“Wait a second,” Jesse scorned. “I thought you were volunteering to go out tomorrow on the National Guard mission. You need to man the fuck up!”
“That was different,” Gil argued. “I was going to be the driver. Safe behind the wheel. No one said anything about me walking around out there with them tomorrow. I just saw it as my way out of here and first in line to get picked up by the Military.”
Jesse just glared the man down. “Seriously, Gil?”
“If you aren’t going out there, then I want your weapon.” Chris reached his hand out, gesturing for Gil to hand over his handgun.
Gil didn’t budge. He stared up at Chris like an elder to a dismissible child.
Jesse flexed his chest and bowed up at Gil. “We don’t have time for this shit!” The tribal designs bent and stretched with the curvature of his blocky figure. “You want to be a pussy and stay here, that’s fine. But I’m going to have to ask for the gun! Give it up now!”
“Fine!” Gil blasted back. “Here, I didn’t want the damn thing anyway!”
“Got any extra ammo for it?” Chris asked taking the handgun.
Gil shrugged.
“Here, let me see that,” Brady said. “Nine mil.” He bent down and started rifling through the bundle of ammunition on the floor next to the desk. He knew exactly what he was looking for and quickly came away with two small boxes for Chris. “Here, this should cover you for a spell. Probably close to fifty rounds.”
Chris checked the gun. It was loaded down. He didn’t much like the idea of not having an extra clip, but it was better than nothing. He smiled at Brady, took the boxes and shoved them into his front pockets. They bulged like thick cigarette packs. Silently, Chris laughed at the sight to himself. He hated smokers. Didn’t find it attractive at all.
At least, Stephanie doesn’t smoke, he thought.
“So is everybody good?” Jesse was standing at the door ready to step out into the rain.
Chris looked up at Jesse, then down at Phillips, who lay slowly dying on the floor. His red hair was disheveled and bloody gore was splattered on it. Jesse’s shirt now knotted around the policeman’s gnawed hand was soaked with blood. He had passed out, waiting to become one of them.
“What about him?” Chris said pointing at Phillips. “He’s already dead. You guys do realize that, right?” Chris looked down at Brady’s rifle and nodded. “Somebody has to do it. He’s going to turn.”
“Hell, Gil’s the one staying behind. Let him do it,” Jesse scoffed, still standing at the door ready to leave.
“Hey, ‘F’ you pal.” Gil was slumped on the couch and flipped Jesse the bird.
Chris had a bad feeling about Gil. Not only did he not know much of anything about the guy, other than his name, the dude came off as a total whack job. One of those nuts that flips under pressure. Guys like Gil were the ones who got everyone else killed. Chris would feel better the sooner they parted company.
“We ain’t got time for none’a this ‘who’s gonna do it’ nonsense. I got’s to get to Nan before one of them things does.” Brady aimed his rifle at the freckled policeman.
Chris could tell that Brady regretted what he was about to do. Maybe first impressions weren’t everything, but Phillips had turned out to be a nice guy. Chris hated to see the cop go like this. He didn’t deserve any of it. No one did. Brady shoved the rifle against Phillips’ forehead, looked away, and closed his eyes and mouth. As he pulled the trigger, Chris wondered if Nan really was one of them or not. Was Brady in denial or was there really a chance that she was still alive? The shot rang out, shortly followed by a wet squish of brain and skull fragments. Pink matter violently exited the back of Phillips’ head against the wall. Phillips slid down the wall that he was leaned against. A red trail of viscera and bloody brain streaked the wall as he slid to rest on the floor. No one said a thing. At least the Irishman was passed out and didn’t know it was coming. Hell, Chris didn’t even know if the guy was Irish; he just assumed it. The cop sure as hell looked the part, but that didn’t matter now. What really did matter was survival. In the end, they were all most likely destined for the same fate. It ate at Chris on the inside. He didn’t want to know when it would be his turn.
As Jesse opened the church’s restoration trailer door and stepped out into the rain, Chris prayed a silent prayer. If he was going to meet his end tonight, he didn’t want it to be something like Phillips or Father Clark. He hoped it would be quick and painless.
