I pulled out more drawers and felt underneath clothing. I opened the closet and took down boxes and moved hangers around.
"I think some of this will fit your girlish figure," I said, and tossed a few button-down shirts at Joel.
"I always wanted to wear shirts decorated with little alligators," Joel said.
"No gun. We might have to open the last door."
"Check under the mattress," Joel said.
"Genius," I nodded.
I slid the mattress to the side and found something that made my eyes light up.
Underneath, we’d hit the jackpot.
The .40 was a Smith & Wesson sized for conceal and carry. There was an extra magazine with an extended grip that would hold a few extra rounds. The gun was already loaded, and the second mag also contained a long row of rounds.
Next to the .40 was a weird-looking assault rifle. Joel went around to the other side of the mattress, and together we lifted it and put it against the wall.
“Holy fuckballs,” I said.
“This isn’t a bed, it’s a damn armory.”
There was a hunting rifle, a double barrel shotgun, and an assortment of knives. There was even a broad-bladed sword in a scabbard. I picked up the long weapon and pulled the blade out a few inches. Steel gleamed back at me.
“Look at this thing.”
“You finally found a hand weapon more impressive than the wrench.”
“I’ll stick with my metal club,” I said. I didn’t know the first thing about wielding a sword and didn’t want to learn while Zs were on the attack. I’d probably be just as dangerous to Joel as to the Zs if I started swinging the blade around.
Joel picked up the rifle and looked it over. He popped the magazine out and looked inside.
“That’s wild.”
“What?”
“Sig MPX. It fires .40 caliber rounds. That explains all the ammo.”
“Is that weird?”
“Nah. Probably good for home defense. Stock slides in to make it a pistol. See that short barrel? You can make a burglar regret every syllable in ‘breaking and entering’. I’ll have to test it to see if it has any kind of range. Might not be too accurate.”
I shrugged and started stuffing ammo into my backpack. We didn’t find any shotgun ammo, which was a shame. I’d have loved to sling the double barrel over my back. I missed the Mossberg tactical shotgun I’d lost during the battle at the RV park.
We’d been in the house for longer than I liked. The first week of the event had seen us planning for fights and timing them. If it took more than thirty seconds to take down Zs, we’d just haul ass. That was before the shufflers had become so prevalent. Our raiding time had been two minutes: in and out, squeaky-clean. See some Zs? Just move out and find another home.
Now we were almost leisurely, and that was going to get dangerous. I thought about telling Joel that we needed to move with a purpose, but he’d been quiet about how badly he was hurt, so I didn’t push him.
Joel ripped a case off a pillow and stuffed it with boxes of rounds. He didn’t bother with the knives, and I tossed the sword back on the mattress. The next group of survivors could have them.
Joel moved into the hallway and I was right behind him. I paused to listen at the closed door. I pressed my ear right up against the particle board and listened.
“Nothing,” I whispered.
Something hit the door so hard it rattled in its frame. I jumped back, barely covering a curse.
“Like a peeping Tom with your pants around your ankles. Okay, I’m calling it,” Joel said.
I nodded sheepishly.
We stopped in the kitchen on our way out for a last look around.
Someone had cleaned before they left. I could almost picture a family moving around, thinking that the worst would be over soon, that they’d be back in their house in a day, maybe two.
We grabbed canned goods and even a box of crackers. I found an opened can of Easy Cheese in the back of a pantry.
“Know how bad I want to squirt half that can into my mouth?” I asked Joel. “Reminds me of a few months ago when supplies were more abundant. I think we found some of this gas inducing crap back then.”
“I know about you squids and squirting stuff in your mouths,” Joel said with a half-smile.
“We learn from the best.” I winked at Joel and went back to stuffing goods into my beat-up backpack.
“Nasty ass Sailor.”
I leaned my head back and squirted some of the cheese into my mouth anyway. Then I tossed the can at Joel. He laughed at the look on my face, which was probably something like a cross between food-ecstasy and an O face. Stuff tasted so good I wanted to take it on a date and ask it to move in.
Joel tossed the can back, so I went ahead and finished it off. I’d pay for it later as it hit my gut, but it was worth it for now.
With our packs full and our bellies no longer rumbling, Joel moved to the hallway and stared at the last door on the right.
“No, man.”
“What if there’s something in there that we can use? These assholes had a lot of food and guns. Maybe there’s a bottle of Viagra in that room with your name on it,” Joel said.
“Let’s just go. They need us.” I was trying to keep my head on, but we’d been away from the camper for a few hours and I was worried.
“Keep it cool. We’re headed back to the rest of the crew.”
“I know. I’m just worried about Anna. She’s got a bullet in her arm and I’m worried that it may already be infected, for all I know.”
Joel put his hand on my shoulder.
“We got this, brother.”
I shrugged his hand off my shoulder and opened a few more cabinets. I found dishes and cups, but nothing to eat. On impulse I grabbed a shaker filled with meat seasoning and added it to my collection. Joel stalked down the hallway and listened at the door, and then when something thumped, he returned.
“Curiosity is killing me, Creed, but you’re right. Let’s call it and get back,” he said.
