Hamsikker: A Zombie Apocalypse Novel

by Russ Watts

  “Let’s move.”

  Quinn and Dakota began jogging away from the marauding dead, and found themselves dodging more than abandoned cars. Past the swimming baths was a school, and the road was littered with corpses. Most of them were half eaten. Many of the bodies had severe head wounds, suggesting someone had shot a lot of them, and too many of them were children. There were girls and boys still in uniform, and the sickening sight brought Dakota to her knees. So many of the bodies had begun to rot, and several had been reduced to skeletons, with just flaps of tissue caressing the yellow bones.

  “Dakota, we can’t stop. We can’t do anything for them,” said Jonas as he helped her up. Pulling her up, he tried to catch her eye, but she refused to look at him. Her face was drawn, and she stumbled along blindly, not answering his questions or responding to his pleas to talk to him. Walking through the street, he could understand why she was withdrawing into herself. It was horrific to see so many dead. As they neared the school’s entrance gates, there was a charred pile of what used to be children. Someone had torched them, and over the last few months, the sun and the rain had melded the burnt bodies into one massive structure, like some kind of twisted monument to what the school used to be.

  It was as if the unburied bodies had a disheartening effect on the group, and they slowed down by the gates, eventually coming to a standstill beneath a dying willow tree. Beneath its low branches they stopped, and fell silent. Jonas looked at Dakota, knowing she wouldn’t be able to carry on much further. Terry too looked as though he was about to give up, and the others were hanging on by a thread. It wasn’t so much the physical effort in running, but the mental aspect of seeing so much death, so close. It was draining. It wilted all their hopes, all of their energy, and it felt like they were running nowhere. Jonas felt it too. Every corner they turned, every doorway they ran through only led to more death. He could see Erik and Pippa trying to protect their children from the carnage, but they couldn’t run with their eyes closed, and whilst Peter was old enough to understand, Freya was not. She didn’t look so much scared as comatose. It was as if her brain was tuning out, refusing her mind permission to process the disturbing images she was being forced to look at. Jonas looked down at his feet, and noticed he was standing in a bloodstain. Tracing the dried river of blood back to its owner, he looked at what was once probably a pretty young girl. With a satchel around her shoulders, her face had collapsed in on itself when the bullet had passed through her jaw. She looked more like an old woman now as the weathered pale skin had stretched itself tightly around her bony face. Her once blue eyes, so full of life, were now gone, plucked out by greedy hands, and the sunken sockets were a nest for crawling maggots. A spider ran from the girl’s mouth and rested on her chin briefly before scuttling down her neck and into her ripped blouse. The breeze fluttered her long hair across her forehead, and the ripe smell of death reached Jonas’s nose. Something had eaten away at the rest of her body, and he could feel something building up inside of him. It took a moment to reveal itself, and at first, he wasn’t sure if he was going to cry or scream. His gut ached, his head was like a washing machine on full spin, and his hands were curling up into fists, desperate to hit something. He wanted to find the person responsible for this innocent girl’s grisly death and deal out some retribution for her.

  Jonas suddenly felt energised. No way was he going to die like that. No way was he going to let Dakota, or any of the others be left out in the street to die. Randall had been unlucky. Jonas refused to accept the others were going to die like him. He had to do something, to find a way out of this mess.

  “Erik, this is Jeffersontown Junior, right?” asked Jonas as he approached Erik.

  Through bloodshot, tired eyes, Erik looked up. “Yeah. So?”

  Jonas needed to try something, and Erik was his best shot at galvanising the others. “So, at the end of this road is Tucker’s alley, right? From there we take a short cut into Abramson Memorial Park. Try and put some distance between ourselves and the dead chasing us. If we can slip into the park, we might be able to take a breather, maybe give us a chance to figure out where we’re going instead of running around in circles.”

  Erik looked at Pippa holding his daughter. He looked back at Jonas and nodded. “The more obstacles between them and us the better. If we take the next right we can cut down Sycamore Street, and across the park,” said Erik.

