by Tony Urban
“Chelsea, huh?” She looked at me and, for a second, I thought maybe she recognized her name. Then I realized it was just the sound of my voice that had elicited the response. The way a dog tilts its head when you raise the pitch of your voice. That and her instinctual, insatiable desire to eat me. And not in the good way.
“We could’ve had fun, Chelsea.”
She made it to her feet, then teetered, trying to get her balance as she stomped across a mound of cigarettes. I decided not to wait any longer and shoved the tip of the sword through the lens of her glasses. There was a light pop as her eyeball burst and milky, pink-tinged goo ran out. After she fell, I wiped the blade of the sword against her shirt to cleanse it of the gore.
Before leaving the store, I spotted a display of instant lottery off tickets, tore free a handful, and scratched them off one by one. They were all losers. Some things never changed.
When I returned to the garage, I found LaRon standing in the cargo area of the Jeep. He wore a welder’s mask and a cascade of sparks came down like orange rain. I knew enough to not look directly at the flame of the torch, so I mulled about the shop while LaRon worked.
The building was filled with a variety of tools and car parts. I sorted through it all, not knowing what most of it was, and not really caring. I didn’t know a carburetor from a catalytic converter. My vehicles had always been pieces of shit held together by duct tape and hope. When they conked out, I didn’t bother getting them fixed. I just moved on to the next $250 Craigslist special.
Large pieces of sheet metal were stacked horizontally on a shelving unit. They were bright and shiny, almost mirror-like, and they caught my attention. When I brushed my hand against the edge, I opened of a gash several inches long. Smooth move, dumbass.
I jerked my hand away, squeezing the wound closed while I looked for something to stop the bleeding. I found a box of cotton rags that looked unused and held one of them against the cut. Blood seeped through the white fabric and I folded the rag over for extra absorption. That worked.
“The fuck you do?”
I turned and saw LaRon watching me. The welder’s mask was tilted up revealing his curious face. I held up my hand. “Cut myself.”
“Good thing we’re overrun with zombies and not vampires. Elsewise you’d bring all kinds of hell down on us.” He paused thinking. “Zombies can’t smell blood, right?”
“I don’t think so.” Once upon a time I didn’t think they could climb stairs either, but I didn’t mention that to him. I moved toward the Jeep trying to see what the man was up to. I noticed a triangular frame had been welded onto the center of the Wrangler’s roll bar.
“Help a brotha out,” LaRon said.
I climbed into the back of the Jeep where LaRon had his hands under the Gatling Gun. Together, we crouched down and lifted.
“Careful now,” LaRon said as he steered the gun toward the metal concoction he’d affixed to the roll bar. We set the gun on the triangle. “Hold it steady.”
LaRon grabbed a wrench and made adjustments under the set up. He swore once, then stood, apparently satisfied. “You can let go now.”
I thought the gun might topple off. I didn’t see how LaRon’s creation could be strong enough to keep it there, but when I let go, the Gatling gun sat firmly atop the roll bar. LaRon grabbed the stock and swiveled it back and forth, flashing the grin that revealed his gold grills. “Not bad.”
I had no great fondness for firearms, but even I had to admit this was impressive. “It’s awesome, man. You know how to shoot it?”
“Hell yeah. Wouldn’t of gone to this much trouble if I didn’t. I know your white ass don’t know nothing about guns.”
“Guilty as charged.” I knelt examining LaRon’s handiwork. The mount welded to the roll bar looked like it could withstand a tornado. “Where’s you learn how to do this? Did you take metal shop in school or something?”
“Shit no. I learned this in the chop shop! Real world experience.”
As I considered my new friend’s skills, I looked down at my sliced hand, then to the rows of sheet metal. “The doors come off Wranglers, don’t they?”
LaRon nodded. “All you got to do is pop the pins. Why?”
“Are you up for another project?”
“Depends on the project.”
Now it was my turn to smile.
It took LaRon all the afternoon and most of the evening to bring my idea to life, but when he was finished, we were both giddy with excitement.
