Metzger would have been thrilled if that had been the end of it, but it seemed their time spent gawking at the aircraft and arguing about the trustworthiness of the military allowed a number of undead to draw dangerously close. The tattered zombies had approached from the nearby ditch, from beneath cars, and the highway behind the group where they found time to catch up to the vehicles.
“Get her inside!” Metzger yelled to Luke, speaking of Samantha.
Luke opened a door, hurrying Samantha inside just short of shoving her for her own safety. He stayed out, however, taking aim at the undead with his sidearm, waiting for them to draw nearer so he wouldn’t miss.
Metzger didn’t particularly want to take a stand against the undead, but several were too close that they might take a bite out of anyone trying to quickly duck into a vehicle. None were especially close to him, so he decided to cover Gracine and Vazquez while they shot a few undead, making their way around the vehicles.
“As soon as everyone’s clear we need to get into the vehicles,” he said, taking aim at a zombie who emerged from the ditch covered in slime and mud.
It drew near the bed of his current vehicle before Metzger shot it in the forehead. Sutton had one stumble near the front of the box truck, and as he was about to deal with it, a legless zombie grabbed his ankle from beneath the vehicle. It tried to pull his ankle closer for a meaty bite, but Sutton kicked his foot, trying to free it from the cold fingers of the zombie. Metzger was about to move forward and assist but Gracine beat him to it, blasting the standing zombie in the forehead as it drew within two feet of Sutton. By this time he had plucked his foot free of the immobile corpse, kneeling down to take aim. Metzger noticed the man drawing a strangely crooked grin as he took aim, blasting the horizontal zombie in the skull.
“Death comes for us all, my friend,” he said, addressing Metzger with a broad smile when he holstered his sidearm.
“You’re just not right,” Metzger said, shaking his head and wondering about Sutton’s overall mental stability.
Turning around to ensure everyone survived unscathed, he found Luke taking aim at one undead straggler dragging its left foot as it walked a course directly toward him. Waiting until the zombie was within his comfortable shooting proximity, Luke carefully took aim and pulled the trigger, but nothing happened. Surprise registered on Luke’s face as he looked between the gun, the zombie, and the group standing too far from him to immediately assist.
Sutton raised his rifle, but Metzger halted him by putting up a hand, seeing the zombie draw dangerously close to Luke. One wrong change of direction by either might leave Luke wounded if Sutton corrected his aim on the fly. Metzger skidded across the hood of a nearby car, heading for Luke as the zombie attacked him. Instead of letting it sink its teeth into his shoulder, Luke fell backwards, taking the undead attacker down with him. The move allowed him to cup both hands beneath the jaw of the zombie to avoid getting bitten, while keeping the threat literally at an arm’s length.
Gracine had also started moving to assist Luke, but Metzger arrived first, finding Luke unable to repel the assault much longer. With powerful jaws, and dead nerve endings that kept their bodies from feeling pain, the undead continued on with only one purpose. This zombie intended to make a meal out of Luke, and kept lurching forward until Metzger arrived and sunk a knife into the side of its skull, ending the struggle before any damage occurred.
“You okay?” he asked Luke, assisting him to his feet after offering his hand.
“Yeah. Thanks.”
Sutton walked over, holding out his hand, silently asking for the firearm, which Luke surrendered without words. Starting with the safety, Sutton found it in the firing position, so he popped out the magazine, finding it full of ammunition. Next, he racked the slide, finding no ammunition within the chamber ready for firing. Frowning, he replaced the magazine, racked the slide again, and put the safety in the non-firing position.
“You aren’t always going to have others around to save your ass,” Sutton commented, virtually slapping the firearm into Luke’s open hand when he returned it.
Luke hung his head, wanting to be a helpful part of the group, but his inexperience held him back.
“I just forgot to rack the thing when I reloaded it,” he commented.
“Not to worry,” Metzger said. “If we ever get a minute, we can give you some refresher courses.”
Looking around, he found their surroundings safe enough to jump in the vehicles and embark on the next phase of their journey until something else stopped them.
Luke brought Samantha along with Vazquez in their vehicle, which Metzger considered appropriate. It wasn’t fair for him to dump her off to Gracine for too long, and he needed to be there for the girl in Albert’s absence. Besides, he wasn’t certain how Sutton behaved around the girl, and he didn’t personally trust in the man’s complete sanity just yet.
Even so, Metzger followed him down the road, which appeared clear for a few miles before more clusters of abandoned vehicles slowed the convoy. Looking out his window, Metzger saw the graying faces occasionally as they clawed against windows, possibly trapped forever inside the vehicles where they died. They looked absolutely ravenous, gnashing their teeth and scratching their lengthening fingernails against the glass. Metzger wondered if they eventually faded away and stopped functioning altogether without nourishment, or their bodies worked in some minimal capacity that kept them moving along virtually forever.
He felt certain some odd scientist remained among the living that would take the time and effort to dissect them and see what made them tick, and Metzger wasn’t sure he wanted to meet such a person.
