Normally, exterior perimeter patrols around New Ridgelawn would take place every half hour, day and night, by foot and by car. However, as the effective fighting force had been seriously diminished, there were no patrols beyond the barricades and fences that night. There were still lookouts in the plywood and two-by-four towers spaced about a block apart, but without searchlights, they could do little more than listen for clumsy zombies to shuffle their way to within shooting range.
Of course, even though the threat—namely Eddie Tasi—had supposedly been neutralized, everyone in town was on edge. This was the biggest thing to happen in over a year, and the first raid to go catastrophically wrong. Many who lost loved ones were inconsolable in their grief, but many more were silently rejoicing that the Rovers had their asses kicked and lost several of their worst thugs.
For the majority of their journey towards town, Becks and Eddie went out of their way to avoid packs of zombies, stopping only occasionally for Eddie to whack a lone straggler over the head with a powerful blow from his machete. However, when they were within a few blocks of the main gate, they started looking specifically for packs of zombies—but not too big, and not too small. Something around 25 or 30 would be just right. They found what they were looking for at a gas station, which still had its tattered, makeshift banner, spray painted on an old bed sheet hanging over the pumps:
NO GAS LEFT
RUN FOR YOUR LIVES
In a surreal scene, about two dozen zombies were standing together under the banner, apparently attracted by the flapping strips of fabric, but looking for all the world like they were waiting for a tanker truck to deliver more gas. For whatever reason, some of the undead were far more susceptible to the lure of things like wind chimes, loose shutters banging in the wind, or plastic soda bottles blowing down the street. Some actually tried to eat the bottles or wind chimes, but for the most part, they were content to just follow the sounds, and then stand and stare at the source of the sound for days, weeks, or even months.
Since the earliest days of infection, when zombie attacks were big news and videos blanketed the Internet, Becks had studied their behaviors and eccentricities. She did so because she had a natural scientific curiosity, but primarily because she looked for any vulnerabilities, which she could then use against them. Having once observed several zombies follow a beach ball for at least a mile down a stretch of highway, she came up with a plan for creating a diversion. Fortunately, Eddie was able to supply the necessary hardware to make it happen.
While Becks stood guard behind a minivan across the street from the gas station, Eddie removed something from his backpack and fiddled with some sort of controls. Then he pulled out something else and placed it in the road.
“You ready?” he whispered.
“Let’s do it,” Becks replied, raising her faithful hockey stick with the knives that had proven to be a very quiet and effective zombie killing weapon.
Pushing a few buttons, the object on the ground lit up and began to move. It was a radio-controlled “22nd Century Lunar Explorer” that Little Eddie had built, with tank-like treads and a clear plastic dome, surrounded by a host of flashing LED lights and polished chrome. Big Eddie skillfully maneuvered the vehicle toward the zombies at the gas pumps, and it didn’t take long before their fascination turned from the tattered fabric to the bright, shiny object buzzing around their ankles.
Like a school of fish, they all turned toward the Lunar Explorer and began following it as Eddie guided it toward New Ridgelawn. The trick for Becks and Eddie was to stay hidden to avoid drawing attention, while staying close enough for the limited range of the radio-controlled vehicle. It was a bit awkward at first trying to keep a steady pace, but in the span of the first block, Eddie figured out that if he moved the vehicle in quick, short bursts, the pack of zombies would lurch forward in response, and in those moments he and Becks had time to dash to a new position of cover and then prepare for the next move forward.
Things were going smoothly down the second block, until a very decomposed male stumbled out of the shadows. Becks was momentarily startled, as she was also a little too fascinated by the twinkling lights of the Lunar Explorer, but her reflexes kicked in and she swung her hockey stick around in a vicious arc that came up under the zombie’s bearded jaw. The decay was so severe that his entire jaw came off, tongue and all, and stuck to the blade of the knife taped to the curved end of the stick; yet still the zombie moved toward them.
