by Damon Novak
I had to try to make her laugh. “You said Mr. Noodle.”
“Yes, so?”
“That’s my pet name for my –”
“CB! Watch out!” screamed Lilly.
I spun around in time to see big, dead daddy in the air, nasty-ass mouth wide open.
I hooked my arm around Georgie’s neck and pulled her down with me, as we narrowly escaped the snapping jaws. I felt and smelled the nasty breath, which carried with it all the decay and rot happenin’ inside that ancient reptile.
It had come to within two feet of our heads. He could’ve taken both of us out at once.
But now, about four feet of him, jaws still snappin’, hung over the edge of the containment pen, its underbelly flakin’ away as it struggled to get its front feet on the ground so it could gain purchase and forward momentum.
I scrambled to my feet, grabbed Georgie under the arms and pulled her about four feet farther away, droppin’ her right next to Lilly.
Then I pulled out my .45 and walked toward the monster, fast. He’d made it another eight inches or so out of the tank, and his feet were now only about two inches from the floor. I didn’t have any idea what he’d do if he hit the ground with all fours, but that wasn’t happenin’.
I held out my gun with both shakin’ hands and put a point-blank shot into its brain. The eleven-footer’s body went slack, and as the muscle-control left it and true death set in, the sharp claws just grazing the floor.
The thick body absorbed the huge round, leaving no exit wound. The body armor will do that to a bullet, which is why you gotta hit the sweet spot the first time. If you don’t, it’ll just piss ‘em off.
“My heart’s pounding,” said Georgie. “God, Cole. Thank you.”
“Thank Lilly. She saved us both. I can still smell that damned thing’s breath.”
I pulled both women off the floor. Lilly asked, “You alright?”
I nodded. “Yeah. Do me a favor. It’s clear in here, so keep an eye out, but while I hit the bathroom, you guys grab some of that honey, and if you can find a bag or two of oranges that are still good, get ‘em. Honey never goes bad, and we could use the vitamin C in the oranges.”
“Hurry,” said Georgie.
“I just wanna get back in Red Rover and hit the road.”
They turned toward the row of key lime-flavored candies, oranges and jars of different kinds of local Florida honey.
I kept extra rounds in my pocket, so I pulled out a few and popped my magazine to reload. My heart was still racin’ as I walked down the short hallway and checked the offices.
When I got there, the door was open. It had a small window in the middle of the wall, so I could see pretty well. I looked around, taking it in.
The laptop computers that were permanent fixtures on the two desks were gone. Phil always kept his cowboy hat on the hat rack just inside the door, and that was gone, too. One more thing I spotted told me the story.
The safe was open and emptied out. That made me feel better. I figured Elina and Phil had survived and got the hell outta Dodge, like we were doin’. Chances were, they were headed north. We’d be the only idiots headin’ down to the Florida Keys durin’ a zombie apocalypse.
Ω
CHAPTER NINETEEN
We left Gator Park at around 11:00 in the morning. To our relief, as we got closer and closer to Miami, we did see more cars, but nobody seemed interested in checkin’ on us, to see why we were still alive.
Nope. They were headin’ to their own safe havens, and I can’t say as I blamed ‘em. Most of ‘em were headin’ west, which would eventually turn north, and take ‘em outta Florida. If not for Georgie’s daughter, we’d be right there with ‘em.
The Ronald Reagan Turnpike, which was the primary route down to the Keys, would’ve taken us too close to Miami for comfort. Back in the old days, it was the smart choice, because the speed limits were way higher and you could drive a lot faster, but with the zombie problem, we were better off takin’ the 997 south.
It was Lilly’s idea, and I was with her. The 997 was one northbound and one southbound lane, with occasional passin’ lanes. It was nowhere as busy as the turnpike, and it was miles shorter. The turnpike and 997 converged in Homestead, Florida, and that’s when it changed to the South Dixie Highway.
It turned out it was a good choice. When I came up on crashed cars, I had businesses or driveways I could cut into to get around them, and I made it right through.
Don’t get me wrong; I saw some nasty shit along the way, and a lot of it turned my stomach. My Red Rover’s redder’n ever. The kinda red I want to wash off.
