Chris nodded.
In a way, it felt rushed, but what else could they do? With the message delivered and understood, Chris found himself leading Steve and Stephanie through the kitchen and out the backdoor. In a way, he felt that maybe this would end up worse than his dream had, and all of it was happening before he had the opportunity to brush his teeth.
* * *
“Where the hell are they, dude? I don’t see them!”
“I don’t see them either, man.”
“Maybe we should honk the horn?”
It had taken nearly an hour and fifteen minutes for them to circle just six blocks, before reaching the car. They could have probably arrived sooner, but they decided it was better to add an extra block or two between them and the growing mob on Stephanie’s street. Staying close to adjoining houses, and jumping fences from backyard to backyard, kept them out of harm’s way. However, doing that didn’t make things easy sailing by any means. More than once, they came across a handful of lingering ghouls not yet attracted to the cries of their brothers. Rather than risking being noticed during a confrontation, they found themselves waiting out each set of zombies in their path. It only deterred them a few times, but each encounter added minutes to the plan. Hiding behind sheds and fences got old quickly. Sometimes, Chris threw a rock to create a diversion. The noise attracted the undead creatures and led them away. Finally, the car was in sight. It was exactly where they had left it. A few zombies stood around in the streets about fifteen to twenty feet from the car. Chris wasn’t concerned with that. They just needed to get in and get out, which is what they did. With the car key at the ready, they darted past the dead and jumped into the car before anything could grab them.
Diverting the dead away from the houses had been another thing entirely. Luckily, the car had half a tank before they started, otherwise, they might have ended up stuck in the vehicle with a wall of the undead at their sides. The first pass that the car made wasn’t even all the way up the street and Chris wasn’t sure if the couple on the roof could see them. One thing was certain; the car could be heard, if not by the people on the roof, then definitely by the dead. With several long drawn out blasts from the horn and revving of the engine, zombies started to take notice. At first, Chris wasn’t sure if it was going to work, because the ghouls were fixated on the people on the roof. After a while, many did take an enthusiastic interest in the car and its occupants.
With three dozen ghouls slowly on the march, the car crawled down the street away from the houses, leading a good number away. Nearly four trips and two hours later, the plan had worked. The threat was incredibly thinned out. Not entirely, but well enough for the daring rescue escape. Although things were working as planned, the fuel was getting pretty high on the needs list. By now, the car was practically down to fumes. Time was a precious commodity and they were running low.
“Seriously, where the hell are they?” Chris said, punching the car ceiling from inside. He glanced in the rearview mirror. A few zombies were headed toward them, but no major threat, considering what things had looked like when he first woke up. Luckily, their numbers weren’t growing…yet.
Stephanie reached over Chris from the backseat and honked the horn.
“Hey, what the hell? Just give it a second, all right.” Chris glared at her in the rearview mirror. He was getting uneasy. He glanced in the side mirror again, but he saw nothing different in the street behind them.
“No way, it’s taking them this long to get off the roof. Something’s up,” Steve said.
“I agree with Steve, I’m going in.” Before Chris could talk her down, her car door jerked open. With rifle in hand, she briskly jogged toward the neighbor’s house, while scanning left and right.
“Son of a bitch!” Chris said. “You coming?” he asked Steve, just as his door swung open.
“Do I have a choice?”
“Just don’t drive off without us, all right.”
“What the hell makes you think I would be like that, dude?” Steve gripped his bat tightly, having taken offense to Chris’ comment.
“Just in case,” Chris said. He turned back, yanking the keys from the ignition and waved them for Steve to see, and then started for the house.
“Seriously, man?” Steve hissed incredulously under his breath, while looking around at the neighborhood. “This is such a stupid idea.” Exiting the car, he rushed to catch up with Chris.
“Hello…hello…Stephanie!” Chris called out through the house, but couldn’t see anyone and he heard nothing.
