what obstacle was placed in humanity’s path, we would find a way to overcome it. We would fight, and we would persevere - or we would die trying. That was the fuckin’ miracle, people - that we would keep going, with the faith that a difference could be made, even against overwhelming odds.
Gus there was a prime example of humanity’s unwillingness to lay down and die, to keep on going, even though it was most likely for naught. The same could be said for me, after all the shit I had put myself through so far - risks taken not even for myself, but for the benefit of others (even though the outcome was sometimes grim). And if we were still fighting the good fight, I was sure that others were as well. Human beings always have been, and always will be some tough motherfuckers.
I picked myself up and joined Gus in the battle.
12
“Holy shit, Gus, that was fucking insane.”
“Tell me about it. Are you okay? I mean, did you get bit or anything?”
“Not that I know of. You?”
“No, me either. Whew!”
We were standing literally knee-deep in bodies, the both of us red with blood from head to toe. The entire yard was covered with the corpses of the undead, stacked three feet high against the house - the house that was freshly painted in red blood and black gore clear to the second-story windows. It was actually a very stupid thing
to have done, killing all those zombies, as we were both now running seriously low on ammo - but the blood-lust had taken over, and when that happens, it is almost impossible to ignore.
As we were surveying the carnage we had just brought down on the zombie fucks, the guy in the window spoke up for the first time sine we started our rampage towards his house.
“You know, guys, that was really some amazing shit. I am really, really touched that you guys did all this to help me, but…… it was for nothing. I’m sorry, but I’m going to meet my family. I told you… you, the taller guy. I told you I was going to meet my family even before all this started. I’m sorry.”
With that, he reached down out of sight, came up with what looked a .38, and shot himself in the temple. We both rushed for the front door, yelling for him to stop, not to do it, even though it was already done, and crashed through it into the house. Once inside, we saw the reason for all that cryptic “meet my family” talk. They were all lined up on the living room floor, dead, and it was apparent that they all had once been zombies.
We figured that since we were already in the house, we may as well see if it had something we could use in it. Hopefully some compatible bullets. We dragged the homes massive entertainment center in front of the door we had come through, and began our search. With our weapons ready, of course. You never can be too careful.
The bottom floor held nothing of great import, although there was assloads of food in the fridge, which we took a little time to partake of - plus a couple cans of beer each from the beer-pack. (Gus had the fore-sight to put both my packs on before he came to my rescue - one on his front, and one on his back. I was assuming that since he came without Linn that she was dead - especially since he was the one bringin’ tha muthafuckin’ thundah.)
After the beers were drank and our hunger was sated, we made our way upstairs. We figured we would leave the room with the dude for last, out of respect and shit, and ‘cause neither one of us really wanted to go in there anyway. We didn’t find anything of use in the upstairs rooms either, although we did find some weapons in the wife’s panty drawer - some fuckin’ massive horse-meat dildo’s. Fuckin’ nasty shit! That left us the death-room. We opened the door, slowly, walked in and stared in disbelief, mouths agape, at what we had just walked into. It was The Mother-load.
That stupid fuckin’ asshole could’ve lasted through this shit longer than god himself. He had so many weapons, with so many boxes and crates of ammo for each, he could’ve armed a small army. And yet, he hid himself in this little room with his stupid fuckin’ musical instruments, and drank himself stupid, then killed himself like a fuckin’ coward. I was so pissed I dragged his body to the window and threw it out for the zombies to eat. And there was still a couple out there, too. I guess we missed ‘em. “Bon appetit, bitches! Enjoy your free meal!” I yelled as they came over to the body and began feeding. I then shot ‘em both in their brain-pans with my .22. Now the yard was clear. Fuckers.
“Oh my god,” Gus said, laughing his ass off, “I can’t believe you just did that!”
“Well, he was a fuckin’ idiot. I don’t care if he missed his family. He should’ve kept going, not killed himself. The fuckin’ pussy. Oh well, at least we got a shit-ton more guns and bullets now.”
“Fuck yeah, we do. Merry Christmas, Dave!”
“Ho Ho Ho!”
I was happy with the weaponry I already had and didn’t feel the need to upgrade, so I reloaded all my empty mags, added a dozen more for each for my weapons, as the dude surprisingly had in the room many of the same weapons I had, and filled my pack as full as I could possibly get it with extra loose ammo (ammo not in magazines, just boxes). The pack was hardly filled before, but now it was almost too full.
Gus, however, only had the .45 for protection, as I had relinquished my scatter-gun and strapped that and my AR back to my now bursting-at-the-seams pack - going back to the .22 as my main weapon. I figured he wouldn’t mind, since he now had the pick of the litter. He stocked up on mags and rounds for the .45, then grabbed himself a sweet fuckin’ Mossberg 12 gauge, a 10/22 Ruger, and for shit’s and gig’s, a Desert Eagle .50 cal. hand-cannon. Why not?
