Forget the Alamo: A Zombie Novella

by R. J. Spears

  The four of us spread out awaiting Mr. Solo’s rush at us.

  The final threads in Mr. Solo’s jacket gave way when there was a blur of motion behind him. Mr. Solo pitched face down onto the roof with a grunt. Joni appeared in the newly opened space, holding a wooden flag pole with the Texas Flag on it, her face tight in a determined grimace. Blood dripped off the end of the flagpole.

  Mr. Solo started to rise and Joni jumped onto his back, driving the pole’s ornate metal end into the base of the zombie’s skull. Reddish-black blood started to spurt out the newly opened wound. Mr. Solo thrashed about, but Joni put all her weight into it and drove the metal end up in the zombie’s skull putting an end to Mr. Solo’s pathetic undead existence.

  “Pretty bad-ass Joni,” I said. “Why didn’t you bring a gun? It would have been easier.”

  Joni shrugged and said, “I took the first thing I could get my hands on. Besides, I thought you wanted the guys with the guns to stay downstairs.”

  “There are exceptions to every rule, you know,” I said in a mock chiding tone. “What do you think Randell? Will she get in trouble for desecrating the Texas flag?”

  “Nah, we’ll give her a pass this time,” Randell said, letting out a long exhalation.

  I started to move to the cart as Mack appeared on the roof holding the radio. His face was ashen.

  “Grant, we have more trouble,” Mack said.

  “More trouble than a thousand or so flesh eating zombies surrounding us?” I asked.

  He didn’t say anything but just turned up the volume.

  An official sounding yet passionless voice came forth from the radio. “Any citizens in the San Antonio downtown area are ordered to evacuate the city immediately. All large population centers are too dangerous as the infected have overtaken these areas. Planes from the Armed Forces will be entering the San Antonio area by nineteen hundred hours and will drop incendiary ordnance on all large population centers to exterminate the infected.” The message started over and Mack switched off the radio.

  “What are they talking about?” Randell asked.

  “They’re going firebomb the downtown!” Mack said.

  “They can’t do that!” Randell said, his face starting to redden.

  “Yes, they can,” I said. “And will.”

  “But we’re down here,” Randell said looking stunned.

  “They have to stop the spread. They tried all conventional methods, now it’s time to think outside the box. They’ll probably use MK-77s. Or a MOAB,” I said, my voice flat.

  “Moab?” Randell said, a stricken look on his face.

  “Moab, M-O-A-B,” I said spelling it out. “Mother of all bombs. Eleven tons of explosives. It was developed for surface targets. It’s been used on terrorist locations in the Mideast. Perfect for zombies, really.”

  “Well Professor, you might get caught up in speechifying, but my watch says we have an hour and forty five minutes before the bombs start to fall,” Joni said getting in my face. “I’ve got my last two kids downstairs and while you may be giving up, I’m not. So, what are we going to do now?”

  Good question. What do we do now? Pray? Kiss our asses goodbye?

  Waiting the zombies out was no longer an option since the clock was ticking on our more imminent demise.

  My plan was the Hail Mary of Hail Mary’s. When you stopped to carefully examine it, it had so many holes in it that it stretched plausibility to the point of fantasy. It came down to split second timing and a whole lot of luck. But we could lay down and take our fate or we could try something. Trying was always better than surrender in my book.

  Joni stood, her face as mask of tension, but still ready for anything. At barely five foot four, she was a feisty one and showed more courage than most of the others. If anyone else could drive a bus, I would have taken them, but she was the only one who could. So, she was in the barrel with me.

  Joey, the youngest cop was in the barrel, too. But to tell you the truth, he looked like he was about to piss his pants.

  Mack, Sammy, Randell, and Jenkins were on the roof, ready with one of the propane tanks. My plan was simple and most likely would get the three of us killed before it even started. The tank with the guys on the roof was wrapped in kerosene soaked cloth. We found kerosene in some lamps kept around for an authentic, back-in-time presentations. The cloth came from the set of flags above the front door of the chapel.

