Zombie D.O.A. (The Complete Series)

by JJ Zep

  Zeke came running and Frank instructed him to get me to my feet. To the others he said. “Get behind the fence, and be ready to tie her down once we get through.”

  To me he said, “Now mister, I’m gonna untie your hands, you can take a swing at me if you like, but with your feet tied you’re likely to end up face down in the dirt, and I got this blade here, so don’t make me cut you.”

  He hacked through the rope on my wrists and I immediately rubbed my hands vigorously. Frank told me to ‘quit fucking around’ and to spread my arms out in what he called the ‘crucifying position’.

  Then he tied my right wrist to the fence and had just started working on the left when Shirl said in a low, urgent voice, “Frank.”

  “What now woman,” Frank said, but Shirl was looking beyond him, to the entrance of the alleyway. There, a man had appeared and stood looking directly at us.

  “Sheet!” Frank said and made a hasty check of my bonds.

  “He’s gone, he’s gone,” Shirl said excitedly.

  Working quickly now, Frank cut through the rope on my feet. “I don’t have to tell you what will happen if you kick out at me now do I?” Frank said. “Now when I tell you to spread ‘em, you…”

  “Frank,” Shirl said again.

  I looked up and saw at least a dozen of the creatures entering the alley. They moved cautiously, and I was again reminded of a pack of hyenas or wild dogs approaching mortally wounded prey.

  “Sheet!” Frank hissed again and then to Zeke, “Zeke get through the fence.” Zeke was watching the things approach and seemed hypnotized. Frank kicked out at him and Zeke suddenly became aware of the danger and scrambled through the hole in the fence.

  Behind me I heard Shirl say, “Oh God, oh god,” and start to recite a mangled version of the Lord’s Prayer.

  Frank looked at me and grinned, “Shucks, I ain’t got time to tie your feet mister. This is your lucky day.” He dropped the knife on the floor, deliberately out of reach, and then scrambled through the hole.

  “Zip her up,” he shouted and I heard the fence rattling as they secured the gap and then presumably stood back to watch the show.

  There were now twenty or more of the creatures in the alley. They continued to edge forward, and I could start to make out some individuals. A fat woman clutching a tiny red handbag, a man in a striped butcher’s apron holding a cleaver, a couple of young university types in Columbia sweatshirts.

  “Man, that bitch is ugly,” I heard Frank say and then he and Zeke laughed.

  I should have been terrified, but instead I felt a cold determination to continue living. My right hand was tightly bound, but the left had been tied more hastily, and had some give. With the added effect of the grease on my hand I felt I could work it loose. The question was whether I could do so in time.

  The creatures in the alley continued to grow in both numbers and boldness. A few squabbles developed among them and I heard snaps and snarls and growls. Now I could make out their rage-filled faces, could see their terrible injuries and their awful corpse like grins. The smell of them now reached my nostrils, rotting flesh, vomit and raw sewage.

  I continued to work my left hand and felt the rope slip over the mound of my thumb. “He’s getting loose,” Zeke hissed.

  “No he ain’t,” Frank said, and I felt him grab my hair through the fence.

  At that moment, the fat woman let out a screech and charged and the creatures joined her in a headlong rush that resembled a hungry, carnivorous wall.

  I gave one last desperate yank on the rope and felt if sear my skin, but the bond on my right hand held. Behind me I could hear Shirl screaming as the creatures closed the distance. The two Columbia students were now in the lead, their faces contorted with utter rage.

  I could see the knife on the floor but I knew I didn’t have time to reach it. Instead, I twisted round and felt a handful of my hair part company with my scalp as I pulled free of Frank’s grip.

  I grabbed my bound right wrist with my freed left and pulled with every ounce of strength left in my body. The fence was old and badly rusted and I felt it give immediately. The braces holding the chain link to the support poles split like clothes pegs, as the fence was peeled back.

  Shirl was still screaming and I heard the professor shout “Steady on,” as the creatures poured through the gap.