* * *
It was surprisingly dark outside. The rain was falling hard and an occasional flash of lightning in the sky would light up the Catholic school. The main gate hadn’t been breached, which was a major relief. The gunfire and activity inside the trailer had however stirred the ghouls up on the other side of the fence line. Along with their heavy steps against the pavement, Chris and the others heard the belligerent moans of the dead behind them as they moved forward. Jesse led them across the parking lot away from the trailer. With Brady following up at the rear, Chris clung tightly to his pistol with rain-drenched fingers. He was soaked, as they all were. His eyes frantically scanned the cars around them as they made their way toward the courtyard entrance. The sudden sparks of light from the sky illuminated several brick buildings to their right. Shadows of the three men appeared out of thin air against the mortar and slab. Chris jumped from simultaneously seeing his shadow and hearing the thunder crash over them. His nerves were getting the best of him yet again. He just hoped that Jesse and Brady were a bit more up to the challenge than he was. He knew he needed them more than they needed him. As much as he thought that would bother him, it didn’t.
“Shhh . . .” Jesse waved his hand back at Chris, the stomps of his big boots against cement coming to a stop.
They were at the entryway to the courtyard. Jesse glanced in quick with gun at the ready. Looking back at Brady and Chris, he said, “I don’t see anybody. A flashlight would be nice, though. I can only see so far out in the dark and this rain isn’t helping at all. Looks clear as far as I can see.”
“I should have a light in my pack,” Brady said. “I’ll lead the way. It’s at the back of the courtyard by that there wishin’ well,” he whispered and pointed to the back row of cots.
Chris and Jesse nodded, letting the old man take the lead. Crouched low, the three men stuck close to the left wall, easing their way toward Brady’s things. The yard was quiet aside from the sound of rushing water as it beat down on them from the sky. At least that was helping to cover the noise they were making. They passed three rows of cots and saw no one. Personal belongings and blankets left to soak in the rain were scattered everywhere. Chris eyed the door leading to the medic hallway and thought real hard about making for it. Steve and Stephanie had to be in there and he needed to get to them.
However, before he could make his move Brady tugged him on the shoulder. “Bravery can sometimes be a foolish move, son. We do this together, all right?”
“Where the hell is everybody at?” Chris said. “If something was going down, you would think they would have all fled to out here or something.”
“No tellin’, boy.”
“Ha . . . I’m not a little boy, old man. Just in case you didn’t notice.” Chris waved his pistol in the air.
“Shh . . . What the hell was that?” Jesse threw a fist up between Brady and Chris’ little spat.
The other two men heard it as well. Across from where they were standing, on the opposite side of the yard, the faint sounds of slopping and grunting hisses rang out over the falling rain.
As they all looked on, trying to peer through the inky black, Chris pointed toward the noise. “We check the noise first. Flashlight later.”
Chris stepped away from the left wall and began to walk briskly toward the horrifyingly familiar sound. He despised that sound. He wished he didn’t already know what it was. He wanted more than anything to be wrong, but his imagination wouldn’t let him. He heard sudden rustling behind him and he looked back. I
t was his two counterparts following with their weapons drawn. Chris’ heart began to race. He knew it was going to be something bad. It could be Steve sprawled over Stephanie tearing her guts out or Stephanie devouring one of the familiar faces Chris studied during the courtyard meeting.
It was none of those, but Chris did recognize the woman even after death. Chris walked up to her quietly to get better aim in the dark. She was kneeling down and munching on one of the homeless men. His tattered clothing and dirty unkempt beard was unmistakable. He wasn’t moving. He was surely dead, his flesh still pleasingly warm to the undead woman feasting on his remains. She suddenly acknowledged Chris’ presence. She turned her head up toward him with snarling teeth and soaked straight hair. Her clothes were drenched tight to her small frame, the rain still coming down heavy. Meaty chunks of grotesque bile dripped from her bloody, dirt covered fingers. She was without a doubt the grieving woman that Nan had been sent with to console. Her eyes were glazed milky white and she glared at Chris with a soulless gaze of pure emptiness. She wasn’t interested in Chris at all and she went back to her meal. The homeless man had been mangled to ribbons. Loose tendrils barely clung to bone. She hadn’t done this by herself. It was impossible. This homeless man was food for others and this poor undead woman was the only one who decided to stick around munching on the scraps. Blood and scattered remains littered the ground around her. Bloody footprints, not yet completely washed away by the rain, were amongst the gore suggesting at least two more ghouls, but Chris was no tracker. There was no sure way to tell how many there might be still lingering close by. He looked around wondering where the other zombies were and who they might turn out to be. Chris had a pretty good idea of one and was afraid for Brady’s sake.
