by Casey Lane
Gary shouted, “Hurry and back up, Mary.”
I didn’t ask any questions, but instantly put the truck in reverse. After a few feet, I turned the Dodge and drove back the way we’d come. I stayed near the outside shoulder, since I was now facing the wrong way to any oncoming traffic, even though there were still no sign of headlights.
We all saw her at the same time. A woman with long hair had popped out of the ditch and lurched erratically towards the truck, waving her hands in the air.
Rod was out his door before I was completely stopped. I threw it in park and yelled after him to wait, but it was déjà vu of the bar all over again. Rod and his damn hero complex kept right on going. He had a gun this time, but the dumber, weaponless Gary hopped out right after Rod. Somebody needed to stay with the truck because everybody knew in a situation like this a driver was crucial for a quick rescue or getaway, so I shouted at my uncle to go protect Dr. Gary at all costs. My practical relative threw me a huge grin of approval, or maybe he was just enjoying himself, but he didn’t hesitate to run after the other two men.
At least Rod and Coop remembered to close their doors. When the rotund infected man that looked like somebody familiar climbed into the cab through Gary’s wide open back passenger door and let loose with one of those terrifying guttural moans, I wished it was Gary so I could shoot him.
My gun was in the snapped closed pocket of my photography vest. If I lived, I might have to rethink the photography vest situation. Then there was my left hand. It was causing me some problems due to it shaking so badly. Out of my peripheral vision, I saw the zombie was having some problems of his own. The dome light had him transfixed, his head up and blood red eyes blinking rapidly.
My stuttering rabbit brain finally started working. I zeroed in on Gary’s shotgun propped against Coop’s seat. I reached down with my right hand and released my seatbelt. I froze in place at the soft click. When no sharp teeth ripped out my jugular, I moved my right arm across the console and dipped my right hand down to grip the shotgun. I carefully, slowly turned my right shoulder inward and twisted my body. At the same time, I raised the gun until the tip of the barrel was almost even with the top of the seat. My shaking left hand got in on the action and found the trigger.
An indescribably foul smell hit me with the force of a sledgehammer.
My throat worked and I had to consciously try not to hurl. It took me an eternity to move my head a few centimeters to look into the back. I was awkwardly poised to fire the shotgun and prayed that I wouldn’t miss because the zombie was only two feet away in Gary’s seat. There was a thick, bloody bandage that covered the side of his white-haired head.
Now that my brain worked, the infected man looked familiar because he could be Santa suffering the DTs after a really bad bender. The rapidly blinking red eyes glued to the dome light may not be a twinkling blue, but the chubby, red cheeks, the snowy white hair, and the long, curling white beard under the gobs of reddish, foamy vomit bore a marked resemblance to the little fat man of the north.
Then the guttural moans started building in Santa’s throat. I could not mistake those hair-raising sounds for the trademark “Ho! Ho! Ho!” no matter how much my wish list wanted it to be true.
Santa zombie’s lower jaw stuck out and clicked aggressively.
My mind flashed on Barbara making those snapping noises earlier tonight. I must be nuts because I actually felt the urge to giggle, even as I kept gulping at the horribly foul odor.
My thighs were held tightly together to prevent me from wetting myself. An accident in my pants could be justified once, but twice in the same night? That crossed over into Depends territory. Not that any urine I’ve ever smelled could remotely touch the reek-o-meter level of the stench permeating the cab. Either this Santa zombie had shit his pants with the bowels from hell or the red vomit was some seriously bad stuff.
A shot went off outside the truck. The zombie inside my truck instantly screamed and jerked forward, its mouth gaping impossibly wide. I screamed back in terror, shoved the shotgun in Santa’s mouth, and pulled the trigger.
The shotgun went click not BOOM!
