A steadying hand rested on her shoulder, pulling her back from the brink. It somehow grounded her, a link to the tangible. Hank whispered into her ear, “Relax…if there was something in here with us, we would know it by now. Just relax, were gonna be alright.”
Rachael did not know if Hank was aware of just how close she was to completely losing it, but his timing was perfect.
Hank worked his way farther into the shop using his peripheral vision, the advantages were slight, but used properly a difference maker. He could just make out a work bench next to him, piled with tools and gadgets. Looking through the items and occasionally reaching out to feel some of them, Hank continued to shuffle along the counter. Nearing the end of the long counter, he finally found what he was looking for.
With a click, a welcome beam of light split the darkness, giving a narrow view of the shop's contents. A trailered boat sat in the center, surrounded by a long counter on one side and sets of cupboards mounted to the far wall.
Even with the loud pounding at the door, Rachael was able to breathe a sigh of relief, the flashlight giving her more comfort than she ever thought a flashlight could.
“Let’s stick with just the flashlight. I’m not sure if having all the lights on will draw more of them.” Hank said.
“Okay.” She said.
Hank found another flashlight on the counter and handed it to Rachael. “Take a look around. Let’s see what we can find.”
Clicking on the flashlight, she shined the beam toward the man door. There was the light switch, right between the small door and the large roll-up door. How had she missed it she wondered to herself? If Hank was right, then maybe it was a good thing she could not find it, although her panic had nearly killed them both.
Hank whispered, “Why a boat? Couldn’t we get a truck or a Humvee…maybe a tank?” Mumbling to himself, he went on, “Stupid-ass boat…fat lot of good that does us, stinking city rats.” His light bounced around the far end of the shop as he continued to look through its contents.
Rachael moved past the boat to the other side of the shop and began looking through the cupboards. Going through them one by one, she was mostly finding various home maintenance items.
From somewhere behind the boat, Hank said, “You finding anything over there?”
“We could paint them to death.”
“Hey, hey, hey. Come look at this.” Hank said.
Squeezing past the side of the boat, she found Hank standing at the back, peeking under a canvas tarp.
Turning to her, he said, “Help me with this tarp.”
The two of them lifted the tarp off and tossed it up over the boat out of the way. Previously hidden, was an orange and black KLM dirt bike.
“Might just be our ticket out of here.” Hank said with a grin.
Rachael looked skeptical. “I’m not so sure I want to be sitting on that thing…with those things running around in the night.” She said while pointing to the door.
Nodding his head, Hank walked past her, shining his flashlight beam on the cupboards and said, “Let’s see what other goodies we can find in here.”
******
Pushing bodies out of the way, Tom crawled out from under the run down porch, peering into the night, looking for more infected. No one could be seen in the darkness, but their sounds filled the town. Listening intently, it almost sounded like they were communicating. Shrieks and howls followed one another in all directions. Worried about the fate of the others, he stood and snuck into the shadows.
Working his way between the rows of houses, he kept a lookout for any of the others, only seeing infected shuffling through the streets. Without more light, he could have passed right by any of his friends hidden away from harm and never known it. Nearing the house they all had scattered from, he thought about shouting out to them, but quickly dismissed the idea, knowing it would draw more of the infected.
A couple houses farther down the street, Tom could make out a large group of infected huddled around something. From where he sat hunched behind a set of garbage cans, he could hear their snarling. He continued to watch the infected, knowing they likely surrounded a member of his group, and if so, it was already too late.
Sinking back into the shadows, Tom crept away from the garbage cans and decided on finding another route. Circling his way around several houses, he was able to get to the next street over and continue on the path he last saw Hank, Rachael, and Ben.
While hiding behind a small white picket fence, waiting for a small group of slow moving infected to stagger by, Tom saw what they had initially been looking for. Four houses down, just off the street, sat a white truck. This was a huge truck, with room for a whole crew of construction workers and a massive load of building supplies in the back. Most importantly of all, it ran on diesel.
The infected continued to slowly walk down the street, shuffling their feet as they went. From time to time a loud shriek could be heard in the night and occasionally one of them would turn his head, sniff at the air, and seem to reply with a guttural grunt. It reminded Tom of the sound deer made when they were warning of prey, almost a nasal huff.
Having no idea where the rest of his group might be or if they were even alive, Tom decided to move on the truck and figure the rest out later.
Stalking along the low fence, the night suddenly erupted in gunfire. This was not the sound of a few pistols going off, but instead full-on, heavy arms fire. It sounded far off, likely at least several blocks away, but even from this distance, it filled the night, drowning out everything else.
Hunching down behind the wood fence, Tom heard a rattle from the chain link fence that ran between the houses. Looking between the pickets, Tom saw movement. Next was the smell, a mixture of feces and rotting meat. Nearly overpowering, the smell as bad as anything he could have imagined. He covered his mouth, hoping to keep from throwing up while he watched legs shuffling past the fence.
Occasionally bumping up against the white pickets, they continued to walk along the fence line in the direction of the gunfire.