On the front of the Rover, there’s a 10,000-pound SmittyBilt winch, mounted under a steel tubular bumper I made myself. That means it’s beefy and near indestructible. I used a heliarc welder and stainless-steel tubes, so if you wanna talk overkill, let’s get into it.
A 4-inch diameter tube with thick walls and solid welds all around – none of that spot-weld shit for me. When I was done, assembling that, I welded on a quarter-inch thick aluminum skid plate that protected the underside of the radiator and motor.
Ain’t braggin’. Just sayin’ that when we had to run down the zombies, it wasn’t too hard on old Red Rover.
Red Rover, Red Rover, run that dead-eyed-motherfucker over.
It was my mantra, sort of. Anyway, after rollin’ over, smashin’ through or tearin’ apart about fifteen of the stinkers who I tried to avoid but who clearly couldn’t shake their death wishes, we cleared the 997 and merged onto Dixie Highway. From there, we’d drive about 20 miles to the Overseas Highway.
That’s when it stood to get real pretty. Turquoise blue and emerald green water, the smell of the sea drifting on the sub-tropical breeze, and … fuckin’ zombies.
Yeah. Almost left those shitheads outta the mix.
Again, I was a little surprised at just how few crashed and stopped cars we saw, and there were no traffic jams. That told me there wasn’t a ton of survivors.
We reached the Overseas Highway without a serious incident. I could see Georgie’s eyes brighten as she woke up from a nap to realize we were on the last road leading to her daughter.
“Wow. I must’ve been wiped out,” she said.
“Considerin’ I rammed into about four of the rotters since you went out, I’d say so,” I said.
Lilly turned in the front seat so she could see Georgie. “To be fair, he hit them with glancing blows, mostly. Plenty of warning.”
“I was tryin’ to make it exciting for her.”
“We’ve got quite enough unintentional excitement, thank you, sweet brother.”
I gave her a skewed look and shook my head. “Just crossin’ into Key Largo now, Georgie. Just about 95 miles to go.”
“About ninety-seven, actually,” said Georgie. “The Starbuck’s is the 95-mile mark.”
“You guys keep an eye out. Yell if you see anything comin’ out from either side. The tourists drive like idiots, and they were still here when this thing hit.”
“Which means they’re still here,” said Lilly.
“I think Nokosi has to go to the bathroom,” said Georgina. “She smells like pee.”
“Oh, that’s CB,” said Lilly, turning in her seat with a smile. “Don’t worry. You guys get together, you’ll get used to it.”
“Jesus, Lil!” I said. “That’s just gross.”
She whispered. “Just kidding. He doesn’t smell like pee.”
“I’ll pull over. Looks pretty clear for now. Got about 15 miles to Islamorada.”
I pulled the Rover over and into the parking lot of a place that sold 3 tee shirts for $10.00. There was a small marina next door, with two signs sticking out of the exterior, mounted over two doors. One said Sharks and the other said Dolphins.
“I think we can figure that out,” said Lil. “You take Nokosi for a pee.”
“Aye-aye,” I muttered, opening my door. “Take a gun, both of you,” I said, my mind on how fast Sonya had made her
final mistake. I kept my eyes on ‘em until each selected a handgun from a sack on the floor. I continued watchin’ as they both checked that the magazines were full.
“Hurry,” I said, pullin’ out my Winchester, still loaded with the ballistic Silvertip ammo. That was for my own security.
“Some things can’t be rushed, Cole,” said Georgie, giving me a smile as she got out.
I saw the nerves in her face relaxing, the closer we got to her daughter. I only hoped she was still safe. I didn’t want to have to console her if Roxy was dead – or worse, if she had become one of those monsters. I watched until they both disappeared inside the room marked Dolphins.
I went to get out, but thought it wise to check the perimeter again. Two parking lots over, there was a man shuffling around aimlessly. A moment later, another joined him, but seein’ as how they weren’t alive anymore, they didn’t engage in any conversation.
I looked around and realized that the staining from the black rain was gone, for the most part. It was the first place there was hardly any. You could still see remnants of it on some of the exterior walls, but the flat surfaces were pretty much clear from several pounding rains that regularly cleansed the Florida Keys and everything on them.
