Empire Of Salt

by Weston Ochse

  A horrible thought struck him. After all this, he might end up drowning down here.

  It began to rain harder and Derrick swore that he could see the water level rising even as he prayed for the sump pump to work faster.

  Veronica cried wildly into the rain. Zombies had taken her uncle as he'd tried to dig a hole in their backyard. She'd been unable to save him and had barely been able to save herself. Now, staggering down the street, she wasn't sure where to go.

  She saw the golf cart swerving down the street and ran towards it. Although the rain was coming down hard, she thought she saw Mr. Duphrene behind the wheel. He'd be able to help. He might even have a way out.

  She jumped into the street and began to wave her arms.

  "Over here! I'm over here, Mr. Duphrene."

  The cart swerved hard to the left, then to the right, and then straightened, as if he was drunk. She lowered her arms. He drew near, but he wasn't slowing, and there was something wrong with the way he looked. Almost too late, she saw what had happened and dove out of the way.

  The cart careened past. The zombie that had been Mr. Duphrene turned his head and roared at her, crashed into the side of a trailer and was propelled over the steering wheel and into the side.

  Veronica began to back away.

  Mr. Duphrene climbed over the ruin of the cart and got to his feet. He stared at Veronica for a moment, raised his hooks into the air and came running at her.

  She turned to run, but slid on the wet pavement and fell down hard enough that her knees began to bleed. She staggered to her feet just in time to dodge the flailing arms of the hook-handed zombie.

  He skidded to a stop, and fell as he tried to turn around.

  She backed towards the wreck of the cart, hoping to use it as a shield between her and the zombie.

  It roared and came at her again. She climbed through the cab of the cart as it lunged at her, but wasn't fast enough. One of the hooks snagged the end of her tennis shoe, piercing the leather. Somehow her toes were spared any damage, but the hook was set hard in the leather.

  She kicked with her free leg, catching the zombie in the face each time, but seemed unable to hurt it.

  The zombie pulled her towards it, and as it did, the other hook came down between her legs. She lurched back at the last moment, barely avoiding being pierced in the abdomen.

  She rolled over and tried to pull away, but try as she might, she couldn't get free of the hook. She felt a sharp pain as Mr. Duphrene's teeth sank into her calf and screamed, kicking fiercely with both legs.

  The sound of a car engine roaring was followed by a tremendous jerk that dragged her several feet. But she was released, and gathered her feet under her and turned around.

  A car had rammed right into the Duphrene zombie, pinning him to the wall of the trailer and hitting him with such force, the straps of the prosthetic had snapped off, leaving the hook still attached to her foot. She freed herself and threw it away.

  The driver's side door opened and a man staggered towards her.

  Not again!

  Then she recognized the driver. It was Frank, the town drunk. She'd thought he'd died during the fight with Hopkins earlier. One of his arms was in a dirty sling. The other held a bottle of whiskey.

  "Step right up," he slurred. "The bar is open."

  He saluted her with the bottle and staggered down the street and out of sight.

  Veronica climbed out of the wreck of the cart, turned and ran.

  Nothing stopped her until she'd reached the safety of Natasha's grandfather's trailer.

  Natasha had seen Derrick scramble into sump pump #2 with what seemed like a hundred zombies clawing at the grate.

  Veronica sat on the couch being treated for a bite wound by Auntie Lin beneath the half-roof of the deck.

  How were they were going to save her brother? Metzger had planned to set fire to some of the trailers and draw the monsters' attention away, but with the rain coming down, there was no way a fire would stay lit.

  The ceiling beneath her feet bumped again and she couldn't help but jump. Zombies had followed Veronica to their trailer and had almost made it up to the roof. If it hadn't been for quick thinking on Metzger's part in breaking loose the boards and knocking down the old wooden stairs, their fate would have been sealed. Now the zombies were in the house, rooting around, doing God knew what. And each bump served to remind her that only sheet metal, wood and fiberglass protected them from the zombies' relentless hunger.

  "Have you figured out how to save my brother yet?" she asked.

  "We're not going down there, that's for sure."

