by Matt Hart
Joe finished unblocking the door and it cracked loudly, but didn't open. I picked up my shotgun. “Let's go, Joe!” I said. He nodded, then turned the handle and stepped back, raising his rifle. The door swung open and two half-armed zombies fell in. Joe raised his boot and stomped down hard on one of them, crushing its head. I jumped beside him at the same time and kicked the other one's head with my new steel-toed hiking boot. I struck it on the temple with the bottom front of the boot, just as if I was demonstrating a board break to some new green belt students.
You don't kick with your toe—that's a good way to break your foot. You don't kick with your heel—if you miss, you'll get a nice fracture. And maybe even if you don't miss.
No, you front kick with the ball of your foot, toes curled up and back. I couldn't manage that with boots, but the habit is there, so the zombie's temple met the front bottom edge of my boot, and its skull made a loud “CRACK”. I stopped the swing of my leg and stomped down with my heel like I was doing a ten-board break, crushing its skull.
It might take me two blows instead of one, but I think I can keep up with Stompy Joe over there.
My knee hurt a little bit from that last stomp.
Joe raised his rifle and I heard the rat-a-tat of his triple shots. I stayed low, with my shotgun pointed a bit to the right, toward the gear room. Then I heard a crash behind me, and I turned to see zombies falling into the garage while others tried to scramble over the fallen ones.
They weren't very coordinated, but there sure were a lot of them.
“Joe! They're coming!” He looked back for a second.
“Go!” he yelled. I went past him, firing at two creatures coming down the hall. There weren't any more that were upright, so I risked a glance behind me. Joe was lifting both of the creatures that we'd stomped and threw them into the ones approaching from the side door. Then he stepped back and pulled the door closed. “That'll hold 'em for a minute,” he said.
I looked away and approached the door to the storeroom, then peeked slowly around the corner. I looked back at Joe and nodded. He looked at me curiously and shrugged.
Come on, Camo Joe, don't you know what a nod means?
“No zombies,” I whispered.
“Okay,” he replied, speaking in a low voice. “Use a low voice instead of whispering—it doesn't carry the sound as far.”
“Shut up and go get my toys,” I told him. “We can talk about appropriate vocal levels at another time.”
I moved to the other side of the hallway and Joe, smiling and shaking his head, went into the room, slowly and quietly. I reloaded the shotgun and watched the hallway. A lone, one-handed zombie that used to be some man appeared in the living room. It hadn't seen me yet, so I crouched down and tried to think small thoughts. I slowly laid down the shotgun and pulled out my baton. The One Armed Zombie turned and looked down the hall. He didn't moan, which was good, but he was coming my way, which was bad.
He tripped on one of the many bodies and landed almost on top of me. He reached out with his one hand and gripped my right arm, wrenching it toward him so that I couldn't raise the baton. I let out a little yelp as he bit down hard on my forearm.
Dammit.
Chapter 9
—————
Joe
I grinned as I went back into the storeroom. Ninja Girl wanted me to shut up, hmm? Sure enough I loved the petite rascal. I saw a zombie walk past the window. It was probably heading for the garage door along with the dozens of others making their way in. I opened the closet door and grabbed another pack and put in all the guns from the table, then started adding ammo—9mm, 12 gauge. I grabbed my M&P Pro 9mm and holster to replace the .45 in my belt—better to standardize the ammo. I grabbed more 9mm rounds, and then filled the bag up the rest of the way with .223 rounds. I added a cleaning kit and tools and zipped it up. It probably weighed a hundred pounds, but the way things were going, I knew we were going to need that ammo.
Just as I turned back to the door, I saw a zombie pull Erin's arm and bite down.
“NO!” I yelled, dropping the bag and rushing forward. Erin yelped, then stood and twisted her arm down and out. The creature was forced to let go, and she followed the motion, spinning around, and brought her baton down on the creature's head. She struck it again and it stopped reaching for her and lay still. She looked at me and held up her right arm.
“Zombie armor,” she said. Her arm was wrapped in one of the rags from my garage. I let out a sigh of relief and walked over and hugged her. She stiffened, and I remembered her rule. I started to let go and apologize, but she relaxed and hugged me back.
“Sorry, I keep forgetting,” I said. “I just... I...”
She nodded. “Get the stuff,” she said, looking past me. “We might have company soon.” I looked back and saw a couple of zombies watching us. I looked down and didn't meet their eyes, but shuffled into the room, trying to pretend I was one of them. I reached the bag and grabbed it before it hit the fan. They moaned and started climbing into the window.
The fan has been officially hit.
I turned to Erin. “Time to go,” I said.
She turned and picked up her shotgun, put the baton in her belt, and walked slowly toward the living room, stepping over and between, and sometimes on, the piles of zombies laying everywhere. I pulled the door closed, dragging a zombie out of the way as I did. It might hold them for a bit since it opened inward—they'd have to push it out of its frame to get through. I heard a loud “CRACK” and looked back toward the garage where the zombies were breaking through. The door bowed inward and a big split appeared in the wood from the ceiling to the floor.