The relentless gunfire slowed to sporadic shots. Unintelligible shouting could be heard.
The sounds of gunfire were blotted out by chaotic shrieks from infected spread out all over the town. The slow moving procession on the other side of the fence moaned loudly in response.
Kneeling in the grass, Tom continued to watch the undead shuffle past, some of their heads just visible above the fence. All of them that he could see had disheveled hair, often caked in dried blood. If any of them noticed him, he would surely be overwhelmed.
In the distance, more gunfire could be heard, followed by the roar of an engine coming to life. At least one of them had an automatic weapon, likely an AK-47 based on the familiar cack-cack-cack.
The last of the undead had made it past the fence, leaving only a terrible stench behind. Tom continued to peer between the pickets for several minutes before slowly standing. Despite the cacophony of noise erupting all over town, there was no movement in sight.
Tom hopped up and over the fence. Standing in the trampled grass, he eyed the truck. Moths fluttered in and out of the glow of a street lamp one house away. The truck cast a long shadow on the lawn in front of a two story split level home that was typical of the suburban landscape. Seeing no movement, he began creeping in front of the next house, staying low in the shadows.
In the distance the gunfire ceased, replaced by squealing tires and the roar of an engine.
Scanning the darkness and seeing no movement, he crouched low and made for the next house. Slowing, he stopped by a low shrub that surrounded the front porch.
The car engine continued to get louder, driving in his direction. Looking down the street, Tom could see the flash of bouncing headlights on the pavement of the intersection. Wondering if maybe it could be someone from his group, he rushed through the next yard and crouched down next to the porch, one house from the intersection. A pair of bright headlights were growing as they sped his way. The
ir cool blue tint bouncing wildly as the vehicle continued to accelerate down the street.
Having to make a split second decision, Tom stood and waved his arms above his head. Without slowing, a black SUV went roaring through the intersection. A streak of red from the taillights and it was gone. Like thunder in the distance, it faded to a quiet rumble, likely leaving town on the old highway.
Movement in the darkness down the street reminded him that the SUV would have followers, chasing the noise. Moving quickly, he ran at a half-crouch across the street, ducking in behind the large truck. Checking the driver's side door, he found it unlocked and climbed inside. Before closing the door fully, he could hear angered growls from outside.
Hunching down and peering out the passenger window, he saw several demented racing across the pavement in a futile attempt to catch the SUV. Even before their growls faded into the distance, the moans of the undead echoed through the night. The ever increasing parade of slow moving shamblers would be showing up at any moment.
Tom frantically searched the truck for keys, even trying the sun visors, which always worked in the movies. No luck. He hopped out of the truck and made for the front door of the house.
Along with the loud moaning, the gravely sounds of shuffling feet could be heard from all around the house. The parade leaders were just about to start oozing out between houses.
Tom twisted the door handle and rushed inside, thanking a higher power that it was not locked.
Immediately the stench of feces and urine smacked him in the face. The dark interior stared back at him, haunting and dangerous. Heart pounding, Tom held his knife out in front of him while scanning the interior for threats.
Shadows shifted across the carpet and sofa in the living space, startling Tom before he realized it was coming from outside. Looking through the windows, he could just make out the silhouettes of the undead as they marched past, the faint light from down the street casting eerie shadows throughout the interior.
Hearing a noise from somewhere farther in the house, he spun around, trying to pinpoint its source. Focusing into the darkness, there was nothing, no movement, and no monsters staring back at him. Waiting motionless, he listened, but heard only the muffled moans of those outside.
Turning back to the entrance, he quickly glanced around, looking for a key rack, but found only a set of coat hooks and light switches. Even though some of the houses in the neighborhood still had lights on, he really hoped to avoid broadcasting his activities.
Sweeping through the downstairs in the dark, he had found the house was in total disarray, garbage and moldy food lay all about. Dining room chairs had been toppled and one lay broken in front of a shattered china cabinet. The stench of feces permeated the air, but the source was nowhere to be found. Neither were the truck keys.
Standing at the base of the stairs, staring up into the deep blackness, he hesitated, debating if he should move on and find a different truck. Spurred on by the soft groans from just outside the house, he decided to explore the second floor. The inky blackness was far too dark to see anything, so taking a risk, he flicked the light switch on at the bottom of the stairs. A comforting light filled the stairway. Using his left hand to shade his eyes from the bright glow, he held the knife out in front of him and began his ascent, the carpeted stairs creaking under his weight.
Reaching the top of the stairs, he found a narrow hallway with family portraits adorning the walls. Not wanting to see the faces of those that lived here, he instead eyed the closest door, which sat closed like all the others. It contained no markings or any indication of what lay inside.
Slowly opening the door, he was startled to see one of the undead staring back at him. Stumbling while backing out of the narrow doorway, he nearly tripped over his feet before realizing what he was seeing. On the bathroom counter sat an oval makeup mirror, facing the door. Stepping back into the bathroom and turning on the light, he was shocked to look at himself. Most of his body was splattered in blood. His face and arms caked in thick dirt and grime. He truly looked like one of the undead.