With the feasting woman’s slurps and grunts overpowering Jesse’s faint voice, Chris heard him call out from behind “Shoot the bitch, already!”
Chris couldn’t do it; not yet. He was too busy scanning the rest of the yard for more of the undead. It was just too dark and although his eyes had adjusted, the falling rain was making it almost impossible to see.
“What the hell’s the hold up, son?” Brady whispered.
“Just wait…” Chris raised a hand. “I think there’s more…”
Before Chris had the chance to really explain, Brady walked up from behind him with his rifle in position. He lifted it up and fired two shots. One shot hit the undead ghoul feasting on putrid gore. The report sent her down face first in the muddy grass. The second shot went right between the eyes of the homeless meal. The shot obliterated what was left of the man’s nose into dust. The rifle fire echoed off the buildings around them.
“What the hell was that for?” Jesse asked.
“Safer than sorry, I always say.” Brady said without any emotion. He dispensed the empty rifle shells and then drove another one home. “If I get eaten on, I don’t much care’s to come back. I give you permission to blow my brains out, you hear?”
“I hear that,” Jesse agreed with a heavy sigh.
“My pack should only be a few paces that way. Let’s get the light, get the people we needs to get and get the hell out a Dodge.” Brady started to walk away from the two unmoving corpses. “I wouldn’t mind gettin’ the hell outta this rain too.”
“Wait a second…” Chris called out, but it was too late.
The gunfire had drawn the attention of those still lingering around in the courtyard.
Brady didn’t see her until she was almost right on top of him. The noise of the rain had covered her silent movements. As she lunged forward, there was something large dangling in her right hand. Her eyes were black with running mascara and blood as the rain beat down on her sneering face. Her free hand reached out at Brady, grabbing hold of his rifle. As her right hand took away the rifle, the men could see bite marks and missing skin all up her arm. It was as if some cruel person had flayed the skin away from bone. Brady let go of the gun as she dashed at him with gnashing intent. He sidestepped and pushed her away, instantly reaching for his sidearm.
Jesse gasped. Not because the zombie’s attention was suddenly diverted toward him, but because of what she was wielding in her hand. It was a baby. The baby that Jesse had rescued and taken care of for the last half a week to be exact. Jesse froze. It was dead and mutilated. It was missing both feet and its skull was crushed to red pulp. Its small limp frame flapped about like rags in the undead woman’s hand as she attacked Jesse. Dropping the rifle, it held tight to the infant corpse. The undead woman fell on top of Jesse with rage. Jesse didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t think. Disbelief stopped his limbs from action. He didn’t fight the woman away at all. His eyes never left the horrific sight of the child. She just fell on him and the big man folded under her. Her already meat-stained teeth met flesh as Jesse fell to his back in the mud. The undead lady tore into his gullet pulling away his windpipe and the skin ripped back like rubber. She refused to release the crushed and battered infant as she feasted. Jesse lay there silently bleeding out as the woman viciously continued to tear away meaty bites from his neck. His eyes were unmoving, fixed with shock.
“Holy shit!” Chris yelled.
He raised his pistol and fired. He fired over and over again. The continuous volley of fire echoed in the distance. As each shot struck home, Chris watched in horror as the bullets did their close range damage to the feasting ghoul’s back. Her back jerked and pivoted with each shot as a bloody display of pus ejected with each bullet’s entry. He lost control. He just kept firing one after another. Panic had set in. The gun locked with a clicking sound as he pulled the trigger.