I turned back toward the living room and went as fast as I could, stepping on zombies and trying not to slip and fall into the gore. There weren’t any more in there—lucky for us, all of them apparently went back out the front windows to follow the ones trying to get into the garage or the storeroom I’d just left. Erin was putting on her ALICE pack and I pulled mine on, then slung the weapons bag over my shoulder.
Erin looked askance at me. “Couple hundred pounds of gear there, Camo?” she asked.
I hefted it a couple of times. “Maybe one fifty,” I said. “Walk in the park.”
She took on a serious look. I'd seen that look before. Scary “ninja girl” look. She'd had it just before she kicked that one kidnapper in the face and told me to never touch her. “Will it slow you down?” she asked.
I was about to be flippant, but her expression stopped me. She was serious, but also a little worried. “A little, but not at first. I carried this much when I was younger. At my age now? I figure I'm good for at least two miles at a fast pace.”
Erin nodded. “It's about six blocks to my boat. You're coming with me.” It wasn't a question.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
She smiled. “You should use a low voice, it doesn't carry as far as a whisper,” she said.
“Brat,” I told her, smiling back. I started to ask her to lead the way, but stopped myself.
She gives the orders, I carry them out.
That means I’m the grunt who gets stuck with point.
I held my hand up, palm open. “Wait here,” I said in a low voice.
I walked to the window, gun at low ready, and looked out. Seeing nothing, I stepped out, crunching the broken glass. “Clear,” I said, then beckoned her with my right hand. I arched my hand toward the front door. “Use the door,” I said, even though Erin was small enough to easily step through the window. She opened it, creaking a little bit, then stepped out. I put my hand up again, palm out, motioning her to stop and wait. She nodded. I gave her a thumbs up, then walked slowly off the porch, looking right and left. There were a few creatures toward the right, and a man running past the intersection on the left. I didn't see anything chasing him, though.
The kidnappers lived down the street to the right. That’s the direction Erin had been headed, so it must be the way to her boat. I beckoned Erin without lo
oking at her and began to walk down the sidewalk. I looked back, and she was following me, about six feet behind and to my left, in the street. She held her shotgun pointed slightly left.
Dammit, I meant to give her a sling for that.
There was one in the bag, but I wasn't going to stop now to dig it out.
One of the creatures ahead saw us coming and moaned, causing the other one to turn and see us as well. I took aim as I walked, but it wasn't a safe shot. The road here went up slightly before dropping back down toward the ocean on the left, and my bullet might miss and hit a good guy on the other side. A .223 round spun fast, and tumbled when it hit a person.
Or a zombie.
It could do some crazy acrobatics, entering through the shoulder and exiting through a leg, damaging muscles and arteries the whole way through. It was a very small bullet, but with a lot of explosive power behind it: a good round for taking out zombies.
I might regret not bringing something bigger if we ran into armored up thugs or a big horde of these things, though. I moved closer to the zombies, angling for a good headshot, when I felt a tap on my arm. I looked down at Erin, walking beside me. She shook her head, then held out the shotgun for me. I was confused, but took it. I let the rifle go and held the shotgun at low ready.
Suddenly, Erin sprung ahead of me, unzipping the machete sheath and holding the tree trimmer in her left hand and the baton in her right. She walked quickly up to the zombie, which reached for her. She booted it in the chest and it fell over, then she kicked it hard in the head. The other one was close, so she spun out of its way and hit it across the arms with the baton, then smashed it on the back of the head with the dull side of the machete. It dropped, then struggled to get up.
She stepped back from the two almost-deader zombies and looked expectantly at me. I'm sure my mouth was agape and I was standing there looking like an idiot.
I mean, who wouldn't be?
I gathered my thoughts then walked up to the creatures and stomped on their heads, finishing them. I looked at Erin as she holstered her weapons and held out her hand for the shotgun.
“Quieter that way,” she said in a low voice.
“And it looks a hell of a lot cooler,” I added, a stupid grin on my face. She smiled her beautiful, apocalypse-brightening smile, then nodded.
“We're five blocks from the dock,” she said. “Go left at the intersection, Stompy Joe.”
I smiled and made a thumbs-up gesture, then moved forward and beckoned her. I figured if I kept using these hand signals, she'd catch on really quick. I looked back and she made a thumbs-up gesture.
Smart girl.
We turned left at the intersection and headed toward the ocean.
Chapter 10
—————
Mark
I stood looking at my hand where it rested on Jen's shoulder, my mouth open. A zombie had its teeth clamped down. I didn't feel anything except a bit of pressure, which was strange. Did it bite Jen and not me?
