Mark thought about it all for a moment. “Does someone want to start by taking a piece of raw meat up there and seeing if they’ll fight over it? Second of all, do we even have a rope to make a lasso with? Also, what about the stun grenades and tear-gas?”
“I’ll go!” Luke said, walking to the kitchen freezer to get a prime-cut.
The Sergeant thought it all over for a moment. “I don’t think we have a rope, unless we wanted to make one out of cuffs and shackles. The stun grenades might be too loud, just draw more zombies. The tear-gas just might work, they’re already dead and don’t feel pain, but they have membranes… the irritant might burn their eyes and blind them.”
The Sergeant stood up and went to the back, opening up one of the supply closets and began pulling out some riot gear. He grabbed a few gas-masks along with a riot gun so that he could disburse the aerosol.
“Let’s get up there,” Mark said.
Part of the group now crouched down atop of the mobile command post. Looking off onto the long expanse of road stretched in both directions, lined with stores, hotels, and attractions, the group tried to spot the Captain. Having made a working lasso out of conjoined handcuffs and shackles, the plan was to distract the horde, but somehow capture the Captain at the same time. As the group waited for the right moment, Luke tossed a large cut of steak off away from the roof without being spotted. To everyone’s surprise, the bloody, rare steak drew the attention of almost ten zombies.
As the bloody steak lay on the pavement, zombie after zombie ran over and began to pounce on top, trying to get their fill. The zombie Captain was luckily left unaware of the raw meat, continuing to wander around the outer command post aimlessly. Even with the distraction, the zombies were still in great numbers and growing. The Captain however wasn’t close enough to be snared, and giving up anymore steaks or the groups’ food wasn’t on anyone’s list of things to do. The Sergeant loaded the canister of tear-gas into the riot gun, placing his gas mask on before signaling for the group to do the same. Sergeant Houser aimed the riot gun off onto the road, around a horde of zombies—quickly firing two canisters. The group watched as the zombies, through all of the smoke and aerosol, continued as if nothing had happened. After a moment—most of the zombies actions became increasingly erratic. Through the smoke and fog, from what the group could tell by way of their gas masks, the zombies eyes were becoming dried out, bright red and irritated. Some began blindly walking into things, bumping into one another.
The Sergeant began firing off more canisters of gas, making sure that all of the zombies became blinded. Once the gas had taken affect, noticeable in the gape of their walk, the Sergeant pulled out his 9mm pistol, aimed and fired it into the back of the zombie Captains head as he blindly began to walk further and further away from the command post. The sound of the shot riled up the zombies—causing them to scramble around over near the command post.
“Cover me!” The Sergeant said swiftly—hoping down off the top of the vehicle—forcefully knocking zombies to the ground with his shoulder as he rushed up the road a little.
Mark pulled out both of his six-shooters and began helping clear a path.
The Sergeant quickly searched around in the Captain’s pockets before grabbing the dead body by the ankles and dragging it back to the command post.
“Go let him in,” Mark shouted.
Tyler dropped down the short ladder and stepped over to the door and opened it up. Astoundingly, the tear-gas was effective, causing the hordes of zombie to be unaware that Sergeant Houser was even near. The vapors were still present when the door opened—hitting Tyler in the face—immediately blinding him. With the vapors slightly making their way into the command post, Tyler dropped to his knees, choking, and coughing as the irritant entered into his lungs and respiratory tract.
“Ah! Ah!” Tyler screamed out in pain, coughing, trying to expel the foreign chemical from his searing lungs.
Luke stepped over to the door and pushed Tyler to the side, holding the door as the Sergeant drug the Captain’s corpse up the small metal stairs—slamming the door shut behind him.
“I didn’t feel the keys, but he has to have them on him,” Sgt. Houser said, feeling around some more in the corpse’s pants pockets, finding them in a pouch attached to its duty belt.
