HVZA (Book 2): Hudson Valley Zombie Apocalypse 2

by Zimmermann, Linda

  Another shift in the snowpack knocked her backwards to the ground again, where a strong pair of arms locked around her waist. Struggling to get free only helped to loosen the young, male zombie from his icy confinement. His mouth moved toward the back of her neck, and she braced herself for the pain of teeth sinking into her flesh. But this zombie had begun his version of hibernation with his mouth open, and a frozen ball of snow prevented his jaws from clamping down.

  Becks couldn’t waste any more time, as hundreds of zombies were becoming mobile, so she covered her right ear with her left hand, stuck her pistol behind her head and pulled the trigger. The gripping arms relaxed, and she scrambled to her feet to find the bullet had entered the zombie’s cheek, and exited through his head, along with the top of his skull.

  The streets were now alive with the undead, so her only chance of escape was to head into the woods. She tripped once over a head and shoulders that popped up in front of her. It was a female zombie in a fur coat, and she was still wearing expensive, rhinestone-studded sunglasses. As much danger as Becks was in, she found the sight to be so ridiculous as to be funny—but not so funny that she didn’t immediately thrust one of the commemorative Native American knives through a dark plastic lens, into the zombie’s eye, and deep into its brain.

  Dozens of zombies were now within thirty feet of her, so Becks crawled the few yards to the edge of the storm drain embankment and ended up doing a headfirst slide down the steep slope. Flipping over twice, she landed hard against a big oak tree, knocking the wind out of her. Her left leg was also caught at a bad angle, and her knee painfully flexed backward. But as soon as she caught her breath, she dragged and crawled her way back up the slope a few feet to take refuge inside the large concrete drain pipe. She just prayed that nothing was already in there, as she slid deeper into the pipe to get out of sight.

  A few seconds later, a couple of male zombies, wearing identical power company jackets, fell down the embankment and slid into the same oak tree. The first one hit head on with a sickening cracking sound, killing him instantly, but the other one managed to get to his feet. At least twenty or thirty others followed, as best as Becks could see, but fortunately, none seemed to see her.

  Between her pair of makeshift spears, pistols, and two pockets full of ammunition, she would have been able to dispatch these zombies in the woods, but there was no way she could climb up the embankment again, especially with a knee that was already swelling. And even if she did reach the road, could she run and shoot her way back to the post office? No, she would have to sit and wait for the zombies to disperse, go back into a twilight state, or freeze to death—hopefully, before she froze.

  The good news was that by late afternoon the temperature rose to around 40 degrees, making her feel much more comfortable. The bad news was that water started flowing through the drain, making her much more uncomfortable. The other good news was that the warmer temperature made the zombies in the woods more energetic and most of them had wandered off. The other bad news was that all the zombies in the area were now more energetic and continued to spread farther down the streets in search of food, which other than the dead zombies, consisted of her.

  As the sun was getting low in the sky, Becks crawled out of the drain pipe to get a better view and test her knee. Running was out of the question, but with the aid of her sticks she would be able to walk, albeit with considerable pain. If she went south in the woods a few hundred feet, it looked as though the embankment leveled out. If she could exit there, she would be very close to the post office. The few zombies left in the woods—if they even noticed her—would be easy to pick off. However, as she turned to look up the embankment to the street, she realized that wasn’t her greatest concern.

  At least 50 snow-caked zombies stood on the edge of the road above the drain pipe, and they definitely saw her. With no understanding of the steep, icy slope being impossible to descend while upright, the hungry mob surged forward. Like a tipped over basket of apples, they came rolling and tumbling downward, as Becks dove back into the pipe. Undead bodies slid in all directions, some hitting trees, some getting entangled in thorn bushes or wedged into snowdrifts, and several coming straight down and smacking into the top of the concrete pipe, snapping a variety of limbs and vertebrae.