Not wanting to blow their cover, and the entire mission, by firing a shot, Becks spun her hockey stick around to the straight end, which had narrower blade. Holding her breath for a moment to steady her aim, she lunged forward and thrust upward, driving the blade through the zombie’s left eye socket, and momentarily getting the sharp tip stuck to the inside of the skull. Raising her right boot, she placed it in the zombie’s abdomen and gave him a shove backward, dislodging the knife point. Then with the same boot, she stepped on the bloody jaw and tongue, pressing it firmly to the road so she could pull out the blade.
“You got it?” Eddie whispered, trying to keep his eyes on the pack to make sure no one was noticing Becks’ handiwork.
“Got your back, Jack,” she replied calmly, scraping the gore off her boot on the edge of the curb.
Despite their perilous situation, she couldn’t help but poke the zombie here and there to test its tissue integrity, and found that it was so rotted that skin and muscle were sloughing off in sheets. Clearly, these ZIPs were not managing their host properly. Becks silently wished the parasites were all that inefficient, which would swiftly put an end to mankind’s troubles. Unfortunately, the two dozen healthy and vigorous zombies eagerly following the Lunar Explorer down the street illustrated that mankind wouldn’t get away that easily.
Refocusing on the mission, Becks continued to follow Eddie and watch his back, as he played Zombie Pied Piper. It was a slow process, probably taking 20 minutes to go a few blocks, but it was necessary if they were going to create a diversion that didn’t look like anyone was creating a diversion. Unfortunately, an essential part of achieving that goal necessitated turning off the Lunar Explorer before its lights came into view of the guard in the tower by the gate. And once the radio-controlled vehicle’s lights went out and it stopped moving, the pack stopped, too.
Where the job of the high-tech remote ended, however, was where the empty vegetable cans came in. Becks tossed the first one about twenty feet in front of the pack. The sound wasn’t as attractive as the Lunar Explorer, and at first the pack didn’t react, but then one of the younger zombies must have decided a bouncing tin can was better than nothing, and started moving again. Not knowing why they were following the young zombie, the others dutifully started moving again, as well.
Eddie moved ahead in the shadows and tossed the next can, and then Becks moved ahead of him and tossed the third, and so on, until they were all in sight of the dim lantern light in the watch tower. Eddie made sure with his final toss that it was close enough to the front gate to get the guard’s attention, as well as lure the pack dangerously close to the town’s line of defense. As if on cue, the guard, who was a boy of no more than sixteen, switched on his halogen flashlight and was horrified to see the beam reflected in dozens of zombie eyeballs.
Frantically ringing an old school bell which used to be on display at the local historical society, he shouted for reinforcements, which only drew the zombies closer. A few seconds later, he started firing wildly toward the crowd, with one shot going so far afield that it struck a tree just two feet from Eddie’s head. Silently signaling to Becks to hightail it out of there, the two ran back a block, and then cut west a few blocks, before heading south again to a cemetery on the edge of the town’s perimeter.
After easily running through all the rows of headstones, thanks to the night vision goggles, they came to New Ridgelawn’s western line of defense, which was nothing more than rows of parked cars running six-deep and stretching end-to-end across the street to th
e buildings on either side. The blockade was impenetrable to an uncoordinated zombie, but a piece of cake for a human.
Waiting for the guard in the nearest tower to descend and run toward the main gate to repel the zombie pack, Becks and Eddie began climbing over hoods and bumpers. Becks had a slight dizzy spell jumping from a blue Ford Taurus to a green Chevy Cavalier, but it only lasted a moment and they were quickly on the ground in enemy territory. Now the real work would begin.
For some reason, Becks expected New Ridgelawn to be a clean and tidy little town where picket fences were still painted white to boost morale and remind everyone of the good life, BZA. Instead, stinking piles of garbage lined the streets, rats scurried everywhere, and every lawn was overgrown with shoulder-high weeds. It looked far worse than the abandoned sections of town. An occasional flicker of candlelight behind a grimy window was the only sign that there was any human life in these houses.
