by Weston Ochse
"No, I guess you're right. Then how about this - we'll come back and save them in the morning."
"But what if something happens to us?"
"If something happens to us, then something's going to happen to them if they're with us too. Like I said, they're safer here."
Veronica shook her head, not because she disagreed, but because she couldn't believe this was happening and they had to make these sorts of decisions. Nothing had prepared them for this. There was no Idiot's Guides to Zombie Chasing. There were no how-tos- on how to survive zombie attacks. That they'd survived this long was a miracle. If they made it through the night it would be more than a miracle.
"Let's go." Derrick glanced around once more at the devastation. "The zombies are on their way. I feel it. Anytime now." Derrick climbed over the sill, careful of the broken glass.
Veronica stole a last look at the kids. Their faces pressed against the glass of the driers, terror showing on their faces at the prospect of being left alone. But Derrick was right. They had a greater chance of surviving if left where they were. So she silently wished the children good luck and followed Derrick into the street.
They kept to the edge of the buildings. When they reached the restaurant, they saw hundreds of zombies staggering ashore. The image stunned them for a moment, freezing them in place. By the time they turned and ran up Avenue A, the zombies had seen them and were in full pursuit.
At Fourth Street they zigged east, intending to take Avenue B north to Veronica's trailer. But they saw movement near the intersection and dodged between two trailers. Almost out of breath, they finally got to the back of Veronica's trailer. As they arrived, they heard a scream.
Veronica shot Derrick a wide-eyed look. He waved her to her bedroom window, the screen long since broken. He'd go in the front. A small, chicken part of him wanted to turn that around so that she went in the front, but he squashed it.
A white Suburban was parked in the front yard. The sight of it actually made Derrick smile, not because he wasn't afraid of Hopkins and his cronies, but because he was less afraid of them than he was of the zombies.
Raised voices came from inside. He recognized Hopkins's voice and the deep baritone of Veronica's uncle. At the door, he peeked in, planning to jerk his head back, but the scene captured and held his attention. Veronica's aunt was dead on the couch, her face almost gone. Blood and brain matter were splattered on the wall behind her. Next to her on the couch was Natasha's uncle, his hands out, pleading with his attacker.
Derrick's movement must have caught the uncle's attention, because he looked squarely at Derrick, as did Hopkins.
Derrick brought his crowbar around, but he was too slow and Hopkins backhanded him with his pistol. Pain exploded in Derrick's face; he fell to the ground, wanting to cry and vomit at the same time. He tried to rise, but his breath was stolen away from him as Hopkins kicked him in the stomach. Now he did puke, ribbons of bile sliding down his face. He was jerked to his feet by his hair and spun to face his attacker.
"You motherfucking kids! How dare you fuck with me!"
Hopkins brought his fist back and plowed it into Derrick's face. His eyes felt like they'd burst, the pain turning everything red and white. He tried to say something, but could do nothing more than gurgle.
Suddenly he felt Hopkins stiffen. He let go and Derrick fell to the floor.
"You can't punch a kid like that," Veronica snarled. Then she cried, "Oh, Lord - Auntie!"
Derrick didn't see what happened next, but he heard three pistol shots and the sound of something heavy hitting the floor. It took a moment, but Veronica rolled him over.
"He killed Auntie," she whispered hoarsely.
"And you killed him." Derrick got to one knee. Hopkins lay face down. Derrick got the rest of the way to his feet, then kicked the dead man in the side as hard as he could.
Veronica ran to her uncle, cradling his wife's body.
Derrick rolled Hopkins over. He was happy to see the surprise that would live forever on his dead face. That it was two kids who killed him was all the better. Derrick brought his foot back and kicked the man in the side of the head.
Outside he saw a mass of zombies chasing someone down the street. They could be next.
"Hurry up," Veronica said to her uncle. "We have to go."
Her uncle shook his head. "I'm not going to leave her. I have to bury her."
"But uncle, you have to come or you'll die."
"I let him kill her."
"I don't care about that. I care about you."