Instead of announcing that the keys had been found, Sergeant Houser took all of the ceremonial garb off of the Captain, who at the time was the self-proclaimed, newly appointed Sheriff. Sergeant Houser began by placing what he could over his own Sergeant’s attire. The Captain, having been the highest-ranking officer had been the acting Sheriff in the former Sheriff’s absence. The Sheriff’s badge was a unique six-point star, opposed to the usual department issued badge for all other ranks. The Sergeant tore the unique patches off of the uniform, waiting to sow them on to his own at a later time.
“Found them,” Sergeant Houser said, moving the body of his longtime friend and co-worker out of the middle of the isle.
Luke stood tall and began to clap loudly. “Congrats! Here’s to our new Sheriff,” he cheered.
“Thank you! Thank you!” The new Sheriff said jokingly.
Mark stood over his little brother, holding a wet wash cloth. “Is there a way to help him recover quicker?” Mark asked..
Sheriff Houser looked over at Tyler, his face red due to the tear-gas, both eyes swollen shut.
“Mark! You’ll need to bring him over to the sink and flush his face with some cold water.”
Chapter 17 way of the undead
The command post was now mobile—and careening through abandoned vehicles—knocking down signposts, and bending streetlights. With the new Sheriff, Brian Houser behind the wheel, all zombies in the command post’s path were being struck. Mark took a seat in the back. Too much excitement over the past few days and now he could feel the lethal virus integrating itself into his DNA. Mark, having taken some pain medicine, could also feel his immune system trying to fight the foreign body invader that had been draining him, causing him to grow weaker and weaker. The onset of fever was a typical part of the immune system, a typical response to sickness. The thought of losing Stephanie before any last goodbye kiss was enough to bring death quicker. Passing by the window, while pulling up into Luigi’s Pizzeria, total destruction was all around. Large numbers of zombies were walking the street, chasing after the slightest noise.
As Steven stood over the new Sheriff’s shoulder, riding through the parking lot and plowing through zombies within the command post, by use of its reinforced front bumper, it all became clear. “Go ahead and pull around back… we can wedge against the back containment wall and get in the back door. I’ve got my keys,” said Steven.
The command post eased up to the seven-foot-tall cement wall used to protect the restaurant and the conjoined business from falling rocks. The newly appointed Sheriff, Brian Houser, perfectly wedged the front bumper of the command post up all the way against the containment wall—aligning the rear up to Luigi’s Pizzeria—creating a way into the restaurant without allowing zombies to squeeze bye.
“Ready that key!” Sheriff Houser demanded as he killed the command post’s engine.
The new Sheriff stood up and began to make his way to the storage room with Mark and Tyler curiously following. They each helped by dragging out equipment, such as riot gear, anything that might be used to infiltrate the possibly dangerous, zombie infested restaurant.
“Here take this,” the Sheriff said, handing Mark a couple of helmets and suits, along with a few riot shields to hold on to.
Before stepping out into the lot behind Luigi’s, Mark suited up, placing on his chest protector, kneepads, and riot helmet. Having suited up, clutching his riot shield in one hand and sturdy riot baton in the other, he stepped down off the bus. Waiting on the newly appointed Sheriff, walking cautiously the length of the narrow path, no dangers were present. “We’re tight…we’re secure.”
Sheriff Houser stepped down the small set of stairs, exiti
ng out of the command post. Steven followed with the restaurant key in hand.
Mark and Sheriff Houser safely from behind their shields readied their batons, waiting for the outer kitchen door to be unlocked. Turning the key, Steven quickly jumped out of the way as the Sheriff kicked open the door and entered in first. Sheriff Houser was unsure if any zombies were in the Pizzeria’s kitchen, but he was for sure that if he had to back out of the restaurant quickly, he would be pretty well protected behind his riot shield and baton. Upon entering in—he was immediately attacked by two Italian chef apron-wearing zombies. The salivating zombies rushed angrily at the Sheriff, becoming pressed up against the lawman’s riot shield as he held position. Lowering his shield slightly—the riot baton was slammed into one of the zombie chef’s head—sending its chef’s hat flying across the kitchen. The zombie fell quickly to the floor as the baton broke its skull into bone fragments, destroying its brain. The next zombie was none other than Luigi, the pizzeria’s owner. As Sheriff Houser forced his way into the kitchen—a couple of hard clubbing blows to the owner’s head dropped him to the floor. Mark entered on into the kitchen, following the lead of the Sheriff. The two began checking every square inch of the kitchen for more zombies. From behind their shields, it seemed quite secure to work their way around the dim kitchen. With minimal light shining in from outside the backdoor—the kitchen freezer was then cautiously checked.
