by Brown, TW
Darrin gagged.
He saw several more stumbling aberrations closing in and knew he had to do something to help his friend. A block further up the street, something caught his eye.
A fire engine!
Darrin wasn’t totally sure he could drive it, but it looked like the best choice. Gunning his trusty but battered little car, he sped away leaving Breast Implant-zombie whirling and eventually sprawled on the road.
He skidded up alongside the red behemoth and was out his door—pistol in one hand, machete in the other—in a flash. Climbing up on the sideboard, he let out a little whoop when he spied the keys dangling from the ignition. Pulling open the door, he hopped in, whispering a prayer as he attempted to start the engine.
It sputtered briefly, then roared to life!
He knew there was no way he could turn the vehicle around in this tiny space, so he took off and circled the block. He came up on the rear of the mob that had Mike pinned down. He hoped and prayed that he wasn’t too late
***
Mike braced his feet against the windshield. It was desperation, but he really only had one other option. He cast a glance at the sawed-off shotgun beside him. It was ready…just in case. He didn’t relish the idea of deep-throating the barrel and spraying his head on the inside of his beloved El Camino. He liked the idea of being eaten alive even less.
The sound of their moans and other odd noises echoed in the tiny, oblong cab. Occasionally, he thought he heard something eerily similar to a baby’s cry. Meanwhile, the crack in the windshield spread across as well as up and down. The glass groaned and popped, threatening to come crashing in at any moment.
Suddenly, the entire vehicle rocked!
He looked over his shoulder, dreading to see what the hell was now on his ass. There were too many zombies, in addition to all the supplies. Of course the tarp was now all but gone having been torn off by the swarming multitude of clawing, grasping, clutching hands of the dead.
Undead?
Twice dead?
Zombie?
What the fuck does it matter, Mike thought as he stared into the several sets of milky, black-bloodshot eyes that looked blankly back at him.
Something behind him, but out of sight, roared mightily. The El Camino rocked again and, as the roar grew louder, began to move forward. The grinding metal was felt as well as heard as he plowed through the corpses that had him pinned down. The bodies, lacking any real sort of coordination, began tumbling off the shuddering hulk of a car that resisted every inch that it moved along this zombie-infested street.
Mike watched the windshield carefully. The vibration sent more spidery cracks racing through the safety glass. Any second, he expected the remaining zombies pressed against it to come crashing in.
***
Kevin leaned over the steering wheel, willing the seriously laboring truck to keep surging forward.
“I don’t want to die,” one of the girls beside him whimpered.
“Me neither, sweetheart,” Kevin said through teeth clenched so tight his jaws ached.
He felt like a child frightened of those drive-through car washes. He could see the end, but it seemed an eternity before he would reach that point. Taking a second to glance at his now cockeyed side mirror, he saw something that made him momentarily ease up on the gas pedal.
A great big fire engine had pulled into their little stretch of Hell. From the looks, it was easing in behind the bulge that hid Mike and the El Camino.
“Good luck, guys,” Kevin whispered.
The U-Haul cleared the solid wall of zombies, and now thumped and bounced through the scattered remnants of horror that were all that remained between them and the relatively open street. He would make it!
***
Darrin watched the mound of zombies seem to give birth to Mike’s El Camino. Several of the things clung to the vehicle, but at least they had pushed through the first wave. A half a block away, the rear of the second group remained. Of course they were currently focused on the U-Haul, but that was about to change.
He swung left to move up beside the driver’s side door, frantically motioning for Mike to join him. There was enough space for him to open the door and get out. Zombies were every-where, but it was the only choice. It was clear from the smoke rolling out from under the El Camino that the vehicle was done for.
Darrin leaned over and pushed a button that rolled the passenger’s side window down. He sighted in on a black man that looked as if his days of drug abuse had been as damaging as his undeath. His shot exploded the thing’s skull, and its body toppled back from its perch on the roof of the El Camino. It tumbled into a few of the zombies that had gained purchase in the supply-laden bed of the now defunct car that had been the pride of Mike’s adolescent years. Darrin nodded to Mike and opened the passenger door.
Mike swung his door open and emerged with pistol in one hand, shotgun in the other. Climbing up on the running boards, he paused just long enough to literally jam the barrel of the shotgun into the open mouth of a pantsuit clad lady missing her entire left arm as well as an eye and most of the flesh around it. He pulled the trigger and the head erupted in a chunky spray of blackened brain matter mixed with bone shards. He climbed into the fire truck’s cab and dropped the shotgun, shaking his right arm to work out the shock and tingle as he pulled the door shut with his left.
“We’re losing a lot of supplies” Mike said as the fire truck began to roll backwards.
“Mmm-hmm,” Darrin agreed as he spun the steering wheel to the right. The vehicle was bouncing over enough bodies that it was barely noticeable as he caught the curb with his right rear tires.
He straightened out the wheel and took off for the interstate. He hoped Kevin would be there.
***
“Name’s Kevin.” His grip on the U-Haul’s steering wheel relaxed as he crested the on-ramp and entered the relatively zombie-free interstate.