The infected man reached for me past the muzzle down its throat. Frantically realizing the shotgun had not fired, I got up on my knees. I leveraged my shoulder and right hand into putting all my weight into the thrust of keeping the shotgun in the monster’s mouth. I swayed to avoid the short arms and thrashing nails desperately trying to rip my flesh off. If this Santa zombie hadn’t been pint-sized, I’d be beef jerky. My left hand finally remembered the hours of relentless practice, unsnapped the pocket on my vest, and smoothly drew the Glock.
Another shot went off outside and then my gun went off twice, this time with two incredibly loud BOOMS! The furiously clawing zombie slumped over instantly, half out the open door. It almost took the shotgun stuck in its mouth with him, but I gave a hard yank.
Unbelievably, I missed the first head shot, but the second shot hit true. My leather truck seat was a stinking mess, but I wasn’t complaining.
I replaced the shotgun next to Coop’s seat where I found it, unlocked the driver door, and half jumped-half fell out onto the shoulder of the road. I did all this while I blubbered thanks to Law for encouraging me to practice, practice, practice with my gun and for protecting me against the monsters. I promised to never have sex in an elevator again.
Running to the back of the truck on rubbery legs, I peered around in the dark with my gun ready, but no reindeer or elves lurched out to grab me. Leaning against the tailgate, the metal felt refreshingly cool against my sweating forehead.
Hearing the men’s voices as they came running back along the shoulder, I called out, “Back here!”
Breathing a little harder than normal, Coop rested a hand on the side of the truck bed. “She was infected and came right for us, so Rod took her down. We cleared the SUV, but no keys.”
Nobody mentioned my shots. They must have coincided with Rod’s. Holding onto the tailgate, it took all my strength to climb up and throw one shaking leg over. I sneered down at Rod, although its full effect was probably wasted on him in the dark night.
“What was your first clue Mrs. Claus was infected? The lurching? The flailing arms?”
Rod put his hands on his hips and shook his head at Gary and Coop. “See what I have to put up with from this woman? Where’s the adoration? Where’s the appreciation of all my talents? Who the hell is Mrs. Claus?”
Coop chuckled, but his voice was admiring as he clapped Rod on the shoulder. “Hell, I’m beginning to adore you, Football.” He bragged to me like a doting father, “Rod cut her down with a shot to her leg. Then he shot her in each eye, steady as you please.” My uncle’s voice turned questioning. “What are you doing back here?” He gave Rod an elbow. “I can’t believe a fierce guerilla fighter like my niece was scared by your gun.”
My uncle’s statement wasn’t even logical. Why would I leave a locked truck for an open truck bed if I was scared? Yet I could plainly see the white gleam of Rod’s return grin. I guess I was witnessing a couple of conquering heroes uniting in warrior brotherhood. Gary stood there looking shell-shocked.
He mumbled to me, “We rolled her into the ditch and left her, like I did Karen.”
The reminder of Gary’s recent loss allowed me to almost forgive him for leaving the truck door open. Not completely, but enough so that I didn’t march him over there and rub his nose in the result.
Coop tried to be patient. “Gary, we have no other choice right now.” He sighed when Gary only mumbled Karen’s name again. I shrugged. The poor guy was clearly losing whatever grip he’d had over his grief for the last half hour. “Okay, let’s get out of here before someone comes along.”
I said to Coop, “You drive. I’m riding back here the rest of the way home.”
Coop and Rod traded a quick look again, but my uncle said, “Uh, okay.”
I was fine with them thinking I was a female lunatic. “Football, will you take Gary
and drive home the Cadillac? No need to let a fine vehicle like that go to waste, right guys?” I rapped the side of the truck. “You’ll probably have to get the keys out of Santa’s pocket on Gary’s side of the truck, but I doubt the second passenger in the cleared SUV will need them anymore.”
The men ran around the truck while I settled down into the open cab and lifted my face to the October night sky. I did let loose a little giggle at the men’s gagging cries of total disgust when they got a whiff of my poopy pants zombie.