First damn thing Joel had said today that actually made sense.
He moved toward the door.
“Joel, want me to take some of that gear?”
“I’m good.”
“You don’t look good. You look like you’re in pain.”
“Just weakness leaving the body, man,” he said.
He opened the door and peeked outside.
I’d done my best to string anything that didn’t fit in my backpack around my waist and over my back. The little home defense machine gun rode next to the wrench. We didn’t have time to sit around and load it, and neither one of us wanted to contemplate leaving leave it behind.
Joel stepped into the street and then immediately ran back inside. A pair of figures pushed into the doorway after him.
I had my wrench raised, ready to bash heads, when one of them raised a hand.
“No. Wait,” a voice with a strong eastern European accent said.
“Civilians, Creed, and we’re about to have company.”
“Many come,” the man said.
The couple were probably in their mid to late thirties. He had a craggy face, with early frown lines and dark skin. She was slight, with a huge blast of curly black hair that surrounded her head like a big halo. She wore a pair of thick-rimmed glasses and a bright yellow rain slicker. I stared at the loud jacket.
“Keep zombie bites out,” she said.
“Smart,” I said.
“Fall back. We need to find another way out of this place,” Joel said.
“How many?” I asked.
“Oh, about a hundred,” Joel said, and stormed down the hallway.
“We help?” the man asked.
“I don’t know, can you?” I asked.
Don’t judge me. It’s the zombie fucking apocalypse. I’m all for helping my fellow man, but they have to be able to help themselves first.
The woman unlimbered a lead pipe. There were bloodstains almost
to the handle she’d made out of duct tape. I won’t lie, I was nervous. My encounters with other survivors had been hit or miss, from the nice folks at the RV park to the army led by McQuinn. I was about as trusting as a rat guarding the last piece of moldy cheddar on earth.
The man lifted his jacket and showed a pair of revolvers. He didn’t make any other moves.
“Well shit, I guess we’re friends now,” I shrugged, and followed Joel, hoping the man wouldn’t shoot me in the back.
“I’m Tomas, and this is Doroyeta.”
“Dori, like the fish from Finding Nemo,” she said, and smiled.
“Creed, Jackson Creed. And that guy is Joel Kelly.”
Movement at the door. The first Z came in and sized us up. He actually looked surprised, but that could be because his mouth was stuck wide open, thanks to a broken jaw. Tomas reached into his jacket, drew his gun, and calmly shot the monstrosity in the face. The Z went down but was soon replaced by two more. To make matters worse, I thought I’d heard a shuffler out there.
“Shit, man. Windows got bars. I guess we check the room with the locked door.”
I rolled my eyes and prepared for the worst.
#23 - Survival of the Fastest
11:20 hours approximate
Location: Vista
I wanted to trust the couple, but it wasn’t easy. This was a different world. Gone were the days of small talk, neighbors who helped each other out, and even passive-aggressive comments. What had become the norm--the social media-driven Facebook world--was toast, hell, the internet was deader than a zombie. Now it was down to survival of the fastest.
Joel listened at the door for a half second then muttered, “Fuck it.”
He stepped back, lifted his foot, and smashed the door in. It splintered around the lock and flew open to crash against the wall. I fumbled for my wrench, fighting all of the gear and shit that was hanging from my pack. The strap caught in the stock of the little assault rifle, so I ripped it to the side, banging the stock against my elbow in the process.
The room was something out of a nightmare. The wall was liberally smeared with blood. Equal amounts of red stained the bedspread where it lay in a heap at the foot of the bed. The sheets were also a mishmash of gore and blood and the carpet, light brown, was splotched with blood stains.
A picture hung on the wall, at an angle. It was the famous painting by Edvard Munch, called The Scream. Not that I was an art expert, but who didn’t know this work? I also had owned a print of it when I was a kid. Mom thought it was something that would make me smile. It gave me nightmares for years, but I never had the heart to tell her.
The room contained a dresser with most of its drawers hanging open.
A pathetic looking Z lay on the ground. He’d been eaten almost to the bone around his abdomen, and most of a leg was gone. He lifted his head to look us over, then dropped it again, hitting the wall right next to the door. That explained the banging.
Another Z came at us. She’d been near the corner of the room, staring at nothing in particular. I didn’t even see her at first, because she was garbed in a dark dress and standing next to even darker drapes. She tripped over the Z and fell, hands out, so she caught Joel and dragged him to the ground.
The couple moved in fast, taking her by the arms and hauling her off. The man pushed her against the wall and the woman bashed in her forehead with the lead pipe. She fell in a heap and her head lolled to the side. Sightless white eyes regarded me.
Dori then took mercy on the man on the floor, two strong blows leaving a pile of rotted brains.
I grasped Joel’s hand and helped him up.
Joel moved toward the back of the room and peeked inside a door.
“Bathroom’s empty,” he said.
The door banged at the front of the house.
“Any way out?” I asked Joel as he eyed the bathroom.
He shook his head.
“Guess that means we’re going to have company,” I said. “We need to get the hell out of dodge, partner.”
“Check the window,” Joel said.
I moved the drapes aside.