“I’m Angela, and these are my daughters, Ruth, Shari, and Erin.” Angela pointed them out in turn. “I don’t know how we could ever thank you enough for what you’ve risked.”
“Where’s Mike?” Erin, the pregnant one who, now that Kevin saw her up close, was absolutely no older than fifteen, asked.
“He should be meeting up with us soon,” Kevin answered as he swerved just a bit to avoid a lurching zombie that reminded him of a priest from his mom’s church. He didn’t add out loud the part about, if he makes it out from under what looked to be at least a hundred eager corpses.
“You guys are totally like heroes,” Shari purred.
Kevin knew that, as odd as it seemed, he had seen that girl someplace before. The long, unnaturally crimson hair was giving way to dirty-blonde roots, and even without a trace of make-up, there was a wholesome but simultaneously slutty quality to her face. Large blue eyes stared back at him questioningly. He would probably think clearer when his heart rate was back under triple digits. He was just now starting to feel the adrenaline subside, but his mind would not rest until he saw Darrin or Mike…or, hopefully, both.
“I’m just glad you ladies are okay.”
“Yes, well,” Angela’s voice held a certain edge to it, like she was used to being in charge, “now that you’ve rescued us from that place and those...things…where do you plan on going?”
“South Dakota.” Kevin slowed and came to a stop. Up ahead he saw around twenty or thirty zombies. They were scattered, but had definitely turned his way. He unlocked the door and opened it so he could lean out and see the on-ramp that he expected his friends to appear from.
“What’s in South Dakota?” Shari enunciated the state’s name like a teenager over-dramatizing distaste in being forced to wear second-hand clothing.
“Hopefully nothing.” Kevin peeked over his shoulder at the zombies forming up in the distance and closing in, albeit slowly.
“I don’t get it,” Shari said with a mixture of confusion and annoyance.
“I believe the young man has a rather clever
plan,” Angela said, shushing her daughter.
“Let’s hope so…or else.... Well, let’s just hope so and leave it at that.” No use upsetting the pregnant girl who seemed on the verge of hysterics. The distance between the U-Haul and the approaching zombies grew ever shorter.
A rumble in the distance began to grow. Suddenly, a fire truck crested the on-ramp, roaring onto the interstate. An unfortunate few of the undead staggered into the path of the approaching vehicle, only to be sent flying in a twisted mess of shattered bone and ruptured flesh.
Kevin ducked back into the cab, shut the door, and shifted into drive. They could catch up on all the events of the previous hour later. Now…it was time to put some distance between them and this dead city.
10
Tranquility Base
“They’re coming!” Barry yelled from where he sat in the open window on the passenger’s side. He propped his elbow on the roof of the truck and slid the stock of the 30.06 to his shoulder.
I turned back to the task at hand, scooping boxes of ammunition into a large duffel bag. I still couldn’t believe that this gun shop had not been completely sacked! Every so often, luck tosses you a rose.
Dillon came out from the back room with a huge grin. He brandished a pair of what I considered to be rather exotic looking weapons. They appeared familiar, and before I could guess—
“Fuckin’ AK-47s!” Dillon crowed.
“Wow! This gun store has quite a selection.” I nodded, not that I would really know.
“These weren’t for sale. The owner probably just carted them out to get his customer’s mouths watering. Good news is that I also found almost two thousand rounds in a footlocker!”
“Barry said they’re getting close, so we’d best get moving.” I shouldered the duffel bag.
Dillon handed me one of the AKs and retrieved the footlocker, then we ducked through the shattered glass of the front window. The street was in fact getting a bit crowded. The two of us jogged over to the truck and climbed in back. I knocked on the window and Ian laid into the horn as we started rolling.
So far, I had to say I was happy with how things were working out. It seemed that we’d succeeded in drawing a majority of the zombies after us. Occasionally, I heard shots that I assumed to be Teresa. That meant she was doing her part to empty the parking lot so that we could return and load up our newly acquired supplies. This gun shop had been pure, sweet icing.
“Steve! You hear that?” Barry was looking skyward.
I listened, trying to hear above the noise of the undead. A sound I hadn’t heard in a while began to rise above everything else.
A jet!
Like Barry, I began scanning the sky. It was kinda cloudy, but not too bad. Looking towards what I guessed to be south, I spotted it! It banked and took off eastward, but there was no mistaking the outline of a fighter-jet. I’m not savvy enough to discern the type…or nationality…but it was definitely a military plane. I pointed it out to the others.
“Reminds me of 9-11,” Barry said as he watched the jet quickly shrink to a dot and vanish.
“Only thing in the air were the CAP flights making sure nothing else happened. It was so strange not seeing contrails in the sky,” I sighed.
“Think it means anything?” Dillon had already returned his attention to the task at hand, which was putting down any zombie that got too close.
“Who knows.” I shrugged. I slapped the roof and leaned down by Ian’s window, “Circle around. Let’s try and make a go of grabbing our stuff.”
The town was small enough that it took us no time to get back to the Walmart parking lot. There were still zombies wandering the area; more than when we first arrived, but considerably less than when we had set this on-the-fly plan into motion.
“Barry, keep an eye open and get behind the wheel,” I yelled as Dillon and I vaulted from the open bed. “Ian, take this AK and keep an open perimeter.”
