by David Achord
I walked to the spot on the bridge where the zombie was caged and saw some scrapes where they had drug the cage away, presumably with the Cat. Although I was no tracking expert, it was plain to see which direction they took. I walked back east, thinking of where they would hide a telehandler, and a six foot by six foot cage containing a zombie. They wouldn’t have travelled far. Those two chunky butts would want him close by so they wouldn’t have to ride far.
I stopped for a moment and thought, where would two goofy psychologists attempt to hide a big, yellow piece of machinery and a man-sized cage with a zombie inside? I went with my first hunch, which was a nearby park.
I arrived at the entrance ten minutes later. It was overgrown with weeds and bushes. Nobody used it, at least not lately, and it was in close proximity. I could plainly see large tire tracks at the entrance where no vehicle had traveled in over a year. Bingo.
I moved the selector from safe to fire on my AR15 as I walked to the rear of the park, shaking my head in exasperation. The two psychologists should stick to academia and counselling. The big, yellow piece of machinery, although parked behind some trees, stuck out like a turd in a punchbowl. I worked my way around so I would have a good line of fire on the occupant of the cage. As I got closer, the muscles in my neck constricted. Much to my chagrin, the cage was empty.
I brought my assault rifle to bear and quickly made a sweeping three-sixty, fully expecting to be attacked at any second. Satisfied the hulking behemoth was nowhere around, I inspected the locking mechanism on the cage door. There was no intelligent design noted, no special lock picking tool fabricated from bones of the dead rats he’d been feeding on and glued together zombie shit. Nope, none of that.
It looked like the big motherfucker simply banged and pushed on the cage until the lock mechanism broke. There was tissue and black ooze all over. I imagine he caused himself a lot of damage in his effort to get out, much like a wolf chewing its leg off in order to escape a trap.
I walked back out to the roadway and called Terry on the radio. He drove up five minutes later. Anthony and Carla were riding with him. I wasn’t surprised, but for some reason, their presence irritated me.
“What’s going on?” Terry asked. I pointed over my shoulder with my thumb and explained.
“The two dumb shits tried hiding the zombie back there in the tree line. It’s escaped. I’m going on a little walk and find it. Do me a favor and don’t tell Julie. I’ll explain it to her when I get back,” I said as I grabbed a camel back filled that was still a quarter full of water, an MRE pack, and night vision goggles out of the back of the truck.
“Wait, you’re going to hunt it?” Anthony asked incredulously.
I looked at the three of them. “This one is dangerous. The faster I find it and kill it, the safer all of us will be,” I focused back on Terry. “Maybe you should go get Fred. Fill him in and tell him I’m following its tracks.”
Terry nodded. “Do you want me to go with you?” he asked. I shook my head. He started to argue, but then decided against it. “You be careful, bro.”
I overheard them talking as I walked away.
“Is he seriously going to hunt that thing by himself?” Carla questioned. Apparently, Terry nodded or gave some other indication. “He’s crazy,” she said in a half-whisper.
I grunted to myself as I walked away from them. Carla was probably right, but I knew this was something which had to be done.
When I returned to the cage, the distinctive track of the zombie’s running shoes was easy to spot. Instead of walking along the pavement back to the roadway, which would have been the path of least resistance, it headed off into the thick woods.
“You may be violating rule number ten, but you’re not smart enough to hide your tracks, are you big boy,” I said under my breath. No matter what the two esteemed psychologists thought of their new friend, he wasn’t very smart.
Unless he wants to be followed, a little voice in the back of my head whispered. I shrugged it off. Whether or not he was leading me along, and if he had a specific destination in mind, I had no idea.
It didn’t matter. I wanted him, and the only way to get him was to follow. The tracks led due south. I started off and followed slowly, cautiously. His walking pattern was curious. He’d walk forward, veer left, veer right, but always reoriented himself in a southerly direction. I was a novice when it came to tracking, but one thing was certain, a blind man could follow this trail.