  Our tank sat strapped to the front of the food cart. I stood five feet off to the side holding a fire axe. Joni and Joey stood ready to push the cart on my cue. Oscar had the duty of opening the doors.

  I peered out the window and saw phase one of the plan going into effect. Step one was to light the cloth surrounding the tank on fire. Step two was to lower the tank down among the undead. We had rigged up a fishing pole style system with the tank dangling by the extension cord off the end of a flag pole. The team on the roof lowered their flaming tank down toward the waiting mob. The tank, wrapped in light blue flames, illuminated the grisly faces of the undead making me think of the expectant faces of children on Christmas day.

  These undead things didn’t have a whole lot of cognitive abilities, but they had primal fears and one of those was fire. They gave the tank a wide berth as it descended.

  My plan was about to be put to its biggest test. If it worked, we’d be making great strides. If it didn’t, we’d most likely be dead.

  In my mind’s eye, I saw Gentry aiming his gun at the tank, poised to take the shot. The others strained to get the tank as far out into the crowd of the undead as possible. The rest of our group huddled at the back of the chapel, out of harm’s way. At least for now. If I miscalculated, what was about to happen next would be a deal breaker for all of us as the explosion blew the doors off, killing all of us just inside the door and giving the zombies unfettered access to everyone else.

  It was a huge gamble and one we would have to take, so we rolled the dice.

  My theater of the imagination ended with a single shot. His bullet flashed through the dark and through the burning cloth piercing through the tank’s metal hide, letting the propane out and the fire in.

  The night had been subtly illuminated by the twilight of the descending sun and the gentle glow from the burning cloth around the tank. Then the scene went supernova. The lightning of the explosion was followed immediately by thunder. Thunder of the divine kind, loud and consequential.

  Flames burst through the windows and all of us instinctively ducked down, shielding our faces. The cool night air was burned away in a second and a wave of heat washed over us. The two young children at the back of the chapel screamed, but no one heard them over the din of the explosion.

  My worst fear was not realized. My plan was literally and figuratively playing with fire. I had no real idea of what the proportion of the explosion would be. Once the tank ignited, all bets were off. One part me had thought we would be toast, but the doors held.

  “Oscar, get those doors open,” I said to the short burly retiree. It was his bad luck that had brought him and his wife to the Alamo on the worst day in history. He did his duty with swiftness and aplomb, even if his hands were noticeably shaking.

  It was a great reveal, really, and one hard not to take notice of. If I had time to clap, I would have given us a standing ovation.

  The great ball of fire was dissipating as the doors opened. The propane tank spun in a slow circle on the ground spitting out an impressive gout of flame, the fire licking out like a fiery red tongue along the ground. Zombies lay strewn about like undead rag dolls, some missing limbs, some engulfed in flame, but most were lying about insensate from the aftermath of the explosion -- not that they had all that much sense before the explosion.

  “This is no time to admire our handiwork, folks,” I said. And there wasn’t. While the zombies at the epicenter of the explosion were out of commission, the others outside the blast radius would rally quickly. It was just their way. Explode a bomb in the midst of a grou
p of live people and those not immediately affected needed a few minutes to collect their wits, but not these undead bastards. They didn’t give a big screw if their comrades had just been turned into crispy critters. Dinner was still being served, and it was time to get to the restaurant.

  I reared back with the fire axe and came forward with the small spiked end in a brutal arc aiming for the side of our tank. There was no time for practice and I really had chance to repeat my efforts.

  Sometimes God is on your side and sometimes who knows. This just happened to be one of the only things that went truly right with my plan. The axe blade pierced the hard metal shell of the tank perfectly resounding with a metal pinging noise. A small hole appeared in the tank’s side and a burst of propane shot forth, filling the air with its sweet, yet pungent smell.

  Oscar jumped forward with a torch, setting the gas aflame, a menacing gout of flame shot ten feet in front of the tank.

