“Or a way out,” Kenny breathed.
“I’ll be sittin’ right by my radio til you get back to me,” Arnold promised.
Kenny took a deep breath. “Sit tight, brother,” he replied, and then reached over to grab the microphone from the digital panel. He flipped the switch and immediately the speaker came to life, in the middle of a sentence.
“-coming around Key West,” the voice said. “I am headed up the coast towards Miami. Can anybody read me?”
CHAPTER THREE
Kenny sat stunned for a moment, and then his mind raced. The last thing he’d been expecting over two weeks into the zombie apocalypse was a ship coming by.
“Again, this is Captain Nicko, and I am coming around Key West towards Miami. Can anybody hear me?”
Kenny snapped back into reality and hit the button on his microphone. “I’m here, I can read you.”
“Finally!” the Captain replied, relief in his voice. “I was beginning to think I was the only survivor in the entire state. Who am I speaking to, please?”
“My name is Kenny Morris, and I’m up here in South Beach,” he replied, leaning forward in his seat. Excitement rippled in him, but he was afraid to have hope that this could be his way out. Especially being so high in the sky.
“Good to meet you, Kenny Morris,” came the jovial reply. “I am Captain Nicko of the vessel S.S. Livin the Dream.”
Kenny couldn’t help but bark a laugh. “If you’re sailing the high seas and not stuck on land during this, you truly are livin’ the dream there, Captain,” he said, shaking his head.
“That is an understatement, my new friend,” Nicko replied. “Tell me, Kenny from South Beach, how have you been able to ride out this mother of all storms?”
He took a deep breath. “Well, I’ve been holed up in my penthouse ever since this nightmare began,” he replied, rubbing his forehead. “Got lucky that I had stocked up on food the week before, so I’ve just been barricaded inside trying to ride it out.”
“A penthouse, huh?” Nicko mused, and then went silent for a moment. “Wait a second. Kenny Morris with a penthouse in South Beach? Are you Kenjuan Morris, cornerback of the Miami football team?”
He smiled into the microphone. “Yes sir, that would be me.”
Nicko let out an excited scream, sounding closer to a schoolgirl than a ship Captain. “Man, that is fantastic!” he cried. “I will never forget that interception you made against New York in the playoffs two years ago! They’re driving to win the game, and you just leap up and take that ball out of the air like it’s yours and nobody else’s. I pulled my hamstring jumping off the couch when that happened! Never been so happy to have a limp!”
“You were excited?” Kenny replied, laughing. “You should have seen us after the game!”
Nicko let out a deep sigh of incredulity, and then went silent again for a moment. “Wait a second,” he finally said, drawing out his words suspiciously. “If you really are Kenny Morris, then why weren’t you with the team when this all started? They were playing San Francisco and I know the team always leaves early for their west coast games.”
“You are correct,” Kenny assured him, “the team was in San Francisco when this started. Just so happens I pulled a quad in practice the day before we were scheduled to leave. Wasn’t too severe, but it was severe enough for me to be left behind.”
Nicko clucked his tongue. “Okay,” he said slowly. “I guess I can buy that. But something else confuses me.”
“I’m happy to clear anything up for you,” Kenny replied gently.
The Captain took a deep breath. “If you’re a multi-million dollar professional football player, why in the world do you have a ham radio?”
“You’ve seen me play, Nicko, you know I’m all about preparation,” Kenny replied with a smile. “I grew up in a small town in Alabama, and when I was a kid we got hit hard by a series of tornadoes. Knocked the power out and tore up everything real good. I watched my father help coordinate rescue efforts with his ham radio, which really instilled in me the importance of being prepared for every situation. And as you can imagine, it’s really paid dividends during this crisis.”
The Captain let out a deep belly-laugh. “A superstar football player with a ham radio,” he gasped, still laughing. “I love it!” He paused to catch his breath, and then continued, “So, tell me, what is your long term plan in this apocalypse we find ourselves in?
