HVZA (Book 2): Hudson Valley Zombie Apocalypse 2

by Zimmermann, Linda

  The question remained, however, what would be the right time? If she left while there was still snow on the ground, it would be difficult to run, and she could literally step into a mound of zombies. If she waited for it to warm up enough for all the snow to be gone, the zombies who had survived being outside would all be fully mobile. All those who nested indoors would also come out. The answer was simple—there was no good time to head out on foot.

  Unfortunately, the decision was taken out of her hands when a ferocious coastal storm pounded the area for 48 hours. Warm rain fell in buckets and eroded the snow pack like acid. By the end of the second night, the copious amounts of rainfall, coupled with all the melted snow, turned the post office street into a river—a river filled with rotting zombie corpses killed by the cold winter, as well as recently deceased zombies who drowned in the flood waters.

  Those fresh corpses were what concerned Becks the most, as it had been found that bodies of water containing new corpses became breeding grounds for the parasites. She had read about one town in New Hampshire that was killing zombies and throwing them into a nearby lake. The parasite eggs made their way into streams and wells, and any survivors who didn’t boil their water became infected. And infection would also occur if you waded through these contaminated waters and had any sort of an open wound, or the water splashed into your eyes, nose, or mouth.

  In short, the flood waters in northern New Jersey had created one big ZIP kiddie pool, and there was no way Becks was about to jump in. But as soon as those waters receded, she would hit the ground running. On the positive side, the rushing waters had swept a lot of the bodies off the road and either into ditches or piled them up against fallen trees or cars. Any stretch of open pavement was a bonus, but how far that clear pavement stretched was the question.

  Three days later the flood waters were gone from the street, but the ground was exceedingly soft and spongy. Testing the lawn in front of the post office, Becks found that walking was tricky, as every boot step slipped and sank in the muddy soil. If she left now, she wouldn’t be able to get across yards and wooded sections with any speed or confidence. She would need to take the ATV on a reconnaissance mission of the nearby streets to assess her best route.

  Gearing up one evening in her silverware armor and night vision goggles, and mounting her ATV steed, Becks appeared to be ready for some type of steampunk joust. She had utilized all the broom handles, knives, and potentially deadly objects she could find in the packages to make spears, clubs, and anything else she could wield to clear her path of zombies.

  However, her favorite weapon wasn’t one she had made herself. It was an “authentic reproduction” of a “15th century German flail” purchased at a cost of $380, plus tax, shipping, and handling, by Jason Weems of Century Road. There was a disclaimer in the box which stated that “the enclosed authentic reproduction is meant for entertainment purposes only, and is not to be used in any combat situations.”

  Becks wasn’t sure what kind of entertainment the manufacturer had in mind, but she had certainly been amused by firmly gripping the stainless steel shaft and swinging the hefty spiked ball into the heads of all the worthless “collector dolls” from the Danbury Mint. Becks had checked the invoices in those packages and found that they had all been ordered in the final weeks before the collapse. She couldn’t imagine what went through these women’s minds. With zombies running amok, shortages of food and fuel, and frequent power outages, they all decided that their time and money would best be spent ordering porcelain dolls!

  In any event, the dolls had provided good practice for Becks as she prepared her defenses. Her pistols were still her primary arms, but when quiet kills were needed, she would be glad to have all of these primitive, but deadly, weapons at her disposal. She had used a bungee cord to strap a small garbage can to the back of the ATV to hold her hockey stick, spears and clubs, but the flail was in a holster she modified, right next to her beloved .44 Magnum.

  The ATV was running a little rough, even though Becks had made sure she started it up and ran it for a while at least once a week. Perhaps the old gas from the mail trucks was the problem, but she didn’t have a lot of options. It sputtered and protested for the first few minutes, but evened out enough to proceed.

  Easing out of the parking lot and onto the road, she cautiously headed left toward the intersection—the same route she had taken that resulted in spending two nights in a storm drain. The melting snow had revealed hundreds of dead zombies, but the flood had pushed the majority of them out of the way. As it was dark, there weren’t too many mobile zombies around, and because they hated water, those who didn’t drown in the flood had shambled their way toward higher ground, which fortunately was to the east.

  It was nice to see the full length of the sign posts this time as Becks pulled up to the intersection. The horror of “The Day the Earth Moved” still made her shudder, but she would never make that kind of mistake again, she thought, and then tapped on one of the broom handles so she didn’t jinx herself. She may have devoted her life to science, but knocking on wood still had its value.

  Turning left, she proceeded slowly down the hill into uncharted territory. At the bottom of the hill was some standing water, about an inch or two deep, but by driving at no more than walking speed, Becks was able to make sure none of the potentially contaminated water splashed on her.

  There were more bodies in the road, and plenty more scattered across the front lawns. The odor of decomposing flesh was quite strong, but it was somewhat mitigated by the aromatherapy oils, ordered by Susie Compton of Lafayette Avenue, which Becks had rubbed onto her surgical mask before she left. It was a trick they used at the funeral home where she had worked, and then she regularly used it to observe autopsies or perform human dissections. But even with the heavily scented oil, the stench of death was everywhere.