The Jeep’s doors were gone. In their place, LaRon had fabricated something akin to airplane wings which were five feet long, two feet deep and had razor sharp edges.
LaRon showed me the mechanism he’d built off the Wrangler’s original door hinges. Using that lever, the wings could be opened and locked in place with ease. Pulling it the other way retracted the wings and held them tight against the Jeep’s body.
I thought it looked weird as shit, but exactly as I’d imagined it at the same time. Secretly I wondered whether it would work in a real-world scenario, but in theory - my theory - it would be incredible.
“Let’s try it out!” I couldn’t wait.
LaRon raised his eyebrows. “Calm down, yo. I’m hungry and tired and fuck. We can play with our new toys tomorrow.” He lit up a joint and I knew the discussion was over.
I tried to calm myself. LaRon was right, after all. It was pitch black outside and even with a Jeep armed with a machine gun and bladed wings, traveling at night was still a bad idea.
To get my mind off wreaking havoc, I grabbed the shopping bags I’d filled at the mini mart and we feasted. Soon after, as a food coma set in, we crashed on the floor.
8
July 31
I woke early and doubted I’d slept more than two hours. The excitement and curiosity were overwhelming. I allowed LaRon to sleep while I loaded the other guns, weapons, and supplies back into the Wrangler.
That took all of half an hour. When I was finished, I made sure to take extra hard footsteps as I walked, hoping LaRon would come awake. When that didn’t work I resorted to fake coughing.
After the fifth time, it worked. LaRon’s eyelids fluttered and he rolled onto his back, yawning as he looked at me. “What time is it? Oh dark thirty?”
“A little after seven, I think.” I lied. I knew it was a quarter passed six at the latest.
“Jesus, man. Can’t you let a brother get his forty z’s? We’ve got pretty much all the time in the world, in case you forgot.”
“I know. I’m just anxious.”
“You’re always anxious. Why don’t you smoke some of that weed?”
That wasn’t a terrible idea, but I wanted to keep my head clear. “I can’t. I’m driving, remember.”
“Ain’t no one gonna bust you for driving under the influence.” But LaRon worked his way into a sitting position. “What do we got left to eat?”
I tossed him an energy shot, hoping it would provide a nonverbal hint. LaRon scowled at me, but I thought he was simultaneously fighting off a grin.
“Whatever, yo. You wanna go, we’ll go. Where’s a good place around here to find a hella lotta people?”
I had just the spot in mind.
I laid on the horn as I drove the Jeep into the parking lot of the local Wal Mart. There were a hundred or so cars but no zombies. I continued past them, only stopping when I reached the glass double doors.
“This should work,” I said.
LaRon followed my gaze. The view inside was blocked by a smeary haze of zombies pressed against the glass. The ones up front had odd, flattened out features as their bodies were smashed against automatic sliding doors which were sealed shut in this powerless era. They clawed and scratched at the glass, their efforts fruitless.
“Want me to shoot it open?” LaRon asked and I could hear the excitement in his voice. This was going to be crazy fun.
“I had another idea.” I turned and fished through a duffle bag in the back seat, soon emerging with a gre
nade.
LaRon nodded in approval. “I like the way you think, Mead.”
I pulled the pin and lobbed the grenade toward the doors. It hit the ground and rolled a few feet, ricocheting off the glass and coming to a stop as I hit the gas and sped away.
We only had a wait a moment before the explosion. I was surprised it wasn’t louder. It sounded like a glorified cherry bomb - not the ground-shaking, earth-shattering results I’d expected - but it did the trick. The doors to the store shattered.
The ones up front took the brunt of the explosion. Shards of glass embedded itself in their pale, gray skin making them look a bit like ornate porcupines.
As we watched, one zombie’s head was cleaved in two by a chunk of the metal door frame that whipped through the air like a propeller. Then, the soaring metal severed the arm of a store employee.
With the glass gone, the zombies emerged into the daylight, free and ready to feed. We had other plans though. It was finally time to put our new toys to the test.