Chapter Twelve
“My good qualities are under your protection, and you are to exaggerate them as much as possible; and, in return, it belongs to me to find occasions for teasing and quarreling with you as often as may be.” -Jane Austen, Lizzy to Darcy, Pride and Prejudice
It was a chilly, bumpy ride back to the farm. Twisting my hair into a long coil to keep it from the clutches of the wind, I sat up and watched the roads for any other abandoned cars. I didn’t see any, nor were there many other cars out.
I wanted to believe the deserted roads meant the recently turned couple we had just killed was a random event at this early hour. For those not already at hospitals, the majority of the surviving wounded should turn when they were locked in their own houses for the night like Karen Knutson. Regardless of my beliefs, it was a frightening reminder that we always needed to be vigilant. Karen proved if you were barely even scratched, there were no second chances.
Stretching my back and rolling my neck, I called myself twenty kinds of stupid for picking up a shotgun I had no idea how to use. That was too damn close. What the hell had I been thinking? After I berated myself a little more for being a complete chucklehead, I thought about my latest murder of another human being. I liked target shooting, but it wasn’t like I was some great white hunter used to killing animals, much less gunning down human zombies. When I hunted or fished with Law in the past, I preferred shooting the wildlife with my camera, not a gun.
I concluded what bothered me the most about shooting those infected freaks today was my utter lack of remorse that I had killed them. Other than being grossed out by the gore and physically shaky, I was perfectly fine. Witnessing those people go rabid really had a way of screwing your head on straight. If it turned out there was a vaccine or cure, I thought I could still live with the knowledge that, in the meantime, I had killed people that would have killed me.
I let my mind wander next to the truck door on Coop’s side. Did the infected woman know how to open that door handle? I was almost positive a flailing hand could accidentally catch the type of flip up door handle on my truck, but I’d bring it up to the others. Karen Knutson had kicked out a wall. Was that coincidence because of the hole already there in the drywall like Gary said, or deliberate, cognitive action? Just because zombies in most of the book and movie lore were generally without higher brain functions, didn’t make it true now.
I stared up at the twinkling stars and tried to realistically visualize the violence happening in the Twin Cities right this minute to project how soon it would seriously affect us out here. We’d already determined a lot of wounded, infected people all over the Metro area would be turning over the next couple of predawn hours. My God, rush hour in those neighborhoods would take on a whole new definition of hell. I shivered at the thought.
Out of the families and small groups choosing to immediately flee, their flight patterns should flow predominantly north to family cabins and the lure of Northern wilderness areas away from any big cities, and even crossing the border into Canada.
For the exodus that did come south from the St Paul area, I thought we were far enough south from the epicenter of the most populated areas. If there was going to be stalled, log jams of cars on the highways from careless accidents and infected people turning while driving, it should happen twenty miles or more north of us.
My hopes were that we had a couple of days to get the first phase of defenses up to keep panicked, migrating city people off my property. Then I prayed we had more time to prepare and train to deter or destroy any large groups of infected headed our way.
Arriving back at King House, I committed my twenty-first stupid act of the night by allowing Rod to swing me down from the truck bed. My only defense was that I was stiff with cold and fell into his upraised arms. He held me without a word while running his hands up and down my arms. That felt great, but I squirmed to move away from the warm protection of his body when his hands didn’t stop at my arms. They’d slipped sneakily under my loose photography vest and were rubbing up my sides when I pushed forcefully off Rod’s chest with both hands.
Despite our recent camaraderie, I was sick of his constant attentions and the temptation warring inside me that they caused.
Glaring up into his shadowed face, I whispered fiercely, “Listen, you big, dumb blonde--will you get it through your thick head that I don’t want to have an affair and please quit touching me?”
Rod’s chuckle was low and his answer direct. “Nope.”
My mouth opened, but no sound came out. I’d been nice. I’d been polite and I had even said please. I should walk away. I should ignore him. All these thoughts raced while he looked down into my face with that small, knowing, damned cocky smile of his. Suddenly, I was consumed with frustration. Giving into my recently discovered dark side, I sucker punched him with all my might in the stomach like I’d wanted to do for hours.