  As if by way of confirmation, the zombies thumped against the ceiling beneath them again. There were others clawing at the metal side of the trailer, searching for purchase. Their fingers sounded like fingernails against chalk boards.

  "Then what?"

  Metzger peered into the rain and shook his head. "There aren't too many options. We can sit it out and hope that one of them doesn't figure out how to lift the grate or..."

  "Or what?"

  "Or I can try and make that propane tank explode and see how many of them I can take out."

  Natasha turned back to the telescope. The propane tank in question was only twenty feet from the sump and much too close to her brother for comfort. Derrick's chances at surviving were slim. She wanted to tell Metzger that, but they'd run out of options. The cavalry wasn't coming. They had this one chance. The more she thought about it, the worse she felt, but she was certain this was the only way.

  Still, she had to ask. "Is that the best you can do?"

  He shrugged.

  "Isn't it too far?"

  "It better not be." He held up the XM8 assault rifle he'd taken from the soldier in the restaurant. "I've never fired one of these 8s before, but they have the same ammo as the M16, so the range is probably similar. It looks to be about a hundred meters. I can hit that."

  "In the rain? With zombies milling around?"

  Metzger breathed deeply a few times, then fired. But instead of an explosion, he was rewarded with an anticlimactic clang. He tried again with the same result.

  "Fuck me. The damned bullets won't penetrate. Must be soft tip."

  "What does that mean?" Natasha asked.

  "It means they'd tear through the human body, but won't do jack to something made out of metal."

  He stared momentarily at the rifle. "Aw, fuck it," he said and aimed again before letting loose a stream of automatic rifle fire. At first it had no effect other than raising a clatter, but then a fireball erupted, followed by a deafening explosion that enveloped the zombies, the sump pump and the piles of trash heaped around it.

  Veronica and Auntie Lin ran to the railing. All four watched as the fireball ate itself, leaving a pile of charred zombie parts and a herd of burning, stumbling, creatures, lurching aimlessly back and forth and into each other in various states of dismemberment.

  The zombies began to attack each other as the propane-fueled fire ate at their flesh. The sound of the storm resumed, but it was different from before. Now Natasha heard sizzling as the water began putting out the burning wreckage. But the zombies were another matter; no matter how much rain fell upon the flames consuming their bodies, the fire refused to die. All Natasha could think of was the isotope in their blood and wonder if it, too, was flammable.

  Metzger stood suddenly and began to open fire at the propane tank next to the house next door. It took fewer rounds this time. The tank exploded like the one before it, lighting every zombie within its proximity on fire. He reloaded from a cargo pouch in his pants and continued firing. Soon explosion after explosion rent the air. All around them were fireballs and burning zombies.

  Metzger fired until all four magazines were empty and at least two hundred of the monsters were on fire, some fleeing as fast as they could, fanning the flames even faster. They plowed into other zombies and into trailers, their flaming impetus setting fire to everything they touched.

&nbs
p; "Get ready to go." Metzger checked the rifle and his pockets for more ammunition. Finding none, he tossed the weapon over the side, drew a pistol from his shoulder holster, checked to see if it was loaded, and turned to the others. "We're leaving in ten seconds."

  Natasha was terrified that her brother had been killed. She wanted Metzger to promise her that he was okay. But he seemed distant, more like a soldier now than he had been. He was a different person. Despite the fact that he was helping them survive, she wasn't sure she liked this version of him.

  "Veronica, come and help me." He stood by one of the support posts of the half roof covering the deck. "We need to break this free from the posts. Lean with me."

  Veronica got to her feet slowly. Her leg was bandaged tightly, but she seemed to be in another world since her auntie and uncle died. Still, she took one look and seemed to know what to do. They managed to rip the roof free and lower it across the gap between trailers so it could be used as a bridge.

  Metzger started to step onto it, when Natasha screamed for him to wait. He stopped and looked back at her.

  "Shouldn't we try someone light first? Just to make sure it holds?"