I yanked my hand away and pushed Jen down on the ground to the right. The zombie's teeth snapped emptily where my hand had been. I didn't waste any more time, pulling the Shield as I stepped backwards. I shot as I raised the gun and hit the creature in the upper chest. It staggered a bit, then came at me. I waited until it was just over an arm's length, sighted at its head as well as I was able, then fired again and again. The creature dropped with a bullet or two in its brain.
Jen jumped up from the ground. “Oh my God Mark, you're bit!”
I looked at my left hand, aiming my headlamp, but didn't see any blood or bite marks. There was a small dent in my dad's ring. I’d taken it from his hand after Richard had killed him on Route 2. I held up my hand. “I think it bit my dad's ring,” I said, hardly believing my luck. “It's... it's like he protected me,” I said, tears welling in my eyes. “He protected me.”
“Oh thank God,” said Jen, relieved. “I thought you were a goner.” She stood still for a moment, looking at me. “I can't make it without you,” she said quietly, starting to cry too. I opened my arms and she rushed in and squeezed me fiercely. “Don't die,” she whispered. “I need you.”
I took a deep breath and pushed her back, holding her arms at the shoulders. “Let's both not die.” Jen smiled at that and nodded.
“Sounds like a plan,” she said.
“Speaking of plans,” I said, “things are a lot more complicated with zombies around.” I thought for a moment. “We can keep walking, we can try for the truck again, we can camp on the ground, we can try to make a place up a tree.” I paused. “Anything I missed?”
“Maybe we could find an abandoned car?” added Jen. I thought about that. “We could go back to that rental place and hide inside or in a truck,” she added.
“I like that idea, except that's back where the zombies came from,” I said.
She gestured to the zombies on the ground behind her. “Not much better out here.”
“Good point,” I agreed. I looked around, trying to get my bearings. “I'm pretty turned around,” I said. “Do you know which way is which?”
Jen shook her head. “No.”
“Okay, here's the plan. We need to go back and get my pack anyway, so we head back to the rental place.” I opened a pocket on my waist pack and pulled out an orange whistle on a lanyard. I shined the light on it and turned in a circle, checking the tiny compass on the top. I pointed forward and left. “That's North, toward home.” I pointed in the opposite direction. “That's South, toward the rental place.”
I opened another pocket and removed a small flashlight that was made to look like a shotgun shell. “Take this,” I said, handing it to her. “And the whistle.” I unwound its lanyard and put it over her neck. “It's also a compass and it has some matches inside. Just twist the compass off. There's also a striker in there for the matches since they aren't the strike-anywhere type.”
“All right,” she said. I also handed her the survival rifle and a bunch of shells and rounds from my pocket. I switched out the magazines for my Shield, holstered it and started reloading the nearly empty magazine.
“I'm going to have to become a better shot,” I said. “Half a dozen rounds to put down a single zombie won't cut it for long.”
Jen looked like she was about to break out in tears. “How long is it going to be like this?” she asked in a vulnerable voice.
A long time. Maybe always.
“I don't know,” I said, honestly. “Plan for the worst, hope for the best.” My dad used to say that. I turned and began leading the way South. A light switched on behind me.
“You...” I started to say, but stopped.
“What?” asked Jen.
“Nothing,” I said. “I was going to say you should leave the light off for now, but actually it doesn't matter, and it probably helps you to see where you're stepping.”
“Thank you,” said Jen.
“For what?”
“Trusting me.”
I didn't really think of it that way. “Sure,” I said, not knowing what else to say.
We pushed on through the brush. It thinned out a bit and I could see that the terrain dropped down. I decided to risk my tactical XT11 flashlight and pulled it from a pocket, switched it on and shined it down. We were at a small river. I switched it back off and turned right.
“I don't remember that river,” said Jen.
“The road going towards the convenience store crosses it,” I said. “We're almost there.” I switched the big light on again. “I'm going to use the big light. If that crazy guy, whatshisname...”
“Richard,” supplied Jen.
“Right, Richard, is around, he won't know it's one of us, so we're probably okay. Zombies could see our regular flashlights anyway, so better if we can see them coming.” We walked a few more steps when I saw one of creatures next to the road trying to climb up toward us. “Speak of the devil,” I said, and stopped walking. “Hand me your rifle, you take the flashlight and shine it right in t
he thing's face.”
“Okay,” said Jen, handing me her rifle. I did a quick 360 with the flashlight but didn't see any other immediate threats. I gave her the light and she aimed it at the slow-moving zombie's face. It flinched a little, which was good. “I guess they don't like a flashlight in the face either.”
“Good thing for us,” I agreed. I popped open the gun to check that it had rounds, then dropped to one knee. I rested my elbow on my other knee, let out my breath and took careful aim at the creature. Twenty yards? I squeezed the trigger for the .22. The creature's head snapped backwards and it fell, not moving. “Good shot,” I said to myself.