“I’m out, Brady!” Chris yelled, looking back for the old man.
He wasn’t there. In fact, he wasn’t anywhere.
“Oh shit,” Chris winced, as he reached in his pocket for a box of ammunition.
The woman wasn’t dead. After all of those frantic shots, he hadn’t put one in the brain. Fuck—Fuck—Fuck . . . . She was getting up and turning toward Chris. Fumbling with the box of bullets, Chris started to walk backwards. His eyes darted around for Brady. He still couldn’t see the old man anywhere. The rain still wasn’t letting up and it was too hard to see anything.
Where the hell did you go, old fart?
As the undead woman stood, she dropped the lifeless baby to the ground. It dropped flat to the wet, muddy grass, like a wet sack, making a loud splat. Both of her arms reached out as she started her slow decent toward Chris. Just as he ejected the empty clip to begin reloading, a shot rang out in the distance. It had to have been Brady who fired. Startled, Chris dropped the clip. Its flat black metal instantly vanished in the muddy dirt at his feet. Chris dropped to his knees, desperately sifting through the murky grass and mud.
Come on, Chris…Come on…Were the hell are you at you piece of crap?
He looked up for a second, his hands still filtering through the muck. She was getting closer, her eyes furious with hunger. Drool and blood from Jesse’s body ground between her teeth. Chris glanced past his undead assaulter and saw Jesse’s dead body writhing on the ground. The electrical impulses in the buff man’s tattooed body jerked with protest, each limb pulsating as he bled to death in the dirt.
“Hell’s yeah!” Chris’ hand met metal. He retrieved the empty clip. He jumped to his feet, but he didn’t have time to mess with the ammunition. The zombie reared its head forward, standing almost right on top of Chris. He dropped the box of bullets as she grabbed him. Pushing her away with both hands, he hit her in the head with his gun. The bullets collided with the ground scattering everywhere. Off balance, she stumbled backwards and Chris shoved the clip into his back pocket. A hand reached out from behind him taking hold of his shoulder with a firm forceful grip. It tugged him down abruptly. His eyes went dark with fear. This was it and he knew it. He was done. As he looked up to meet the teeth that were surly descending upon him, he was excited to see Brady illuminated by a dark silhouette. The old man was holding a flashlight. He pushed Chris down and out of
his line of fire. Brady’s shiny chrome handgun gleamed against the flashlight beam’s poor lighting as he aimed. With the gun raised at the dead attacker, he grimaced with disgust. She had gained her footing and she was at it again, eager to sink her teeth into Chris’ meaty body.
Chris smiled. “You’re the shit, Brady!” His voice was drowned out by one loud report.
Brady’s pistol jerked in his grip, sending the undead woman to her knees. Blood oozed from a hole in her head. It hadn’t been dead center, but it was dead enough. The woman slumped to the ground immobilized.
“Thanks, man.” Chris reached up for a hand off the ground.
Helping Chris up, Brady said, “Any reason we need to stick around out here?”
“Hell no, dude. Let’s get out of here before we end up on the fucking menu.” With gun in hand, Chris checked his back pocket. The empty clip was still there. “I think Nan was with these people. You do realize what that could mean, right?”
Brady ignored the comment. “I can’t speak for everybody. There ain’t no tellin’ where all these people ran off to or what happened, but I do know Nan. She would have gone to check on Stephanie and your friend Steve. We start there!” Brady’s voice was stern. “We meet up with them and get the hell out a here!”
“No complaints there, my man!”
Brady walked over to the dead woman, knelt down, and picked up his rifle. Slinging it over one shoulder, he nodded to Chris that they needed to get on the move. Brady looked down at Jesse, the rain beating down on his muddy shirtless body. The man’s neck was obliterated. Without any second-guessing of any kind, Chris watched Brady raise his pistol and fire. The shot hit Jesse in the face.
“Let’s move.”
With Brady in the lead, they both quickly made their way across the courtyard toward the double doors that led to where Steve was being treated.
They entered the building.
Epidemic of the Undead: A Zombie Novel Page 17