Fortunately, unless one was on guard duty, there was a strict curfew after dark, so no one was out and about. To be fair, this was not a rule born of the three brothers’ totalitarian desires, but a practical, self-preservation measure. In the early months of the makeshift community, more residents were shot at night by nervous guards mistaking them for zombies, than were actually being killed by zombies.
Still, even though no one was out, Eddie and Becks stuck to the shadows and moved as quietly as possible. Their objective was 238 Maple Street, the home of Gabriela Alvaro and her son, Donnie. Eddie had been good friends with Jose Alvaro, Gabriela’s husband, as they had worked together for years. Jose had been one of the first to get infected when he helped break up a fight in the local hardware store. As it turned out, a customer had switched right there in the store and attacked a stock boy. Jose saved the boy, but was bitten in the process.
Eddie and Izzy had done whatever they could to help Gabriela and her son when they took Jose away to a containment facility, but once the real chaos descended and the brothers took control of the town, they lost touch. Eddie had pleaded with Gabriela to come and stay with his family where he could protect them all, but she stubbornly—and foolishly—clung to her home and the belief that life would be good in New Ridgelawn.
As they approached the Alvaro house, it was obvious what a mistake it had been to stay. The little piece of property Jose had been so proud to keep in Better Homes and Gardens condition was now a suburban jungle of thick stalks of dead weeds, littered with cans, bottles, and various empty cardboard and plastic food containers. A dead raccoon was splayed out across the walkway leading to the front door. Its advanced state of decomposition showed it had been there for months, but no one had bothered to take a minute to shovel it off into the weeds, choosing instead to just walk over it. A black plastic leaf bag was taped over some broken panes of the living room bay window, where a tree had fallen and shattered the glass. One limb was still sticking into the house, but another plastic bag was taped around it, rather than simply cutting the limb and sealing the window properly.
Eddie signaled for Becks to follow him around to the rear of the house, which was more easily said than done, given the dense overgrowth that surrounded the back porch. The neglected boards of the porch squeaked beneath Eddie’s weight, and they momentarily froze and held their breath to see it the sounds drew any attention. When there didn’t appear to be any reaction, they slowly continued to the back door.
It was locked, so Eddie tapped gently on the dirty glass. They waited a minute, and then he tapped a little louder, and then as loud as he dared. Finally, a flashlight beam illuminated an upstairs window. They watched as the bright light descended the stairs and headed for the back door, and they had to flip up their night vision goggles to avoid being blinded.
They could see a frail, nervous, hollow-eyed, 9-year-old who just stood at the door staring, but didn’t say a word.
“It’s Eddie, Eddie Tasi, your dad’s friend. Is that you, Donnie? You’ve gotten big!”
Moments passed and the tension rose, as Donnie still did not speak, but instead started backing up slowly.
“I thought this kid looked up to you like a father?” Becks whispered sharply.
“He did. At least, he used to, but it’s been a while and—”
Eddie didn’t get to finish his sentence as the boy began screaming and ran for the front door.
“Kick it in! I’ll go to the front,” Becks shouted as she raced down the porch stairs three at a time and leapt over the weeds to try to get to the front door before the boy could escape and alert the entire town. But before she turned the corner of the house, the boy was silent. With one powerful kick, Eddie had shattered the back door. A few big strides got him to the screaming boy and then one massive hand clamped down over the boy’s mouth to muffle his cries for help.
Becks waited a few moments to see if the neighborhood was stirred by the sounds, but the gunfire and shouting back at the main gate must have masked the boy’s screams. When she entered the remains of the back door, Becks saw the flashlight on the floor of the hallway, and Eddie seated next to it, holding Donnie between his arms and legs like a giant anaconda so that he could neither move nor speak. Eddie was trying to reassure him in soothing tones, but it was clear the boy was both terrified and enraged, like a caged animal.
“Please Donnie, relax. Relax, son, we just want to talk to you,” Eddie said as he slowly loosened his grip. However, the instant his mouth was clear he began shouting again, and flailing his arms and legs, until the giant anaconda grip was renewed.
“Great! Now what?” Becks whispered angrily, realizing that if Donnie didn’t cooperate, Plan A was doomed.