  Shazam, we had an improvised flamethrower. This is where my plan went awry. As he set the jet of gas aflame, Oscar had gotten too close and his arms became engulfed in fire. Starting to panic, he dropped the torch and batted at the flames with his hands. This only made matters worse.

  “Drop and roll,” Joni screamed, but Oscar ignored her, his shirt now on fire. Out of nowhere, Minnie ran to him and wrapped him in a blanket, snuffing out the flames. Both of them collapsed to their knees.

  Joni and Joey stood gaped mouth, but there was not time for that.

  “We’ve got to roll!” I shouted, snapping them out of it. “Let’s go!” I took the side of the cart, maintaining safe distance from the flames, and pulled it forward. Getting with the program, Joni and Joey started pushing and we were out the door.

  The threshold was a hard barrier to cross. For the past few days, the chapel had been our security. Our safe haven. From a psychological and very real perspective, the walls had been the only thing keeping us alive. Stepping outside was a brave new world.

  The air outside the chapel smelled like the world’s worst barbeque. Burnt, decayed flesh has a really bad bouquet. No barbeque sauce in the world was going to make it any better.

  We navigated a crooked path around the burning bodies of the undead as we headed for the police cruiser. At first we made good progress. Weaving in and out of burnt limbs and torsos, we made it about halfway to the car before the undead outside the blast radius spotted us. Fortunately, they had to make their way over a flaming mound of their undead colleagues before getting to us. This slowed them down considerably.

  Joni was locked in on the cop car like a cruise missile. Joey, on the other hand, was looking about as nervous as a rooster in a room full of foxes.

  “Keep going guys,” I said, moving in front of the cart, avoiding the flames while kicking what was left of a burnt leg out of the way. When I looked up I saw three zombies appear on our blood red road to the cruiser. They seemed unscathed from the blast and I could swear it looked like they were licking their lips.

  I moved beside the cart and helped pivot it, positioning our flames in an effort to deter the zombies as they advanced on us. Our improvised flamethrower deterred at least two the three as they respected the spray of flame. The most spry of the group seemed boldly courageous as he surged towards us. He quickly cut the distance down to fifteen feet. I pulled the cart a few feet to the left, getting our flame positioned as a barrier. This overeager zombie totally locked in on us, ignored the fire, and walked right into the flames intensity. In two seconds, he ignited into a walking ball of fire and learned the error of his ways. He turned and fled back toward his two friends, immediately collided with one of them, falling into a fiery embrace. They stumbled along for a few feet, like awkward dancers, before they both went down, fully engulfed in flames. They flailed around for a few seconds until the fire boiled their shriveled little brains.

  The final one was craftier than the other two and avoided the flame. He shambled to the left and then to right as we pivoted the cart in an attempt to immolate him. After about five seconds of this dance, I realized that we were losing valuable time, pulled my Glock, and shot the thing in the head. Blood and brains blew across the air in a gory plume as it went down.

  Those few lost seconds cost us. More of the undead were coming to our little garden party. When I looked over my shoulder, I saw that our path back to the chapel was being filled in with zombies. This was going to be a one-way trip with no return.

  When I turned my attention back to the car, several more undead were filtering in around it and shambled towards us. This was going to be tight.

  “We’ve got to push for the car now,” I shouted, moving in beside Joni. Using the cart like football players use a tackling sled, we pushed it forward, our legs pumping in unison. The cart rattled along like a modern version of a medieval battering ram.

  It bucked into the air as if it were alive as we rolled over the corpses, taking the most direct path to the cruiser. More than once I nearly lost my grip as the bumps rattled up my arms, shaking the fillings in my teeth with their jarring intensity.

  I spotted one of the ambulatory ones surging towards us and subtly pulled on my side of the cart. In the next second the undead thing burst into flame. I felt the impact of another one off the front corner of the cart and saw a woman in floral dress fly through the air into a pile of bodies.