“Fire away,” I told LaRon who was all too eager to do just that. He slipped between the seats and into the rear of the Jeep. There, he took his position behind the Gatling Gun.
The zombies were maybe twenty yards from us, shuffling and stumbling. Easy targets. LaRon aimed the gun at them and took the crank in his right hand. But, then he stopped and turned his attention to me.
“Ears.” LaRon reached into the same bag from where I’d grabbed the grenade and pulled out two sets of protective earmuffs. He handed one to me and put on the other set.
Good thinking, I supposed, but at the same time I wondered how this man from the projects of Baltimore knew so much about military weaponry and tactics. Hell, I’d grown up around guys who spent most of their lives in the woods, killing animals and shooting targets, and the thought of earplugs or headgear never would have occurred to me.
Before I could put any more thought into the matter, LaRon opened fire. Even wearing the earmuffs, the gun was shockingly loud. Much more impressive than the grenade. But, even more awe-inspiring than the noise it made, was the destruction the gun wrought.
Bullets ripped through the zombies at an almost impossibly fast pace. Their thick, clotted blood exploded through the air like back sleet. Several of the creatures’ heads exploded, their decapitated bodies crashing to the ground, only to be replaced with a new front line.
LaRon kept shooting and the zombies kept dying. From my spot in the driver’s seat, I could feel heat coming off the gun like someone had set the oven to 500 degrees and left the door open. It was so hot I shrank sideways to try to get away from it.
Despite the heatwave, most of my attention remained on the horde as the gun tore them to pieces. Maybe guns aren’t so bad after all, I thought. This weapon was certainly making quick work of the monsters and, as I’d found out the hard way, I didn’t know everything.
A pile of motionless zombies a few feet high littered the space in front of the store’s entrance. I had no idea how many were dead, but was sure it was dozens. Maybe a hundred. As amazing and wondrous as the experience was, I also wanted to put my own invention to use.
I turned to look at LaRon whose arm kept cranking and firing the Gatling Gun. Speaking, or even shouting, over the roar of that weapon was impossible, so I grabbed the man’s pants and gave a hard tug. LaRon stopped firing and turned his attention my way.
I mouthed, ‘Leave some for me.’ LaRon nodded, pulled off the earmuffs, and tossed them into the bag. “Got a little carried away.”
He couldn’t stop grinning and I didn’t blame him one bit. At the same time, I was nervous. I expected the wings to work. There was no logical reason why they wouldn’t. Yet how could they top the carnage of LaRon’s gun? That was a proven war machine. The wings were something I’d dreamed up all on my own. I felt like an amateur musician going on stage to perform after AC/DC just played a full set. Talk about performance anxiety.
As LaRon reclaimed the passenger seat, I drove the Jeep to the rear of the parking lot. We waited there as the zombies continued to flee the store. I hit the horn again to draw then our way and it worked. I couldn’t get an accurate count because my nerves were in overdrive, but I guessed there were still thirty or more.
Once they’d halved the distance between the store and the Jeep, I shifted the Wrangler back into drive, keeping my foot on the brake. I turned to LaRon and hoped I didn’t look as nervous as I felt. “Ready?”
“Hell yeah. I was born ready. You got this shit, Mead.”
I grabbed the lever and pulled it back. The wing on my side of the Jeep swung open, the metal glistening under the bright, mid-morning sun.
“Should I open mine too?” LaRon asked, his hand on the lever, ready.
“No. There’s not really enough room in here. That’ll work better on the highways.” If it works at all, I thought.
I couldn’t shake the memory of assuring Bundy that zombies couldn’t climb stairs, only to be proven so very wrong. Bundy had never forgiven me and that was the also the end of our budding friendship. In a life where I’d so often been the punchline, I didn’t want to go through that again. But, it was far too late to turn back.