Ready for a fight, Sheriff Houser raised his baton—advancing into the dark fridge at an angle. Mark held steady his position, shining a small flashlight around within the unit. The smell of rotting food, due to the power being off for a couple of days was overwhelming. Barely able to hold the light steady, Sheriff Houser, having assessed the freezer as being safe, took the flashlight from Mark’s hand dropping to one knee gaging.
“We have corpsicles,” Steven said, turning to look the other way.
Shining the flashlight around the tiny freezer, Sheriff Houser found that the actual smell had been three scared patrons of the restaurant that had found their way into the kitchen, most likely when the zombie outbreak had started. It appeared they had taken shelter in the freezer. From the looks of the bodies, given all his years on the force, Sheriff Houser quickly identified the three patrons cause of death. One was slumped down in the corner, directly over a dry puddle of blood. The Sheriff acting as a forensic detective quickly saw what appeared to be self-inflicted wounds on his wrists. The other two looked to have died of asphyxiation from lack of oxygen. And from the looks of the two, they had been trapped in the freezer for a few days with the outer locking mechanism somehow stuck in the locked position.
“How tragic,” Sheriff Houser said. Mark began to regain his composure as the Sheriff closed the dry, smelly freezer.
The Sheriff was still in fighting mode as he crept over to the large dining area, whispering, “Let’s check up front.”
Quietly standing at a set of double doors, trying to peek through the dining room windows, after moment, it was decided that the room was just too dark. “I’m going in swinging,” the Sheriff said.
The Sheriff reared back and kicked open the dining room door, stepping into the darkness, searching for whatever zombies might be present. Following the Sheriff’s every move, Mark’s only job was to hold the flashlight. “It looks empty,” Mark said. “I think we’re alone.”
The Sheriff accepted nothing. “Let’s keep looking.”
Shining the light under all of the tables, it seemed at first that there was nowhere a zombie could hide. Sheriff Houser, with the action dying down—hurriedly stepped over to the front doors—assuring that they were locked up tight. “All secure!”
Mark stepped over to the bar, shining the light all back behind the dark counter. “It’s clear.”
Center the room, coming together, a noise could be heard emanating from the small hallway leading to the restrooms. “You hear that?” Mark asked. “It sounded like footsteps.”
Judging by the size of the hall, the Sheriff placed his riot shield and baton to the ground, readying his handgun, as the small area of hallway leading towards the noise was too small for any kind of melee attack to work. Walking quietly over to the two doors griping his handgun, he stopped, listening for any sound that might help him choose the right door.
Standing at the two entrances, the Sheriff waited. In an instance, a loud blaring noise with a bright flash caught the Sheriff and Mark by surprise. The restaurants power had kicked on all at once, before turning back off as quickly as it had turned on. Behind the loud crash of the flimsy wooden door to his backside—a couple of mutilated zombie patrons burst through the unlocked door with their arms extended.
“Rrrah! the zombies roared, forcefully making their way towards the Sheriff.
Mark dropped his riot shield to the ground and pulled out one of his six-shooters—blasting one of the zombies before it could step out into the darkened hall.
The Sheriff was use to such quick, violent outbursts in his line of work; it took him only a second to access the situation. The undead creatures did not catch him off-guard for long. Given the opportune moment—with his gun positioned almost squarely under a zombies chin—all it took was one shot.
“Damn that was close!” the Sheriff said, relieved, with his adrenaline now pumping.
Mark held his six-shooter in place, waiting for the unexpected. “What was going on with the power?”
The two stood cautiously for a moment, waiting for another possible attack, but heard nothing.