“To be honest, I have no idea,” Kenny replied, shaking his head and flopping back in his chair. “Just been sitting tight since this thing started.”
Nicko clucked his tongue again. “But I thought you were the king of preparation?” he asked slyly.
“Oh, I’ve made preparations all right,” Kenny assured him. “The hallway outside my penthouse is swarming with those things, so I’ve already broken through the floor to the apartment below for an escape route.”
“What kind of construction machinery do you keep in your penthouse that you could punch through wood and concrete?” Nicko asked, sounding dumbfounded.
Kenny shrugged. “Just have my sledgehammer.”
The Captain paused. “A sledgehammer? Why on earth would you have that?”
“Because I do sledgehammer training,” Kenny said.
Nicko paused again, and then chuckled. “I have never heard of that.”
“Well, when you grow up with no money, you get creative with your training,” Kenny explained. “I used to go out into the woods behind my house as a kid and cut through downed trees with my sledgehammer. Great way to build core strength.”
Nicko laughed again. “Well, this is why you’re a professional athlete and I’m not. I usually hire people to take care of the trees I don’t want anymore. Or just move to a place without them.”
“Well, lucky for me it’s been paying off,” Kenny assured him. “Or at least it will, when I try to get out of here.” He hoped.
“So, you’re wanting to leave, then?” Nicko asked.
“Yes sir,” Kenny replied easily. “Only have another couple week’s worth of food, and best I can tell, there aren’t any more boats in the marina. So I don’t suppose you could let a brother hitch a ride, could you?”
“Absolutely, my friend!” Nicko bellowed. “Kenny Morris will always be welcome aboard any ship I command.”
He took a deep breath, letting the hope grow a bit in his chest. “How soon until you get to Miami?”
“I figure I will be passing your location in two hours or so,” the Captain replied. “But I can give you as much as three hours. I’m afraid I can’t afford to stay in one place much longer than that, due to my fuel situation. I’ve marked some fuel stops along the way that should be pretty empty, and if I wait any longer for you I won’t be able to make it. Even with my engines off, the boat still uses some fuel to keep things operational.”
Kenny nodded. “Understandable.”
“Where do you propose we meet?” Nicko asked.
Kenny sat forward, leaning an arm on his thigh. “Are you familiar with the South Pointe Pier?” he asked.
“Yes I am,” the Captain replied, dragging out the last word a bit, “but I don’t think I can get too close to it due to the rocks running alongside it.”
Kenny shook his head. “No worries, I just need you to meet me at the end of the rocks,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to get into semi-shallow water anyway, because of those things.”
“You have a lot of them up there on the beach?” Nicko asked.
Kenny sighed. “It’s like three Spring Breaks happening at once.”
“I wish you the best of luck, my friend,” the Captain replied sincerely. “It would be fun to have you on board.”
Kenny checked his watch, and then set a timer for three hours. “Just started my timer,” he said. “I will see you soon.”
“Godspeed,” Nicko replied.
The line went dead, and Kenny flicked the switch back to the vintage microphone. “Hey Arnold, you there?” he asked.<
br />
“Yeah buddy,” came the instant reply. “What did you find out?”
Kenny grinned. “I got a ride.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Kenny entered his bedroom, heading straight for the closet. He opened it and knelt down, pulling a blanket from the safe on the ground. He punched in the code to the digital lock, and it clicked open. He pushed aside the stack of important documents, and moved over a few stacks of hundred dollar bills.
As if that’s going to do me any good now, he thought. Behind the money lay a black velvet case, and he pulled it out, sitting back on the carpet to open it. Inside was a pristine gold-plated desert eagle pistol, with winding intricate engravings adorning the barrel. Along the grip was his name and the number 13, his jersey number. He ran a hand over the beautiful piece.
He’d never been a gangster, despite what some assumed about him. He wasn’t even that much of a shooter. Outside of the day he’d received this as a gift from a local rapper, he’d never even taken the thing out of its case.