  Their broken bodies rained down in front of the pipe, and then one by one they dragged themselves toward Becks’ hiding place. At first, she used her spears to fight them off and kill a few, but when a clump of them started pushing their way into the opening of the pipe, she had no choice but to open fire. The deafening roar of her pistols inside the pipe threatened to rupture her eardrums, but better that than ruptured blood vessels and torn flesh from getting eaten alive.

  To avoid contaminated blood spatter, she moved back deeper into the pipe, onto a slimy, foul-smelling pile of god-knows-what. Her eight direct headshots made quite a pile of goo in front of her as well, as bits of brain, bone, and burst eyeballs rimmed the pipe. Over the pile of fresh corpses, other zombies tried to squeeze their way in, but Becks quickly shot them, as well, until there were so many bodies they plugged up the hole.

  Sitting back in the darkness of the pipe, breathless, there was just enough light at the entrance to reveal the wall of shattered skulls and faces. Clearing an opening to escape would be a strenuous, bloody job, but with so many other zombies still out there, she couldn’t worry about that now. She had no choice but to stay put and spend the night.

  Switching on her flashlight and pointing it into the depths of the pipe, she found a couple of dirty plastic bags and several plastic soda bottles. Crushing the bottles flat, and spacing them around her swollen knee, she tied the plastic bags around the bottles to make a splint to try to immobilize the damaged joint. Then she found that if she stretched out lengthwise and angled herself just right on the curve of the pipe, she was actually able to stay out of the stream of water. In this position, and with no more attempted zombie incursions into the pipe, she eventually drifted off to sleep.

  She dreamt that she was crawling through the woods, and branches kept scratching her face. In her dream she swatted at the branches, and as her hands moved in unison with the nightmare, they came into contact with something real, solid, and furry. From deep sleep, to sitting bolt upright and screaming in a heartbeat, she grabbed her flashlight and found that a column of rats had been scurrying over her on their way to the pile of corpses. Dozens and dozens of rats swarmed over the mass of flesh, plunging their pointed snouts and sharp teeth into eye sockets, nostrils, and mouths. Some were soaked in blood as they perched inside of skulls, slurping down juicy bits of brain. Others gnawed deeply into throats, fingers, and any other piece of exposed flesh they could find in their midnight feast.

  If Becks had anything in her stomach she would have lost it. She yelled some more and banged the sticks against the wall, but barely a single beady eye bothered to even glance her way. This was the best meal they had in months, and Becks could yell all she wanted—these rats had no intention of leaving until their bellies were stuffed to bursting with zombie flesh.

  Needless to say, Becks slept no more that night. Just the collective sound of all those rats munching and tearing and scurrying around drove her crazy, but at least with the flashlight off she couldn’t see the ghastly buffet.

  Inside the pipe, with the entrance blocked, it didn’t get terribly cold, but she could tell the temperature had dropped below freezing again as the water stopped flowing. However, that didn’t deter the steady flow of rats that continued hour after hour.

  It had to have been one of the longest nights of her life. Finally, after what seemed to be two days, the faint light of dawn started filtering through the gaps between the corpses—gaps made significantly larger by the flesh excavating conducted by the army of rats. As repulsed as she was, Becks had to give credit to this horde of scavengers who had managed to clear large chunks of skin and muscle down to the bare white bones. Some of the corpses were already picked clean, right
down to the rib cages.

  Despite the disgusting scene, Becks’ own stomach was growling for attention. She drank half her bottle of water and ate one of the two energy bars she brought. She usually carried a lot more food and water with her, but this was supposed to be just a short walk down the street. And the thought of killing and eating a raw rat was just too much, especially a rat who had just gorged itself on a zombie.

