by Joe Augustyn
Kerri’s reanimated body hobbled closer and closer, flanked by an entourage of mutilated corpses. Her hands were curled into claws, her eyes like glistening coals, fixed coldly on the living feast before her. Her mouth hung open, revealing a scarlet stump where her tongue had been.
Emma covered her head with her arms, as if shutting out the sight of the hideous ghouls and the sound of their dragging footsteps would magically erase their presence.
Cat coughed. The noise electrified the approaching rabble. They lurched forward, moaning in anticipation.
Emma looked up as she heard their collective moan. She watched with paralyzed eyes as they shambled closer, just thirty feet away. Her mind reeled with the certainty of impending death… then suddenly conjured an image of Bronski and Ryan, who had braved the hordes on the boardwalk to go for help. We can’t give up now. We have to try.
“Come on, Cat!” She stood and tried to lift Cat but the trooper’s limp weight was just too much for her. She looked at the unholy rabble approaching and swayed dizzily on her feet, about to faint, her body feeling light as Styrofoam. With no time to spare she slipped under the wooden railing of the rollercoaster ticket ramp and ran.
She stopped after running five yards, wrestling with her conscience, and looked back at Cat’s semi-conscious body, slumped sadly in the rain. The zombies were just twenty feet away from her.
A sob of fear slipped from Emma’s throat, high-pitched and broken… then she turned and ran back. Dropping to her knees she reached through the railing and grabbed Cat under the arms. Straining with all her might she leaned and tugged and cursed as her feet slipped out from under her. The zombies were a dozen feet away, close enough so their collective stench came wafting over her like a toxic cloud.
“Help me, Cat! Please.”
Cat blinked her eyes wearily and they snapped open wide as she saw the horde closing in. She kicked her feet and her body finally moved.
Emma pulled with every ounce of strength she had left and Cat tumbled back through the railing, just seconds before the zombies arrived. Emma didn’t miss a beat. She backpedaled fiercely, dragging Cat up the ticket ramp towards the roller coaster platform.
The zombies stumbled after them, desperate to catch their fleeing meal. They reached out with hungry hands, but bumped into the railing and tripped on each other’s feet. Toppling to the rain-soaked deck they thrashed about in frustration, entangled in a mindless writhing heap.
Emma never stopped moving. Her back and her fingers ached and her lungs were on fire but soon she and Cat were on the edge of the roller coaster platform, next to the metal tracks. She sank to her knees to catch her breath and assessed their pitiful options. She could drag Cat across the tracks into the bowels of the sprawling structure, but the zombies would keep hunting them and she was already exhausted. Or she could try dragging Cat up the nearest slope of the roller coaster tracks, high enough to be safe from the clutches of the dead.
The mob of corpses was just a minute away, clawing their way under the railing and up the plywood ramp. The only thing slowing them was their ungainly limbs and their mindless entangling.
“Cat! Wake up!” Emma slapped the trooper’s face and pressed the smelling salts to her nose. Cat responded with a feeble groan and the slightest of movements. She refused to wake from her delirium. There was no time left for indecision. The ghouls had reached the platform and were closing in fast. Emma balled her fist and slammed it into Cat’s wounded arm.
“Ow!” Cat sat up, hot with pain and anger but finally somewhat alert. “Bitch,” she moaned.
“Get up, Cat, or you’re dead, I’m leaving you. I have no choice.”
Cat’s eyes went wide as she saw the zombies slithering toward them like slow-moving lizards. She tried to rise but was too weak to stand.
“Come on!” Emma grabbed her under the arms and pulled her down onto the tracks. “We have to get up the slope of the tracks. It’s right behind us but you have to help me. Now. Use your feet, Cat. Please! I can’t do it alone.”
Cat’s legs felt like rubber but she dug her heels against a wooden crosstie and did her best to push off. Propelled by a flood of adrenaline, Emma dragged her down the tracks towards the nearest rise.
The zombies reached the edge of the platform and tumbled onto the tracks.
Emma saw them coming and her heart went into overdrive. She stumbled backwards, legs churning in a frenzy. Her muscles burned and her knees wobbled spastically but suddenly her butt hit an obstacle and she realized they’d reached the slope.
