We plunged through the gory hole we had blasted in the zombies, trampling over the arms, legs and heads we had left littering the street. With every step we took, firing as we did (and reloading as necessary), zombie after zombie after zombie was sent to the death that it was somehow cheated of earlier that day. We were in such close quarters, that the clothing and the flesh of the dead was ignited by the flames erupting from our shotguns barrels, the concussion of the blasts throwing the zombies back as limbs were torn off and launched into the air.
Within seconds, Gus and I had cleared a wide swath to the toppled trailer, and held the undead menace at bay while the refugee’s made their descent and ran to the relative safety of the street from whence we came. When the last of the survivors was off the trailer and past us, Gus and I stopped shooting and followed suit, laughing as we ran. This might sound kinda bad, but we were really having a good fuckin’ time.
The survivors had stopped running at the intersection of Shooting Park, and had taken up defensive positions at each corner, to make sure that they didn’t get into that shit again, I was betting. When we got there ourselves, one of the group broke from his position - and was quickly replaced by another - and came over to meet us.
“That was some outstanding shit there, guys!” he said. “Thank you so much, fella’s.”
At that, the rest of his group offered their thanks, in the form of cheers, thank you’s, hoots and hollers.
“Seriously, we would have been fucked. We’ve been stuck up there since about the beginning of whatever this is. Without food or water. There is no way we could have lasted more than a few days on that thing. And it seems like those monsters don’t seem to care about anything but the food that is directly in front of them, which in that case was us. So, thank you, again.”
“Hey, it was no problem, really,” Gus said, “but we should probably get moving if you don’t want it to happen again, because they’re coming this way.”
“Yeah,” I said, “and they’re pissed ‘cause they got stiffed out of their meal.”
“Good point, guys. So, where are you two headed?”
“We’re going to my apartment, over on Becker Drive,” Gus replied. “You?”
“Don’t really know yet, actually. We’re not even from this town. Our buddy from college is, or I should say was, getting married, and we were all here to be a part of it, which is why we’re all in these monkey suits,” he said, gesturing to the fine-ass duds they were all sporting. “We just got lucky as hell when we came up on these weapons we have. Unfortunately, what little ammo we had is almost gone now.”
“Well shit, pal, I have just the destination for you then,” I said. “Check it out, see that big fuckin’ yard down there, where that Camaro’s smashed into the telephone pole?”
“Yeah, I do. What about it?”
“Well, the house there has a room upstairs with a fuckin’ ton of weapons and shit. You guys could resupply there, and maybe hole up for a couple while you figure out what’s next.”
“Really? You’re not fuckin’ with me, are you?”
“No, seriously,” Gus said, “we were just there twenty minutes ago. There’s a lot of guns and bullets, and there’s plenty of food in the kitchen, too. We cleared the house, but you might want to re-check it, just in case.”
“Okay… thanks. Helping us again and we can’t even return the favor. Kinda feel bad.”
“Just stay alive, and we’ll call it even-steven,” I said.
“Will do. And my name is Steven. Funny…” he mumbled, clearly not impressed with my word-play. “Steven Kincaid.”
“Hey Steven, I’m Dave Rogers, and this here is Gus Higgins.”
“Pleasure,” he said as he shook our hands. “Well it was nice to meet you guys, really. Boys,” Steven yelled to his sharply-dressed crew, “follow me!”
Off they ran to the house of guns and food, and off we ran to the house of friends, food, and beer. Well, not really the beer, but I was thirsty and the buzz I had been nursing all day was starting to wear off. Couldn’t let that shit happen, no way, Jose!
14
We raced across the street to an old shitty bar, The Lounge, that had been closed up for a couple years. There, we stopped to catch our breath, ‘cause we had got there at a full-blown sprint, to make some distance between us and the tide of the dead that was behind us. After we were breathing normal again, and had drank a couple beers (more survivors!) that I had dug out of from the bottom of my front pack, we ran through someone’s backyard, past the gas station, past the Burger King, to the Schimmer’s car lot. Once there, we hopped up into the bed of a huge Ford pick-up that had a good vantage point on a wide radius, so we could get a little rest on and take a look-see at our perimeter.