  Quinn joined them, hearing the plan, and was grateful to be able to take her mind off their surroundings. “If we cut through the park we might be able to get to the Interstate. Maybe hitch a ride out of town?”

  “I don’t think the buses are running. You know how to hotwire a car?” Erik asked.

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Jonas. Knowing that Erik was a cop, Quinn didn’t answer, and it was obvious that she was holding back. Jonas didn’t want them to stop and get into anything. Their individual histories were irrelevant now. The zombies were still after them, and they only had a moment to decide where to head. “Look any vehicle we come across, I expect the batteries are probably dead, and I’m sure the I65 is closed anyway. They were setting up roadblocks when it started, and it’s likely to be one giant car park right now. Our best bet is through Abramson Park, and hope they lose us in these buildings. Erik, remember how we used to cut through the back of Joe’s bar? Instead of Sycamore Street we should go down Tucker’s alley, sneak through the bar, and into the park that way. They couldn’t possibly all follow us if we took the scenic route.”

  “Let’s do it,” agreed Erik.

  “Sounds like a lot of dark corners and risks to me,” said Quinn. “You sure it’s safe?”

  Jonas looked at Erik. “It’s been a while. You want to take point?”

  “Gotcha. Everyone follow me. Any trouble, yell. Quinn, you mind tagging along beside me? I could do with a spare pair of eyes. Tyler, you bring up the rear, you have the only other gun, and yes, Mrs Danick, I know you can shoot better than any of us, but we can’t risk you slowing us down. You can cuss me out later. Terry, I need you to help her, okay, buddy?”

  Jonas watched the group settle into their roles with ease. Mrs Danick eyeballed Erik, but she said nothing. She could nail a fly’s ass from fifty yards with her pistol, but she wasn’t quick on her feet, and Erik was right. Terry was subdued. He had been close to Randall, and was feeling his loss more than anyone. With the zombies on their tail, they had hardly stopped to think about what had happened. Peter held onto his younger sister, Freya, and Pippa stuck close to Quinn. Jonas rubbed Dakota’s back, and then they were off. He knew that Erik would lead them to the park. It had been so long since Jonas had spent any time in the area, that he trusted Erik more than himself.

  As they left the school behind, Jonas saw the dead. They weren’t far away, and their numbers seemed to have swelled. Tyler was right. The noise they were making was only drawing out more. They made it to the end of the street, and Jonas saw Erik turn them down the alley, ignoring Sycamore Street. A dead policeman lay in the middle of the road, and Jonas quickly checked him over. Ignoring the stench, he took a gun from the dead cop’s hand. Running to catch up with the rest, he checked and found the gun still had four in the chamber. Better than a kick in the nuts, he thought, and he rushed to the head of the group to join Erik.

  As they jogged down the alley, Jonas half expected something to jump out at them from the shadows. He was on edge, and his stomach was churned up. If he had anything to throw up, he would’ve done so, but like everyone else, his stomach was empty. He saw Erik slip through a wooden gate that led to the back of Joe’s bar, and remembered doing the same thing when he was fifteen. He and Erik would sneak into the back yard, steal a couple of beers, or crates if they could handle it, and then head to the park to drink them under the moonlight. Joe’s bar had been around forever, and the security was non-existent. The rusted, iron railings behind the bar had been twisted and turned almost inside out, so they had created a hole just big enough for them to get through. He
didn’t know who Joe was, or who owned the bar today, but it looked from the outside as if nothing had changed. The faded welcome sign was still there, and the exterior of the building clearly hadn’t been painted since prohibition had been repealed. Jonas crept through the gate, and found himself looking at Erik.

  “They fixed the damn railings.”

  Jonas looked and saw that the rusted iron that had separated the bar from the park for all those years was now a high brick wall. There was no way through it.

  “Oh crap.” Jonas handed the cop’s gun to Dakota, and looked at the wall that was barring them from the park. “What about the bar? We could force a way in, hide there a while?”

  “No good,” said Peter as he pulled on the door to the rear of the bar. “It’s locked.”

  “No telling what might be waiting inside, plus they know we’re here. How long before they get in? It’s too damn risky to stop now,” said Erik.