The house was silent. A cool breeze fluttered through the entryway from up ahead. Chris thought of the ghouls that had gained access to the house. A window must be busted or a door leading outside open. Not only that, but the likelihood that a few rancid zombies were still lingering around inside was a possibility. Having been unable to exit the home in time to chase after the pink vehicle would have left them aimlessly wandering about inside.
As if to confirm his suspicions, a thick, yet brief, draft blew from the hallway a few feet ahead. With it came the stench. Rotting putrid sourness reached his nostrils. The stench was so bad that it stung his eyes. There were still some undead in the house, and there was no telling how many. Just as he left the entryway, entering the first room, something grabbed his shoulder. Chris’ heart skipped a beat as he swung around at full alert. With pistol drawn, he jumped back ready to fire.
“Hey, hey, hey…It’s just me, dude.” Steve stood there looking about ready to crap a brick. His wide eyes and pale expression might have been humorous in another life, before all of this.
“What the hell, man!” Chris lowered the gun.
“Sorry . . . Figured you could use a hand,” he said, scanning the living room and slapping the bat into an open palm.
“Just keep your eyes open, okay? There are dead walking around in here!”
“How do you know that?” Steve said, looking more concerned than before.
Just as Chris’ mouth opened to speak, a loud scream came from the other side of the house.
“Stephanie!” Chris shouted.
Chris and Steve darted through the living room and down a narrow hallway. The scream sounded as if it was coming from the last door of the long hall. It was probably the master bedroom. On each side of the hall were five doors. At the very end, on the wall, facing Chris, was a full length mirror. He watched himself get closer as they stopped in front of the last door. They could hear voices.
“Stephanie!” Chris called.
Just as Chris passed the hallway bathroom, a zombie leaped out getting between him and Steve. As it lunged forward, it knocked Chris off balance. He dropped the handgun to the floor. A muffled thud rang out as the gun was kicked across the carpet and collided with the closest wall.
“Chris!” Steve cried.
The creature’s mouth was wide, not from a snarling pursuit, but from something much worse. Something had reached into this dead man’s mouth and pulled up his insides. The swollen oral cavity leaked pus and visceral waste. Intestines strung from deep within the throat dangled free past its lips. A large meaty sack of bloody fluid hung just above the floor as it crept forward. As the ghoul tried to call out, more of its innards came up, letting the exposed stomach sack reach the carpet. The creature’s next step landed on the bag and ruptured it. Blood, mangled remains of a previous victim, and the stench of rotting decay splashed across the floor and along the walls. The wet slopping sound made Chris want to vomit. The weight of the ghoul’s step as it came down on its own stomach yanked free more filth from inside its mouth. Chris and Steve heard something snap and tear like a dozen rubber bands inside the creature. With that sound, came the last of what remained lodged in its throat. It tumbled to the floor along with everything else that had previously hung from its dead lips. It cried out for flesh, the vocal cords no longer restrained by the hanging meaty substance. Even with its stomach splattered across the floor and stomped on, it still craved. It still had the need to fe
ed.
Steve fell back on the floor with his bat still in hand. He lost it. Vomit rushed up like a volcano spewing lava. There was nothing he could do to keep it down. The splashing wet sound of puke landed across his chest. “Fucking hell!”
The zombie shambled toward Steve.
Chris fumbled with the gun on the floor. Just as he brought it up to line up the sights, the door behind him swung open. Desperation and angst gripped Chris by a single thread as he turned. He had to save his friend or chance fending off the ghoul that was coming at him from behind.
“Get down!”
Chris turned to face the creature. He was more startled that it wasn’t a zombie. It was a man coming at him and pointing a gun in his direction!
“Get down, I said!” The man shouted. It was the older man from the roof.
Chris quickly stepped aside. The man wearing a long sleeve flannel shirt stepped past Chris with the handgun drawn. Two shots quickly rang out. With the gun’s report, the zombie went down on Steve, as it slumped to the floor, immobilized. Both shots had been a direct hit to the back of the skull.
Steve screamed as the creature fell forward. Scrambling backward on his ass as fast as he could, the zombie fell dead at his feet. Smoke rose from the small bullet-sized openings on the back of the creatures head. Steve jumped to his feet, looking down at his vomit-covered shirt. “Looks like I might need to get a new one, yeah?” He wiped his mouth on his shirtsleeve.