“Wow, am I tired,” Gus whispered in between rapid breaths, “that sucked! I always hated running! Got any more beer in there?”
“Good idea! Yeah, I think I felt a few more in there earlier,” I whispered back, as I rummaged through the pack. “Bingo! One for me… and one for you. There you go, Gus.”
“Sweet, thanks.”
As we hunkered down, enjoying the savory drink, we listened to our surroundings. We couldn’t tell where yet, as we had our heads below the top rail of the bed and hadn’t looked anywhere, but the sound of gunfire and pitched battles was thick in this part of town. Must’ve been due to the close proximity of the major highway that ran through, U.S. Route 251. More people than one would think carry firearms in their vehicles, especially in the Nazi state of Illinois, despite their stupid fuckin’ laws.
I was figuring that the traffic had probably came to a stand-still, and when the zombies started pouring in, that lots of armed motorists had got their guns out and started shooting, and were still. It was a pretty stupid thing to think, all conjecture, but I have quite the imagination. While that may have actually been a part of it, and I bet that it was, there were probably plenty of other factors or factions involved, as well. ‘Cause a lot of home-owners in Illinois have guns, too. Case in point: myself.
Beers done and buzz’s back a-rockin’, we decided that it was about time to make another run for it. We stuck our heads over the edge of the truck-bed, looking kinda like the gophers in that game where you smash their heads with a mallet, to make sure the lot wasn’t swamped with zombies. The lot was as clear, but we immediately saw where all the shooting we heard was coming from. Sometimes I swear I’m a fuckin’ psychic.
Just as I had predicted, there was a fierce battle going on down on 251. And the traffic was at a stand-still - the cars were lined up for miles, locked bumper to bumper. All empty, of course. On top of those cars, running from roof to roof, was around twenty or so assorted folks packing some serious heat - I saw what looked like M4’s, AK’s, MP5’s, and I swear there was even AT4’s strapped to some of the warrior’s backs - all of them shooting into wave after wave of the undead. That was the biggest gathering of zombies I had seen so far, and it was constantly growing. We could see zombies going to the battle from all directions, a large group even walked right past us (thank jeebus they didn’t turn their heads).
We were standing up by then, in the truck-bed still, all thoughts of hiding and safety forgotten. It was just too fuckin’ awesome to miss. I wanted to get closer, but odds are, we would’ve got shot, been mistaken for a couple of zombies. Or clipped by a stray round, ‘cause those fuckers were shooting everywhere. Then, for some reason, all the warriors just stopped shooting at the horde. I was about to ask Gus if he saw any reason for that, when they started tossing grenades into the mass of zombies. It looked like the part in “Braveheart” when the English launched all those arrows, filling up the sky. Sure, there wasn’t anywhere near that many grenades, but you get the picture.
The warriors then all ducked simultaneously, right before their grenades exploded from within the horde. It was like a giant geyser: steaming gobs of organs, torso’s and heads, arms and legs, and gallon upon gallon upon gallon of blood and gore erupted from
the ground, high into the air, and rained down on the warriors’ heads. That must’ve been what Slayer wrote “Raining Blood” about. If it wasn’t, well, it sure fuckin’ should’ve been. Then the warriors stood back up, and continued firing into the now smaller horde of zombies. They were actually making a difference. I just hoped they had enough ammo to keep it up.
The lot and its surroundings were clear again, so we hopped out the truck and scooted on down to the front of the dealership. I had a fleeting thought of breaking in there and getting some flashy new floor model to drive the rest of the way to Gus’s, but decided against it ‘cause of all the noise it would’ve made. Plus, we weren’t very far from his place by then. I saw Gus staring at a Camaro much like the one he drove into a pole earlier, with a tear in his eye. But like a true man, he shrugged that shit off and marched on beside me.
