ONSLAUGHT_The Zombie War Chronicles_Vol 1

by Damon Novak

  Tanner rounded the corner of the dock, wiping himself down with a towel. “I’ll grab some more towels and a bunch of blankets from the closet. Might be best if they get out of those nasty clothes.”

  “Don’t bring that crap into the office,” said Lilly. “We didn’t have a choice with the customers, but we don’t need any more of it in here.” She ducked back inside.

  “Good idea,” said Clay, looking up at the sky. “Get the towels and blankets, Tan. Hey, look.”

  Tanner and I did. The black clouds had lifted. The sky was once again a pristine blue, almost entirely cloudless.

  “We’re fucked,” said Clay. “They’re dead, man. No doubt.”

  “Man, if you were out there, you’d know –”

  “I saw it, CB. It was like bein’ shut in an oil drum, it was so dark. It ain’t your fault.”

  I nodded. “Thanks. You know me.”

  “Yep,” said Clay. “You’ll second-guess yourself until it is all your fault.”

  I nodded. “Anyway, if 911’s not comin’, we’ll need to head out and see if we can find their bodies,” I said.

  “Shit,” said Clay.

  “Took the word right outta my mouth,” I said. “We’ll take Tan with us. Where’s Pa?”

  “He was takin’ an early mornin’ nap when the rain hit. I called the house. He never even heard it.”

  “He sleeps a lot these days,” I said. “Glad he wasn’t drivin’ here when it started.”

  Clay swiped a hand through his filthy crew cut, light brown hair. “He feels kinda useless these days, but you know that. Maybe he dreams about Ma. Maybe that’s why he likes sleepin’ so much.”

  “On second thought,” said Lilly, “you three need to get cleaned up. Grab the hose and let’s get that stuff off you.”

  We looked over at Lilly and nodded as she went back inside.

  We didn’t argue.

  Ω

  CHAPTER TWO

  First things first, we used the garden hose to rinse the dock and railin’ off for about thirty feet in both directions. We wanted the EMTs to have clean access to the store, and we needed to keep from trackin’ it to and from the boats.

  Afterward, Lilly had me, Tan and Clay line up, and she sprayed us off good. Some clean towels were handed out, and we were almost back to normal.

  Aside from the paper coveralls. They were oil-resistant Tyveks, and we used them when we did some of the bigger jobs on the boat motors.

  With the three of us wearin’ ‘em, we looked like fuckin’ Ghostbusters or somethin’.

  After we were sufficiently tidied up, we talked to the girl and her brother, Brook and Will Singer. Butch turned out to be a cousin on their mom’s side, so he had a different last name, but I don’t recall it now.

  It ain’t important anymore. Believe me when I tell you that.

  The kids and their folks were from Omaha, Nebraska, stayin’ down in Naples, on the Gulf side. I’d never been to Omaha, so besides bein’ home to that insurance company, I didn’t know whether it was the asshole of America or not.

  Turns out Butch was from Indiana. Like I think I said earlier, he had long, brown hair that made him look like that Cain dude on Kung Fu – minus the eyes – and a feather earring in his left ear that I’m 99% sure was a roach clip.

  “Where are you going?’ asked Brook. “Are you going to find my parents and my grandpa?”

  “What are their names, darlin’?” I asked.

  “Mary and Steven. Why?”

  “So we can call out to ‘em,” I lied. Truth was, I just wanted to know whose bodies we were searchin’ for.

  “What’s your grandpa’s name?”

  When Will looked confused for a moment, Brook said, “Harold. His name’s Harold.”

  The girl’s eyes were almost an emerald green, and they were filled with fear. I saw some hope in there, too, and I didn’t want to kill that. It could be the last time she was able to exercise that kind of naive innocence.

  As she swiped her blonde hair away from her face, I said, “Thanks. We’ll use our boat speaker, call out to ‘em. We’re gonna try. Maybe they got into a growth of mangroves; gators can’t get in there, ‘cause they can’t climb like we can.”

  “Really?” asked Will.