  I was thrown against the wall, with the fence forming a barrier between me and them. But I still had to free my right hand. For the moment the creatures seemed not to notice me as they worked on Frank and his crew, Shirl and Zeke were already down but Frank was putting up a fight while the professor held a few of them at bay with a wine bottle.

  I worked frantically at the knots and had almost freed myself when I saw the fat woman approaching. She walked quickly, taking small steps, her red handbag still looped over her arm. She snarled at me, showing her broken teeth and I gave one final yank to free my hand.

  I heard a crack as one of the fence posts snapped. It swung towards us, bringing with it a dense tangle of razor wire. It caught the fat woman squarely in the back of the head and her face momentarily registered a look of surprise before the lights went out.

  I freed myself from the fence and scrambled onto the dumpster, then I grabbed the third or forth rung of the ladder and pulled myself up. I scrambled upward faster than Long John Silver’s cabin boy heading for the crows nest.

  Halfway up I looked back to see that Frank had been overwhelmed. The professor too had fallen and he looked skyward, as the creatures fed. His face showed no fear. It was as though a prophecy had been fulfilled.

  Chapter Four: Joe Thursday

  By the time I reached home it was early evening. The street resembled a battlefield, with mutilated corpses, burned out cars, bullet holes and smashed windows. One of the apartment blocks was on fire, and a hydrant had been ruptured, the water now reduced to a trickle.

  It was quiet, too quiet and I approached my apartment building cautiously. The glass in the front door had been smashed which was not a good sign, but inside everything seemed normal. I almost expected to hear classical music coming from the Kranski’s apartment as I climbed the stairs.

  There was no music coming from the Kranski’s, but their door was ajar. Also not a good sign, the woman was notoriously paranoid at the best of times.

  Kranski could wait though. I had more important things to worry about. Ruby. I entered my apartment with the sound of my own heartbeat playing timpani in my ears. I had no idea what I would find.

  Ruby might be dead, taken, or she might be waiting to sink her teeth into me. If she had been teething at one day she may well have grown to be a toddler by now in some virally accelerated growth spurt. Crazy as that sounds, it seemed like a genuine possibility to me right then.

  I headed down the passage on cat’s feet. The door to our bedroom was ajar and I pushed it back and slid into the darkness. As my eyes adjusted I became aware of a figure sitting in the chair in the far corner of the room.

  “Who’s there?” I said.

  No reply.

  “Who’s there? I repeated.

  No reply.

  I reached for the light and threw the switch. Nothing. The power was out. I walked to the window and pulled the shades open, not caring if the movement was spotted from the street.

  In the chair sat Mrs. Kranski, not blinking even though the light was shining directly into her face. There was blood on her jowls and one of her eyes dangled on a stalk, reaching almost to her cheekbone. Her neck and the front of her dress were a mess of blackened blood.

  In her lap she cradled Ruby, dressed in a sailor outfit that Rosie had bought for her, sucking contentedly on a bottle of pinkish fluid.

  Kranski looked at me like a reproachful mother-in-law and rocked Ruby gently in her arms while she mumbled some demented melody.

  I took a step towards her and she hissed like an angry tomcat and opened her mouth in a toothless snarl. Under different circumstances it may have been funny, b
ut with her cradling Ruby, I wasn’t laughing.

  “Mrs. Kranski,” I said using my calmest, most reasonable tone. “It’s me, Chris Collins.”

  “I know who you are, motherfucker, “ Kranski hissed. She stared at me with her one pale-blue eye as though daring me to speak again. She placed a hand on Ruby’s neck and flexed her long bony fingers, deliberately running a jagged fingernail close to the child’s jugular.

  “I don’t want any trouble, “ I said. “Just give me my daughter and I’ll leave.”

  Kranski continued to rock, continued to mumble, continued to hold Ruby hostage.

  “Mrs Kranski, I…”

  “They’re coming you know. Coming for your little girl.”

  “Who? Who’s coming?”

  “The dead ones. And their king.”

  The old lady seemed to have lost it big time. “Their king?” I asked. Who’s their king?”

  “You’ll see. They’re coming. They told me so.”