Moaning and cradling my hand, I stalked away while he murmured in an admiring, laughing voice, “Now that’s my Boudicca.”
“Oh, shut up! I’m not your anything,” I hissed back at him and kicked a truck tire for emphasis. The tire had more give than his hard abs and at least provided a little satisfaction.
Rod’s quiet laughter still rang in my head when I caught up to my uncle and Gary. To keep my focus where it needed to be and forget the man determined to drive me insane; I dove into telling them my theories of the truck door latch, my concerns about Hwy 52 eventually getting traffic jammed, our plans for the next day, and anything else that popped into my rattled brain.
In a daze already, Gary simply stared. Coop kept looking at me strangely while attempting to get a word in. My uncle finally stopped my chattering with heavy hands on my shoulders and a little shake.
“What the hell is wrong with you, Niece? You’re flapping your lips more than Sean.” Before I could say anything, he held up a hand. “Okay, I get it. Regardless if you told me to run after those guys, it was wrong of us all to leave you alone in the truck tonight.” Coop handed back my truck keys, narrowing his black eyes. “But you had your fun. I don’t think that smell will ever come out of the back of my throat or your truck.”
I looked down and bit my lip. My uncle went on to say everybody needed practice working as a team and that I could probably steal a new truck with no problems in a couple of days. When I nodded quickly in agreement, Coop was satisfied I hadn’t turned into a girl on him after all. The three of us silently continued to the back door, each lost in our own thoughts.
I glanced furtively behind me. Damn him, Rod’s thoughts weren’t lost, but centered on my butt. I wanted to scream. Was sex all that man thought about day in and day out? He looked up and caught my scowl. I whirled around when a leering grin broke across his gorgeous face.
In the mudroom of the kitchen, I explained briefly to the benumbed Gary about my name mix up while I washed my hands vigorously in the utility sink. He nodded wearily and started washing his hands when it was his turn.
Stepping into the kitchen, Rex raised his head and grinned to see me, but went back to snoozing on the hearth rug. A filled tea kettle was getting ready to whistle on a burner while Deb was busy stirring something else on the stove. She grinned to see me, too.
After all the suspicious looks from Deb tonight, that was a welcome change. I asked, “Hey, why aren’t you getting some sleep?”
“I thought I’d get a few things prepared for breakfast. Also, I couldn’t wait to tell you!” Petting and murmuri
ng sweet nothings to my lazy dog, I smiled at the unusual excitement in Deb’s voice. “A good friend of mine from church is the store manager at the Eagan Sam’s Club and so I called her right when we left in the trucks tonight.” Deb’s voice sounded a little embarrassed when she confessed, “I used Quinn’s line about the emergency needy families we were helping. I filled out a huge online click-n-pull preorder and my friend approved it to be packed and ready for pick up at 9:00 AM!”
I smiled tiredly. “Oh Deb, that was really smart of you. It will save us a load of time in the morning. You weren’t really lying, either. Soon enough we are going to be one, big needy family.”
“Way to be thinking, Deb,” Coop complimented absently.
Deb turned away to vigorously stir the contents of her pan, blushing at my uncle’s praise.
Coop inspected the changes made in the kitchen. Sean and the brothers had been busy while we were gone. The windows and French doors off the family room were now covered in sturdy plywood that was cross-braced with two by fours. It was sobering to see even these small, temporary preparations for the worst.
Coop said over his shoulder, “I’ll be back after checking the barricades on the rest of the first floor.”
Rod came in and leaned down near my ear. “I owe you an apology, too.”
Now this was more like it because he did owe me an apology, probably more than one. I have an enormous amount of respect for any man that can sincerely admit when they’re in the wrong, without any games.
Nodding, I smiled up at Rod encouragingly.
His eyes roamed over my upturned face long enough that I began to get uncomfortable. “I don’t have all night, Football, so hurry it up.”