He then left for a minute and came back with two backpacks, a Spider-man from the boys’ bedroom and a good-sized pack that was probably Music Mike’s, and proceeded to fill the bigger of the two with magazines and rounds for his new arsenal. He then followed suit and strapped the weapons he wouldn’t be using unless he absolutely had to - his Ruger and the Desert Eagle - to the pack. He also strapped a few bandolier’s of shotgun shells to it, and then put it on. I put mine on, too. With the extra pack, we filled it up with rounds for both our arsenals combined.
Satisfied we were good there, we headed back on down to the kitchen, where we filled the beer pack (pickin’s were getting’ pretty slim by then) with food-stuffs that didn’t require lots of work to prepare or was already prepared: shit like Ramen, snacks, jerky, hot dogs, and mac-and-cheese. Gus said he had plenty of brew’s at his place, so we didn’t bother with any of those.
After that, we strapped the two extra packs to our fronts (they were a little uncomfortable, but it was shit we needed), and went to the front window that faces the yard to scope out the situation outside. Seeing that it was relatively clear-ish, we moved the entertainment center out of the way, went back to the fridge and got a couple beers, came back to the door and stepped out onto the front porch.
13
Like Gus had said earlier, we were only half way there. And now we were on foot. I didn’t doubt that we’d make it for a second. Fuck that shit. Once you start doubting yourself, that’s when shit stops getting done. We were gonna finish this little walk in the park, even though it was a park full of walking, hungry teeth.
We stood there in the shadows of the porch roof, savoring the delicious beers we had got from the fridge - Stella Artois, a strangely yummy beer, despite the gay-ass fuckin’ name - and watched the zombies drift by out on the street and through the yard by the sidewalk. They didn’t see us, and we made no attempt to make our presence known. It was an oddly peaceful moment. If you squinted your eyes and didn’t look directly at the zombies, you would think that it was just another day, that things were normal in the world. But it wasn’t, and they weren’t.
With the dee-lish brewage done, we made sure our shit was squared away, and began the final leg of our journey to Gus’s. Since my weapon had a greater capacity than Gus’s and was a quicker-firing weapon, I decided to take point. Plus, I had years of military experience under my belt, in similar situations (just without zombies, but just as deadly). We made for the wood line that bordered the property on its west side. Once there, we hugged the trees, trying to blend in as we crouch-jogged to the street. So far, so good.
At the sidewalk, I stopped our advance with a raised fist and a palm lowered to the ground (halt forward progress and crouch to a knee, in the aaaaAaaarmy), and turned to Gus, making the look-out and direction gestures with my fingers. He must’ve seen the same movies I did, ‘cause he was already on a knee, and he nodded and shifted his crouched-position so he faced the opposite direction I was facing. 360 security, just like that. Fuckin’ A.
The street ahead looked clear, and it was time to move. I reached back with my left hand, and patted Gus on his hip to let him know we were ready to roll. We rose from our crouch’s and jogged to the street and across a little creek bridge, then once across, I led us to cover behind a tipped-over U-Haul van that was on the sidewalk.
For some odd reason, the street was nearly bare of zombies, except for the ones like Gus and I had seen from the porch - two’s and three’s just ambling along, minding their own bee’s-wax. We weren’t complaining about it, though, it was just a little weird. We found out why when we got to the intersection of Pulaski and Shooting Park.
A couple blocks down Pulaski, in the middle of the street, there were survivors - just like us - stranded atop a tipped over semi-trailer. And they were fuckin’ surr
ounded on all sides by hundreds of moaning, ravenous zombies.
That really explained things.
We were gonna get involved, we knew that without even consulting one another. Those people down there were in a very bad situation, and there was no way either of us could walk away without trying to help. And if we had to run away, at least we knew the way was clear, since it seemed like every zombie in the area was converged on the circle of survivors down the street.
We both took our packs off, and began to get our shit together: I swapped out my .22 with the 12 gauge, since I figured I’d need a wide fuckin’ blast radius so that combined with Gus’s, we could blow a big enough hole through the zombies for the people to try and get out through. I then put the pack back on, and took all my shotgun shells from the pouches on my LBV (since the front pack was on top of them) and put them in the front packs’ pouch, so I would just have to reach in and load away. Gus took the bandolier’s of shells off the pack on his back and strapped them on his front pack, since he needed them within reach - as the front pack was the lighter one - and put both of those back on. In about five minutes, we were ready to rock.
“Ready for this shit, Gus?”
“As ready as I’m ever going to be, I guess.”
“Same here. Let’s do this.”
Off we went, towards the biggest fuckin’ horde yet - even bigger than the one that had chased Jamie and I earlier. I mean, this horde was huge! We had to have been crazy or something to be running towards that shit instead of away, but there we were. Oh well, I thought, you only live once. May as well go out trying to do something great.
We got right to their backs before we opened fire. The zombie fucks were so engrossed with getting to the Tootsie Roll center, they didn’t notice that death had come a-calling, in the guise of two blood-covered, shotgun-toting psychopaths.
We both initially pulled the triggers at the same exact time, then again and again, not, tearing the zombies closest to us to fuckin’ shreds. We weren’t exactly going for out-right kills - just looking to clear a path - but we definitely weren’t against it if their heads got blown the fuck off, which happened more often than not.
A.K.A. No Time for a Love Story (Book 1): Just Another Day Page 5