"Then take care of yourself. Save yourself. I'm going to die right here."
"But uncle!"
"Veronica, keep your voice down," Derrick hissed. "We have to leave."
She turned to Derrick. "Go without me."
"What? I can't do that!"
She gripped his shirt. "Do it. Just go." She kissed him hard on the lips. "I'll be there, I promise. Now go. Before it's too late."
Derrick didn't like the idea of splitting up, but he knew by the look in her eyes that there was nothing to be done about it.
So he did what any hero would do.
He turned and ran.
Derrick's face hurt worse than any other pain he'd ever felt in his life. He'd been hit in the balls with a football and fallen off of his bike going downhill, but he'd never been punched in the face by a fully-grown man. His lips were swelling. One eye was all but closed.
He ran to Fourth Street and was about to turn east for the quickest way back to the trailer when he saw a horde of zombies running down the street. They hadn't seen him yet.
He dove across the road towards a propane tank, hit the ground and tried to roll, but didn't have the athleticism. Instead he skidded to a stop on his hands, gravel and sand biting into them. The crowbar went flying out of sight.
He thought about trying to find it, but the zombies were coming and he didn't have time. He got to his feet and ran, dodging around the end of a trailer and throwing his back against it. On Avenue A an Irish Setter he'd never seen before ran down the street, turning and barking at the dozen zombies who chased it before running again, as if it were leading them away. By the way the dog's tail wagged, it clearly thought it was just a game.
The game would inevitably turn bad. So many people had died that to see an animal die, especially a dog, tore at Derrick's heart.
But he kept going. Now he heard the tell-tale high-pitched wheezing of zombies on the other side of the trailer to his left. He took off running, only to run straight into one of them.
Derrick didn't have time to stop. He went into a baseball slide, like he was going into home plate feet first. The maneuver took him low through the mud and, as he slipped past one of the zombies, he brought his hands across the creature's ankles.
The zombie couldn't take the momentum. Its ankles smacked together; it teetered once, then crashed against the trailer and fell to the ground. Even as it did, it reached for Derrick, but he was too quick. He shot to a standing position and took off again.
He passed a house where a huddle of zombies was chewing at an immense man, lying sprawled in a kiddy pool that was rapidly filling with rainwater and blood. His legs were as big around as Derrick's chest and his arms must have each weighed eighty pounds.
As Derrick sped past the zombies, he realized with horror that he'd been more apalled by the man's waxy, pale skin than by the zombies' feast. He was becoming inured to the sight, and it didn't bother him at all.
For a moment, he had a clear shot to his grandpa's trailer, but a pair of zombies suddenly peeled away from a cat they'd been eating and ran right at him. Derrick ran between the nearest houses, taking him away from his sister.
The zombies' lack of dexterity ran in Derrick's favor. Most of the yards on this block were separated with waist-high chain link fences, and he was able to get over them fairly fast, while the zombies all but fell as they attempted the same.
For a second he was home free. Then the figure of the Kloste
rman Kid caused Derrick to skid to a stop. He was straining at the end of his chain, howling in frustration as he swung his arms towards an old woman zombie. It would be easy to run around them, but as he listened to the man-boy's howl, he knew he couldn't. Veronica had described the Klosterman Kid as a four year old stuck in a thirty-five year old's body, making him no different than Carrie's kids. They at least had the safety of the dryers; what did the Klosterman Kid have? The door was ripped from the hinges of his doghouse. The Kid really had nothing... and no one, unless you counted Derrick.
Just then the woman leaped atop the Kid's back, moving more like a spider than a person. She was about to sink her jaws into the back of his neck, when he spun, sending her flying into the side of the trailer.
"Hey!" Derrick shouted.
The Kid whirled. When he saw Derrick, he broke into a smile. "Hey!" he shouted back.
Derrick ran to him, intending to unstrap the wide leather collar around the Kid's neck. But the Klosterman Kid wrapped both of his arms around Derrick and hugged him to his huge chest. Derrick struggled for breath.