It barely bothered Metzger that such intense situations failed to faze him. He did what he could to stay alive and protect others, fully expecting his life to reach an abrupt end one day. Getting bitten by the undead seemed the most probable ending, but he didn’t want to suffer like Albert had for hours on end. The alternative was finding a safe haven and starting anew, or putting faith in the military to create a safe environment.
Travel became slow once again, and twice the group stopped to remove obstacles from their path, including a bus and a large felled tree. The tree felt like a trap, and perhaps it was at some point, but no one remained in the area to threaten the travelers. It took almost an hour to cut the tree into manageable chunks and move them off to the side of the road because the chainsaw required occasional maintenance.
“We need to consider shelter for the night,” Sutton commented as they rested once the last chunk of wood was safely moved aside.
“Are you suggesting your camp,” Gracine said, poking the bear, because everyone now understood that Sutton didn’t plan on having company at his private campsite.
At least not permanently.
“My camp is about ten miles off the highway when we get to the exit,” Sutton revealed. He looked up to the sun, then down to his watch, and made a sour face. “It’s about five now, and it’ll be dark when we get to the exit if we keep going. I don’t think any of us want to be driving on side roads or through the woods in the dark.”
“Agreed,” Metzger said. “We can safely travel another hour at most. Any towns in our near future?”
“We aren’t far from Port Royal,” Sutton said, looking at his map. “It’s a little off the highway, maybe ten miles from us, and it doesn’t have much aside from some scattered houses. We could spend the night and maybe scrounge up some supplies if it hasn’t been looted.”
“Sounds perfect,” Luke said. “How long before we reach Norfolk?” he asked Metzger.
“At the rate we’re going, it could be a few days. I didn’t realize just how busy Highway 17 was.”
“It was always a joy getting to my camp,” Sutton scoffed. “It and Route 301were almost as bad as the interstates when it came to heavy traffic. What I find hard to believe is how this many people never made it to their destinations.”
Whenever the group stepped from the vehicles it
always seemed as though a line of disjointed vehicles occupied the highway for miles in either direction. Sometimes it wasn’t as bad, and the heavier population of vehicles, much like the undead, appeared closer to the cities and larger towns.
Metzger considered deviating from the highway a necessary evil, because they didn’t want to be traveling after dark. Navigating roads filled with undead, vehicles, and often unseen hazards proved difficult enough during daylight hours, and he didn’t want to give any living aggressors an advantage in the darkness. When they exited Route 17, driving became much easier on county roads. Barely any vehicles, and only a handful of undead, were seen as they made their way into the tiny community of Port Royal.
“Did you know that John Wilkes Booth was killed by the Union Cavalry not far from here?” Jillian asked when they neared the heart of town.
“You really do know your history.”
“And I read it on a sign back there,” Jillian said, giving them both a momentary chuckle.
The main drag in Port Royal, if it could be called that, was literally less than a dozen buildings, mostly residences. Metzger figured there might be more to see, but the town appeared spread out, and none too populated with buildings in any area. It wasn’t until they passed what may have been the only restaurant in town that Metzger grew slightly concerned.
Sutton didn’t slow down for these buildings, apparently having something different in mind as he drove closer to the opposite highway intersecting the other side of the town.
In front of a restaurant and gift shop combination he noticed something odd in the tree line behind the white and yellow building. Nailed and tied to a crucifix, a zombie leaned its head forward and snapped its teeth together upon seeing the three vehicles slowly passing by. It wore tattered clothes, already faded from being outdoors in the sun so much. It was male, and part of its face appeared torn away, as though bitten in life before he died. His dark hair was matted to his head from moisture and a complete lack of hygiene that accompanied death.
Metzger considered the macabre scene a warning to stay clear of the restaurant because someone the flipside of sane had claimed stake on the property.
Ahead of them, in front of the restaurant, two more undead hung by their necks along the front sign, almost ten feet off the ground. Although the sign stood more than twenty feet tall, it possessed some horizontal posts at the base of the signage that someone had used to string up the two zombies. They swung their feet wildly, growling in protest to reach the ground and stalk the prey before them. One was female, wearing her faded Sunday best dress, and the other a male wearing coveralls, like a mechanic might don for a day in the garage, or work in a factory.
“Someone has a Halloween fetish, or they don’t want strangers in these here parts,” Jillian said, trying on a Southern accent.
“That’s an understatement,” Metzger said, figuring Sutton would lead them down the road to safe accommodations.
He soon discovered Sutton was a wildcard who couldn’t always be counted on to make the rational move.
Sutton pulled over near the side of the restaurant where no windows faced the parking lot, which Metzger considered intelligent.
“Why are we pulling over here?” he questioned Sutton the moment both of them stepped out of their vehicles.
“Someone could be here.”
“Isn’t that reason enough for moving on down the road?”
“Normally, yes, but if someone is loony enough to put twitching zombies on display, do you really want to take a chance of them coming after us in the middle of the night?”
Metzger sighed through his nose, knowing Sutton was right once again, but not ready to admit it.
“I propose we check this place over before moving along,” Sutton offered. “Maybe the crazy son-of-a-bitch is one of these braindead fuckers.”
Metzger drew his .357 for protection, motioning for Sutton to lead the way since he hatched the idea.