  Metzger frowned and shook his head. "It doesn't matter. Either it holds us or we all die. "What are you going to do if it breaks and I fall down there?" he asked, pointing towards the zombies. "What are you going to do if Auntie Lin falls? I'll tell you the answer: nothing. You'll do nothing right until the moment you die. Then that'll be something."

  Natasha watched Metzger's back, noticing his hands clenching and unclenching. He was like he'd been when he'd first arrived, acting like an addict. She frowned.

  Metzger put down another foot and allowed the wood and metal to take his full weight. Not even a tremble. They crossed quickly.

  Natasha stole a glance towards the grate covering the sump pump. It was still there and didn't look like it had been moved. On the other hand, besides a few burning bodies, there were no zombies in the vicinity. If her brother was alive, now would be the time for him to get out of there.

  She was about to shout when Metzger came and covered her mouth. His hand smelled like gunpowder. Her eyes narrowed and she tried to pry his hand away.

  "Not yet," he hissed. "Wait until we're at the end, then we're going to make a run for that."

  Natasha stopped struggling as he pointed at a trailer on the other side of the seawall. The Duvall Brothers used it for salt storage, and the windows were barred to keep out thieves. The distance from the last trailer to the salt storage trailer was about thirty feet; they would have to cross the road and scramble up the muddy seawall. Luckily the explosions had done a number on all the nearest zombies. About half of the creatures along their intended path were on fire.

  Metzger removed his hand and Natasha grimaced and wiped her mouth clean of the smell.

  Without warning, Metzger opened fire. It took five rounds from his pistol, but the zombies on the other trailer went down, the back of their heads exploding in a shower of bone, brains and yellow ichors.

  Together Veronica and Metzger moved the bridge from one side of the trailer to the other. Metzger went first, then the others. He had to shoot a zombie tramping up the stairs at the side of the trailer, but it otherwise worked perfectly.

  They repeated the process four more times until they came to the end of the row of trailers and leaned the roof down, making a ramp to the ground.

  "Okay, now's the time to call him," Metzger said.

  Less than a dozen zombies were within fifty feet of them. Two of those were on fire.

  "Derrick!" Natasha screamed. "Come on Derrick!"

  All eyes were on the grate, but nothing moved.

  "Derrick!" she screamed again. She choked on a sob, suddenly convinced that he'd died down there and she'd never see him again.

  "Derrick," Metzger yelled. "Hurry up, bro. We have a plan."

  "Yeah! Come on," Veronica yelled, joining in.

  Natasha screamed again, "Derrick!"

  The grate moved. First a little, the sound of metal grinding against metal a slow, plaintive wail, then a hand came up, followed by an arm. Soon they could see Derrick's head, half of his hair scorched off and his face as black as soot. He pulled himself out of the sump and, as if it was angry to lose a meal, the pump growled as he left.

  Natasha let out a laugh, but she had no time to glory in her brother's survival.

  Metzger grabbed Veronica's arm. "Now hurry. Down the ramp and up the seawall."

  Veronica looked left and right, ran down the ramp, crossed the road, and went up the other side. She made it halfway up the hill before the mud slowed her to a stop. Then it was hand over hand until she reached the top.

  Natasha helped Auntie Lin down the metal ramp. The older woman ran like a bowlegged chicken. Natasha ran beside her.

  "Run, Derrick!" Metzger roared.

  The boy stumbled forward, almost tripping over the blackened corpse of a zombie. Several partially burned zombies jerked around as he passed them. Those that could ran towards him. Those that couldn't clawed and dragged their way in his direction. They all wanted him.

  "Take the road around and meet us on the other side!"

  Derrick hesitated and looked back at the road that ran to the still burning zombie factory, then began to lope in that direction.

  Natasha got Auntie Lin about three feet up the seawall before the old woman came to a complete halt. It was just too slippery.

  Suddenly a zombie spotted them and broke ranks, sprinting like an Olympic champion directly at them. Metzger ran down the ramp to intercept, lifted both pistols and fired point blank at its head. It fell, the momentum sending its feet forward, laying it out on its back.

  "You have got to hurry," he yelled back over his shoulder.