  Ruby had finished her bottle and seemed to have drifted off to sleep. I weighed up my options. I could tackle Kranski head on, take the baby from her and leave. But what if she dug those vicious looking claws into Ruby’s neck? Could Ruby survive that? I didn’t think so.

  Negotiation was obviously not an option, so all that remained was to wait her out. Wait till she fell asleep or got hungry. Did these things even sleep?

  I sat down on the bed and was trying to figure this out, when there was a light knock at the bedroom door, and a man’s voice said, “Anyone home?” Startled, I jumped up and was instantly in a fighter’s stance. “Anyone home?” the man struck his head round the door.

  “I thought I heard voices,” he said smiling broadly as he entered the room. “Sorry for the intrusion. I’m your upstairs neighbor, Joe. Joe Thursday. And you must be Chris, right?” He extended a hand and I took it, feeling almost elated to be speaking to an ordinary person again.

  And Joe most certainly was ordinary. He was forty something, balding and paunchy. He wore fawn chinos, a striped golf shirt that looked a size too small, and brown loafers. This was the guy Kranski suspected of being a drug dealer? He looked more like a used car salesman.

  Thursday turned towards where Mrs. Kranski still held Ruby. “And this must be your charming mother, “ he said. “Madam, an honor.”

  He moved towards Kranski with his hand extended and the old lady hissed and tried to get up. Thursday was too close to her through and in one swift movement he’d pulled Ruby from her grasp and handed her off to me. The baby didn’t even wake.

  Kranski let out a scream of rage and flew at Thursday with claws flailing. He neatly avoided her attack and, as if by magic, a small pistol appeared in his hand. There was a single pop and Kranski fell back, a neat bullet-hole perforating her brow.

  “We’ve got to get out of here,” Thursday said, “Now!”

  He was already setting off down the passage at a brisk walk, and I followed, cradling Ruby in my arms. As we approached the doorway, the first of the creatures lurched through and Thursday dispatched him without even breaking stride.

  I followed close behind, leaving the apartment and turning left. More of the things were climbing the stairs to the second floor. Thursday paid them no heed as we started up the steps towards his third floor apartment. He walked with the gait of a man late for an appointment rather than one in fear of his life, and I was envious of his calm.

  As we approached his apartment he produced a single key, and inserted it into the slot with his left hand. At that moment a woman with her lower jaw missing charged out of the shadows to his right. Thursday lifted the gun without even looking up, and fired.

  His shot caught the woman in the eye and she went down. “Shit”, Thursday said, “left and low.” He pushed the door open and we hustled into his apartment. Or at least we hustled into a steel cage built around the door. With the door closed, he entered a code into an access pad and we were in.

  “Welcome to Chez Thursday,” he said.

  “Some setup you’ve got there.” I said.

  “In my business, you get kind of paranoid.”

  “What business is that?”

  “I’m an actor.”

  Chez Thursday, as he’d called it was large and tastefully furnished. I don’t know much about decorating or anything, but it just felt right. Some of the furniture looked antique and some modern. There were modern art prints on the walls next to what looked like African death masks. The walls were painted in dark reds and greens and there was hidden lighting. It sounds pretty eccentric, but somehow it worked.

  The most impressive thing about the apartment though was the security. In addition to the steel cage build around the front door, all of the windows had steel shutters. There was also a bank of TV screens with CCTV images of the outside of the building and all the public areas including the stairwells and the landings.

  On it now I could see the creatures rampaging through the building. And on one of the outside views my old friend Chavez, standing in the middle of the road replete in shades and a long leather coat. His arms were folded across his chest as he cradled a revolver that would have made Dirty Harry envious.

  Thursday showed me where I could bunk down and suggested putting Ruby in a separate room because, “you never know.”

  Then he pointed me in the direction of the bathroom and I spent an hour soaking and scrubbing the filth and blood off me. My head was throbbing and after washing my hair it started bleeding again.

  Joe gave me a pair of Levi’s and a t-shirt to wear. They were too big, but it felt good to be wearing clean clothes again.

  “We’re going to need to take a look at that head wound,” Joe said. I protested that it was okay but he insisted and after examining it, pronounced that it was going to need a stitch or two.