  Navigating around several fallen trees and numerous corpses, she was pleased to have made it a few blocks without incident. Unfortunately, two blocks in front of her was a large herd stretching the width of the street and spilling over into the tall weeds of the abandoned homes on either side. Even at this distance, Becks could tell they were reacting to the sound of the ATV engine, but as long as she didn’t turn on the lights they probably wouldn’t move towards her.

  Working under that assumption, she moved forward to within about 100 feet to get a better idea of the size and condition of the herd. They were a thin and hungry-looking group of zombies, which was nothing new. Unfortunately, though, they weren’t nearly as lethargic or had as much tissue damage as the zombies who had been stuck outdoors all winter. The relative cleanliness and decent condition of their clothing also spoke to the fact that this group had sheltered indoors, and had only recently emerged from their nests and came together.

  Her assumption that the herd wouldn’t move to the sound of the engine in the darkness was only partially correct. While the bulk of them just stood in place and turned their heads in Becks’ direction, at least a dozen started moving fairly quickly toward her. She knew by their speed—which was still slower than a human’s brisk walk, but fast for the undead—that they had recently switched, probably within the last month or two. That was both encouraging and troubling news, as it meant there was most likely a human population in the area—one that was still losing its friends and family members to infection.

  Becks mentally filed away all this information as she turned to head back. When she had put a full block’s distance between her and the herd, something caught her eye that made her stop. There was a rusted gas grill in the driveway of one of the houses, and it gave her an idea. Thanks to Eddie’s inclination to set things on fire, Becks decided to see if the grill’s propane tank still had anything inside. Disconnecting the hose from the grill to the tank, she turned the knob on the tank and heard the telltale hiss of escaping gas.

  Assuming her best Olympic discus thrower pose, except she was using two hands, Becks spun 180 degrees and released her grip on the
tank. The heavy container of propane flew up in an arc and came smashing down through the living room picture window, bounced across the floor and settled against a couch. Becks then carefully reached through the broken window and used her lighter to ignite the drapes. The flames were too bright for her night vision goggles, so she had to turn away. She drove back another half a block and then waited.

  It took about fifteen minutes for the heat of the fully engulfed living room to be sufficient to explode the propane tank, but when it did, it was quite spectacular—although it did pale in comparison to the multiple tanks Eddie had used to destroy his house. The entire structure was soon ablaze, giving an orange glow to the entire neighborhood. This was more than just an amusing pastime for Becks—although she had to admit she was getting rather fond of blowing shit up and burning things down—this was an experiment to see if the zombies followed their previous behavior and moved toward the light of the fire.

  Sure enough, the blast and ensuing conflagration drew the entire herd like moths to a flame. Actually, that wasn’t the best analogy, as unlike self-immolating moths, zombies stopped just short of burning themselves—usually.

  Becks had simply hoped to be able to use diversions like burning buildings on side streets to draw the herds off the main road, but something unexpected happened. While the front rows of zombies stopped a safe distance from the intense heat, those at the back of the herd kept pushing forward. Like a relentless tidal wave, the mass of undead flesh pushed those in front right up to the walls of the burning building, killing and severely injuring dozens. And the carnage only ended when the force of the herd was no longer sufficient to push the rapidly growing heap of sizzling, charred flesh.

  With Plan A now jelling, Becks turned the ATV away from the zombie roast and headed back to the post office for what she hoped would be her last night there. However, she did make one slight detour.

  A lone male zombie stood in the middle of one of the side streets. With flail in hand, she gunned the engine and made her approach. It looked a bit dazed and confused at the loud sound of something it couldn’t see, and appeared unsure how to react. Becks resolved its dilemma as she lifted up off the seat of the ATV to get just the right height and angle to swing the spiked ball into the side of the zombie’s head. A satisfying cracking sound accompanied the devastating blow that resulted in one of the long spikes penetrating deep into the cranium. The zombie dropped like a sack of medieval potatoes, and Becks imagined herself as the triumphant knight riding her mechanical steed back to her castle.

  She would never admit this to another human being, but sometimes apocalypses could be fun.

  Chapter 15

  For a final splurge, Becks let the generator and heaters run all night. Surprisingly, the noise didn’t bother her. In fact, the total silence of the post office, and especially the fallout shelter, had worn on her nerves, and it was good to have artificial sound again. Even in the relatively tranquil suburb of Nyack where she grew up, there were always phones ringing, passing cars, jets and airplanes, lawnmowers—something to constantly give you subconscious reminders that you lived in a technological world filled with people like yourself.

  These months of complete isolation and quiet were constant reminders that the world had gone to shit and she was surrounded by creatures who were nothing like her. As Becks packed up and prepared to leave, she finally realized that if she had to be there much longer she would probably develop some serious psychological issues. Perhaps she already had, and just didn’t recognize them.

  “You’ve been a great friend, Ginger,” Becks said to her sock monkey as she gave it a hug, “but I think it’s best you stay here and look after things.”

