ONSLAUGHT: The Zombie War Chronicles - Vol 1

by Damon Novak

  “And since I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you gaff one of your passengers.”

  “Look at her! Really look at her!” shouted Clay.

  “We’ll pull her out after you follow our instructions!” shouted the girl cop.

  “Jesus, Jerry,” I said, but we did what they told us to anyway. All of our guns went in their boat.

  “When we gettin’ them back?” I asked.

  “When this investigation’s over,” said Stowe, practically spitting the words.

  “Fuckin’ rookie,” I mumbled. A moment later, I stood up.

  “Sit down, sir!” said Officer Brandt.

  I could tell her bark was worse than her bite.

  I didn’t sit down. Whatever orders were bein’ barked at me went in one ear and out the other. I walked forward, staring off the starboard rail.

  “Ho-ly shit,” I said.

  I felt everyone standing around me. Ten feet from my airboat, Ol’ Stanley was swimmin’ by, and he had the kids’ dad in his mouth. If I didn’t know better, I’d say the old bastard was draggin’ him back to his homestead.

  Like I told you before, Ol’ Stanley probably thinks he’s human by now; in order to get to his current living quarters, he had to pass right by the front of my boat and where Mary Singer bobbed in the water.

  When he got right in front, we got the full picture.

  Dad was only a head and torso. The way he was bein’ pulled through the water, we could see his body was torn clean in half. Several feet of intestines were bein’ nibbled at by minnows, along with some brave mangrove snappers.

  I got queasy all over again.

  Ol’ Stanley was draggin’ him by the nub of his severed left arm.

  And the dead-eyed bastard – the man, not Ol’ Stanley – was lookin’ at us, growlin’.

  Suddenly, as if it was part of their trainin’ at the academy – you know, to shoot at any gators haulin’ zombies around – the three cops opened up, firin’ down on Stanley, emptyin’ their magazines into his back and head.

  They were freaked out, and I can tell you they were firin’ wild, but at least one or two of the rounds hit their mark, because that big ol’ gator went still, and our former airboat rider floated away from him before sinking to the bottom. I made a mental note of the spot where he sank.

  Right then, I reached into my pants pocket and pulled out my wallet. I coulda been reachin’ for a .38, and none of those cops would’ve seen a goddamned thing.

  “Here’s my concealed carry permit,” I said, holdin’ it out.

  They weren’t amused. To be honest, I did it for my benefit. When things get weird or scary, I get funny. It’s just who I am. Lucky they didn’t slap cuffs on me just for bein’ a dick.

  Ω

  In the next five minutes, we finally convinced them to work with us rather than against. They still insisted on takin’ our guns, because they were gonna be some kinda evidence if it turned out any of our sorta-dead customers had bullet wounds.

  It pissed me off, but I figured I understood. I had plenty more guns at home, so it wasn’t like I’d be without protection until they returned it.

  It was clear we hadn’t intentionally killed our own customers, so after they decided not to take me in over what happened in the black rain, we all collectively shit our pants together when we pulled that woman out of the water.

  She was growlin’ and snappin’ the entire time, her only arm tryin’ to claw at us as we lowered her onto the deck, between the first and second row of seats.

  As Todd was releasing her, her arm jabbed out and she caught him with her ragged fingers – the ones that were left. Officer Stowe jerked his arm away and inspected the jagged scrapes, starting to bead with blood where she’d broken the skin.

  I ain’t afraid to admit, my head went in a hundred different directions right then. Yeah, zombies hadn’t been real before today, but I knew all the lore. If that was a zombie – and it sure as hell wasn’t a vegetable or a mineral – then young Officer Stowe had better get his affairs in order.

  “Have you got a first aid kit on this vessel?” asked Officer Brandt.

  “What’s your name, sweetheart?” asked Clay. “I’ll give myself a hint. Your nametag says it starts with an S.”

  “Leave her alone, Clay,” I said.

  “To you, it’s Officer Brandt,” she said.

  “He won’t stop,” I said. “Might as well tell him.”

  “Sally,” guessed Clay. When she didn’t answer right away, he shot off several other guesses in rapid succession. “Susan. Stephanie. Stacy. Serafina.”