  I nodded. “Lilly will keep tryin’ 911, see if we can’t get ‘em out here faster. Y’all just relax here. There’s some vendin’ machines there, and it’s on us. Just ask Lilly for change if you want anything.”

  Butch never said a word. He looked about nineteen-years-old. I said, “You wanna go with?”

  His eyes brightened for a moment, then he glanced at the other two and shook his head. “Nah, thanks. I should probably be here when the cops or whoever show up.”

  I wasn’t entirely sure of his motivation – maybe it was a kissin’ cousin thing – but I didn’t press it. “You doin’ alright, man?” I asked.

  Butch nodded his head. “Hey, I’m alive. That was nuts.”

  “Where are your folks at?”

  “Back home, in Indiana.”

  “You call ‘em?”

  He nodded toward Lilly. “She let me use your phone. My cell’s toast. No answer, no machine. Maybe the power’s out.”

  “Could be. Y’all hang tight. We’ll be back in a bit. Stay inside ‘til we get back, okay?”

  “Why?” they all said in unison.

  “Just listen,” said Lilly. “Remember what we told you when you got here? Listen to us and don’t question what we tell you to do. That still stands.”

  They all nodded, faces slack.

  Ω

  I drove. Tanner had hosed the boat down good and threw the dead baby gators out. I took it slow on the way out, rememberin’ my jump over Ol’ Stanley. He’d been hit a number of times by a number of flat-bottomed boats, so I figured he was good to go if the black rain hadn’t done somethin’ to him.

  It might sound strange to you, but I was happy as a pig in shit when I saw the first live gator, up on a sandy bank, eyeballin’ us in his peripheral vision. It just meant that whatever had fallen from the sky didn’t kill ‘em.

  This shit would all blow over, in time. After all was said and done, we’d still need the Everglades to be full of wildlife if we wanted to continue to make a livin’ out here.

  It had been about two hours since the crash, and the sun was beginnin’ to sink low in the sky now. We’d have about an hour to an hour-and-a-half of daylight left to search.

  I pulled the boat around a huge Cypress tree and turned hard left. That’s when we came across the mom, Mary.

  “What the fuck?” yelled Tanner, wavin’ at me to shut down the motor. I cut it.

  Tanner grabbed the oar and started rowing the boat forward, first one long swipe down the port side, then a two-step jump to the other side and another long paddle down the starboard. I didn’t have a clue why he didn’t just step on the trollin’ motor pedal, right in the middle.

  We could only see her torso floatin’ in the water, up against a copse of mangroves. No more ID was necessary, because I recognized the bright, yellow dress she’d been wearin’.

  “Fuck,” I said.

  “Double fuck,” said Clay.

  “Should we gaff her into the boat?” asked Tanner, his normally tanned face, now pale white.

  Clay and I turned to look at him. I bent down and unclipped the heavy-duty gaff from the side rail, and held it out to Tanner.

  “Be my guest.”

  He stared at me. “I meant … we … like us.”

  “Gaffin’ is a sole endeavor,” I said, shakin’ my head. “It was your idea.”

  “But how else were we gonna get her in?” asked Tanner.

  “I say we leave her for the officials,” said Clay. “They’ll probably want to tape this place off while they drag for any missing parts.”

  “I’m game,” I said. “We should tie her off, though. Don’t want her driftin’ or gettin’ pulled off by another gator.”

  Tanner, whose fac
e hadn’t regained much color, walked around to the boat box and opened it. He reached inside and pulled out a package. “We got a twenty-five foot dock line, brand new.”

  “Use an old line,” said Clay. “We ain’t gettin’ it back, I’d guess.”

  I stared at him. “You picked a helluva time to get frugal. We’ll be lucky to be in business next week, man, with this shit.”

  Suddenly Tanner dropped the package of coiled line. His face went even whiter and he pointed. Clay and I turned to follow his finger.

  “She just moved.” His voice quivered.

  Clay and I both stared at her floating body.

  “She’s dead, man. If she moved, there’s a gator tugging on her from underneath,” said Clay.

  “No. I swear, she moved her arm! C’mon, guys! She’s alive!”

  “Tan, she –” I began.