  As she was banishing that thought from her mind, one of the rats started squealing bloody murder. She assumed two rats were fighting over a tasty morsel of lung or kidney, but when she looked, she saw that a zombie hand had reached in through the wall of bones and grabbed a big, fat, rat, which was furiously biting the hand that grasped him, to no avail. Tightly clutching the squirming rodent, the male zombie pulled it up to his face and sunk his teeth into its belly. Even with its little spaghetti-like intestines dangling down, the rat continued to fight, until the zombie bit through its neck and started crunching on its skull.

  Within seconds, more hands reached in trying to grab a fresh rat breakfast, but the rats all panicked, turned and ran—right over the top of Becks, like a filthy, hairy, wave sweeping over her. Covering her face and curling up against the wall, it took all of her power to keep from screaming as hundreds of little feet clawed their way across her body. Finally, the last stinking rat raced off into the darkness, but the real excitement was just beginning.

  One by one, the corpses were pulled away by zombies fighting over the remaining flesh. The strongest ones were able to drag their prizes away to feast, while the weaker ones frantically sucked up any tidbits left behind, and fought over slippery organs that had fallen out of the bodies. During the conflict, Becks quietly inched her way even further down the pipe, and just prayed that once the last corpse was removed, no one felt inclined to search deeper inside.

  Obviously, her hopes of escaping that morning were dashed. As the hours passed, the water didn’t start flowing again, indicating there would be no warm-up that day. Dark gray clouds lowered and thickened, and even inside the pipe it started to become bitterly cold. By early afternoon it was snowing and the wind was howling, sounding like a demonic tuba as it raced past the drain pipe opening. Becks shivered, but tried to remain positive. Perhaps this latest storm would be a blessing, if it drove the zombies to hibernate in clumps again.

  Becks ate half of her remaining energy bar and drank most of her water. She could deal with the hunger, but was feeling dehydrated. As the storm raged, she dared to move to the end of the drain pipe. Every last piece of flesh from her kills had been consumed or dragged off, and any remaining pools of blood had frozen, so at least there was no risk of infection. As it turned out, there was little risk of being seen, either, as visibility was so low it was practically a whiteout.

  There didn’t appear to be anyone close by, so she quickly reached out, snatched a fistful of fresh snow, crawled back into the pipe, and slowly ate the snow. She hated putting anything cold in her mouth, but she needed fluids. She grabbed a few more handfuls over the next couple of hours, which became increasingly easier as a layer of several inches had formed right on the rim. If her knee wasn’t so painful—and she could determine whether the zombies were scattered or becoming inactive—she would have tried to use the cover of the falling snow to crawl through the woods, but as much as she recoiled at the thought of spending another night in this freezing rat hole, it seemed to be the wisest choice.

  By the time the sun set, every inch of her body either ached or was numb from the cold. There was no longer any way to get comfortable on the hard concrete, and she just yearned for something soft to sit on, or to be able to stand up and stretch. Becks was determined to get out of that pipe one way or another in the morning, but first, she had to make it through this terrible night.

  It was noticeably warmer farther in, and the wind couldn’t reach her, so she went back about 40 feet, before ingrown roots and debris blocked her way. It smelled like mushrooms and feces, but it was worth the tradeoff for the increased temperature. Where she was sitting, there were squishy patches of unfrozen muck, so it was actually above freezing, which was a life or death difference from the sub-zero wind chills out in the storm.

  Exhausted, freaked out, and miserable, she alternately napped, cried, laughed nervously at the absurdity of her situation, and talked to herself in a series of profanity-riddled pep talks. She also berated herself for being so stupid and careless as to climb to the summit of a snow-capped zombie mountain, but then forgave herself, because how could she possibly know that the suburbs of New Jersey had snow-capped zombie mountains?

  Awakening from one of her short naps, she was grateful to see the night had passed, by the small circle of light at the end of the pipe. Wasting no time, she started to crawl toward the front, which was rather awkward and difficult, being unable to bend or put pressure on her injured knee. As she slowly made her way, she thought the opening looked odd, like some strange yin yang symbol of blue and white. Twenty feet away, Becks realized a curved snowdrift was blocking half of the opening, meaning the storm had to have dumped another one or two feet.