  "But she won't move." Natasha pulled and jerked to get Auntie Lin up the hill, but no matter what she did, the older woman wouldn't budge.

  "Leave me!" Auntie Lin commanded.

  "Never!" Natasha cried.

  "Veronica, lay down and give Natasha your hand. Natasha, grab Auntie Lin with your other. Ma'am," he said to the old Chinese woman, "you better hold on." Metzger paused only to shoot another incoming zombie, then turned and, without holstering the pistols, pressed both of his hands against the old woman's butt.

  "Veronica, pull!"

  With Veronica and Natasha pulling and Metzger pushing, his Army boots digging into the mud, they finally made the top of the seawall beside the storage trailer. Derrick was waiting there as well. Natasha ran to hug him, but he jerked away, holding his arm gingerly. He'd lost a lot of blood. Where his face wasn't covered with grime and soot, it was pale. She examined his wound and knew she'd have to take care of it soon, but now there wasn't enough time.

  There were no more zombies in sight yet, which was a blessing. Only the rain and the rotting, white-capped sea kept Natasha and the others from running all the way to Los Angeles.

  But there, at the end of a rickety old dock, was one of the boats used by the salt collectors. Flat-bottomed and twenty feet long with an outboard engine, it was plenty big enough to hold them all. If only they could all make it out there in time.

  Thunder rumbled from far off. As if in response, the sea flashed green yet again.

  They ran towards the boat.

  The dock had seen better days. The wear and tear of the salt and continual use by the Duvalls had turned it into a teetering version of its once sturdy self. As they ran down its worn length, the clomping of their feet made it shudder and sway.

  But when they reached the boat, their hearts sank like rusty anchors to the Salton Sea floor. The bottom was a colander of holes that had allowed several inches of water to collect. Had it not been tied so tightly to the dock, the boat would have sunk long ago. As it was, there was no way it could carry all of them.

  Abruptly heads began to rise from the surface of the sea as more zombies found the surface.

  Metzger howled in frustration. He grabbed Auntie Lin and, carryi
ng her in his arms like she was a toddler, sprinted back toward the trailer. The others were quick to follow. They made it to the trailer as the first zombie made landfall, standing and staring as the rain beat down on its green mottled face.

  The door was locked, but two kicks from Metzger's booted foot opened it for them. They piled into the trailer, then hunted for a way to bar the door. The living room was used as temporary storage for the harvested salt. Burlap sacks filled with salt crystals covered most of the floor and were piled to the ceiling. They heaped these in front of the door. The sheer weight of them would keep it closed.

  Natasha ran to a barred window and peered out, but jerked her head back as a hand shot through the bars, breaking the glass. The yellow-clawed fingers just missed her face, as she turned to look at the others. "Shit! I should have known better than that."

  Metzger ran to the back and made sure that there were no other ways in.

  Natasha met him in the hall. "There isn't any food or water."

  "What did you expect?" he said.

  "Maybe we should have stayed on the roof of my grandpa's trailer. I felt safer there than here."

  Metzger scowled. "You want to go back, be my guest."

  She went to reply, but kept her mouth shut. He could see the hurt in her eyes, but he hadn't been able to keep the smart_assed remarks from bubbling up.

  Finally she asked, "What's wrong with you?"

  He gritted his teeth and shrugged. "Dunno. What's wrong with you?"

  Her jaw dropped for a moment, then she slapped him hard across the face, turned and stomped back into the living room. No one spoke. No one asked her what happened. They didn't have to. The trailer was so small that they'd all heard.

  Metzger wanted to strangle himself. He slid into the bathroom and closed the door, flipped on the light switch and glared at his gaunt face in the mirror. He was a piece of work. When Natasha needed someone she could lean on, someone she could count on, all he could be was an ass. He'd always been a bully when he was high, and nothing had changed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the bag of meth he'd taken from Kim Johnson. There was enough there for a weekend jaunt. He poured the crystal into his hand. It seemed so harmless. He'd been to enough classes in Norfolk to understand how it worked. He knew how terrible it was for his system. But damned if it hadn't brought back old memories.