by Gunther, Cy
Stopping the Dead
by
Cy Gunther
No one they ran into seemed to know how it had started, just that it had.
At that point, though, it was already too late.
The dead were everywhere, and they were multiplying.
Corey
The Murray twins sat outside of the Peddler’s on Main Street. Brian slouched in his chair, cradling a beer while Corey blinked, looked at his phone, and dropped it back onto the table. Corey motioned to the waitress.
“Two more Jamesons,” he said, pulling his money out of his pocket.
She raised an eyebrow. “Are you going to be able to walk?”
“From here to hell, if need be,” he grinned, slurring his words a little. The waitress shook her head and walked away.
Brian finished his beer and set the empty bottle down. “We still have to go to drill tomorrow.”
Corey groaned. “Don’t remind me.”
“And we’ve got the CFT,” Brian added.
“What the fuck, Bri, shut up!” Corey laughed.
Brian snickered.
Glass shattered across the street and Corey and his brother stood up, knocking their chairs back.
The plate glass window of the tattoo shop across the street had been smashed and a group of people were fighting in the middle of the sidewalk. Curses, grunts, and shouts filled the night air as more people came out of the shop.
“The fucker bit me!” someone shouted.
“Me too!”
Sirens started to wail and the blue lights of cruisers started flickering and reflecting in the windows of the stores.
People ran out of the hamburger joint next door to the tattoo shop while a pair of homeless people came shuffling out of the alley between the restaurant and the Baptist church.
The waitress and other customers from the Peddler’s came out to stand beside Corey and Brian. “What’s going on?” the waitress asked, handing the brothers their shots.
Brian shook his head, and Corey shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t know,” Corey said. “It just started. One minute everything was fine, and then the window smashed and – what the fuck!”
The homeless people which had come out of the alley grabbed hold of one of the restaurant customer’s from behind, and started eating him. The young man screamed, trying to fight them off. Others rushed to help him while the cruisers and ambulances pulled up, blocking the scene from the view of the Peddler’s. More sirens sounded on Canal Street, down by the Brazilian restaurant, and Corey’s buzz was gone.
He and Brian knocked back their shots, and picked their phones up off of the table. Together they cut around the corner of the bar, ran past the donut shop onto Canal Street, and looked down it.
Another fight had sprawled out onto the street, the people fighting a trio of homeless men in front of the Brazilian restaurant while cops jumped out of their cruisers.
Brian’s phone rang and he answered it.
“Yeah?...What? Are you serious? Okay, yeah…no, we’ve got it. Be there in a few.” He hung up the phone. “That was Adam.”
“What’s up?”
“He’s at the cigar shop, more attacks.”
Corey shook his head. “We picking him up?”
“He’s heading down here,” Brian said. The fighting on Canal seemed to be getting worse, screams and shouts echoing off of the buildings.
A shot, then a second, rang out on Main Street and the two brothers ducked down, looking for cover.
“We need to get the fuck out of here,” Brian said.
Corey nodded his agreement and the pair headed back towards the Peddler’s. The crowd was still there, watching the mess across the street. A quick glance showed paramedics loading injured people into the ambulances, and a fire engine had arrived. At least a dozen people, including police officers, were being triaged on the sidewalk. A cop stood by two bodies, talking on a handset.
Adam came hurrying down the sidewalk towards them, bald head shining in the street lights. He still had a large cigar clamped between his teeth. He stopped as he got to them, took the cigar out and spit on the sidewalk, shaking his head. Behind him were more fire engines.
“Something’s not right,” he said. “We need to get the hell out of here. Did you two drive?”
Corey shook his head. “No, Kiki dropped us off. She was supposed to meet up with us later on after work.
“Come on. I’ve got the pick-up parked down in the library’s lot.”
With Adam leading the three of them cut through an alley up to Court Street, then across and down the green between the library and the playhouse. More sirens sounded and the clouds in the night sky reflected flashing lights. They hopped a fence and sprinted towards Adam’s black pick-up parked at the end of the lot.