"Stop... can't... breathe."
The Klosterman Kid let go and Derrick began to work the leather end free of the clasp.
The old woman zombie attacked once more, flinging herself at the Kid, her teeth latching onto his arm. The Kid tried to shake her off, which did nothing to help Derrick.
The zombie came away with a chunk of meat. The Klosterman Kid threw his head back and screamed like a giant baby, kicked out and caught the zombie in the stomach. She bent over double, but was back up in a second.
But that second was enough time for Derrick to finally pull the leather through the metal clasp and free the kid.
But he had no time to celebrate. The zombie was after him now and dove on his chest. He was somehow able to grab her by the shoulders and hold her off, but he couldn't hold her for long.
She snapped at his face. Derrick closed his eyes and screamed.
Then she was gone.
Derrick cracked open his eyes and saw her hanging by the leash. The Klosterman Kid had wrapped it several times around her neck and had lifted her from the ground. If she was a human she would have died.
Derrick scrambled to his feet.
Her legs kicked beneath her and her hands tried to pry the chain loose, to no avail. The Klosterman Kid spun her on the end of the chain, twirling her around and around. After four revolutions he let her go. She flew through the air. When she hit the length of the chain, her neck snapped and she fell to the ground.
But it didn't kill her.
She climbed unsteadily to her feet, head lolling on her shoulders.
Derrick searched for something to use as a weapon. He spied a shovel leaning against the trailer, grabbed it and shouted, "Hold her down!"
Doing as he was told, the Klosterman Kid body-tackled the old woman zombie. He lay atop her as she bit him repeatedly in the arm. He screamed, but still held her down.
Derrick swung the shovel trying to take the zombie's head off with the blade, but missed on his first try, the flat of the shovel smacking into her face and shattering her front teeth. He swung again, this time almost hitting the Kid in the back of the head. Derrick realized that it would never work the way he was trying to do it. So he straddled the old woman zombie's head, pressed the blade of the shovel against her neck and then jumped with both feet on it as if he were digging a hole. The blade sliced clean through the neck.
The zombie went instantly still.
He dropped the shovel and reached down to the Kid. "Come on. Follow me."
The Klosterman Kid rolled over. Tears still fell from his eyes as he brought a hand to his bloody wounds.
"Hurts," he said. "Omammie it hurts."
"I know. I know." Derrick put his arm around the Kid's back as he got to his feet. "We'll get that looked at, I promise."
He glanced around. They seemed to be in a zombie free zone. Those who'd been chasing him earlier had given up the chase. Now in the Klosterman's backyard - with the exception of the dead, decapitated zombie laying in the muddy grass - he could have been anywhere.
Who was he kidding? They had to get out of here.
"Follow me," he said, picking the shovel back up.
He took off at a jog and ran around the end of the trailer, right into a group of zombies.
"Fuck!" Derrick tried to dodge one way, found that way blocked, then spun back towards the other way. All of a sudden he was grabbed from behind, the wheezing so close he couldn't even hear his own breathing. He struggled spastically, flinging his arms and legs wildly about, but couldn't break free. He tried to swing his shovel, but couldn't bring it to bear. A zombie came at him from the front and he kicked out, catching it in the hip and sending it stumbling off balance.
Suddenly teeth bit deeply into his left tricep.
He screamed. His whole body shook as teeth scraped against bone. He struggled again to swing the shovel, but couldn't get it higher than his knee, so he began to rake it across the legs of the zombies nearest him, hoping that they'd at least feel the pain.
But nothing happened. The zombie tore again at the back of his arm.
Derrick screamed again, and was echoed by the Klosterman Kid behind him.
Derrick fell to the ground and saw the Kid swinging a piece of wood torn from the porch in wide sweeping arcs. With each swing a zombie went down. Sometimes it stayed down, but more often it got up.
Derrick found himself no longer the center of the zombies' attention. They surged past him towards the Klosterman Kid.
Derrick climbed to his feet, gripping his bloody arm.