  “Will you give the girl a chance to answer, Clay?” I interrupted. “And Serafina?”

  Clay shrugged as the young cop shot me a grateful look and said quietly, “It’s Sonya.”

  “I was close,” said Clay, turnin’ his attention back to Mrs. Singer.

  “Nice to make your acquaintance, Sonya,” I said. I turned toward the rookie. “And Officer Stowe, you’ve clearly been scratched by a zombie. Even so, if it makes you feel better, feel free to have a seat as far away from that reanimated corpse as you can, and I’ll get you some ointment so you can get busy rearrangin’ the deck chairs on your own personal Titanic.”

  “That’s not funny!” shouted Stowe, worriedly inspecting his wound.

  “Best I had, spur of the moment,” I said, tossing him the first aid kit. Keep in mind, I still had no idea whether he really would change into anything or not, but I couldn’t pass up the chance to mess with him.

  While Officer Stowe was tendin’ to his injury, we took a closer look at Mrs. Singer. Her right leg was gone from just below the hip. Her left was bitten off at the knee. She didn’t have a right arm at all, and her stomach had been torn wide open, her intestines leakin’ God-knew-what onto the deck of the boat.

  We all looked away. Afterward, everyone, includin’ me, looked like a seasick greenhorn crabber on the Bering Sea for the first time.

  Mary Singer was surely dead.

  But she sure as hell wasn’t.

  Nobody knew what to say. We just didn’t believe what we were seein’, despite the unseemly jokes.

  I finally broke the silence. “Let me raise the possibility that whatever that rain was, it’s makin’ us hallucinate.”

  “And we’re all seeing the same thing?” asked Jerry.

  “What are you seein’?” asked Tanner.

  I took a deep breath. “Me? I’m seein’ half a zombie. ‘Cause she’s dead as fuck, but she’s still movin’.”

  “That’s what I’m seeing,” said Jerry. “Think maybe there’s some kinda fish or maybe a baby gator crawled up inside her? Makin’ it look like she’s alive?”

  “So … what’s making her mouth move? Think a crawfish crawled up in there, got between the jawbones?”

  Clay looked between us. “And what’s in her arm? A goddamned snake?”

  “Did y’all radio out? See if this is happenin’ anywhere else?” I asked.

  All three shook their heads. “No,” Jerry said, “but the board was lighting up after that rain started, for obvious reasons.”

  “Nothing obvious about any of this,” said Sonya Brandt. She looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties. About 5’8” tall and well-proportioned – at least to my taste. She’d calmed down quite a bit, but her eyes never shook off the fear. I’m sure mine hadn’t either.

  “Her husband’s right about there,” I said, pointing. “Saw him sink. Guess we should pull him up, too.”

  “Do you mind if we move Mrs. Singer over to your boat and leave the rest of this to you?” asked Clay. “Assuming you know we haven’t done anything wrong, you know where we are if you have any more questions.”

  Jerry looked around, then nodded. “The call said three people fell out.”

  “Yeah, that’s right,” I said. “Grandpa’s still out here somewhere. Searchin’ for him’s just above my pay grade.”

  “Understood,” said Jerry. “This is the general l
ocation?”

  “Best as I could tell in that black shit.”

  “Okay, then.”

  While Officer Stowe kept his hand clamped over the gauze he’d wrapped around his zombie bite, the rest of us undertook the nasty and dangerous task of moving Mary Singer, jaws snappin’ and single hand clawin’, to the police boat’s deck. They tucked her in a cargo net, which I thought was rather disrespectful, but practical.

  As we pulled up the power pole and started the motor, Tanner called back, “Don’t bring ‘em back to our shop. Family only needs to know they were found. We can drive their kids to the station if y’all want.”

  We never heard ‘em answer. But then again, they were a little preoccupied.

  Ω

  CHAPTER THREE

  We saw several gators on the way back in. They seemed normal enough, and the water, which had been black as coal right after that weird rain, was filtering through the mangroves and clearing up, just like nature intended.

  I was almost glad the boat was too loud to talk; I had no idea what to say. None of this junk seemed like somethin’ we could just put behind us, but how else to deal with it?