A trio of Latinos came shambling out of Temple Street, their clothes disheveled, small wounds on their faces and arms, blood staining their clothing. Their eyes were vacant, and their arms raised up, hands reaching out as long, disturbing moans drifted out of their mouths.
“Oh hell no,” Corey said. “Are we in a horror movie?”
“Are those zombies? Are they fucking dead?” Brian asked as the Latinos stepped in front of the pick-up.
“Let’s find out,” Adam said around his cigar, coming to a stop. The brothers stopped behind him as Adam drew his Glock from his back holster. He sighted and squeezed off a shot.
One of the Latinos staggered, but kept coming.
“That was a shoulder hit. They’re fucking zombies,” Adam said. He let off three quick head shots, and each of the undead crumpled to the pavement.
The three young men hurried to the truck, the brothers squeezing in as Adam started the truck up. More people came shambling out of Temple Street.
“Do not fucking stop,” Corey said.
“Nope,” Adam agreed and gunned the truck towards Cottage Ave. “Any ideas on where the hell we should go?”
“Ernst?” Corey asked.
“Ernst,” Adam said. “If anybody knows what to do, he will.”
Brian and Corey nodded, and Corey sent out a text to Kiki as Adam started dialing Ernst’s number.
Ernst
Ernst sat in his chair, the light of the lamp behind him shining brightly on the book he was reading. Absently he reached out, picked up his cup of coffee, and took a sip.
His phone vibrated and he took his eyes away from the page to look down at it. Adam’s name flashed across the screen. Ernst frowned, looking at his watch, then, he put in his book mark and closed the book before answering the phone.
“What’s up?” he asked. “It’s eleven.”
“Yeah, I know,” Adam said, and the screech of tires filled the background. Ernst could hear the twins talking, too.
“What’s going on?”
“I just killed three zombies…Christ! Make that four. I think.”
Ernst put his book down. “What do you mean you just killed some zombies?”
“Can’t put it any clearer than that, Ernst. Un-fucking-dead.”
“Where are you?”
“Trying to get out of downtown. The damn things seem to be everywhere. Fucking car accidents.”
“Get here. Get here now.”
“Got it.”
Ernst turned off his phone and stood up. He put the book down carefully on the side-table, and walked out of his small room. He hit the light switch and strong fluorescents flickered into life down the long rows of bookshelves. Ernst lived alone in the long, converted warehouse, just the way he enjoyed. No television, no radio. A simple laptop, his books, and some basic essentials should the world come to an end.
Ernst went directly to his gun safe, punched in the combination, and pulled out his .22 automatic rifle
, and half a dozen clips. He knew that others enjoyed the heavier rifles, but a .22 was just as efficient in the head as a 7.62 round, and the .22 rounds were a hell of a lot cheaper for target practice.
Slinging the rifle over his shoulder, he pulled his .38 revolver out of its case, and stuffed a box of extra shells into his shirt pocket. He left the door of the safe open behind him as he made his way to the front door. Reaching it he threw back the bolts, glanced once at the security cameras, then flipped the main power for the spotlights stationed strategically along the warehouse’s walls.
A pair of cats took off running for a storm drain, but that was it.
Ernst stepped outside into the warm summer night. He gave the area a quick glance before heading towards the front gate. In the distance he could hear sirens, a pair of helicopters flying patterns over the center of the city. His warehouse was on the edge of the city, abandoned warehouses and empty factories around him.
Reaching the gate Ernst punched in the code, the electric motor whirring into life to slide the heavy, one ton gate back into its pocket. Somewhere among the corrugated walls of the warehouses, and the crumbling bricks of the factories, Ernst heard the rumble of a diesel engine. Pulling the rifle off of his shoulder Ernst slammed a clip home, chambered a round, and flipped the safety off. With his finger alongside of the trigger guard, Ernst waited.