“Hope this thing is actually functional, and not just a display piece,” he said to himself, picking up one of the two bright gold magazines. He turned the gun over and fumbled it open, taking longer than he wanted to admit to get the clip in. He cocked it and turned it over in his hands, making sure it was loaded.
I’m going to have to be right up on these things if I’m going to hit anything, he thought with a sigh. He set the gun down and turned back to the safe, pulling out a solid black leather holster that had come with the gift. Bright red embroidery on the outside boasted A$R, the name of the rapper who’d gifted it to him.
He hooked the holster onto his belt, and then clipped the gun securely into it, slipping the spare magazine into his other pocket.
“What else do I need?” he muttered as he got to his feet, kicking the safe closed with his foot. “What else?” He cocked his head and then reached up onto the top shelf of his closet, finding a small LED flashlight, as well as a worn six-inch knife in a tattered sheath.
He smiled at the old piece. It had been his father’s blade, once upon a time. He’d carried it with him everywhere he went, and it came in handy for all kinds of things. Whittling, carving, peeling apples, prying things. His father always had the thing in his hand when Kenny was a kid.
“Well, pops, if it was good enough for you, it’s good enough for me,” he said, and attached the sheath to the opposite side of his belt. The flashlight went in with the magazine, and he took a deep breath, looking around his bedroom. It was probably the last time he would ever be in there. The feeling was surreal, and washed over him as if he were momentarily drunk.
He swallowed hard, and then steadied himself before walking out, heading into the kitchen. He pulled a bottle of water from the fridge and downed the whole thing in a single go, gasping for air afterwards. He rolled his neck and bounced from foot to foot, psyching himself up for the great escape he was about to attempt.
He went into the spare room, closing the door behind him, and then focused on the mattress. He knew he’d have to move as silently as possible to prevent his neighbors from greeting him at the hole. Out of the corner of his eye, his sledgehammer gleamed.
He smiled. Oh yeah, he thought, that’s coming with me. He picked it up, holding it with pride before kneeling to grab the custom chain he’d had made for it. He clasped each end of the chain to the metal loops welded to the handle, and then slid the hammer over his shoulder and back for easy transport. It wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the world, but the thing held a lot of sentimental value, and if there was one thing he was actually good at wielding, it was the sledge. He had a gut feeling that it would come in handy, and he didn’t want to leave it.
He wrapped his fingers around the mattress handles, and very gently lifted it, standing it up on its end against the far wall. With the hole revealed, he crept to the edge of it, not seeing his neighbors in the immediate vicinity.
He knelt and felt around the jagged edge of the hole, finding a solid piece of rebar. He yanked on it to make sure it was secure enough to hold his weight, and took a deep breath. He slowly lowered himself into the hole, gripping the bar tightly. He dangled for a moment, still about four feet from the ground even with his arms extended, and then breathed in sharply before letting go.
His trainers hit the hardwood floor with a thud and a high-pitched squeak. Jerry whipped around from the kitchen, staggering around the island, groaning loudly. His nose still hung from his face, dangling back and forth like a pendulum.
Kenny quickly unslung the sledgehammer from his shoulder and raised it over his head, bringing it down hard into his neighbor’s chest. The force of the blow caved in Jerry’s breastbone, sending him to the ground. Kenny wasted no time bringing the hammer down onto the zombie’s face, sending that dangling nose right back into his skull.
Sorry Jerry, he thought, shaking his head. Wish it didn’t have to end like that, brother. He swallowed hard as he looked at the lifeless corpse, but he didn’t have time to ruminate as the sound of moaning echoed behind him.
He whipped around to see Karen, hair matted and askew, arms outstretched, in the living room. She was stuck behind the couch, attempting to walk through it to get to him instead of going around. Her rheumy eyes practically glowed as she fixated on him like a dog staring at a treat.