The tracks finally emerged out of the woods and continued through the backyard of a home. I crouched behind a large hickory tree and studied the house for several minutes. It was a Spanish style motif, fairly large, somewhere around five thousand square feet I estimated. The bottom floor had two sets of sliding glass doors leading out to a large patio and swimming pool. One of the doors was standing open.
Seeing neither movement nor a big ugly fucker pointing at me, I hurried across the yard to the patio. Looking around, I absently marveled at the set up. There was an outdoor bar complete with a stainless steel grill and a beer tap. The pool was full of water, which was covered with a thick layer of green algae, but at one time, I’m sure it was an awesome place for a party. The terra cotta tile was dirty and there was a distinctive path of multiple muddy footprints leading inside.
My mind was flooded with questions. Did the zombie go to this house on purpose? Did he open the door himself, or was it already open? Why did he go inside? Did he have zombie friends inside? What the hell was I doing here by myself?
Terry could have come with me. Hell, I could have waited for Fred and Rowdy, but no, I wanted to do this alone. This one, this particular zombie, he unnerved me and my ego compelled me to do something about it. Drawing a deep breath, I walked toward the door.
*****
Terry watched Zach disappear into the woods, and after a moment, he glanced over at Anthony and Carla. He didn’t think much of Anthony. He was physically fit, but he seemed soft, weak, with a perpetual hang dog expression and eyes like a weasel, darting back and forth constantly.
He cast a quick glance at Carla. She was a looker with a nice body. He found himself thinking constantly of wanting to get inside those pants, and he had an inkling Carla wouldn’t mind letting him in. He caught Zach’s look this morning and realized he somehow knew what Terry was thinking, but kept his opinion to himself. Terry knew he should have insisted on going with Zach. Watched his back, that’s what friends did for one another.
“Shit,” he muttered. He started the truck, threw it into gear, and sped down Concord Road.
“What are you doing?” Carla asked.
“We’ve got to get Fred,” Terry responded. He increased the speed as he reached for the CB microphone.
*****
From the appearance of dust and dried dirt on the door jamb, it appeared the door had been standing open for quite a while, so at least one question was answered. I entered the house using a technique Rick taught me called slicing the pie. Taking one small side step at a time, I moved across the entrance of the door, scanning the room. Seeing no threat, I darted in and ran across to the far wall in case the bastard was hiding in a blind spot by the door.
I repeated the same actions with every room I came to. The bottom level of the house was empty, leaving me to wonder if I had misread the whole situation. Maybe he wasn’t in the house after all, and I had followed somebody else’s trail. I went back through every room, double checking closets, behind doors, everywhere.
Nothing.
I knew zombies couldn’t climb stairs, at least I thought I did, until I came to the stairway of the house leading to the main floor. I glanced down, and the carpeting was heavily soiled, including some spots of moist mud. Well, this was new. I aimed my assault rifle up the stairs and slowly walked up.
The stairs were custom made with beautiful oak wood and hand rails, and it curved ninety degrees at the halfway point. As I worked my way around the curve, I saw him. He was standing at the top of the stairs silent
ly, as if he were expecting me. He stared at me for a moment before opening his mouth and gnashed his teeth. I believe several things went through my mind, but the one thought which seemed to stick was this: I had just learned more about this thing in the past few seconds, than the docs did in the past two days.
He waited for an opportunity to escape, and when it presented itself, he took advantage. He knew someone would come after him. Therefore, he deliberately and intentionally set a trap. Somehow, he knew his bearings and was able to maintain a route in a specific direction. Hell, he had even figured out how to walk up a stairway.
And, he wasn’t alone.
*****
“He did what?” Fred implored. Terry started to explain again, but Fred didn’t wait and began running toward the truck. Terry followed. Fred barely glanced at Anthony and Carla as he jumped in the driver’s seat. Terry jumped in the back as Fred sped off, spinning a rooster tail of gravel in their wake.