Another shot echoed out. Steve shook with fear; feeling the air move from the bullet zipping right past his head. A loud thud shook at his side. He quickly turned and saw another dead zombie at his feet that must have been coming up behind him from the living room. “Shit . . . I’m not so sure Rambo here needed our help,” Steve said, stepping away from the corpses and toward the gunman and Chris. “Who the hell are you?”
“Names Brady, Brady Bingham. And trust me boy, that stunt you all pulled with that car was something else. Saved our lives, ya did. I owe ya one. But enough with all that. Now’s not the time for small talk. We needs to get Timmy to the hospital. He’s real sick. Nan and me were babysitting for the neighbors, when all this went to shit, and they never came back from work. I fear the worst for ‘em. They might be dead.”
“What’s wrong with the kid?” Chris asked.
But before Brady could say anything, a loud scream called out from within the master bedroom. It was Stephanie. A single loud rifle report followed, then more screaming. The three men quickly entered the room to an unimaginable sight. The young boy lay dead on the floor, bleeding out from a single shot to the head. His Thor-hammer toy lay motionless beside him. In the far corner of the room, Stephanie stood trembling in fear with her rifle still aimed in the boy’s direction.
“Nan, are you alright?” Brady rushed to his wife’s aid.
She stood at the closet putting on a thick green jacket. “I’m fine. I’m fine.” She looked woozy and pale. Her eyes were dark with shock and fear as she stood trembling. “I’m okay, Brady. Just a little shaken up is all. She saved my life.” Nan pointed across the room to a still startled Stephanie.
“The boy . . . I just shot a little boy.” Stephanie’s words were so low that Chris almost couldn’t even hear them, even though he was standing right next to her.
Taking the rifle from her grip and easing it to the floor, Chris pulled her in close to his chest. “It’s alright. You did what you had to do. You were brave. You saved someone’s life.”
She just leaned into his chest, frozen in shock.
“What did you say was wrong with him?” Chris asked, looking at the dead child on the floor. Blood oozed out from the bullet hole soaking into the light brown carpet.
“One of those things,” Brady said looking at the window. “Scratched him pretty good early sometime yesterday. He started feeling sick soon after.”
Everyone looked down at the dead child in silence. He was so young and innocent. Chris thought back to seeing the kid on the roof playing with his toy. He could remember being that age. Playing with toys and pretending to be Wolverine or Superman. His mom would make capes out of bath towels. It seemed like forever, but someone finally broke the ice.
“Well shit, dude! Got anything to eat?” Steve stood shirtless at the door, looking into the room; his pastel skinny figure barely crowding the doorway. With all eyes suddenly on him, he shrugged. “What? It’s getting late and I haven’t eaten yet.” His eyes glanced down at his nonexistent wristwatch.
“He’s right,” Chris said still comforting Stephanie. “It’s going to be dark before we know it. If we’re going to move, we need to get to it.” He looked toward the bedroom window and then back at Brady. “How much daylight do you think we have?”
“Probably three hours at best.”
“Well, the car needs gas and if we intend to refuel, I’d like to take care of that before it gets dark,” Chris said. “You don’t have a vehicle, do you?”
“No, we sure don’t,” Brady confirmed. “Mine was in the shop and Nan’s…well, Nan’s was taken.”
“Taken? What do you mean, taken?” Steve glanced out at the brutal and bloody carnage in the hallway, and then stepped fully into the room.
“Yesterday, before dark…” Nan had started, but then Brady cut her off.
“Yesterday, before dark, the National Guard came through. We for sure as shit thought we was gettin’ picked up, but was wrong. Something like twenty trucks rolled through settin’ stuff on fire. People…loads of people were exiting these trucks on foot and rummaging through the houses for God knows what. Food, weapons, supplies. Hell, I don’t know. Anyways, we almost went out into the street to call out to them for help.”