We passed the dealership and sprinted across the street to the Montessori school, where we holed up till we got our breath back. And drank a couple more beers (the fuckin’ last ones - that brought a tear to my eye). Gotta keep that hydration up, right? After all we were running everywhere.
We then hopped from building to building, business to business, until we got to the Oak Terrace Apartments, where I had once lived for a couple years (nice place). I didn’t want to just go tramping on by that place, ‘cause of the large population of people that occupied it. Or once had, if they were zombies, which was the problem. I wasn’t 100% positive that all the zombies had gone to 251 to get blown the fuck up, even though we only encountered two zombies since leaving Schimmer’s (without making actual contact, though).
We low-crawled thought the bushes beside the building until we got to the corner, where we had a clear view of the parking lot and beyond. Sure enough, the fuckin’ place was zombie town (not the stupid movie, though). The number of them wasn’t really large at all, only about fifteen of them that we could see, but to have any this close to our destination was a serious downer. Especially when all we had to do was to cut through about a dozen yards in a near-straight line to get there. Fuckin’ sucked unwashed bum dick.
“So what’s the plan, man?” I asked Gus, in a barely audible whisper, so quiet a mouse said “Huh?” (you know, ‘cause mouse’s are supposed to be quiet).
“What? Why you asking me? You’re the war hero here,” he replied in an even quieter whisper, to which the mouse just shook its head and walked away.
“What, I can’t fucking hear you.” I did hear him, clearly, but was pretty drunk at that point. Felt like fuckin’ with him. “You gotta speak up a little, dude. It’ll be okay.”
I wasn’t exactly sure of that, since there was a zombie standing less than twelve feet away. But like I said, I was drunk, and really didn’t care.
“I said, why are you asking me?” A wee bit louder, but better.
“I don’t know. I figured you might know this neighborhood a little better than I do, that you might have an idea of how you want to do this.”
“Well, yeah, but the zombies… do you want to kill them all before we go?”
“Sure I do, but just the ones in the way. After that, you lead the way. Okay?”
“Okay, Dave. Let’s do this.”
With that said, we burst outta the bushes, guns a-blazin’, just like in the Old West. We steam-rolled through them motherfucker’s, leaving their destroyed bodies in our wake. After we got outta the parking lot, we zig-zagged from yard to yard, shooting zombies when we had to, doing it anyway when we didn’t, till we finally came out on Becker Drive.
15
The street was full of zombies. Fuckin’ full up. I couldn’t fuckin’ believe it. Gus just stood there, mouth agape, dumb-struck. I knew what he was thinking, ‘cause I was thinking the same exact thing: that his woman, Sue, and his brother, Frank, were either dead or were most likely zombified. Either way, the prognosis was bad.
None of the zombies on the street had noticed us yet, somehow, so I quickly grabbed Gus by his front pack, and dragged his ass into the nearest house that was open. I threw him to the couch, as we had entered in the living room, and closed the door and put as much shit in front of it as I could. I then cleared it from top to bottom, using a hammer I found instead of one of my weapons - I didn’t want anything knowing we were in here, so I figured the hammer would’ve been the way to go. Silent but deadly. Just a little messier, which wouldn’t’ve mattered, as I was already covered in gore.
Positive the house was clear and locked up tight, with all the blinds shut, too, I went and sat down beside Gus on the couch. He still had that same look on his face.
It had been dark for some time by that point, and it was pretty fuckin’ dark in the house with all the blinds shut (they were the thick, energy-saver kind), but I figured that if I turned on even one little lamp, the fucks outside would see and ruin our peace. So we had to sit and talk in the dark. Very quietly talk.
“Hey, man. How ya holdin’ up? Gonna be okay, buddy?”
He didn’t even blink, I swear.
“Okay… listen to me, I know what you’re thinking. But forget that shit. They’re both okay, trust me on this. There is no fucking way that we went through all that for nothing. Frank wouldn’t’ve let anything happen. To either of them.” I just hoped I was right.
After waiting for a while for some kind of a response and getting nothing, I gave up and laid back on the couch, hoping to get some zzzzz’s before we had to move again. I had just drifted off - into a dream where we were on a small raft, floating in a river of blood-covered, reaching hands - when Gus finally responded, speaking quietly and slowly.