“Cat! This is it! We made it! Come on. Help me. We’re going up now. Push!”
Cat kicked wearily as Emma strained to pull her up the slope. One precious foot at a time they worked their way backwards up the incline, using the wooden crossties as steps.
Emma glanced over her shoulder to check their progress. The slope was only twelve feet high—the final punctuating drop of the thrill ride—but she was counting on it to be an insurmountable height for the uncoordinated limbs of the dead. “Keep going, Cat. Come on. Just a little bit higher.”
They were halfway up when the thing that had been Kerri arrived below them, stumbling into the bottom of the rise. She grabbed at Cat’s foot but was a second too late. Her bony fingers clicked against Cat’s boot heel and slipped off.
Emma choked back a sob as she saw the half-eaten remains of her former companion’s face, once beautiful, now a bloody skeletal mask. But she didn’t falter. The gory sight drove her on. She pulled Cat determinedly up the slope, dragging her higher and higher, step by step, rung by slippery rung. Rain pummeled them as they climbed, sweeping the tears from Emma’s eyes.
A second zombie jostled Kerri aside. He was half a foot taller and looked twice as hungry. His legs churned aggressively and one lucky foot found the first elevated crosstie, thrusting him skyward toward his prey. His rotting fingers closed on Cat’s boot and his stringy muscles tightened.
Emma’s heart fluttered as she felt their progress snag to a halt. She looked down and saw the ghoul as he took another lucky step, swinging his other foot up onto the elevated crosstie. His eyes gleamed eagerly as the smell of Cat’s blood grew stronger. One more upward step and he’d taste her precious flesh.
“Kick!” cried Emma. “Kick, Cat! Kick hard!”
Cat opened her eyes and let out a fearful cry as she realized she was about to be lunch. She kicked her foot frantically, while pushing herself higher with her other leg.
Her assailant fought to keep his grip on her soggy boot, flailing his other arm desperately as he slipped off-balance. Cat delivered a spirited kick to his face and he dropped like a sack of cement, flattening the bodies below him.
Emma pulled Cat up another two rungs—then her heel slipped off a wet metal brace and down they went. They plummeted two feet before Emma grabbed hold of one of the steel tracks and her feet slammed down on a crosstie. Cat’s body pitched forward, threatening to pull them both off their perch. Her weight sagged forward as Emma’s fingers slipped down the rain-slicked track. She squeezed the wet metal rail with all her might, determined not to fall or let go of her charge. “God please give me strength…”
They teetered precariously for a moment as gravity made up its mind—then Emma fell back against the tracks, pulling Cat safely upright.
Kerri lunged up again. Her skeletal fingers grazed Cat’s ankle but Emma was already hoisting her up the slope. She dragged her up several more rungs, her task getting easier as the inclined tracks curved backwards and started leveling off, allowing them to sit and rest between each arduous step.
After what seemed an eternity they were safe, lying on top of the rise. Emma sank back, thankful that it was big enough to hold them both comfortably, out of reach of the ghouls. She gazed up through the endless raindrops that seemed to be falling in slow motion from the lightning-streaked charcoal sky and whispered a prayer of thanks.
Cat opened her eyes, amazed to find herself alive. She was lying on her back wi
th Emma’s legs draped loosely over her shoulders, pinning her to the tracks. The pressure of gravity was gone. She realized they were safe, at least for the moment, sprawled on the crest of the man-made hill. “We made it,” she gasped.
“Yes,” Emma whispered back, barely able to speak through the proud lump in her throat. “We made it.”
Beneath them the zombies jostled and moaned and clawed at the tracks, trying to find a way up. But the crossties were slippery and their limbs were too stiff and uncoordinated to climb. Whatever scant progress they made was accidental, and they quickly fell back to their kin, a roiling heap of hunger and hellish frustration.
“We made it,” whispered Emma again, as tears of relief streamed down her cheeks, washing away in the rain.