Something crashed inside the house, rattling the walls. Moans and snarls came from the hallway.
“Bars!” I yelled for Joel. He joined me at the window but didn’t say a word.
“Now what?” I shrugged.
The couple pushed the door shut but it wouldn’t stay closed, because my Marine pal had destroyed the doorknob with his big Marine foot. Brilliant, Joel.
“This isn’t good,” he said.
###
He looked around the room for some egress point. He didn’t need me to tell him that there wasn’t one.
I unlatched the window and it slid open with a squeal. Joel joined me, and together we tested the bars. They had been constructed on a row so that they were welded together and set into the opening. Joel grabbed the windowsill and put his foot on the jamb. He tested the bars with a quick outward kick.
The couple grabbed the corners of a large dresser and grunted as they slid it across the floor toward the door.
“Wanna know how I know we’re fucked?” I asked Joel.
“How?”
“Because that shit never works in the movies,” I nodded toward the door-damming operation.
Joel snorted and kicked the bars again.
My pack was in the way so I shrugged it off and then fought all of the extra gear into a pile. My wrench stayed across my back.
I moved beside Joel and lifted my leg, hoping that my recently-healed sprain wasn’t going to be a problem.
“On three,” Joel said.
I nodded.
He counted and together we kicked the poles. It was like kicking a brick wall.
“Again,” he said.
Again we got the same reaction.
“Watch out, Joel.” I ripped the wrench off my shoulder and maneuvered it between a pair of bars.
Joel took this cue and moved aside. He grabbed the little home invasion rifle we’d dug up in the other room and examined it. He fiddled with a switch on the side, checked the magazine, inspected the trigger assembly, and then moved away to help the couple.
He dropped a box of shells on the ground, and with deft and well-practiced fingers, loaded the magazine.
“We can’t hold for long,” Tomas said.
“Got it,” I replied.
I pulled the wrench and got a little give from the bars.
The Zs smashed against the door. I looked over my shoulder and caught the entrance budging. Joel motioned for the couple to move out of the way. He lifted the little SIG, aimed, and fired. Not for the first time, I wished I had some ear protection.
In the movies, the shots weren’t this loud. Dudes shot each other and then had quiet conversation about drug dealers and the best way to break someone’s knee. In this room, the gun might as well have been mortars going off around us.
The gun bucked under his arms, and something dropped on the other side of the doorway.
“I like this thing,” Joel said.
I wedged the wrench a little tighter and pulled.
Christ, we did not have time for this!
Joel fired several more shots, but there was always an answer in the form of something banging against the entrance. The next time the door moved, a hand darted inside.
Dori pulled her knife and slammed it into the palm, pinning the Z to the doorway. Joel stuck the barrel of the gun into the gap and fired. When Dori yanked the knife free, the hand fell away from the doorframe, hopefully attached to a twice-dead fuck.
Tomas pushed her out of the way and pulled his guns. Dori fell back and shot him a dirty look. A smattering of a language I didn’t understand ensued. He snarled an answer back at her. She turned away in disgust and moved to my side.
“I can help?” she said.
“I don’t think so,” I said, and jammed the wrench between a pair of bars.
Joel shot something. Tomas shot something. I wanted to look
, but forced my attention to stay on the task at hand.
“Open the mouth,” Dori looked up at me from under dark curls.
“Huh?”
“I show you,” she said.
Dori took the wrench from me and gently pushed into the spot I’d occupied, shooing me out of the way. She propped the head against the window jamb and then loosened the teeth so the span opened a few inches.
“Help me. We put on bar, there, and we have leverage.”
“Jesus,” I said, suddenly seeing it.
“Jesus isn’t here, only the dead,” she said.
With the teeth of the wrench stuck against the wall and the other part against the bar, I suddenly had something to work with. I grabbed the handle up high so I would get the most control, and yanked, putting my body into it.
The bar popped off and the bolt hit the ground. I quickly worked at the next bar. One down, and too many more to go.
Joel fired off a few more rounds.
“How we looking?” I called.
“The bodies are making a nice blockade out there. Door’s still not gonna hold,” Joel called back.
Several somethings hit the door hard enough to rattle the dresser. Then they hit it again.
Joel took a step back and unleashed half a dozen shots at the door. The ensuing thump of a form hitting the ground answered.
I popped off the third bar and found the fourth to be a mother. Dori and I both worked at it for a minute, but it wasn’t moving. She guided me to another one. It came off with a nice groan, leaving just two more bars.
Something pushed into the door again.
Hands reached for Tomas.
The window led to a backyard that was butted up against an apartment building. There was a small chainlink fence that ran the perimeter but several sections had collapsed, while others sagged. A few Zs roamed the yard, but nothing we couldn’t deal with. The trick, as always, was to take them out quietly. Cave in a few heads and avoid attracting a horde.
Another Z had managed to weasel its way inside the room.
Joel fired until the gun was empty, and set it down.
“Where’d you put those .40 rounds?” he asked me.
I wiped a line of sweat off my forehead and nodded toward my backpack. Joel unzipped the bag and dug around, pulling out boxes of ammo.
Z-Risen (Book 3): Poisoned Earth Page 3
