by Dean James
I sidestepped the remaining zombie’s renewed advance. Before it could spin to face me again, I shoved it face first into the building. Like a two handed battle axe, the club came down with everything my damaged shoulder would allow me to bring to bear. Its head flattened, caught between the aluminum sided building and my now cracked club. Blood splattered around the thing’s head like a gory halo. It fell to the ground, leaking some kind of thick substance from its mouth.
My breaths came fast and deep. My lungs burned with each gulp of icy air. My heartbeat pounded in my chest as the sound of blood pumping through my body filled my ears. I listened to the throng pushing against the fence in my former yard. It still held, but I did not want to bet my life on how long. The support beams and pickets were cracking, and once it gave way there would only be one more fence between me and a multitude of hungry dead.
It goes without saying, I needed to move.
I took a quick assessment of the yard. The area was barren, except for the corpses littering the ground. There was the skull splitting shed, but that would be a little cumbersome to carry around. Looking inside seemed the better choice.
I stepped over the remains of my permanently dead sparring partners and opened the shed. The previous owners had not locked it when they moved away. I hoped to find something a bit sturdier than a broken table leg. A machete would have been perfect. I wouldn’t have complained about a baseball bat or a chainsaw either. Maybe my previous neighbors were members of a secret underground militia, and the shed was actually a weapons cache.
A bazooka would have been awesome.
Instead, I found a bare floor, an old sand bucket, and an inflatable seahorse pool toy. Last but not least, something with little red eyes glaring back at me from a dark corner of the shed. Seeing as I was trying my best not to get bitten by anything man, beast, or otherwise that night, I closed the door and left Beady Eyes to its own devices.
I went to the gate that led to the commons area, cringing at the loud snap of the iron latch popping open. The gate creaked open a couple inches, giving me a slight view of what lay beyond. Seeing nothing, I pushed the gate halfway open, and stopped. Three faces immediately snapped their attention to me, and what I saw was a punch in the solar plexus of my soul.
The little girl looked like my own daughter. She had longer hair, but to anyone who didn’t know them, they could be sisters. She held a stuffed rabbit in one hand, leaving a trail in the snow as she dragged it behind her. She wore a little pink night gown, adorned with princesses on the front. Her skin still held a rosy hue in her cheeks, and there was still a hint of blue in her whitening eyes. From the looks of it, it had not been long since she had changed. Next to her were her parents, their eyes similar to their daughter’s.
Mary and Joe were old friends. They were the first to welcome us into the neighborhood just moments after the truck had parked in front of our two-story townhome. It was a cool October day when we arrived. Rain had been falling for the better part of the morning, turning to a light mist by the time we opened the door for the movers. They came out in spite of the gloomy day to welcome us with hot coffee and donuts. That sparked a friendship that would last eight pleasant years.
Joe and I spent many Sundays, throwing back cold ones watching football and debating the merits of offense versus defense. That was when we were not talking about the hockey powerhouse that is, or was, the Blackhawks.
Our summers were spent on home improvement projects, backyard barbecues, and fishing trips when we could break away. We spent many nights drinking wine and smoking cigars around the outdoor fireplace behind my house. That was before the fireplace suffered what Abby liked to call a “Dan moment”.
Abby and Mary became pregnant so close together that Joe and I were never entirely convinced that it wasn’t planned. We couldn’t prove it, but we decided it had to be voodoo or some sort of black magic. They chose the same hospital, the same OB/GYN, and if it had been their choice they would have delivered the same day.
Mary went into labor prematurely, delivering two months early. Abby never left her side until Mary’s baby, Madelyn, was deemed healthy enough to come home. Not long afterwards, Katherine was born with Mary in the room to greet our daughter.
Katie and Maddy were always together. It was as if we had one and adopted another. I wish I could say their first words were the same, but while Maddy said “Daddy,” Katie’s first word let us know we had to curb our language around the house. I won’t say what it was, as I don’t think she would appreciate a written record of it. But let’s just say it’s a word that would ensure a phone call from kindergarten one day.
I couldn’t breathe. I just closed the gate and turned away. I knew I should have ended their hell right then and there. But I couldn’t bring myself to kill one of my best friends. I doubt I will ever know what happened to them. I hope they are still together. If not, I hope someone did for them what I was too cowardly to do myself.
Don’t judge me too harshly, you weren’t there.
As I turned away, I saw my escape. Sitting beside the fence on the opposite side of the yard stood a central air unit. I wanted to kick myself for not seeing it earlier. Every home in my association had virtually identical construction, so I should have known it was there. A step up on the A/C unit, a small climb over the fence and onto the roof of the adjoining shed, followed up by a short hop down would put me safely in the adjacent yard.
I took one last look around the yard with the hopes that I had missed that bazooka the first time. Sighing when I realized I would have no such luck, I said my silent goodbye to those I knew were still on the other side of the gate and put my escape plan into action.
I would like to say my escape plan went well. And for the most part it did. I made it up and over the fence with little effort. My only damage being a small splinter in my leg from the aging fence. However, I soon discovered the words “load bearing” never really came into play when designing backyard shed roofs. I found myself wishing for more pool toys as I crashed through the roof.