Crossing the hallway, he slowly opened the next door.
From farther down the hall, the sound of something falling to the floor with a thud, caused Tom to jump. He took a quick glance down the hall to make sure all the doors were closed and then focused back on the now halfway open door, not wanting to get surprised.
The interior looked to be a teenage girl’s room. Surrounding a white frilly bed, were walls decorated with cute, boy band posters. On the shelves sat jewelry boxes, decorated with a rainbow of gem stones, glittering as the hall light struck them. The smell was not as bad in here and a quick check of the room verified it was empty.
Moving back to the hallway, more noise could be heard, clearly coming from the door straight at the end of the hall.
Not wanting to leave unchecked rooms at his back, he first checked the last two rooms along the hall, one to each side. One was a small office area and the other was a toddler’s room filled with toys, neither having anything of promise.
Stepping back into the hallway and nearing the final door, Tom was slowed by the intensity of the stench emanating from the door. Stopping in front of the door, he had second thoughts. His heart was pounding. He was worn out, certainly something nasty waited on the other side of the door, and likely there were not even truck keys in the room. It was only his weariness that spurred him on, knowing he was too worn down to make it much farther through town.
Slowly twisting the door knob, he found it locked…locked from the inside.
It had been silent inside for quite some time now. Unsure if that was a good sign or not, he knew there was only one way to find out. Holding his knife flipped downward in his fist, he raised his right leg, and gave the door a solid kick next to the handle. The jam easily splintered, sending the door swinging inward, and crashing up against the interior of the wall. An unbearable stench rolled out of the open doorway, followed by several low growls. Directly in the light of the hall sat a large bed, covered in stains and filth. To each side of the bed there was sudden movement out of the darkness.
In a terrifying instant, the power went out, leaving only blackness and the terrifying sounds of oncoming undead.
******
“Jackpot.” Hank said.
Stepping over next to him, Rachael shined her flashlight in the cupboard and said, “Whatcha find?”
Reaching into the tall cupboard, Hank pulled out a camouflaged crossbow with several bolts mounted to a frame along the top. “Look at this bad boy.”
Rachael stood looking at him, dumbfounded and nearly speechless. “What the hell good is that going to do us?” she said while pointing at the seemingly medieval weapon.
Holding the crossbow up, he said, “I know it doesn’t look like much, but these are nasty critters…and quiet.” He then looked back toward the door and added, “Do you think there are more of them now or still just the two?”
Turning to the door and gazing at it as if she had x-ray vision, she said, “It doesn’t sound like there are more of them, but the noise may have drawn some that are just stumbling around out there.”
Hank worked his way around the boat and over to the door, crossbow in one hand. He cocked his head trying to listen at the door, but with the incessant pounding it was difficult to make anything out. “I think we’re gonna have to just go for it.”
“How fast can you reload that thing?” Rachael asked, clearly worried about the prospect of opening the door. “Even if there are just the two…” She left the rest unsaid.
Holding the flashlight end in his mouth, Hank shined the beam down on the crossbow and placed his foot in the stirrup. Using both hands, he pulled back on the string until it clicked into place. He popped a bolt out of the rack, dropped it into the loading slot, and then looked over to Rachael and shrugged his shoulders. The entire operation took about four seconds. Plenty fast enough under normal circumstances, but under duress it would only take one fumble to
botch the entire process.
After watching him, Rachael said, “May work for two of them, but what if there are more of them out there?”
Looking back at the motorcycle, Hank said, “You know how to ride?”
Rachael shook her head. “No, I’ve ridden but never drove one.”
“Well, now is probably not the time to learn.”
Hank moved back to the large enduro and unscrewed the gas cap, making sure there was fuel. Looking promising, he rolled the bike up close to the large roll-up door. “Let’s go about this a different way.” Shining his light on the wall mounted garage door button, he said, “We’re gonna ride out of here in style.” Handing the crossbow to Rachael he finished, “When I get this thing running, hit the button, and hop on the back.”
She nodded, looking a bit worried.
Giving the motorcycle one strong kick, the engine roared to life, filling the small space with noise and the smell of exhaust.
Rachael hit the door opener, turned, and leapt onto the rear of the seat, wrapping one arm around Hank’s waist and holding the crossbow with the other.
The powerful engine let out a throaty rumble each time Hank gave the throttle a twist. The door seemed to be rising impossibly slow. Doubt began filling both their minds.
At the base of the door, through the opening, several pairs of shoes could be seen. They were staggering back and forth, trying to determine the source of the door’s movement.
“Stay low, we gotta go right when it gets open far enough.” Hank shouted over the noise. He could feel Rachael squeeze in tighter to his back, readying for go time.
The thin door panels shook as the infected began pounding on the outside. Movement and noise had stirred them, spurring their desire for carnage. At least five or six pairs of feet stomped angrily in the darkness, their waists just becoming visible.
The Demented Z (Book 1):The Demented Page 12