“I don’t know! He was such a polite and quiet kid,” Eddie replied at a complete loss.
“And where’s his mother?” Becks asked, picking up the flashlight and scanning the living room and kitchen, piled high with garbage and dirty laundry. “Let me check upstairs.”
The three bedrooms were just as bad, if not worse, as buckets of urine and feces were everywhere. Rodents of all varieties had also added copious amounts of their filth to the mix. There was no sign of Gabriela, or any other supervising adult, and there was every sign that Donnie had been alone for a long time and living like an animal.
“Any luck?” Eddie asked, as Becks descended the stairs, holding her nose.
“You do not want to go up there,” she replied, trying to repress the gag reflex. “I don’t think anyone else lives here. This kid has been on his own for quite a while.”
“Oh, poor Donnie,” Eddie said softly. “What happened to your mom?”
He started to pull away his hand again in hopes of a reply, but the boy just tried to scream. Becks wished she had her medkit with her, with its collection of mood altering and knockout drugs. But as this was a household in the good old U.S. of A.—the pharmaceutical capital of the world—she hoped the medicine cabinets would have what she needed to subdue the boy. Unfortunately, after a quick search, Becks came up empty. Obviously, the Rovers had confiscated all drugs and medical supplies. But there was more than one way to drug a child.
“What did Jose like to drink?” she asked Eddie, who seemingly wasn’t tiring of keeping the boy immobilized and silent.
“Oh lord, he liked some sickening blue liqueur he would drink straight. Tasted like bitter oranges. Yuck!” Eddie replied, sticking his tongue out to emphasize his point. “Gabriela didn’t like him drinking, but he always kept a couple of bottles in the basement, under his workbench.”
Sure enough, Becks found two dust-covered bottles of blue Curaçao liqueur behind boxes of drill bits and nails. Opening a bottle and taking a whiff, it didn’t smell too bad, but after taking just a small sip she spit it out. In a mixed drink it may add a pleasant flavor, but straight it was just vile.
“Okay, this isn’t going to be easy, but the faster we get him to drink this the better,” Becks said, transferring a hefty portion of the 60 proof blue liqueur into a plastic sports bottle with a spout, so she could squeeze the
alcohol down the boy’s throat.
Eddie pulled back his hand, and just as Donnie started screaming, Becks jammed the bottle in his mouth and squeezed, but the boy had just enough fight in him to spit it all out onto both of them. The second attempt wasn’t much better, but they finally devised the best delivery system.
Eddie just spread his fingers wide enough for Becks to stick the spout through, but kept the boy’s mouth closed so he couldn’t spit it out. It took quite a while, as occasionally some of the blue liquid ran out of Donnie’s nose as he fought and gagged on the foul-tasting liqueur, but slowly, enough of the potent alcohol actually reached his stomach that it began to have an effect on the malnourished little boy. Becks couldn’t help wondering how many years in prison they would have gotten for this BZA, and she had to keep reminding herself that it was ultimately for a good purpose. To be honest with herself, she also had to admit that if they couldn’t do something to keep the boy quiet for a few hours, she would probably have to kill him.
“I think he’s pretty looped already,” Eddie said as he pushed back the half-empty bottle from the boy’s lips as Becks was about to administer another dose.
Releasing his grip, the boy barely moved, except for his head lolling to one side. Eddie gently lifted him and carried him into the living room, where Becks pulled heaps of smelly laundry from an overstuffed recliner so that Eddie could lower the boy into the chair. Kneeling down and stroking the boy’s hand, Eddie tried again to get him to speak.
“Hey, Donnie, how are you doing, son? It’s me, Little Eddie’s dad. Remember how much fun you and Little Eddie had together at the playground, and that day at the beach? It was such a perfect summer day, and you two ate hot dogs and built sand castles.”
Eddie kept talking about happy times, and after a few minutes a look came over the boy that finally showed some spark of recognition. There was a glimmer of light in his eyes, which suddenly clouded with tears.
HVZA (Book 2): Hudson Valley Zombie Apocalypse 2 Page 13