*****
“Can you talk?” I asked as I brought my rifle to bear. “If you can, you should pray.”
He worked his mouth and gnashed his teeth again as I gently squeezed the trigger. I distinctly heard the hammer strike the firing pin, which should have been immediately followed by a loud report of the bullet firing, but, there was no loud report. There was no recoil against my shoulder. The rifle had misfired.
I instinctively started my immediate action drill, but only got as far as pulling the charging handle when the bastard launched himself and landed on me. The two of us went tumbling down the stairs and I dropped my rifle in the process. I saw stars when my head thumped the floor, but still had the presence of mind to reach up with my hands and grab him around the throat. The lack of oxygen did not faze him, but at least I was keeping his teeth away from me. He was so close I could smell the foul stench of his waning breath.
He was extremely strong, which seemed impossible. As I wrestled with him, I heard some bumping noises from the top of the stairway. Peering around his ugly face, I saw a group of zombies moving my way. One of them couldn’t make his feet work properly, and fell down the stairs in a heap. Others followed him, falling in heaps, only to start crawling their way toward me. My nemesis was flailing at me with his arms, grabbing with his rotten hands. With tremendous effort, I worked my legs between our torsos and kicked him off me. I reached for my handgun and got it out of the holster as he got to his feet. I expected him to charge me again and brought my gun up to bear. I had a bead on him and was about to fire when one of his friends grabbed me, jostling my arm. I elbowed it violently, redirected my aim, and shot it. I was rewarded with a splatter of black ooze covering my face. I reeled in horror as some of it got in my mouth.
I had no time to think about the possible ramifications before I felt a hard tug on my leg. I spit out what I could and looked to see another zombie, a willowy female wearing nothing but a simple black negligee about to take a bite out of my leg. I was both frightened and angry, the adrenalin was coursing through my body at Mach one. I shot quickly. There were six more of them crawling down the last of the steps and toward me. I hastened a look around, trying to locate the big one, but he was nowhere in sight.
I quickly backpedaled until I was in a corner, forced myself to take careful aim, and slowly, methodically, shot the unholy bastards, all the while looking desperately for my nemesis to reappear.
The slide locked back before I killed the last one, a short fat man with a matted gray beard. I had no time to reload, he was too close. I held him at arm’s length while I used the Kimber semiautomatic as a hammer and bashed his skull in. Skull and brain matter exploded as I hit him again and again. He finally fell and I finished the job by stomping his face in. Now I had time to reload and did so hurriedly.
I looked around in a near panic as I gagged and fought to catch my breath. Seeing there were no other threats, I knew I had to force myself to vomit. I started to gag myself with my finger, but my hands were filthy, covered in the black substance, and I didn’t want even more of it in my mouth. I had to do something drastic.
I hustled over to a closet and retrieved a coat hanger. It was probably not the most proficient method, but it was the only thing I could think of in that particular moment. Wrapping a windbreaker jacket around one of my hands, I shaped the hanger and then thrust it down my throat. I may have damaged something, but that was the least of my worries. When I started gagging, I bent forward and hurled out my breakfast.
I’m not sure how long I did this, but it seemed like several minutes before I started dry heaving. I stopped then and used the water from my camel back to rinse my mouth out. I wasn’t sure if it was going to work. For all I knew I was going to turn into one of those things at any minute.
When I finally gathered my senses, I found myself staring at a full length mirror which was hanging on the closet door. Assessing myself in the reflection, it didn’t look good. I was covered in black ooze, brain tissue, vomit, and who knows what else. I hurriedly found a bathroom and even though I knew better, tried the faucet. Nothing. The toilet bowl and tank were empty as well. Damn.
I went into the next room where I last saw the big one, but he was gone. Stepping outside, I looked around the backyard, but he was nowhere to be seen. Locking the sliding glass doors and pushing a couch up against it, I cleared the upstairs of any other possible zombies hiding out and then worked my way back down to the garage. It too was devoid of any zombies, but there was something much more important in the far back corner, a water heater, and most importantly, it had a thick layer of insulation wrapped around it. I hoped it was an indicator that it had not frozen and cracked at some point in time.