  Unless more people started turnin’ into those things, I guessed we’d play it by ear. All the same, I was pretty sure we hadn’t heard the last of it.

  We docked the boat and walked up to the store. It was now just before 5:00 PM, and when we pushed open the door, we were surprised to see the brother and sister still there, and Butch sittin’ on the seat beside ‘em.

  “The cops met us out on the water,” said Clay. “Did they ever show up here?”

  “Yeah. Officer Gentry and his new partner Meyers,” said Lilly. “Said they didn’t have room to drive them back, because they had some crazy guy in the cage.”

  “They ask ‘em questions?” I asked.

  “Yeah, they went through the whole thing. I sat here and listened. Sounds like it’s messed up out there.”

  I stared hard at her and jerked my head sideways toward the door, twice. She got the message.

  “Did you find our parents and grandpa?” asked the boy, before I could escape.

  “I’ll let Clay and Tanner tell you about that,” I said, and opened the door. Both of my brothers glared at me. Lilly walked outside, pulling a cigarette from her pack, and I followed.

  Outside, she lit her smoke and I said, “You ready for this?”

  “What?”

  “You’re gonna think I’m nuts.”

  “Already do, CB. What is it?”

  “I think … zombies.”

  “Fuck off.”

  “Serious.”

  “At least the smoke was a good reason to come out. Got anything real to say?”

  I went back to the door and yanked it open. “Tan, come out here.”

  Tanner excused himself and came outside with us.

  “What’d you tell the kid about his gramps?” I asked.

  Tanner shook his head. “I ignored him. So did Clay. It’s not my job to kill that kid’s hope that he still has family out there.”

  “Speakin’ of killin’ hope, tell Lilly what we saw out there.”

  He looked at me, then back to Lilly. “Pretty sure they were zombies. Nothing else they could be. I know it sounds crazy.”

  If you’ve never seen an eyeroll that could cause wind, you’ve never seen Lilly when she thinks people are fuckin’ with her.

  “Oh, shit!” said Tanner, pulling out his phone. “I took a couple pictures.”

  I stared at him. “I was so freaked out, I didn’t think about it. When did you take ‘em?”

  “When you spotted Ol’ Stanley carrying the dad by our boat.”

  “What?” said Lilly, her eyes wide now. “Ol’ Stanley killed someone?”

  Tanner held up his phone. He had a close shot from the waistline to the face of Mary Singer.

  “Oh, shit,” whispered Lilly, reaching for the phone. She zoomed in on the image. “Any others?”

  “Pictures or zombies?” asked Tanner.

  “Both?” she asked, rollin’ her eyes again.

  “There’s only that one and one I shot when Ol’ Stanley swam buy with the dad in his mouth.”

  “What?” asked Lilly again, unpinching the zoom back and swiping the screen left. “No way,” she breathed.

  Now I could see the color draining from her face. “Still think we’re lying?”

  “I recognize them,” said Lilly. “Her eyes are open.” She looked up, her eyes darting back and forth between me and Tan. “She was … moving?”

  “And growlin’,” I said.

  She zoomed in on the picture of Ol’ Stanley. Then she squinted and tried to zoom some more. “Is he … his arm’s out, like he’s reaching. Oh, my God … is he torn in half?”

  “All of him you see is all Stanley found, and yeah, those are his guts floatin’ behind him,” said Tanner. “And it sounds nuts, but yes, he was still alive-ish and reaching for us.”

  I said, “I doubt Stanley killed him. He’s more a hunter of opportunity these days.”

  “Was a hunter, etcetera, etcetera,” Clay added, as he too, came back out of the office.

  Lilly looked up. “What do you mean?”

  “Jerry, Todd and Sonya unloaded on Stanley when they saw him haulin’ the dad,” I said. “He’s dead.”

  “Well, fuck me!” said Lilly. “We have that ancient bastard’s image on every billboard between Naples and Miami!”

  “Seems like the least of our problems, Lil,” said Tanner. “But that said, it’s lucky all gators look alike to tourists. He probably only had a few good years left in him anyway.”

  Lilly appeared to be workin’ everything over in her mind. She looked up at us. “It had to have been some kind of nerve thing. He just looked alive.”