  “We’re going to have to turn this thing away from the cruiser when we get to it,” I yelled. “We can use it to keep them away from us as we get inside.”

  We were down to less than thirty feet when the cart bucked five feet into the air as we rolled over the body of a fantastically fat zombie. Joey lost his grip and spun away from us, sprawling across the ground.

  “Keep pushing,” I called to Joni and broke away from the cart to go for him.

  He stumbled to his feet as a zombie careened into him, taking them both to the ground. I aimed into their rolling pile, but had no clear shot. When they finally stopped moving, the zombie ended up on top of him. Joey desperately tried to keep the thing’s snapping teeth at bay by pushing up on its chin with his hands. I was about to zero in on the thing’s head when one of Joey’s hands tore through the zombie’s rotting cheeks, releasing the creatures gaping mouth onto Joey’s forearm.

  Joey howled into the night as it bit deeply into his arm. I stood paralyzed, caught in the indecision on whether to help someone that was already lost or to write him off and stick with our exit strategy.

  “Grant, I need you,” Joni shouted.

  I jerked my head in her direction. She was only ten feet from the cruiser, but was surrounded by four zombies blocking her path. More disturbing than that was the fact that the flame from propane tank was starting to sputter.

  A grunt from behind me brought my attention back to Joey. He had finally got the upper hand and flipped the zombie off onto the ground. He turned and yelled at me, “Go! Help Joni.”

  It took me two more seconds to get my feet moving and I moved in Joni’s direction. As I ran, I heard Joey scream again. It took everything in me not to look back.

  In front of me, Joni pivoted the cart in one direction and then in another, fending off the approaching zombies, but the flame was much weaker now, reaching only two to three feet in front of the tank. A zombie moved into my path and I shot it in the head, obliterating its face, and leapt over its falling body, all in one motion. If this were an Olympic event, I’m sure the judges would have given me all 10’s.

  Joni saw me coming and spun the cart, allowing me to move in beside her.

  “Let’s rotate it around and back into the car,” I said. “I’ll fend off any of the zombies behind us.” After we spun the cart, we began backing toward the cruiser. I kept switching my attention from in front of the cart and then behind us. A zombie with no legs crawled from beside the cruiser and I took it out with a headshot.

  When I looked back to the front of the cart, I saw two zombies moving in fast. I jumped in beside Joni again. Together we wrenched the cart
to capture the zombies in the flames. One of the zombies burst into flames and stumbled backwards, falling over, while the other jumped away.

  Something large and smelling of death slammed into me from behind. I heard a set of teeth snap open and shut next to my ear. I quickly spun, bringing an elbow up and around. An electric pain shot up my forearm as my elbow connected with the dead thing’s nose sending it falling backwards. It bounced off the cruiser and stumbled back toward me like a drunk after closing time. I shot it in the face and it went down. That’s when the flames from our improvised flamethrower went out.

  I grabbed the cart and said, “We’ll use it as barrier.” We pulled the cart back as we closed the gap between us and the cruiser.

  We ended up on the passenger side. I went for the door, yanking the handle up. That’s when I heard the tell-tale sound of a locked door.

  “Shit. I thought Joey said it was unlocked,” I said.

  Panic ran wild through Joni’s face. The cart shuddered from the impact of two zombies who had just slammed into it.

  “Maybe it’s just the passenger side doors,” Joni said.

  The light went off in my head to get around to the driver’s door, but when I turned to go around the back of cruiser the only thing I saw was a wall of undead. Unlike most walls, this one was moving towards us. When I looked in the other direction, I saw more of the same.

  I grabbed the cart’s handles and pulled it as close to the cruiser as I could. I grabbed Joni around the waist, hefting her on to the cart. “Climb on top of the car!”

  She didn’t need any more direction and scrambled up. I shot two more zombies and followed up behind her. The view from the roof of the cruiser wasn’t any more promising. Undead were closing in around the car like a flood. There were only inches between us and them and that gap was sure to close in seconds.