The zombies were thirty yards away now. The leader of the pack was a tall, pear-shaped woman in yellow pantsuit and a white button down. Or one that had been white many weeks ago. Now, the front of the shirt was stained red and brown and black like some sort of gory version of tie-dye. She reminded me a bit of Big Bird and I stared at her undead face as I removed my foot from the brake and hit the gas.
The Wrangler lurched forward, slow off the start as usual, but picking up speed as I kept putting more pressure on the pedal. Thirty yards became twenty. Ten.
I swerved to the right, so the zombies were no longer in front of the Wrangler, but were instead in the path of the wing.
Five yards.
In my peripheral vision I saw LaRon latch onto the grab handle on his side of the dash, steeling himself for what to come. I knew I couldn’t accept another failure, another embarrassment. I wanted to close my eyes, but forced myself to watch. It was time.
Big Bird was still at the head of the flock and that was bad news for her. The front edge of the wing caught her in the rib cage and I felt the impact of the blow reverberate through the Jeep’s body all the way to my hands on the steering wheel.
For a moment, I thought it wasn’t working. That it wasn’t sharp enough and she was going to simply bounce backward. But that worry was gone in an instant when I witnessed her upper body topple backward.
After her was an old man with so many age spots on his head you could have played connect the dots. The wing sliced him in half at chest level, even severing both of his arms around the biceps.
The rest of the zombies were too close together for me to take in their features as the wing sliced them to pieces. Bursts of black blood and their dying groans filled the air as one after another after another they met their fate.
It was all over in seconds and I hit the brakes so hard I threw myself forward, bouncing into the steering wheel, but I didn’t even feel it because my system was so full of adrenaline. I made a hard U-turn so fast that I almost fell out of the open door cavity, and made a mental note to wear my seat belt whenever the wing was extended from now on. And I had a feeling it was going to be getting a great deal of use.
Ahead of us, a bloody pile of zombies was strewn across the pavement. It looked like a mound of partially assembled mannequins, only these mannequins oozed blood and goo and their spilled internal organs turned the parking lot black. And it looked incredible.
With no small effort I forced myself to look away from the carnage I’d created and look to LaRon who was bouncing up and down in his seat with excitement.
“Fucking shit, yo! That was epic! It was like a zombie blender! We’ve gotta do it again!”
I didn’t know what made me happier, that this weapon I’d thought up actually worked - and worked so perfectly - or seeing the excitement
on my friend’s face.
I wanted to bask in the glory because it was such an oddly foreign feeling. I wished all the assholes who’d told me I’d never accomplish anything worthwhile in life were here to see this. Because the shit had hit the fan and while most people were dead or dying, I was figuring out ways to not only survive, but to excel.
I realized another handful of zombies had emerged from the store. “Shoot em or dice em?” I asked LaRon.
“Dice the fuckers!”
I did just that.
When all the zombies were destroyed, we took turns posing in front of the bloodbaths we’d each created while the other took pictures. LaRon even got a sweet shot of me gripping the head and shoulders of a zombie which was still alive, even though the entire bottom part of its body was in a heap with the others.
Afterward, we raided the Wal-Mart, which was mostly free of the undead. I found three zombies inside and killed them with a sword and LaRon shot two others, but overall it was an easier and more pleasant than a trip to the department store than any I’d experienced prior to the apocalypse.
While LaRon hit the sporting goods counter, filling a shopping cart to the brim with ammunition for the guns, I loaded another cart with food. Real food this time. Canned meat and vegetables, soup, dry goods. We had a long trip ahead of us and even I knew that man could not survive on energy shots and snack cakes alone.
After getting enough food to last at least a week, I made my way to the office supply section where I grabbed the thickest road atlas I could find. I searched until I found the small city of Bangor, then made a circle around the city and, above it wrote, ‘Stephen King’s house.’
It looked almost impossibly far away, but what was life without adventure?
9
August 15
As a side effect of avoiding the cities and taking detours through the countryside, the road trip has been slow and meandering. A week and a half in and we’d only made it to western Connecticut. There, we settled in for the night in a sprawling green lodge on a lake which the signs declared ‘North Spectacle’.