“You want the rest of us?” Jillian asked while Metzger followed Sutton to the front door.
“No,” he answered, barely turning around. “We’re just going to scout it out first.”
Metzger stepped carefully along the paved parking lot behind Sutton, not wanting to kick any empty cans or debris to alert someone to their presence. Something told him it might be too late for that, because the front entrance of the restaurant appeared comprised of glass from floor to ceiling when the group initially drove past. A thin dusty film covered much of it from the inside, preventing them from seeing any details or potential activity. Metzger suspected someone might have a natural security system on their hands, already alerted to the group now lingering outside the building.
On the way to the front door, the duo tried looking through the few windows along that side of the building. The windows were small and covered with dust from the inside, providing no clues about what awaited them. They were also located around shoulder height, possibly to discourage burglars from breaking in while the restaurant was operational. A set of five clerestory windows were built along a quarter-gable roof atop the main roof, impossible to reach without a ladder or a boost. Metzger sensed Sutton didn’t want to waste much time casing the place as anyone inside was probably monitoring their actions.
Both men looked around cautiously at the front door when they reached it, seeing no danger outside the restaurant. The two zombies hanging from the front sign made throaty hissing noises, staring ominously at the duo as though they would be dinner if the roles were reversed. Sutton reached for the front door, and started to pull back as though being burned by an oven, due to his surprise that it was unlocked.
He pulled it open slowly, aiming the shotgun he’d brought with him inside. Metzger followed close behind, seeing the second set of dusty glass doors awaiting them, feeling something amiss. No one simply left a bountiful supply building wide-open without reason, and he didn’t recall seeing any damage anywhere along the exterior to indicate a previous break-in. He and Sutton exchanged uneasy glances as Sutton reached for the metal pull handle to the second door, hearing a growl from inside too late as he pulled it open. The open door revealed a horrific sight in the gift shop area of the building, which was blocked off from the main restaurant by two closed swinging doors that appeared sealed together somehow.
Immediately the dozen zombies trapped inside the small gift shop area turned their attention to the two intruders. Before Metzger and Sutton could back out the way they came, however, a metallic snap was heard in the center of the first set of doors, and Metzger immediately knew they had sprung a trap. He threw his shoulder against the door, not budging it one inch, knowing someone had rigged it to lock only after people foolish enough to enter pulled on the second set of doors.
Something solid had locked the doors together, sealing Metzger and Sutton inside a certain deathtrap.
“Oh, fuck,” Metzger muttered.
“What’s that mean?” Sutton asked, personally ramming the door with his shoulder, discovering the same result. “Oh, fuck.”
Twenty
Sutton immediately turned to deal with the zombies, who weren’t incredibly quick to stagger their way.
“Shoot it!” he exclaimed, nodding toward the door.
Ideally, Metzger would have shot whatever dropped to lock both doors together, preventing their escape from the building, but he wasn’t exactly certain where the device was located.
He used his .357 to take aim at the door below the metal push bar, finding the first shot broke through the glass, but didn’t shatter the window as he expected. His peripheral vision caught Sutton trying to shove both of the interior doors shut to keep a dozen zombies at bay, but even his size and strength would give out shortly. Taking a step back, Metzger fired a second shot, which hit within an inch of the first, simply creating another hole with a cobweb surrounding it.
“Keep shooting!” Sutton exclaimed with a strained voice, trying to keep the growing mob of undead from bursting through the doors. �
��Same area!”
Metzger let the last four rounds fly in the same vicinity along the door, creating a much larger web of weakness, though the reinforced glass refused to simply shatter and fall.
“Shotgun,” he said, receiving the weapon from Sutton a second later as the man struggled to keep the highly agitated zombies at bay.
Gunfire only made them want to burst through the door with more intensity.
Metzger used the butt of the shotgun to strike the weakened glass three times before a crack emerged from the bottom of the glass to the midway point near the push bar. He struck it one last time, shattering the lower portion of the glass, enough so that the two men could escape, just as the rest of the group came running up to the front entrance.
Crawling through the opening first, Metzger watched as Sutton held the door closed as long as he could before making a dive for the opening. The undead came pouring through the interior doors before Sutton was even halfway through the opening. They immediately grabbed for his legs and Sutton tried kicking them away. Metzger grabbed Sutton by one shoulder, virtually tugging him out of the building as Vazquez assisted along the other side. Both men might have collapsed and caught their breath momentarily, but the undead simply followed suit, dropping down to crawl through the fresh opening. A few continued in vain to push on the secured door, but quickly took notice of their undead brethren escaping the old building.
Metzger took aim with the shotgun, rather than waste time handing it back to Sutton, blasting the first undead attacker in the skull. Blood coated the glass and the yellow wooden walls behind the zombie as though someone had whipped a freshly-dipped paintbrush through the air with red paint. A second zombie forced its way through the opening and over its fallen comrade, receiving a similar fate once it reared its ugly head and yellowed teeth at Metzger. Everyone stood around in complete shock at the sight of ten more undead pushing and shoving at the doors to get outside.
The Undead Chronicles (Book 1): Home and Back Again Page 28