Opening the back door, I took the rope leash as Nokosi jumped out, taking only two steps away from the Rover before squatting in the gravel.
“Sorry, girl,” I said. “You had to go bad. Now I feel like an asshole.”
A sudden pain shot across my head and I reached up to touch the tender spot where I’d slammed it into the dock that morning, or was it yesterday? So much had happened since then already, I was already losing track of the hours and days that had passed.
The zombie apocalypse was a lot like retirement, as it turned out. You lose track of what day it is; much less what time it is.
Suddenly, Nokosi started barking. Loud and shrill. She grew so frantic in such a short time that I’d begun to wonder if she had a touch of PTSD. She’d lost her keeper, whoever that’d been. Then she’d lost Sonya, whom she’d met before, and who wore the uniform she was used to.
Now it was just us. We didn’t wear uniforms. We were the civilian population she normally went after – when commanded to do so.
I held her leash and spotted what she saw; there was a group of at least ten or twelve of the shamblin’ dead things movin’ in my direction from around a kiosk that rented kayaks and personal watercraft. Hell, I even saw a few of those battery-powered sea-scooters.
The temperature outside was around 85 degrees Fahrenheit. The undead members of the horde were dressed accordingly, in swim trunks, cargo shorts or summer dresses, and brightly-colored tees or tropical print button-down shirts.
Some wore single sandals, others were barefoot. None seemed to mind the sharp gravel pokin’ into their feet.
I hate it when I fuck up, and that’s what I’d done. I hadn’t pulled the Rover close to the restrooms, because I wanted to be able to make a quick exit. Now I had a goddamned gaggle of stinkers about forty yards away.
The Rover was about twenty-five yards back from the restrooms.
I need to run, I thought. I couldn’t let them get between me and the truck – and my rifle.
I got on the move, pullin’ Nokosi away from them, back to the Rover. I turned around and saw the women hadn’t come out yet, so I leaned in and hit the horn, two quick taps. It blared louder than I expected. Normally I’m inside with the air on and the windows rolled up when I do that.
At the blare of the horn, the dead-eyed horde picked up speed, now all starin’ my way. They weren’t fast by any stretch of the imagination, but they were movin’ steadily forward.
I jerked my head back toward the bathrooms, my heart pickin’ up speed and my trouble sensors flashin’ like lights at a railroad crossin’. It seemed like more time had passed, but Lilly and Georgina had probably only been in there a couple of minutes.
Right about that moment, Nokosi bolted. I’d been movin’ my eyes between the bathroom door and the approachin’ horde, so I didn’t notice that German Shepherd inchin’ forward, pullin’ up the slack in the dock line I was usin’ for a leash.
So, when she leapt from a standin’ start into a run, the rope slipped easily from my sweaty right hand, and now dragged behind her.
“Nokosi!” I yelled, reachin’ into the truck to grab my rifle. I ran after her, but she was chuggin’ along at full speed, her hind legs tuckin’ completely under her body as she ran at the raggedy group.
When she was just about six feet away, she leapt into the air, creatin’ a zombie domino effect. She hit the front dude, a shirtless, gray-skinned man with the same clouded eyes as all the others. He toppled backward into a boy of maybe ten years, and he tripped the woman behind him when he fell.
Nokosi’s mouth found the neck of one of them, and she clamped down hard, shaking her head side-to-side. Releasing that one, she found the leg of another and tore into it, ripping the gray flesh from over the kneecap.
I ran toward them, trying to force myself not to fire until I was close enough to take them out with a clean head shot, but my heart was slammin’ in my chest and vibratin’ my brain. I raised the scope to my eye and fired, again and again.
I drew to within fifteen feet of the horde, now hindered by the dog bringin’ so many of ‘em down. They became their own speed bumps, staggerin’ and fallin over one another, like squirmin’ pick-up-sticks soakin’ in putrid, coagulatin’ blood and tissue.
Nokosi ran around as though impervious to attack, alternately rippin’ and tearin’ at their flesh; she seemed to be in an uncontrolled frenzy, and I worried that if any of us got near her, she would tear into us as well. I may not be the smartest dude out there, but I thought it was a valid concern.