  That was bad news for the hungry zombies who were hopefully driven back to their snowy cocoons, but it wasn’t great news for Becks, either, especially if there was an icy coating over the snow. But there was only one way to find out. With a pistol in one hand and a spear in the other, she used her feet to push through the drift. It was hard to judge the depth until she dropped down out of the pipe and sank over her knees. But before she even tried to take a step, she slowly scanned the woods around her and the road above.

  There were no zombies visible on the edge of the road, which of course, didn’t mean that a thousand of them hadn’t lain down on top of one another, forming a little mountain range she would have to climb over again. At first glance, she thought the woods were clear, but then she realized those strange tree stumps scattered about were really individual zombies frozen in a variety of grotesque poses, like some perverse sculpture display. There were several medium-to-large hillocks in the snow; one or two of which had hair and hands sticking out, so she knew that was where some groups of zombies had huddled together and were now dormant. At least she hoped they were dormant!

  That was the good news. The bad news was that without snowshoes and with a bum knee, trying to walk in snow this deep would get her nowhere fast. But with only half an energy bar left, and being chilled to the bone, she had to get back to the post office even if it took her all day. There was no guarantee the bright sunshine wouldn’t start melting the new-fallen snow, once again releasing the swarms of zombies.

  Having no other choice, she holstered her pistol, strapped the spear to her back, and threw herself face down into the snow. By using her arms and right leg, she managed a type of crab crawl, which was awfully slow, but kept her moving.

  Ha, look at me! Becks thought, trying to bring some levity to the situation. I’m a snow crab!

  After twenty minutes, Becks was sweating profusely and completely winded from the exertion. Half her energy was being expended just by lifting her body up out of the snow, in order to push herself forward another foot or so. She would promptly sink back down and have to repeat the push-up/push-forward motion over and over, like a hellish punishment of boot camp calisthenics. Weak from hunger, lack of sleep, and stress, she had to take frequent breaks to catch her breath.

  On one of her breaks, she rolled over on her back and was stunned to see a zombie draped over a branch about ten feet up in the air right above her! It looked to be in a twilight state, or had very recently died (for good). As to how it got up there, Becks had no idea, but she had no intentions of lingering to try to figure it out. She had already seen some suspicious, dark shapes under the snow beneath her several times, and while they could have been fallen tree limbs, they could also be zombie limbs.

  After a grueling hour and a half of crawling, Becks finally reached a section of the woods that was past the embankment, and had a gentle s
lope up to the road. Her right leg was getting rubbery from fatigue, but she couldn’t stop now. In fact, she was actually able to pick up the pace a little, as there were a lot of pines trees that had caught the snow, so it wasn’t as deep on the ground. She was even able to stand and walk ten or twelve feet at a time in some spots.

  Finally, she made it up to the edge of the road. The post office was about the length of a football field away on the other side of the street. Not far, but unfortunately there were a lot of heads and torsos sticking up out of the snow. Were they frozen to death, or in a twilight state?

  Quietly crawling over to the torso of a pathetic, emaciated old man with white stubble on his gaunt cheeks, and wearing a red and black flannel coat and Elmer Fudd-type hat, Becks gently poked him with one of her spears. There was no reaction at first, but a less gentle poke drove part of the knife tip into his shoulder, and his eyes popped open. He could only manage a weak groan or two, and his arms flailed around for a few seconds, but he was clearly on his last legs, so to speak. Even though he would most likely die that day, Becks recalled the words of Cam:

  “Every zombie you kill today, is one less that could bite you tomorrow.”

  Pulling the blade out of his shoulder, she then thrust it into his eye and deep into his brain. Greenish goo oozed out, signaling that the ZIPs network was breaking down and dying. She hoped that was the case with most of the other zombies trapped in the snow, but again, she wasn’t going to wait around to find out.