“They got Mom this morning, Dave. Around 8:30. She was getting her mail. Frank saw it all happen from the living room. He didn’t know this shit was going on, of course… no one did. He said he saw some drunk-looking guy stumbling out in the middle of the street. The guy saw Mom and stumbled towards her. She didn’t see him. She had just put her hand on the mail-box door when the guy grabbed her arm…….. and bit it. By the time Frank got outside, she was dead, and the guy was walking down the sidewalk. Frank picked her up and brought her in the house and called 911. He got a fucking busy signal! Hah! ……before she came back, he saw what was happening on the news, and came to my place. He had to leave her there. ….I’m sure she came back, and is just standing there in the dark.”
“Fuck ……I had no idea ……but that’s no reason to think that Sue and Frank … are the same way, Gus. They’ll be okay, I know they will, I know they are.”
“You don’t fucking understand, Dave! I can’t lose them, too! I won’t be able to fucking handle it! If I lose them, I won’t have any reason to live! ……what’ll be the fucking point?……”
“Well, I’m not trying to be a dick here, but why don’t you just call them up? You still got your phone, right?”
“Yeah, I have my phone still, but it’s broken. Do you still have yours?”
My phone had been in my back pocket all day long, and I feared the worst. It was broken, too. “Fuck! Sorry, man.”
“Doesn’t matter anyway. They’re probably fucking zombies by now,” Gus said, closing his eyes.
Even though he seemed to be convinced that all was lost - and not wanting to believe it at the same time - I still wasn’t buying it. If Frank had the common sense to leave his own Mom behind, knowing that she would turn and attack him, and then make it to Gus’s apartment safely, I didn’t think he would do anything stupid like going outside and getting bit himself.
I also didn’t think he would’ve allowed Sue outside, either. So that left me with only one conclusion: that they were holed up - still alive and healthy - just like us. And just like Gus was worried for them, I was sure they were most likely thinking the same useless, negative shit about him. I actually hadn’t let myself think about my own family yet. It might sound bad, but I was more worried about keeping myself alive, than wasting any time at all thinking about them. So I’m a self-centered prick. Sue me.
I suddenly had a
great idea, that I knew would prove to Gus that I was right. I only hoped I was, ‘cause you never know. But I was still feeling optimistic.
“Okay, check it out, I can prove they’re still alive.”
“Oh yeah, how the fuck are you going to do that? Magic?”
“No. With this,” I said as I pulled my mini-maglight from a pouch under my front pack. “Come with me. Upstairs.”
16
I got up and walked to the stairs, not even waiting for him. But he followed.
My flash of inspiration came from a movie I had seen years before. I don’t remember what it was, or even what it was about, but in the movie, there was a scene where people that were stuck in houses or buildings a good distance from each other communicated by using flashlights, using Morse Code. I didn’t know Morse, but I figured if someone across the way saw a light flickering and flashing towards them from a window, they’d get the picture and respond back the same way. At least I was hoping. Boy, was I ever.
Once upstairs, I went to the back bedroom that faces the street and waited for Gus, looking out the window at the river from my dream. Freaked me out. To try my plan out, I needed to know exactly which of the apartments was his. I knew his place was across the street nearby, ‘cause some of the shit we passed by to get to this house I remember seeing before, on the other times I went there. But since it was dark out, I couldn’t see the house numbers, and didn’t want to be shining my light into the wrong windows.
“Okay, Dave, what’s your master plan?”
“Come over here, I need you to point out where your apartment is.”
“But won’t the zombies see us up here and try and get us?”
“Who knows, I’m making this shit up as I go. Probably not, though. I really haven’t seen one of those things look up yet. Seriously, I haven’t. I think they’re like the dags in that movie ‘Snatch’. I don’t think they’re smart enough to see things that aren’t right in front of them, unless something is brought to their attention. And I’m not gonna get it…”
Just Another Day Page 6