It’s been said that in my life, if I didn’t have bad luck, I would have no luck at all. That night was no exception. When I needed an escape plan, or a weapon, really anything that could have made the reunion with my family that much simpler, I found a shed full of a big pile of nothing. I figure out an escape, put my plan into action, and fall through the roof of a shed fully stocked with junk. The pain in my knee that had recently silenced to a dull ache roared back to life as I lay on the cold concrete floor. Multiple cuts across my bare legs stung as warm blood oozed across frozen skin.
The new hole in the roof afforded me just enough light to see what I had fallen on. With all my new aches and pains, I wondered if there was anything I didn’t hit on my way down. Lawn and garden tools lined the floor and hung from hooks on the walls. Buckets of old paint were stacked neatly in a corner, propped up by a small red tool box. A rake and a push broom leaned against the back wall. Unfortunately their handles were nothing but aluminum tubes. I couldn’t fight off a pissed off raccoon with them, much less a flock of hungry zombies.
Every joint in my body felt like jelly as I pushed myself upright. The cramped shed was surprisingly warm though, shielding me from the biting wind. But it also made me aware of how much the numbing effects of the cold had saved me from the painful onslaught of my injuries. I needed time to catch my breath and recover enough to move again, but that was time I did not have.
I pushed on the shed door, hoping for a quick escape. The telltale sound of a padlock bounced on the latch outside the door. The door popped as I tried to force it open, but apparently the designers who made the roof out of balsa wood decided to make the door indestructible.
“Oh, mother…” That’s where I will end that. The line of expletives that emanated from that shed is really unfit to be read by child and adult alike. I can be sure that somewhere a priest’s ears caught fire, two angels lost their wings, and even the devil scratched my name off his list sa
ying something about how that kind of language wouldn’t be allowed down there. Somewhere in the Pacific, a sailor for reasons unknown to him made the sign of the Holy Trinity.
Climbing out through the hole I made was out of the question. My shoulder had moved from irritating ache to searing pain. Kicking the door was out. My knee had been through enough abuse already. I looked at the rake, and checked it off my list. Prying open the door with that rake would only make a bent rake. I opened the tool box, praying for just one stroke of good luck to befall me.
That prayer was answered.
Glaring back at me from inside its metal tomb was the most beautiful bright orange extended handle three pound dead blow hammer I had ever seen. If you don’t know what a dead blow hammer is, let me explain. Think of a small plastic sledge hammer. Hollow it out and fill it with heavy beads or sand. Instead of the usual recoil you would get with a traditional hammer bouncing after impact, the material inside allows for the full force of your swing to make impact without the bounce.
What does that mean against a zombie skull? Instead of just cracking bone, this little gem will carry the impact well into the brain. All the impact, half the work.
Sometimes physics can be fun.
A few whacks with the hammer, and the door was reduced to splinters. If I were being tested on stealth, I would rate somewhere between bull in a china shop and sonic boom. Tip toeing through the undead tulips didn’t seem to be working out for me. Every time I tried to be ninja Dan, I fell off, on, or into things. I wanted to be with my family in a warm car speeding away from there.
I almost jumped out of my skin when the pounding started behind me. They had broken through my fence, and were making short work of the one separating us. The wood buckled, swaying under the pressure of the hungry throng. The wood started to split, hands reaching for me though small openings forming between the pickets. White eyes peered at me through the small openings, sending them into a frenzy. Their sounds became an unearthly mix of hisses and deep guttural moans.
I made for the gate. I had to chance it, regardless of whatever I met once it was opened. If I didn’t leave fast, I wouldn’t be leaving at all. I was thankful my old friends were not the beings I saw after throwing the gate open. That was the only thing I was thankful for, though.
As soon as I stepped into the commons area I saw a mass of the dead making their way toward me. Their arms shot up when they saw me, graying hands clawing fistfuls of air as they closed. Blood stained their mouths, trailing down their chins mixing with strings of frothing drool spewing from their lips. A zombie that had once knocked on my door to spread the word of the Jehovah’s Witnesses was now taking bites out of his housecat.
They all suffered injuries to some degree. Most of the throng wore bed clothes, everything from night gowns to sweats, and even a few who apparently slept in the nude. One of the things had every bit of flesh torn from its face above the nose. Lidless eyes darted back and forth like a macabre ventriloquist’s doll.
I turned to run, and was almost knocked backwards by woman in a blue flight attendant’s uniform. Her milky eyes stared back into mine, and my knees went weak with fear. She looked young, maybe mid to late twenties. The once blonde hair on her right side had been burnt off, blackening the entire side of her head. The taut skin crackled as it worked its jaw muscles, sending burnt flakes of skin falling to the ground.
She hissed in my face, and my eyes instantly watered. If smell was a color, my face would have turned permanently green. It smelled as if this creature had been fed a steady diet of onions and sardines dipped in raw garlic for a month, and I was the recipient of its first burp since those thirty days began. Had time allowed I would have held a funeral for my olfactory senses right then and there, as I am fairly certain the ones that survived the initial assault committed ritual suicide shortly after. A fifty gallon drum of mouth wash couldn’t have put a dent in that aroma.