I heard somethin’ slam behind me, and jerked my head around to see the women chargin’ out of the bathroom, both with rifles raised. My gunfire had apparently brought every undead resident of whichever goddamned Key I was on out for some sunshine.
In short, I was glad for the help.
“Nokosi!” yelled Georgie from behind me. “Ab jetzt!”
To my utter surprise, the German Shepherd released the neck of the rotter she’d been tearin’ into, and casually trotted toward us. Damned dog was almost waggin’ its tail.
I figured this was what they trained for.
“Schnell!” called Georgie, and the police dog ran toward her. I spun around to see her open the door of the Rover, and the dog jumped inside.
She leaned in for something afterward, but I turned again and took out two more of the reeking dead, silencing their choking growls permanently.
To my left, Lilly now fired slowly and methodically, takin’ careful aim before pullin’ the trigger of her gun. She was good.
I heard footfalls behind me and turned to find Georgie runnin’ up, the Standard Manufacturing DP-12 in her hand.
“You’re out of ammo,” she said.
“How do you know?” I asked, raising the rifle again to fire on the horde, only to have it click on an empty chamber.
I turned back, impressed. “Here!” she said, holding out the weapon. “I counted from your first shot. You told me earlier that gun only held five rounds.”
I slung my rifle to my back and took the shotgun. “Thanks!” I was back in business, and we were down to about ten to twelve rotters left.
With the three of us firin’, we made short work of ‘em. Some that drew to within three or four yards of us seemed to hit a wall of lead, the pellets from the shotgun rounds perforating their heads, blowing out their eyes and generally scrambling their already demented brains.
The DP-12 was takin’ down two at a time with its scatter, and it wasn’t long before the parkin’ lot was just a pile of dead bodies and a massive draw for the countless flies. The cold innards of the twice dead blotted the hot asphalt of the parkin’ lot, and I swore I could smell meat cookin’ by the time we were done.
Without a word, we all glanced a
t one another, nodded, and turned back toward our ride, leavin’ the rancid, zombie meat to slow-cook in the Florida sun.
I could hear Nokosi barking from inside the Rover as we approached it, and I laid the shotgun in the boat as the ladies got inside the car.
“I’ll be right back,” I said. “Never know when you’ll need stuff like this.”
“Like what?” asked Georgie, but I was too far away already to answer. I held up one finger and continued runnin’ toward the kiosk with the kayaks and sea-scooters.
I grabbed three of the scooters, amazed at how light they were. I jogged them back across the lot to the boat and dropped them in. Running back, I went inside the little open kiosk and grabbed three of the batteries connected to now-dead charging stations.
Turnin’ to see two more zombies approachin’ in the distance, I got a move on, puttin’ the batteries in the boat with the scooters. I jumped inside the Rover and fired the engine. The gas was showin’ we were down to ¼ tank.
Lilly noticed. “You need to dump a couple of the cans in?”
“I’ll wait until we clear outta here,” I said. “We’ve made a racket, so more of those bastards will be here soon, I’m sure.”
I piloted the Rover and the boat trailer around the pile of dead bodies, and rolled out of the parking lot back onto Overseas Highway. Plenty of them still squirmed in the ruins of their bodies, but they weren’t our problem anymore.
The lanes ahead were mostly clear, but there were still obstructions here and there that kept our speed around 45 miles per hour or less. Besides the dead things comin’ back to life – man and gator alike – I think I was most amazed at how fast the brush and foliage grew when untended. It had literally only been five days since this started, and in the warm Florida climate, you could already see that they hadn’t been tended. I could see how nature would reclaim all we’d built in a matter of a few years.
Then it hit me, and I wondered if it wouldn’t be best for the mess we made to just disappear into the weeds.
Yeah, we’ve done a lot of good for our fellow humans. Just our increased lifespan tells me that. But at what cost? Everything we’ve done to extend or improve our lives hurt somethin’ else on this planet, right? Sure. We find a new plant that cures somethin’, and we wipe it out, harvestin’ it.