“Why didn’t you?” Stephanie asked having finally come to her senses some.
“We almost did,” Nan said. “The people a few houses down from us were thinking the same thing.”
“Yeah, and we watched them get gunned down in cold blooded murder,” Brady snarled.
Chris, Stephanie, and Steve all gasped. Disbelief shone in their eyes.
“It’s true,” Nan agreed with disgust.
“Alls’ I can figure is they either thought those people were dead, which don’t make no sense. Dead people don’t talk and wave you over for help. Or the National Guard ain’t no good. Maybe the world’s done went to shit so quick that people are just taking advantage of things. What’s yours is mine and what’s mine is mine. When they reached the end of the block and started to hit this house, the dead outside got too heavy for them to handle. They got away with Nan’s car and a few useless things in the yard.”
“That definitely makes me question the rescue station idea,” Chris said under his breath.
“I don’t mean to rain on the parade, but can we please continue this little chat elsewhere?” Steve pointed at the dead child on the floor in the center of the room. “That’s kind of freaking me out.”
“Yeah, we’re burning daylight anyway. And the longer we sit around, the more of those things that are going to show up out front.” Although Chris felt peaceful with Stephanie in his arms, he let her go. “Let’s load up and worry about getting gas in the car first. We can formulate a plan as we go.”
“I like your thinkin’, son.” Brady smiled.
“My name is Chris Commons.” He reached out and shook Brady’s hand. “And this is Steve and Stephanie. I take it your name is Nan?” He reached out to shake her hand also.
She nodded, her palms sweaty.
“Now that we’re all buddy-buddy, let’s get the hell outta Dodge, yo. I’m starving,” Steve snorted.
Nan and Brady both glanced at one another with some type of unspoken agreement.
“Let me grab a thing or two and we’re set,” Brady said, slinging the large black duffle bag onto the bed. Its contents clinked as it bounced on the bed.
“What the hell you got in there?” Steve asked.
“Guns! And lots of ammo to go with ‘em!” Brady grinned with satisfaction, unzi
pped the duffle bag and retrieved a clip. He changed the magazine in his handgun and then holstered it at the hip. Flinging the heavy bag around his shoulder, he stepped next to Steve by the door and grabbed his rifle.
“What about me, dude? I don’t get a gun?” Steve disapprovingly waved his blood dried and red covered bat. “This thing’s a joke, Rambo!”
Brady laughed at Steve’s use of the reference. “I ain’t no Rambo, boy. I’m just a gun enthusiast. This is Texas.”
“You’ll have to excuse them. They’re not from around here,” Stephanie frowned.
“Tennessee,” Chris informed with a smile.
“A Yankee?” Eyeing Nan for consent, Brady reluctantly took the bag off, retrieving a small handgun much like the one he had holstered to his hip. “I assume you can figure out how to use this thing,” he said, handing the gun to Steve. “You sure are a strange lookin’ fella. Are those women’s pants you’re wearin’?” Brady shook his head, handing over a clip as well.
“Hells effing yeah!” Steve grinned with appreciation at the gun.
“That there is an HK-P30 semi-automatic pistol, 9mm. I got me the chrome edition. Came out just this last year,” Brady said, patting down his holstered gun. The silver shined against the light coming in through the bedroom window.
“You wouldn’t happen to have some ammunition for this one, would you?” Chris asked. “I’m about out, I think.”
“What you packin’?” Brady reached out, taking Chris’ handgun. “The MP357 Auto, Smith and Wesson. Not the best weapon, but a reliable one. You’re in luck son. It ain’t quite the same as this one, but they do take the same bullets.” He reached into the bag and pulled out another handgun. “The fancy dancin’ P2000 SK 9mm. Just feels natural you know,” he said, bouncing the gun in his hand. “Here, just trade this one for right now and we’ll swap ‘em out later.”
Chris nodded his understanding and his thanks.
“Seriously now, that’s my oldest and sweetest handgun. It’d be a shame to see her come up missin’.” Brady zipped up the pack and slung it over his shoulder once more.
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