  “Believe what you want, Lil–”

  “Don’t show these pictures to those kids,” she interrupted, not accepting it at all.

  I cocked my head at her. “Just how goddamned dumb do you think we are?”

  She flicked her cigarette into a sand barrel outside the door, giving us a look that said we really didn’t want to know the answer.

  She went back inside.

  Ω

  We followed her inside. Brook and Will were in tears, and Lilly went right to ‘em and knelt down. She did what she does best, like some horse whisperer only for kids, takin’ them by the hands and speakin’ softly to ‘em. The words weren’t meant to be heard by anyone else, so they weren’t.

  Butch sat there, occasionally glancin’ at the three, but looking mostly lost in his thoughts.

  After the kids seemed mostly calmed, Lilly got each of ‘em a Sprite from our machine, and we excused ourselves, the four of us crammin’ into dad’s tiny office down the hall, just past the bathrooms.

  Lilly closed the door.

  “So, I don’t wanna be an asshole, but what are we gonna do with these kids and the longhair?” asked Clay.

  “Clay, the cops left ‘em here,” I said. “And his name’s Butch.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. Has to be after Butch Cassidy. He’s about the coolest Butch I can think of.”

  “No stupid, why’d they leave them with us?”

  Lilly said, “They said the car had a crazy guy in the back, and they couldn’t spare another cruiser. Plus, they don’t have any accommodations at the station.”

  “Their parents – hell, as far as we know, all their blood relations are dead. This isn’t our problem.” Clay looked between us.

  “So call ‘em a fuckin’ Uber,” I said. “Tell the driver their parents are zombie torsos and grandad’s out fly fishin’.”

  “What’s funny about this?” asked Lilly.

  I shook my head, allowin’ the proper amount of guilt to wipe the smirk from my face. I knew I should be scared, too. Bein’ a smartass was my defense mechanism, and it was workin’ like a well-oiled machine.

  “We’ll take them home with us tonight and figure so
methin’ out in the mornin’,” said Lilly. “I’m a tired-ass woman and this conversation’s getting us nowhere.”

  We knew better than to argue. We all started preparing our things to close up shop.

  Ω

  Lilly had brought her own car to the store that day, so me, Clay and Tanner took my Land Rover and left Lilly to deal with the kids. I let Tanner drive, because I was bone-tired.

  Now, before you get all impressed, let me clarify that my Rover’s a red, ‘95 Discovery, with a dent for every year the car is old.

  Yep. I call ‘er Red Rover. It was kinda funny when I told women I was comin’ over.

  Yeah, my Rover’s old, but because of my extreme acumen at workin’ on motors of all kinds, it runs like a top and the suspension makes hardly a squeal.

  It’s my other well-oiled machine.

  We live about thirty-five miles from our business, in Everglades City, like I said. There are plenty of other airboat tour companies within twenty miles of us, but like I said, my grandpa left the land in Timucua to my Pa, and we got the exclusive rights to run tours there.

  Grandfathered in, as it were.

  We were about ten miles into the drive when Tanner sucked in his breath, and his face got a pained look.

  “What’s up, man?” I asked, sittin’ in the front passenger seat.

  “Got a damned … feels like a whole-body cramp.”

  I could see his arms like, stiffenin’ up, and he was extendin’ his left leg. His right foot slipped off the gas pedal, and he jerked it back over and pressed the gas again. Now the Rover was jumpin’ in the lane like it was in the granny gear.

  “Pull over, man,” I said. “I’ll drive.”

  “Give it a min –” he started, but his words were cut off. Suddenly, his leg extended straight out and the Rover shot forward, gaining speed. Tanner was pushed back into the seat, his arms stiff as steel rods.

  “Tanner! Pull the fuck over!”

  Tanner couldn’t hear me. I leaned over and looked at the speedometer, and saw we were doin’ close to eighty miles an hour.

  “What’s wrong with him?” asked Clay.

  “Hell if I know!” I reached over and grabbed the steerin’ wheel, because I could see Tanner wasn’t watchin’ the road. Luckily, we were on a straight stretch of highway, and his arms looked locked.