“Someone must be trying to get the power back up and running,” the Sheriff proclaimed, walking around the dead zombie lying at his feet.
Sheriff Houser quietly tried opening the thin wooden door, cringing a little as it began to squeak. The door was quickly forced open after only a few squeaks. Remaining cautious, he then rested his shoulder against the door as it opened.
The restroom was pitch-black, forcing him to pull out a small flashlight that was kept in a compartment on his duty belt. Entering in, at first glance, the room was visibly empty. The room’s more than unsanitary conditions were seeming the only cause for concern at the moment. Over near the stalls, a feeling of dread came over the room. Seconds before checking behind the first closed door, while covered by his pistol in one hand and his flashlight in the other, each door was opened one at a time with each toilet illuminated and scanned over.
Having given one last kick, a few gunshots could be heard right outside near the hall. Upon the Sheriff exiting back out, he now stood toe to toe with a stranger.
“Hey, stop there!” a large gray-haired man said angrily. “I’m not afraid to use this.”
The Sheriff stepped back, lowering his gun’s aim off of the old man perceived as a non-threat.
“I was just kidding,” the gray-haired man said smiling, brandishing a dirty old toilet plunger.
Mark was no longer around. Where did the gunshots come from?” the Sheriff asked, followed by the sound of an unknown voice screaming in the kitchen.
“What happened?” the Sheriff asked, stepping into the kitchen, into the middle of what was appearing to be a non-hostile situation.
Luke was now up against the back wall clutching his leg, crying out in pain. Mark stood over Luigi with both guns still slightly drawn on the supposedly dead zombie chef.
Mark caught his breath. “Luke was entering in to check on us, when he stepped over Luigi’s corpse. Well, I guess he wasn’t as dead as we thought. Luigi took a huge chunk out of Luke’s ankle. I heard the scream and came running,” Mark explained, placing his two six-shooters back into their holsters.
“I’ve been bit boss!” Luke assured. “What now?” he asked, screaming it across the dim kitchen.
“I know!” The Sheriff said. “I heard. Go ahead and get it cleaned and bandaged before the infection sets in.”
“Mark, follow me,” the Sheriff demanded.
Once in the next room, the old man and his two grandchildren stood near the bar watching, givi
ng off visible signs of happiness and adornment. “You saved us.”
“I’m Antonio, Luigi’s brother. These are my two beautiful grandchildren, Tony and Maria.”
“We’re glad to see you,” a little ten-year-old boy said, admiring the Sheriff’s badge.
“You’re safe now. Were you all hiding in the restroom?”
“Yeah, we did what we could. If it wasn’t for that women’s feminine product dispenser, they would have been able to get in after us.” He said jokingly.
After seeing the two little kids with their grandpa, Mark, fighting the infection began to realize that time was running out; also as the fever gradually began to increase it was realized how every second was a second closer to dying. Stephanie was still out there somewhere, he thought, alone, scared, hungry.
The Sheriff began looking around, making his way to the front of the restaurant to double-check just how safe and secure everything really was. “Mark, go get everyone. Tell them it’s safe to come in and that we’re going to set up camp in here for a while to save the command post some energy.”
The group came in, and began cleaning. They began by disposing of all the dead bodies by rolling them up in large rugs before tossing them up and over the foot of the nearby mountain’s containment wall. The group gathered everything they needed out of the huge vehicle, entering into the now brightly candlelit kitchen. The dining-area was no different, with almost every table now having its own candle burning to produce light. Fixing the place up had now become top-priority. The command post was to serve as the quarters for the Sheriff and only a select few.
Food wise, supplies in the command post were capable of lasting the group for the next few years, with a large supply cabinet packed full of military rations stored away. “We’ve got some supplies,” the Sheriff said. “I just feel comfortable held up in this location next to all of the untapped resources nearby, especially the pharmacy just next door full of food and medicine. Getting in there is going to be tricky, whether or not it’s packed full of killer zombies makes it dangerous.”
Way of the Undead Page 14