Headlights appeared and the truck careened around a corner, slowing down only when the open gate of Ernst’s home came into view. In the bright light of his security lights Ernst saw the damaged grill, dried blood smeared across the chrome and paint.
As soon as the truck entered the lot, Ernst hit the code to close the gate. He took a step back and kept his eyes on the street in front, weapon at the ready. Only when the gate clicked shut and the motor shut off did he turn around and look at his friends climbing out of the truck.
Adam was checking his sidearm, the twins checking their phones.
An explosion sounded far in the distance, a fireball launching itself into the sky.
“Looks like the gas station at exit six,” Adam said. He holstered his pistol.
“Cell lines are down,” Brian snapped.
“Yeah, no connection at all.” Corey put his phone in his pocket.
“So, Zombie man, what the hell are we doing?” Adam asked. He pulled out a cigarette, flipped out his zippo and lit it. “Pretty sure that we can’t get to my condo from here. Not without cutting through downtown, and that’s a fucking mess.”
“Our family’s up at the campground,” Brian said.
“My ex and the kids are in the Keys for the rest of the month,” Adam said. “All I want to do is find a way to get to my place. Need to get my dogs.”
“Let’s go inside,” Ernst said. “We’ll see if we can’t get some sort of link with my laptop, find out what the hell is going on. I just got my A4s in yesterday,” he said to the twins, “so you two can make good use of that Marine Corps training.”
“Yeah,” Brian said, shaking his head.
“What we need,” Corey said, “is to get to maybe the National Guard armory and pick up a 240 if they have one.”
“We can worry about that later,” Adam said. “What we need to do is figure out what the fuck is going on.”
Ernst nodded, leading the way into the warehouse. Brian closed and locked the door behind them before going to the gun-safe with his brother to take out the A4s. As the brothers cleared and checked the weapons Ernst and Adam went to the laptop which sat on the island in the small kitchen off of his bedroom. Wordlessly Adam sat down and brought the system up. Ernst put the safety back on the rifle, slung it, and started a fresh pot of coffee.
The brothers came over a few minutes later carrying empty magazines and boxes of 5.56 ammunition. They sat down at the table and started loading the magazines.
Adam let out a short laugh. “This is crazy.”
“What is?” Ernst asked.
“Hacked into the emergency response system. Whole city is calling stuff in. Most of it seems to have started right around Canal and Temple Streets, though.”
The twins looked up from their task, Brian asking, “So, what’s next?”
Ernst leaned against the counter, folding his arms over his chest. “Try and get in touch with family and friends, make sure that everyone’s okay. You two,” he said, nodding to the twins, “try and get in touch with the rest of your reserve unit, see what they’re doing. If they even know what the hell’s going on. You said that the phone’s are down, but cable seems to be fine. Jump onto Facebook and Twitter, see what’s up.
“Adam,” Ernst said. “Do you think you can figure a safe way to get to your dogs?”
“Definitely. I’ll just need a few minutes on the emergency site to plot it out. Plus I’ll pick up my weapons and extra medical supplies that I have.”
“Don’t worry about too much,” Ernst said. “The lower levels are pretty much squared away.”
Adam looked up from the computer. “What do you mean?”
“Adam, I’m so fucking paranoid,” Ernst laughed, “I’ve got enough supplies for a damned platoon for at least two years. I’ve solar panels set up on the roofs, a windmill in the next warehouse ready to go, and a shit load of other stuff.”
“Well,” Corey laughed, “let’s hope that the water doesn’t get turned off.”
“Doesn’t matter if it does,” Ernst grinned. “I had a buddy dig me my own well for emergency purposes. We’re tapped right into the water table with plenty of juice to run the pumps.”
“You truly are a madman,” Adam said, the twins laughing. “And this night is extremely fucked up.”
“That it is,” Ernst agreed.
“Want one of us to ride shotgun when you head out?” Brian asked.