We went to work loading things into the truck’s spacious cargo bed. I must’ve zoned out and just gone into automatic, because it took me a second to realize that Dillon was calling my name. At some point, he’d drifted into the sally port, and now he stood there motioning me to join him.
“We don’t have time to do any more shopping; I want to catch up with Teresa and the others as quick as—”
“I heard a baby crying,” Dillon cut me off.
“What?”
“Serious, Steve. It sounds like it’s coming from down by the bathrooms.”
I jogged over. Dillon had a flashlight shining down the little hallway where the bathrooms and a few unmarked doors lined the walls. I listened, straining to hear it.
Nothing.
“Why didn’t we hear it earlier?” I glanced outside at the loaded truck. Ian was busy and things were deteriorating fast.
“How should I know?”
Dillon began moving towards the hall. I still didn’t hear any baby crying. I did, however, see a handful of shapes moving in the shadows and coming our way. The crash of some display stand or shelf or something caused me to jump. On reflex, I had my nine-millimeter in my hand, my flashlight sweeping from left to right. Then…I heard it.
A baby’s shrill cry.
Dillon broke into a run. I lined up a shot on what had once been a very fat man. The entire abdomen was an open, gaping meat cave. I watched a particularly large and pendulous strip of gray fat swing from the left side of its exposed and broken ribcage. I think I even saw a dangling lung. Then, I shot it in the forehead and continued to glance from open, dark store, to parking lot growing ever busier, to Dillon who was now raring back to kick what I assumed to be a locked ladies’ room door.
I quickly took out the only other two zombies that might cause any problems before Dillon could get in, grab the baby, and we could quit this scene. Ian and Barry were both shooting now.
“Hurry up, Dillon!” I screamed needlessly.
He smashed open the door on the third kick, stepped in, and I lost sight for just a second. Then, two things happened almost simultaneously that caused every hair on my body to stand on end.
Dillon screamed.
And…One of the zombies, close enough to see, but far enough away to not be a threat, made the most frightening sound I’ve ever heard.
A baby’s cry.
Dillon stumbled back. Attached to his right arm was what had once been an old lady of at least seventy. My initial hope that flashed for just a split-second was that she would be toothless and that her dentures would have long since fallen out. Apparently she practiced good oral-hygiene, because before that hope could take root, she tore away a strip of flesh. Blood sprayed, looking black in the shadowy illumination of my flashlight.
Finally, Dillon managed to shove the emaciated, skeletal form aside and scramble back towards me. I stood frozen and unsure as he ran my way, clutching his arm to his chest.
“Run!” he screamed.
I turned and bolted for the truck. As we emerged into the daylight, I saw that things were worse than I had been aware of. Those things were coming from everywhere, and there were hundreds!
“‘Bout damn time!” Ian exclaimed as he swapped a new magazine into the AK-47. Barry was loading two spares between taking shots at the too-close-for-comfort horde of walking dead.
Both men glanced back and noticed Dillon’s injury almost simultaneously. Neither said a word, but their eyes were clear pictures of their emotions. Barry’s was pity and resignation. Ian’s was sadness…true and unbridled sadness.
“Let’s get the hell outta here,” Ian finally managed.
Everybody made for the truck. I got behind the wheel. Barry climbed in the passenger’s side, then Ian. The door slammed and Dillon still stood outside.
“Y’all make a run for it. Just gimme a second to draw some of those fucks away if I can,” Dillon said, his eyes tight from the pain.
“Dill—” Ian began.
“Don’t even say a word, kid.”
“You can’t po
ssibly consider letting those things eat you,” Barry gasped.
“Nope.” Dillon shoved his AK through the window and drew a large revolver that I was pretty sure was a .44 Magnum. He tapped his forehead with the bright, chrome-plated barrel. “I’ll take a few with me, then finish what that thing started.”
“Good luck.” I nodded. There was no sense in drawing this scene out, and Dillon obviously felt the same way because he turned and walked away.
We rolled up our windows, and I watched a man I’d come to really appreciate having at my side walk back to the darkened store entrance. I could see in the rearview mirror as he walked up to the hunched over figure of the old lady who had sealed his fate. She…it…was just emerging from the building. He strolled up, placed the gun to its forehead, and fired.
Many of the zombies to our right veered away from us, following the obvious and visible prey. I cranked over the steering wheel and dashed for the clearest path we had. Nevertheless, it was still a bumpy ride as we slammed and careened off the moving obstacles between us and the parking lot exit.
I heard three more shots…a long pause…and one final but slightly muffled boom of the Magnum. I reached the exit a few seconds later and swerved a bit as I turned down the street and towards the interstate.
There were still several zombies in the way, but I managed to miss most of them. The ones I did hit, I usually only caught with glancing blows that sent the body spinning away. I reached the on-ramp and floored it with nothing further impeding the rush to be back with our friends.
Once on I-84 East, the road was almost wide open. In the distance I spied the big, white power company truck, Anton’s car…and what looked like six or seven military vehicles. Before any of us could say a word, a pair of black attack-helicopters zoomed up from behind.