  He pushed around us and ran to the front, grabbin’ the gaff from my hand as he passed, and mashed his foot on the trolling motor switch. The boat moved toward what I was positive was our dead customer.

  He cut the motor’s power, and the boat drifted up beside her body.

  I hit the button for the power pole, and it extended and dropped down to the bottom of the swamp, anchoring us.

  “Shit, here goes nothin’,” said Tanner. He extended the gaff, hooked it under the right arm of the woman, and pulled.

  She appeared to be snagged on somethin’ under the water, but she still rolled easily over, her shredded, bloated face now staring straight up at the sky.

  Tanner dropped the gaff and staggered back, falling onto the bench seat behind him.

  I threw up. I didn’t make an appointment or ask for anyone to give me room; I just puked up the bacon, the eggs and the half-digested ham sandwich I had for lunch.

  Immediately after, Clay and Tanner charged for the rails and they barfed with a tad more advance preparation than me.

  Mrs. Singer, mother of Brook and Will Singer, and aunt to Butch, was missin’ half her face. But her mouth still opened and closed, and she let out what sounded like a moan-growl.

  The lady in the water appeared to be tryin’ to claw her way toward us, but hailin’ from Omaha, she had no way of knowin’ that a sun dress wasn’t the best gear for an Everglades airboat tour, particularly if you went in the drink.

  Apparently, that sundress was caught on somethin’ beneath the water, because she strained toward us three or four times before gettin’ jerked back each time.

  “What the hell?” whispered Clay, wipin’ his mouth on his sleeve. “What am I looking at?” His face was whiter than Tanner’s now – it now competed with that of the lady in the water. I’m sure mine was similar.

  Her arm surfaced, and she reached up and grabbed hold of the shaft of the long gaff. She didn’t manipulate it in any way; just clutched onto it, mindlessly.

  She’s dead. I can see she’s dead. My mind grappled with what my eyes witnessed.

  I ran to the power pole and released it. Then I threw the trolling motor into reverse and hit the foot switch. Nobody told me to stop.

  The boat reversed, and I cut the motor a few seconds later, then reset the power pole. I just wanted to move us away from the thing in the water.

  We were about ten yards from where she floated. She’d let go of the gaff, and the handle came to rest atop the mangroves. Her arm was free now, and she pawed at the water, trying to move toward us. We could only see that one arm, the connected shoulder, and her head.

  She was starin’ toward us, still growlin’. Her eyes looked pure white, and I’d seen no irises in them when we’d been right beside her.

  Mary Singer had been pretty before, like her daughter. Not anymore. Now she was just pretty dead.

  Sort of.

  I climbed back up into the driver’s seat and opened my supply box, where I grabbed a pair of binoculars I use for spottin’ wildlife to point out to our customers.

  I jumped back down and went to the front of the boat, raising them to my eyes.

  The top of her arm was as ravaged and shredded as her face; her exposed hand was bent backward, folded against the top of her wrist, and I could count three fingers missing.

  I lowered the glasses again. “She’s tore up,” I said. “No way she should be alive.”

  With another effort on her behalf, the mangrove branch snapped backward, and she broke free, now attempting to claw her way through the reeds, toward our boat. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what was happenin’ below the surface of that water.

  “Hey, Ma’am!” Clay called.

  I stared at him. “Did you see her face, Clay?”

  “I just want to see if she can talk!”

  “Well, she’s not answerin’, because she’s dead as fuck!” I said. “I don’t know what the hell’s goin’ on or why she’s movin’, but we gotta leave this shit to the police. It doesn’t make any sense, and it’s scarin’ the shit outta me.”

  “Amen to that,” said Tanner, who sat on the bench seat, staring at his feet.

  I raised the binocs to my eyes again. My mind wouldn’t accept what I was seein’, and I guess I figured if I looked at her enough times, I’d realize I was hallucinatin’ or somethin’.

  Not yet. Mary Singer’s mouth was still openin’ and closin’, and with the side of her face torn away, I could see the teeth all the way back. I was in a constant state of chills that turned my spine to ice, even in the 90-degree weather.

  I was more scared than I’d ever been before, because I don’t like things that go against nature like that. I knew that former customer was dead. No question in my mind. Nobody could survive her injuries.