  Two gunshots rang out as Tyler fired back through the gate they had just come. “Two runners,” he said. “Got them, but we need to hurry. I’m out of ammo.” Frustrated, Tyler pocketed the gun hoping to find more ammo later.

  “Steady, Tyler,” said Mrs Danick, as she stepped up to the gate. She drew her gun, and aimed it between the gate posts in case of more runners. “You go help fix a way out of here.”

  “Tyler, come help,” said Jonas.

  Peter was looking after Freya, while Jonas, Erik, Quinn and Pippa were dragging empty beer barrels over to the wall. Tyler grabbed another, and in a minute, they had a dozen lined up, forming a makeshift step. It was just about enough for them to get over.

  “Peter, you get over first. Then you can help Freya and Mrs Danick down, okay?” Jonas took Peter’s hand and helped him up onto the barrels. “If you see any trouble on the other side, holler.”

  “Don’t worry, you’ll hear me yell if I see anything,” said Peter as he clambered up onto the top of the wall. Sitting astride it, he announced that the park looked clear, and then he dropped down on the other side. There was a soft thud, a grunt, and then Peter shouted that he was okay. Erik and Pippa helped the silent Freya up and over, and then Mrs Danick left her post to go next. She closed the gate behind her, and one by one they filed up over the wall, until just Erik and Jonas were left.

  “Go man, I’ll watch your back,” said Erik. “When you’re up top, just give me a pull up and we’re home free.”

  Jonas shook his head. “No offense, but I’m not going to be able to pull you up. You go first and pull me up.”

  “Shit,” said Erik smirking. “Just because I ain’t got sparrow’s legs like you. Never did carry much weight, did ya?”

  “The way I remember it, you’d usually eaten my meal before I could even smell it cooking.” Jonas held out a hand so Erik could get a boost up over the barrels.

  “You snooze, you lose,” said Erik as he hoisted himself up. Once he was sitting on the wall, he looked down at Jonas and held out his hand. “Come on then, Hamsikker. Let’s get your bony ass...watch out!”

  Jonas whirled around and saw a zombie forcing its way through the gate into the yard. Fumbling for his axe that was laid on the ground, Jonas picked it up to find he was too late. The zombie was already towering over him, its rancid rotted face blocking out the sun. Yellow teeth lined a purple mouth, and Jonas smelt death as the diseased body prepared to fall upon him. With a deafening roar, the zombie’s head exploded, and Jonas was showered with gore. The dead body fell to the ground, and Jonas stood in awe, the axe in his hand now idle and useless.

  “Hurry it up,” said Erik as he holstered his Glock. “I’ve got a couple of bullets left, but then I’m out too.”

  Jonas looked at Erik’s outstretched arm. As he wiped the gore from his eyes, and ran bloody fingers through his hair, he thought how easy it would be to ignore the hand of help. Just sit down and let it go; let himself slide into oblivion, and not have to deal with this shit anymore. Then he remembered the schoolgirl, her body left to rot in the street, her eye-sockets full of maggots, and he knew that he could never give up. No matter what, he wanted to live. It wasn’t even a choice. He wanted more than anything to win, to beat this, to beat the dead; to show the world that life was the most important thing on Earth.

  Grabbing Erik’s hand, he hoisted himself up and both men dropped down into the park. Jonas found himself being helped up by Dakota whose face was set, and he knew he was in for it.

  “Jonas Hamsikker, what the hell? I thought you...I thought…”

  As Dakota melted in his arms, Jonas embraced her. “It’s all right, honey, I’m fine.”

  The expected admonishment never materialised, and Dakota kept quiet. Jonas knew she was mad at him for putting himself at risk. Her silence was unsettling, and he wished she would argue with him, hit him, kiss him, and just do anything except give him the silent treatment. He wasn’t sure if it was anger, or simply a weary acceptance of the inevitable. One day she expected to find her husband dead. He wasn’t about to make promises he wasn’t sure he could keep, so he settled for a kiss. He pecked her cheek as she sighed, pushing him away and shaking her head. She was pissed, but she’d come around, she always did.