He sighed and headed for her, making sure to stay in the center of the couch so that she wouldn’t veer to either side. He brought the hammer down from high, demolishing her head like Gallagher with a watermelon. Her skull smooshed into her shoulders and her body crumpled to the ground in a heap.
Kenny slung his trusty weapon over his shoulder, already glad he’d brought it with him. “One floor down. Twenty-six to go.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Floor 26
Kenny positioned himself against the door to the apartment, looking through the peephole into the hallway. He could see a lone zombie right in front of the door facing to the left, but he couldn’t see too far down either direction despite the fish-eye curvature of the lens. It looked like there were a few poorly-spaced out emergency lights out there, but at least they were functioning since the main power to the building was out.
Okay, one in front, he thought, stepping back from the door. Closest stairwell to the left. You got this, Kenny.
He took a deep breath, clenching and unclenching his fists, bouncing from foot to foot. It was just like he would have psyched himself up before a ball is snapped on the field. In his head, he visualized a football being hiked to the quarterback, and the image and feeling he conjured was enough to get him moving.
He threw open the door and grabbed the hallway zombie by the scruff of the shirt, jerking it back into the apartment. He slammed the door quickly, trapping the surprised ghoul inside.
The noise attracted the attention of a trio of creatures up the hall, in the direction of the stairwell. He froze for a moment, trying to make a snap decision whether he should turn and make a run for the stairs on the opposite side. Moans echoed from behind him, and he glanced over his shoulder at a cluster of zombies guarding that end as well.
Looks like I’m playing through, he thought, and took a deep breath, pulling the sledgehammer back from his shoulders. He sprinted towards the rotted triad, lined up in a staggered formation of about three to four feet apart from each other.
Kenny used his speed to close the gap quickly, knowing if he took them on one at a time he’d have a better chance. He held the hammer like a knight would use a jousting lance, straight out in front of him.
The business end slammed into the lead zombie’s chest like a battering ram, giving a satisfying crack as the creature’s chest caved in. The impact sent it flying back into one of its friends like a rag doll, knocking them both to the floor. Instead of sticking around to finish them off, Kenny opted to leap over the writhing corpses, landing just in front of the third zombie.
As it lunged for him, he sidestepped it just as he would a potential
tackler on the field. He chucked it aside with such force that it left a dent in the wooden paneled wall. He couldn’t help but think that maybe he’d picked a cheap building to buy a penthouse in considering the ease of the damage, a scattered and panicked thought as he sprinted towards the stairwell.
He moved like the wind, the obstacles now out of the way, but forced himself to stop just short of the door.
Calm down now, buddy, he chastised himself, huffing as he stared at the door handle. Don’t get too excited, now. You know what happens when you go overboard with things, you get beat. Just like your first college game where you thought you had it, but ended up whiffing and watching from the ground as your man scored a touchdown. Now do this right, and you’ll get out of this.
He steadied his breath as he slowly opened the door, keeping his hand tight around the handle in case he needed to slam it shut on any surprises. Thankfully, nothing grabbed at him as he opened it, and his hammer arm relaxed a touch. As he stepped into the stairwell, he glanced back at the zombies he’d barreled over, seeing that they were finally finding their footing again. He slipped onto the landing, closing the door behind him as quietly as he could.
Unfortunately, the click was so loud that it echoed through the tall corridor. He winced at the noise, and didn’t have any time to mentally berate himself before the moans began.
They echoed around, but it seemed to mostly be coming from below, with several from above as well. He leaned over to look up, and saw a dozen or so monsters up on the landing above him.
No time to think. He tore down the stairs, taking them two at a time, hoping to put as much distance as he could before he had to start fighting. He paused on the next landing as a body careened down the center of the stairwell, having fallen off in its undead clumsiness. It bounced off of the railing, slamming from side to side as it plummeted to the ground below.
Dead America The Third Week (Book 4): Dead America, Miami Page 2