  “Two ticks”, he said, and was true to his word, stitching me up with the quick efficiency of an ER doctor.

  “They teach you that in acting school?” I asked.

  “Well, I did do a couple of episodes of General Hospital,” he laughed.

  “Thanks,” I said. “Not just for this.”

  Joe nodded. “No problem,” he said. “Figured you were due a helping hand. I saw what you did for that woman.”

  “Someone lent me a helping hand there too, someone pretty good with a rifle. You didn’t learn that on General Hospital.”

  “No,” he said. “I learnt that in Africa.”

  I waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t.

  “Hey, you hungry? Joe asked, then added, “sure you are.”

  Actually, I was starving, and the chili Joe fixed for us were the best I’d ever tasted, despite his protestations that he wasn’t much of a cook.

  Later I checked in on Ruby who was still fast asleep. I crept onto the bed next to her, got my face close to hers and just lie there watching her breathe. There was a meaty smell to her breath. Her brow was furrowed and her eyes seemed to be in constant movement behind her eyelids. I wondered if she was dreaming and if so what about?

  With my finger I traced a line along her cheek and she reached up and wrapped it in her tiny hand. I looked at that perfect little hand and felt tears welling in my eyes as a strange blend of emotions overwhelmed me.

  Here was my daughter, alive against all the odds and yet what a rough hand fate had dealt her. Those hands had nails too long for a baby, much too long.

  Somewhere I drifted off to sleep and dreamed of being chased through a labyrinth by the Minator. Except in the dream the Minator was not a man with a bull’s head, but a rotting corpse with the face of my daughter. And the labyrinth was a maze of alleyways.

  No matter how hard I ran, no matter how many twists and turns I took, I could hear Ruby’s breathing in my ear. Eventually, exhausted I reached the rusted fence in the alley. Frank , Zeke, Shirl and the professor were all there behind the fence, their bodies ripped and torn and blood-spattered. The professor lifted his wine bottle and gave me a wink.

  When I
turned Ruby was barely two feet in front of me. She smiled, showing a mouthful of piranha-sharp teeth. “Dad,” she said, and leaned forward, sinking her teeth into my neck. She started suckling immediately and although the pain was exquisite, I didn’t move, but clung to the fence in Frank’s crucifying position.

  What was more disconcerting was the suckling sound, which reminded me of Ruby feeding on her mother’s mutilated breast.

  I came slowly awake and for a moment I was unsure of where I was. Lying in the darkness it began to come back to me. I was in Joe Thursday’s apartment. But still the dream lingered, I could still feel pain, still hear the revolting sounds of Ruby’s suckling.

  It was then I realized that Ruby’s face was buried in my neck.

  I pushed her away from me and bounded from the bed, instantly awake. My neck was throbbing in pain and when I massaged it my fingers came away covered in blood.

  I walked quickly to the dressing table mirror and surveyed the damage. Ruby’s little teeth had cut deep into the skin, removing a sizable chunk of flesh. Thick blood welled in the wound, but I wasn’t going to bleed to death. That was the least of my problems. I’d been bitten. Jesus Christ, I’d been bitten!

  On the bed Ruby laughed and gurgled like a normal baby and I felt a dense, black anger engulf me. Right then I knew what I had to do. What I’d always had to do.

  I rounded the bed and picked up one of the pillows. Ruby continued to kick and gurgle and she smiled at me. For a moment my resolve almost deserted, but then I noticed a speck of blood on her chin, and I knew I had to go through with it.

  “I’m sorry, baby,” I said and placed the pillow over her face.

  I held it there for a long while, even after she’d stopped struggling. Then a deep, fathomless sorrow welled up in me and I slipped to me knees on the floor. I let out a cry that must have sounded like the most tortured soul in hell and then my body was wracked with sobs.

  “Chris,” I felt Joe Thursday’s hand on my shoulder, and I didn’t care.

  “Chris!” he repeated, more urgently this time. He was shaking me. I opened my eyes and I was momentarily confused by the sideways view. I’d pulled myself into a fetal position on the floor.