A fresh procession of corpses poured onto the pier from the boardwalk, slipping and stumbling like rusty-legged robots, joining the fetid horde surrounding the roller coaster. The rain washed down on them in torrents, stripping away chunks of rotted flesh… coursing across the floorboards of the pier, tinted with blood and bile.
Mountainous clouds closed in overhead, turning the mid-day sky black.
63
Bronski dove across the narrow pier, computing every detail that flashed before his eyes—the frail little girl tied to the post—Leeds crouched low on the wooden steps at the end of the pier—the flash of gunfire and bullets zinging past him—zombies wading through the flooded streets beyond, heading their way. He rolled to a stop near the railing and fired a few quick return shots at the Sheriff.
Leeds ducked low on the staircase as Bronski’s rounds kicked splinters off the edge of the pier, then poked his pistol up and fired several shots, blindly strafing the pier.
Marissa screamed as the bullets whizzed past her.
Bronski crooked an arm around an upright post and rolled off the side of the pier. His wounded side ached and the pressure on his forearm was unbearable, but he was relatively safe for the moment as Leeds’ bullets bit chunks off the wooden pier just inches away.
His anger swelled with each of the Sheriff’s shots. That bastard doesn’t care if he hits that little girl. He needs to be put down like the rabid dog he is. But as eager as he was to end the gunfight, Bronski couldn’t risk the girl’s life with wild shots. And he couldn’t hoist himself up to a better firing position without exposing himself.
He looked at the foaming water below and lowered himself further down—dangling from the pier by one hand. His fingers were numb and his body swayed in the howling wind as bone-chilling seawater nipped at his heels.
Peering through the darkness beneath the pier he could just make out the silhouette of Leeds crouched on the wooden steps, barely visible through the maze of struts and planks supporting the pier. Carefully taking aim he fired two quick shots.
Leeds yelped and cursed loudly and his plump figure tumbled off the steps and disappeared.
Bronski waited a few seconds to make sure he was really gone, then dragged himself back onto the pier. Hugging the side of the boathouse for cover he slipped past the girl and carefully peeked around the corner.
Leeds was already half a block away, limping hastily down the cross street, holding his leg. He turned and looked back at Bronski, then ducked out of sight into a driveway.
Bronski considered giving chase and finishing him off, but the zombies were already dangerously close. A few had turned to follow the Sheriff but when he disappeared from view they turned back to the pier, drawn by the little girl’s muffled sobs. A flash of lightning showed dozens of them coming down the streets from every direction, drawn by the chatter of the guns.
Bronski ran to the little girl and quickly cut her bonds, then scooped her protectively into his arms. “Ssshh, it’s okay,” he soothed the crying girl. “You’re safe now, sweetie. I’ve got you.”
As he carried her towards the boathouse door Ryan stepped outside—and immediately got a jolt as he saw the vanguard of the zombie horde mounting the steps to the pier. He raised Bronski’s rifle to fire but Bronski pushed the barrel down.
“Save it,” said Bronski, nodding at the girl. “She’s freaked out enough already. Let’s get to the boat and get out of here.”
They hurried to the dock at the end of the pier. A twenty-seven foot Sea-Ark cabin cruiser bounced up and down in the turbulent channel, marked with state police numbers.
Bronski handed the girl to Ryan and reclaimed his AR-15 from the boy. Slinging it over his shoulder he grabbed one of the sturdy nylon tie lines and pulled the boat closer to the pier, a Herculean effort in the storm-tossed channel. When it clunked against the dock he wrapped the line once around a piling. “Give me the girl and get down there. And be careful.” He took the girl back in his arms, then turned to check on the zombies lumbering down the pier—already halfway across. “Hurry.”
Ryan jumped into the boat and steadied himself, then reached up for the girl. Bronski handed her down, holding her tight until he was sure that Ryan had her firmly in his arms. He turned to see the zombies just twenty feet away. Unslinging his rifle he opened fire.
One by one they fell in quick succession, until a pile of twice dead corpses blocked the pier. But behind them came a relentless procession, not deterred for a moment by the plight of their fallen comrades. Oblivious to the threat of death they trudged up to the festering heap of corpses and started climbing over it, but their clumsy feet slipped and sank into the gory heap.