  Making their way across the green grass of the park, they put some distance between themselves and the back yard of Joe’s bar. They could hear clattering and banging sounds from behind the fence, but it seemed like it would hold, and Jonas doubted the zombies would figure out how to climb the barrels over the wall. At least it would take them some time. Surrounding the park were scarlet oaks, illuminated by the afternoon sun, their leaves glistening as they bathed in sunlight. A few birds flew overhead, flitting from tree to tree, Jonas noticed that the further away they got from the bar, the quieter it became. He could see the edge of the town over the tops of the trees, and a plume of smoke still rose over the northern perimeter, probably from some burning gas station, or buildings that continued to smoulder with nobody left to put the fire out. Set against the charred city, the park was peaceful and tranquil. The grass, whilst long, was still a bright green, and it felt soft beneath their feet. Jonas was grateful that the immediate trees circling them, a mixture of American beech and black oaks, were tall and still thick with leaves to hide the ruined city. A cardinal flitted between branches overhead as Jonas slowed down, and he wished they had time to stop. He imagined the park was an island, a lake of serenity in amidst a burning city of the dead. Pausing by a large trunk, he let the others catch up. Nobody spoke as they collapsed at his feet, and he knew they needed to rest. Mrs Danick in particular looked to be struggling. Her face was beetroot red, and she’d even loosened the shawl around her shoulders.

  “One minute,” said Jonas. “One minute, and then we have to keep going. We don’t know if they’re still following, and we can’t risk staying out here in the open.”

  He looked around the park and spied a children’s play area. There was a large, orange swing above a ten by ten square pit of chipped bark, and a rusted, blue climbing frame set beside a sandpit. Several benches surrounded the playground, and on one lay three small bodies. He didn’t need to go any closer to know that they were children, or that they were dead. Not the sort that got up and walked, but truly dead. The bodies had been left where they’d fallen, and over the last few months, the strong Kentucky sun had damaged them. The stomachs had blown apart, forcing the bellies to extend beyond their natural capabilities, and bloated intestines lay pooled around the children’s legs and on the ground beneath the bench. He could see movement on one of the children, just something small wriggling around, and he guessed they were maggots. The skin had burned and rotted away, and in places, he could see sheer white bone sticking up where rats, or some sort of vermin, had chewed away the meat. What kind of God would let this happen, he thought.

  Dakota brushed up against him, and seemed to know what he was thinking. “Don’t look at them,” she whispered. “They’re in heaven now. They’re safe.”

  “Heaven? I’m not so sur
e anymore. I think God’s on vacation,” said Jonas wearily.

  Dakota stroked his hair and wiped the sweat from his forehead. She looked up at him with piercing blue eyes. “Honey, trust me when I say God is still looking out for us. I don’t claim to know how He works, but I can tell you that He is still looking out for us. You of all people should know that.”

  “If this is His work, then I’d hate to see what the Devil has in store for us.” Jonas kissed his wife. He picked a piece of rough, black bark from a tree and crumbled it between his fingers. The texture was dry, brittle, and he realised that summer was over. Assuming they survived the fall, winter would be on them in no time, and then they would have a whole heap of different problems to contend with. “Sorry, baby, I don’t mean to snap. I’m just...I love you.”

  “Love you too,” she said sighing. “You’d better stop holding out on me though. First the garage, then back there at the bar. What were you thinking?”

  A lone black crow perched atop the oak tree above them suddenly flapped its wings and took off. Jonas watched it fly over to the dead bodies in the playground. It landed on one clumsily, dancing from side to side until it found purchase on a rib cage. Its beady eyes darted around, and it casually began pecking at the meat before the crow plunged eagerly into the raw flesh with surprising ferocity. Its frantic attempts to eat dislodged the body, and a floppy arm fell down to hang loosely above the ground. The small fingers were broken, and blood smeared the pale flesh of the arm. The crow pulled at a piece of stringy meat, straining at it with its beak until the tissue broke, and then it flew away, its prize firmly clamped in its mouth.