  And yet, now that she was free of the mangroves, she pushed along in our general direction, kinda tilted sideways like a mis-threaded fishin’ bobber, rather than walkin’. The swamp was only about three feet deep there, so it would’ve been quicker for her to just put her toes down and walk to our boat. I was ready for it. One false move, and I was prepared to be on that anchor pole.

  “There’s no way she’s alive,” whispered Tanner, his shaking hands clasping at one another. “She’s a fuckin’ zombie. Look at her.”

  I was tired of pussyfootin’ around. I’d watched every goddamned zombie movie there was, and if this woman was one of ‘em, she wouldn’t feel pain.

  “She’s gonna get caught in that current and who knows where she’ll end up,” I said. “I have to snag her.”

  “You gonna lasso her?” asked Clay. “Tanner dropped the gaff.”

  “Let’s troll over behind her so I can get to it,” I said. “Tan, go ahead. I’ll lean out and grab it.”

  Tanner did, and now there was a good ten feet between her and where the gaff rested. I leaned over the front rail and grabbed it, pulling it into the boat.

  Clay and Tanner stared at me. “Then what?” asked Clay.

  “Then we’ll tie it off or somethin’ until the police get here.”

  “Now?” asked Tanner.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  He guided the boat alongside her.

  I swore I could smell her, but I wasn’t quite over the putrid smell the black rain had inserted into my nasal passages, so I couldn’t be sure. Lowerin’ the gaff into the water, I moved the business end behind her. Then I turned it so the hook curved toward me, and gave it a sharp yank.

  I felt it punch through the skin of her arm.

  When she didn’t scream or thrash, I threw up again, one hand still grippin’ the handle of the gaff.

  So did my brothers.

  It was the moment we all suspected the impossible, but our tiny minds wouldn’t quite grab hold of the idea:

  Zombies did exist.

  Ω

  As we all sat on those bench seats, unsure how to get past the dilemma that faced us, a police boat rounded the corner, blue lights flashing.

  I felt a wave of relief wash over me. Now it could be someone else’s problem.

  I couldn’t tell who was in the boat yet. Two of ‘em wore sung
lasses, and one had binoculars up to his eyes.

  As we watched, the one with binocs lowered them, then picked something up.

  We heard: “Release the gaff and all of you step back. Sit down on the bench with your hands in the air and wait to be boarded.”

  We followed their instructions. The police boat drew up beside us as one officer held onto both boats, dropping bumpers over the side of the police boat.

  One of the cops was a young female I’d never met before. Her name badge said S. BRANDT. She was pretty cute, with her brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, and alert, hazel eyes. She had to be either a transfer from somewhere else or a recent graduate from the police academy, and I figured every single, male cop at her precinct was probably tryin’ to get her into bed. She wasn’t wearin’ a ring.

  The other two I did know. One was Jerry Banfield. He was tall and bald and mean lookin’, which perfectly reflected his personality. He was a first-degreee dick. If he went to jail for bein’ a dick, he’d be in maximum-security lockup. If he was gonna be jettisoned to a distant planet based on just how much of an asshole he was, he’d be rocketed off to Pluto – maybe farther.

  “Jerry, I think it’s best we just shut up and let you take this all in. Take your time. You’ll need it.”

  “It’s not the first time we’ve recovered bodies out here, Baxter,” said Jerry.

  I nodded. “Uh-huh.”

  The third cop was a first-year rookie I’d met on a couple of occasions, just on their regular patrols. His name was Todd Stowe.

  Sweat beaded down his face as his eyes darted back and forth between the movin’ dead lady and the guys who had gaffed her while she was floatin’ in a gator-infested swamp.

  “Any firearms on anyone?” asked Jerry.

  We all nodded. We might’ve laughed if it weren’t for the situation. “You know we carry, Jerry. All of us.”

  All three cops drew their weapons now, raised and pointed in our general direction. The woman said, “Use one hand to slowly remove your firearms and place them on the bottom of the boat.”

  I looked at Jerry. “Jerry, man. You’ve known us forever. What the hell?”