Holding my breath I shoved her away, sending her toppling backwards onto her back. The hammer came down with a dull thud in the middle of her forehead. Her body went limp, either from the new dent in her head or from catching a whiff of her own death breath.
I ran…sort of. Three more were advancing in front of me. I went wide around the first one. It reached out for me, not realizing that I was well beyond its grasp. In a never say die moment, (get it?) it fell to the ground in a monumental overreach.
Hey, A for effort.
My hammer swung in an upward arc, shattering the jawbone of the second zombie and knocking it back on its head. I kept moving, not stopping to check if it was dead…again. I caught the third creature in the chest with a one handed sideways swing. Ribs cracked as its sternum caved inward. It spun and fell as I went past, moving my injured legs as fast as I could.
I was limping badly. My left side had taken a beating, and my body was fast reaching its limit as I rounded the last townhouse towards the parking lot. Directly in front of me was Abby and Katie sitting in a running CRV. The passenger side door stood open, beckoning me forward to safety. I felt myself slowing, the last of my reserves failing.
“Run Dan! Run now!” she screamed.
I suddenly realized my near fatal mistake. I was limping, not running. I had stopped to kill Miss Halitosis and to deal with her friends. But the pursuing creatures never slowed. Persistent little bastards.
I limped as fast as I could, my legs screaming as I pushed them harder than I knew I should. Turning around to check how close the monsters were could mean life or death, and I wasn’t really that curious. Abby’s frantic shouts told me all I needed to know.
Though it only took about half a minute to get to the car, it felt like a lifetime. I expected a claw or set of teeth to sink into me at any moment. It wasn’t until I barreled into the car that I realized how close I was to the truth.
The car rocked with the force of the first zombie hitting the cold steel seconds after I slammed the door shut. Faces filled the window, trying in vain to bite their way through the glass. Abby fed the engine, wheels chirping as we cut left towards the parking lot exit.
As we hit the street, I took one final look at my house. I felt the car slow and I knew Abby saw it too.
Joe and Mary were in the window, Maddy standing between them.
Chapter Six
“That was...” a tearful Abby said. She cut the wheel right, swerving around the wreckage of a car surrounded by the undead. The back tires lost traction, screeching across the asphalt until Abby brought the car back under control.
“I know!” I said, holding on for dear life.
“We have to help them! We have to do something!”
“Abby, they’re gone! There’s nothing we can do.” The last part I said more for my own sake than for hers.
It was a cold and harsh reality this new world had put on display for us. The only blessing we took from it was that Katie had not seen her lifelong friend. Her face was buried in her hands.
Visions of my family and friends sped through my mind. Who was alive? Who wasn’t? How many more of those close to me did I lose that night, and how many more in the days to come? What about Abby’s family? They were as close to me as my own blood relatives. Abby kept her thoughts to herself, but I knew she must have been asking the same questions I was.
Of course the biggest question at the moment…what the hell was happening?
We sped down the smaller residential streets towards the main streets. Everywhere we looked there were groups of the dead feasting on the masses of fleeing humanity. The growing blaze had forced people from their homes where they might have had some chance to hide and hold out. We were the lucky ones; most didn’t make it past their own front yards.
When we hit the main road, we found they were barely passable. Static vehicles in the middle of the roadway forced us to slow to avoid collisions. Many others were not as careful, slamming into the unmoving cars. More than once we bore witness to life and death struggles. Victims were locked inside with the things
that must have started out their trips as living people.
“It can’t just be the bites,” I thought out loud. “There’s too many of them too fast.”
I watched a group of zombies that had gathered around an old Buick that had crashed into the side of a Wendy’s restaurant. The driver’s window was shattered, trails of blood streaking the door panel. They huddled close together near the car fighting over the last few scraps of the driver’s skeletal remains. They were like animals, positioning themselves around a kill. Stragglers would attempt to move in only to be pushed aside by the largest of the creatures.
“Pack mentality,” I said under my breath as we drove past the carnage. “No real leader though. More like a feeding frenzy, sharks or piranha, biggest eats first.”
“Ahem!” Abby glared at me. “You want to stop playing Wild Kingdom and help me figure out what we are doing?”
“You never did like nature shows.”
“Dan!”
“Sorry.”
“Can you please be serious for a little while?”
I raised an eyebrow at her. “I never really have a good answer for that question. I mean can a fish survive on land? It can for a little while, but does it really want to? I suppose I could…”
Her fist had already connected with my arm before I had seen it leave the steering wheel.
“Ahh shit! Message received!” I said rubbing my bicep. I had no doubt that there would be a bruise waiting for me before the sun came up.
“Good. What were you mumbling about?” she asked.
“I was trying to see how they behave. If we can figure that out we may be able to avoid them. Or at the very least out maneuver them.”
“Makes sense,” Abby said as she swerved around another crash, this time a utility truck had gotten intimately close with a light pole.
“Then why did you hit me?” I asked.
“You yelled at me.”
“What? When did I yell at you?” I demanded.