  Propping Ginger up on the front counter, Becks pinned a note to her stuffed friend that described how she had ended up stranded in New Jersey. The note also talked about Sgt. Colaneri, Angie, and the Tasi family, as well as West Point and the Picatinny Arsenal, urging others to try to reach Interstate 287. She also mentioned the fallout shelter, and all of the new clothing she had separated into various boxes of men’s, women’s, and children’s styles and sizes, along with countless other items she had grouped together according to their usefulness.

  “Take whatever you need,” she wrote. “I hope these things help you to survive.”

  She left one more note in the sorting room, where she had labeled the sacks of mail she had read and categorized according to subject. For example, there was the “I’m infected” sack, the “I’ll never see you again” sack, the “I’ll see you soon” sack, and even the “I hope you die” bag of letters, although thankfully they were in the minority.

  “Please do not destroy these letters,” she wrote on a big piece of cardboard with a red Sharpie. “They are the only memorials to generations of families that have been lost.”

  Perhaps all of her sorting, categorizing, and labeling had been a bit crazy, but without a lab at her disposal, her brain needed some sort of tasks to keep it from turning to mush. But now the task at hand was to prepare everything to make sure her brain didn’t get eaten.

  Becks separated all of her food and water so that she had a three-day supply of survival crackers in her pockets and bottles of water duct taped to her body, in the event she had to drop everything and sprint. Her backpack was crammed with about a week’s worth of food—including the precious MREs she had set aside—and a couple of days of water. A duffle bag was stuffed with more food and water and strapped to the ATV. Realistically, she knew the ATV wouldn’t go far, but she wanted to have more supplies than she thought she might need.

  The same went for weapons. Her pistols, hockey stick, and sniper rifle were like parts of her body that she would not drop under any circumstances. The flail was in its holster, but due to its weight, she would jettison it if necessary.

  Another important part of her arsenal was the pepper spray she found in a cabinet in the post office. Initially, the mail carriers must have used it to fend off vicious dogs, but as the infection spread, pepper spray became essential to temporarily incapacitate zombies. The eyes of the undead were just as sensitive to the potent irritant, and many lives had been saved as people had time to run or call the authorities—when authorities were still around to call, that is. Becks hoped she would never be in a position where her only option was pepper spray, but it was one of those things Cam always said, “It’s better to have it and not need to use it, than leave it behind.”

  As twilight approached, she started feeling antsy and anxious. The post office had been her port in the storm, literally and figuratively, and she was about to leave that safe haven for dangers both obvious and unknown. She had certainly faced plenty of life or death situations before without being this nervous and she couldn’t understand why she was so on edge.

  “I must have eaten too many rats,” she joked to Ginger as she placed the keys to the post office next to the sock monkey.

  Just before leaving, Becks had unlocked all of the doors and had taped signs on the front windows indicating that there was food, water, clothing, beds, and a generator inside. As an afterthought, she took another piece of white cardboard from a priority mail box and simply wrote, “Becks was here.” At first, she just looked at it as a playful whim, but then a thought crossed her mind as she recalled all the signs people had hung out their windows and nailed to the fronts of their houses. The next fire she set, she decided, she would leave a calling card.

  Finally, it reached that hour when most zombies stopped walking because it was too dark. Those whose eyes had deteriorated to the point of blindness still walked night and day, but they were easy to spot as they bumped into everything and fell down a lot, and therefore were easy to avoid. With Becks’ night vision goggles, she should be able to rule the night, and planned to travel only in darkness.

  From what Eddie had told her, she estimated she was about five miles from 287. In a vehicle with minor obstructions, she could make it before the engine warmed up. On an ATV with a few herds of zo
mbies, it could take a couple of days. On foot with many herds and a lot of obstacles, possibly weeks. Possibly never.

  Trying to remain optimistic as she flipped down her goggles and started up the ATV, she took off for what she hoped was the last leg of her very long journey. As she pulled into the street, the ATV sputtered, jerked, and stalled.

  “You have got to be fucking kidding me!” Becks yelled, not caring how many zombies heard her.

  Taking a moment to compose herself, she tried the engine again. It started, coughed a few times, almost cut out, but then sounded strong and steady.

  “Okay, let’s try this again.”

  Stopping in the intersection, she carefully looked in all directions for any zombies. There were several at the base of the blind curve, but that was to the east, and she was heading west. There were a few stragglers here and there, but she made it uneventfully back to where she had torched the house and quickly realized what a mistake it had been to set the fire on the street she needed to traverse. The piles of burned dead zombies had drawn scores of the hungry undead, and they jammed the road from side to side as they struggled with one another to grab a piece of the feast.

  It would be like trying to cut through a mob of little old ladies swarming the shrimp and crab legs station of a casino buffet, Becks thought. Well, maybe not that dangerous…

  As the ground was quite flat in this neighborhood and the properties just seemed to blend together—uninterrupted by any fences she could see—Becks decided to try to travel through several backyards to her right, behind the herd. Turning into the driveway of a small Cape Cod style house, she eased her way into the tall weeds of the backyard. Fortunately, the vegetation was all dead and dry, so it easily snapped and crunched beneath the wheels of the ATV.