“Alright,” I whispered to it, “I sure hope you have a little water left.”
Opening the drain valve, I was rewarded with a steady flow. I quickly shut the valve off, found a plastic pail, and filled it with the old stale water. It was cold and did not smell very pleasant, but I had no choice. I carried the pail back inside, stripped naked, and washed the filth off me as best I could while standing in front of the mirror.
The only wound I found was a scratch about an eighth of an inch long on my left index finger. There was no blood, but the skin had been broken. The implications were clear, and I must admit I was scared. Remembering what Konya had done to his thumb, I fished around in my pants pocket and found a cigarette lighter. Gritting my teeth, I held the open flame against my finger. It hurt like hell, but I forced myself to hold my finger over the flame until I couldn’t take the pain any longer. Pulling away, I looked it over. The smell of burning of flesh almost drowned out the rotten zombie odor. The wound was cauterized. I knew I was going to have permanent nerve damage in the finger, but I had no other choice.
My clothes were ruined. I had no intention of wearing them again, but I didn’t want to walk home buck naked either. The master bedroom had one of those large California closets with plenty of men’s clothing. I settled on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. Although they were ill-fitting, they were going to have to do, but there was no footwear large enough to fit my size thirteens. The man of this house was obviously short and fat with little stubby feet.
I cleaned myself up the best I could and dressed in my new clothes. Only then did I remember my assault rifle. Picking it up, I finished the immediate action drill, and performed a test fire into a zombie’s head. It fired perfectly. I found the unfired bullet which caused this mess, picked it up, and inspected it closely. The primer had a distinct dimple from the impact of the firing pin, yet it had not fired. It was one of our reloads. Shit, I wondered how many other rounds were going to misfire on us.
It was time to leave. I had no intention of continuing the hunt, I needed to get home. As I stepped through the doorway, I saw a figure emerge from behind the same tree I hid behind earlier and came within a hair’s breadth of shooting before I realized it was Fred. My heart skipped a beat. Man was I glad to see him. I lowered my weapon, waved, and jogged up to him. He eyed me up and down.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” I responded and explained. Fred listened quietly as I told him everything, including the scratch and the body fluids getting into my mouth. When I was finished, Fred was quiet for a long minute. When he spoke, it was directly and with a somber stare.
“Zach, as your surrogate father, I am very displeased with you. Damn it, son, you could have gotten yourself killed, and I forbid you from doing anything like this again,” he started to walk away, but stopped and turned back to me.
“God damn it!” he scolded. “Why do you think I came back after I found my daughter? It was because of the way I felt for all of you, and now, instead of coming to me first, you pull a stunt like this. I could have helped you, son, what the hell was going through your brain anyway?”
I struggled for words. “Those two psychologists got me so mad I… I don’t know,” I struggled for words and the pain I was feeling made me realize how much I valued Fred’s opinion of me.
“I’m sorry, Fred,” I finally said. He stared at me a moment before attempting to put his arm around me. I quickly stepped back.
“No, you can’t touch me. If I’m infected, I’ll probably infect you as well.”
Fred nodded, duly chastened. “What do we do now, son? Am I supposed to put a bullet in your head?” he asked.
“You very well might have to, but I have an idea. We’re going to carry that cage back to the house.”
Fred listened attentively as I explained. When I was finished, he nodded.
“Alright, I guess it’s the best course of action. In the meantime that bastard is roaming around out here somewhere.”
“Yeah, when I got my gun out and shot one of his friends, he realized he was in danger and escaped.”
“He’s getting smarter,” Fred said grimly. I had to agree. The question in my mind, did the tests somehow cause his brain to start thinking again? I took a deep breath.
“I’m going to leave our friend with a parting gift,” I said. It only took a few minutes to get a robust fire going in the house. Flames were visible through the windows as Fred and I walked away.