Adam shook his head. “Just make sure that someone’s there to open the gate for me when I come back.”
“We will,” Ernst said. He took down four mugs from the cabinet over the sink and started pouring the coffee. “I’ve got handhelds, too. You can take one with you, that way we know what the hell is going on.”
Adam nodded. “Sounds like a plan. Couple more minutes and I’ll be ready to go.”
“Okay,” Ernst said. “Coffee’s ready, gentlemen. Let’s drink to surviving the end of the world.”
Adam
“Anything you need?” Ernst asked as he handed Adam the handheld.
Adam shook his head. “Should be good, man. Got the machete and the pistol if need be. Plus the truck should give me a little bit of protection.”
“Okay,” Ernst said. He motioned to Brian, who punched in the pass code for the gate’s lock, and stood aside. The twins each had their A4s on single-point harnesses, and ready to rock. The drunken glow that they’d had earlier was gone, a look of deadly seriousness replacing it. “An hour?”
“Give or take. I’ll be calling in every 15 to give status updates. The emergency site was changing faster than it could track.”
Ernst nodded and extended his hand.
Adam shook it.
“Be safe.”
“I will. Keep the coffee hot. I’ll be back soon, and we can figure out what to do. Good think you’re so fucking paranoid.”
“Yup,” Ernst winked, and stepped away from the truck.
Adam sighed, climbed into the truck, and closed the door. The engine roared into life as he turned the key, cool air blasting out of the AC. He took his pistol out of its holster and set it in the center console for easy reach. He put the machete half in and half out of the gap between the seats, and nodded once more to Ernst, flipped on the lights, and headed out of the gate, the twins saluting him as he went. Adam returned the salute before gunning the engine.
In his rearview he saw the gate closing, the twins vigilant.
Within moments he felt the old focus slipping over him. It seemed as if he had put on a pair of goggles, lens equipped to peel away the veneer of safety around the old manufacturing district. He saw everything with the sam
e calm that he had found doing patrols in Fallujah, and long humps through Iraqi terrain. He spotted ambush sites, narrow alleys, animals moving through the shadows.
But no people, and that was a good thing.
People were bad.
People would fuck it up.
Especially if they were already dead.
Ernst’s set up was good, and it would hold against the dead for a long while. Panicking people would overwhelm them, but Adam didn’t think that was an issue just yet. He was still having a hard time wrapping his head around the idea of zombies, and he was a hell of a lot more open minded than most people he knew. The twins were taking it fine because they were Marines, trained and disciplined. They might be freaking out on the inside, but they knew how to maintain control, and they’d both served two tours in Afghanistan already. That same inner calm that Adam felt would eventually settle over them, but until then, they’d maintain their composure through the basic pride and discipline of the Marine Corps.
And as for Ernst, Adam thought, chuckling. He was just crazy. Ernst believed that anything could happen, and prepared for it accordingly. How he got all of his money, Adam didn’t know, and Ernst didn’t talk about it. But hell, Adam thought, I can probably ask when I get back.
Adam’s thoughts jumped back to the moment as he came up to the intersection of Canal and Bridge Streets. Far to the right, near Main Street, he could see flashing lights, cruisers blocking access to downtown.
Adam nodded to himself, and began the long, slow process of cutting through back streets towards South Main Street.
He kept the truck at a steady pace, following the mental map he had created for himself and looking out for anything odd. A few times he caught sight of shambling figures in alleys and driveways, heard the sounds of fighting overpowering the blast of his AC and the rumble of the diesel.
Within twenty minutes, though, he had made it to South Main, where everything seemed fine. People cooking on their grills, sitting around fire-pits. Adam wanted to stop and yell at them, tell them what was going on downtown.
And what if it’s contained and I start a fucking panic? he thought. No. Better to be a little paranoid and get the dogs, get up his medic gear, and screw back over to Ernst’s place. If everything blew over and was settled, no blood no foul.