A tattooed biker zombie reared up from the pile, pushing himself violently forward. His momentum swung him off-balance and he slipped off the messy obstacle, bounced off the side of the pier and splashed into the saltwater channel below.
Bronski handed the rifle down to Ryan, then unhooked one of the tie lines. He tossed the rope into the boat then grabbed the remaining line. As he lifted it off the piling the wind kicked up suddenly, sweeping the boat into the channel.
In a split-second decision Bronski tightened his grip on the rope. His feet slid across the wet deck and he plunged into the ice cold channel. He sank like a stone in the frigid water, with barely enough time to suck in a breath before his head was completely submerged.
Down he went until his feet scraped bottom… then he kicked his legs and shot to the surface, gasping for air, spitting out cold salty water. He popped up in the raging water next to the ghoulish biker who had fallen in earlier—and hastily kicked him away. The zombie thrashed its arms desperately trying to grab him, but was caught in the swirling current.
“Nick!” Ryan cried loudly, half relieved and half in panic. Sitting Marissa on the deck near the cabin he hurried to the railing to help Bronski into the boat. But the boat rocked sharply and he slipped and fell to the deck, sliding back towards the terrified girl.
A bitter cold baptism of wind and sea spray shocked Bronski’s senses, snapping him alert. He realized he was still holding onto the boat line and pulled himself to the side of the boat. Ryan scooted over on hands and knees and dragged him over the railing.
Bronski dropped onto the deck and lay heaving. “Get the girl inside!” he shouted, over the grumbling storm.
The teen hurried back to Marissa and helped her into the cabin. “Stay here, Marissa,” he said gently, buckling her into one of the two pilot seats. “I’ll be right back, I promise.” He turned to head back to the deck but Bronski met him at the cabin door, looking like a drowned rat.
“Are you alright?” asked Ryan, having to shout above the whistling wind and the sound of the rain pounding on the aluminum roof. The storm had kicked into high gear. The boat bobbed erratically up and down, spinning and rolling on the choppy waves.
Bronski nodded, sweeping a sleeve across his dripping face. “Keep an eye on our passenger.” He plopped wearily into the driver’s seat and slipped the key into the ignition.
The engine sputtered and died. He let it rest for a second, then tried again. Again it failed to kick over. He sat in silence, defeated for a moment, then got up to go investigate.
“You n
eed a hand?” Ryan asked.
“Stay with the girl. I need to check the exhaust ports, I think they’re blocked. Take a seat. You earned it.”
Ryan plopped into the driver’s seat, grateful for the breather. They hadn’t even started their journey yet and he was already exhausted and starting to feel a bit seasick. He swiveled toward the frightened girl and forced an encouraging smile. She returned a blank stare.
“It’s okay, honey,” he reassured her. “I know you’re scared. Just hang in there. You’re safe now.”
***
Outside in the pouring rain, Bronski cinched a lifeline around his waist and crawled across the slippery deck to the stern. The boat was dangerously close to the boathouse pier, which was lined with zombies, standing like a cluster of grotesque mannequins, watching his every move. Bronski did his best to ignore them but their plaintive bleating got under his skin, a haunting mix of hungry moans and ghostly whimpers, filtered through rotting vocal cords.
Waves slopped over the railing, drenching the trooper as he leaned across the stern to inspect the exhaust ports. As he suspected, they’d been sealed to protect the engine in the storm, causing the engine to choke. He reached down to open the seal as the boat swirled drunkenly in the current… rocking its way towards the pier. His hand slipped off the plastic seal but he finally got a firm grip and yanked it free.
He flopped back onto the deck—just as the boat bumped against the dock.
A woman slammed down beside him, her face just a foot from his. One eye was immediately fixed on him. The other hung from its socket, swinging like a pendulum over the raw red crater that used to be her cheek. She grabbed for Bronski’s head with both hands but he seized her forearms and forced her back. Beyond her he could see the dock just a few feet away, teeming with the hungry dead, agitated by the commotion. They teetered anxiously on the edge, ready to pounce if the boat drifted back again.