"Homerun!" The Kid broke out into a grin as he stuck his tongue in between his teeth and swung harder. He stared at Derrick and yelled it again, this time breaking it into two words. "Home run!"
Derrick understood and got to his feet, one arm holding the other. For a second Derrick thought he may actually survive the battle, but the wood cracked and splintered, leaving the Kid with little more than a twig to defend himself.
The zombies surged over the Kid, and Derrick turned and ran. His head swam and he was a little unsteady at first, but he found his balance, oriented himself, and took off like a drunken racer down Fourth Street, holding his arm. By the time he'd reached Isle of Palms Avenue, there were a hundred of the creatures hot on his tail. Their combined hissing sounded like a hungry freight train.
Some of the creatures ran at almost regular speed, but many could move no faster than a jog. Some even lurched like the ones in the old black and white movies. Derrick figured maybe it had to do with how old they were, or how much damage the rot had done to muscle and bone. In the zero-gravity environment of space it wouldn't matter, but here on earth, gravity had everyone under its thumb.
Derrick took a corner at full speed, his feet slipping on the wet gravel and mud that had fallen off the seawall where the zombies had broken through. His head had cleared and he was no longer dizzy. He headed south towards the intersection of Isle of Palms and Fifth Street, where the seawalls met in an "L" and the entrance to the plant was - used to be, he corrected himself; all that remained was a smoking heap.
He somehow found more speed and bit his swollen lip to keep from crying out. His arm hurt worse than any pain he'd ever felt. Where the beating from Hopkins had been a temporary thing, the horrendous wound on his arm, dripping blood and gore where his muscle had been torn away, affected him as much psychologically as physiologically.
Through the entrance to the quay he observed that the sea was still flashing. It lit the night in green throbs. He wondered how many more zombies there could be waiting beneath the water.
Derrick had been hoping he could circle the block and end up back at his grandpa's trailer. But he was almost to the corner when he glanced through the trailers towards Fifth Street and saw dozens more zombies loping to intercept him. Fear almost stopped him. This was not at all what he'd anticipated.
He couldn't turn around. He couldn't turn t
he corner. He could go over the seawall, but there were most certainly zombies on the other side, still wading from the sea. He couldn't weave through trailers, because there weren't any this close to the intersection. His only chance was to get to the corner first. As impossible as it seemed, he managed to pour on a little more juice... and he made it a few steps faster than the nearest zombie coming towards him down Fifth Street. Leaping over piles of trash and stacked wood, Derrick ran to sump pump #2. As he grabbed the metal grate, the pump growled at him like a furious chained beast. He remembered when they'd first come to Bombay Beach and the Salton Sea, and how the pump's sound had scared him. That sound was nothing compared to the real horror now in town.
The grate was impossibly heavy. Derrick tugged and heaved until there was a space big enough for him to slip through. He went in feet first and immediately got stuck, but wiggled and shoved with the desperation of someone about to be eaten and finally fell inside. He hit the piping and part of the motor with a painful crash, but he had no time to waste. He stood and pressed his hands against the grill slats, anchored his legs against the concrete wall, and pushed the grate back into place with a clang.
And not a moment too soon.
A zombie crashed against the gate, pushing its fingers through, trying to get to him.
Derrick jerked his hands back and found himself staring into yellow zombie eyes. The creature chewed and gnawed at the grate, breaking teeth on the metal. The zombie snapped like a savage dog on the other side of a fence, unwilling to back down, not knowing that it couldn't chew through the barrier, not caring, driven by a desire it couldn't understand.
Another zombie crashed on top of the first one. It had an eye missing and fungus growing in the empty socket. It hissed and pushed, trying to get to Derrick, fighting the other for position.
Derrick met the dead hungry stares of the zombies as they glared at him, need behind each glowing yellow eyeball. They wanted him. They needed him. They'd do anything to have him.
Then it began to rain harder, as Tropical Storm Hiawatha asserted itself. The sump growled. He peered up at the zombies above him.
