by James Barton
Spreaders seem to cough on the living and immediately flee or move towards next person.
Those infected by spreaders turn when they fall asleep.
Do spreaders create more spreaders or regular zombies?
The blood of spreaders seems to be highly pressurized, allowing them to projectile vomit or sneeze it onto others.
Striking one seems to spray the attacker, avoid at all cost.
We turned down the road that led to the trailer park and something made me feel nervous. My stomach began to turn as I visualized walking inside our trailer only to be ambushed by crazed rednecks. “Let’s drive past it first to see if there is anything there,” I said.
Harvey nodded and drove past the entrance to the park, which would allow us to see it from the road. We slowed down as we passed some of the trees and our home came into view. As it came into view, I could see that it was still standing, undamaged. As we passed the trees and got a better look, a large black truck came into view. It had a giant spotlight and two people milling about the yard. There was a third person leaned up against the truck smoking a cigarette, a rifle propped up beside him. The bearded man was facing us and I couldn’t help but have a terrified look of surprise on my face. He raised his head and we locked eyes.
He looked confused and hesitated to react. Each second transformed into an eternity and I kept saying over and over in my head “Just go back to what you were doing, nothing to see here.” I didn’t hear him, but he extended his arm at us and started shouting at the others. They ran back to the truck and one exited the house, four of them total. In a matter of seconds they were in the truck and the roar of the engine drowned out my thoughts. We were still moving around 15 mph, but it felt more like a crawl. I turned my head and screamed.
“GO!” It was all I could muster and it shook Harvey out of his trance. He floored it and my head slammed back into the headrest as we accelerated.
“They have to go around, so we have a 30-second head start,” I said with my voice shaking.
“It’s a station wagon, we can’t outrun them,” he said nervously.
“We know these roads better, I hope. Just turn, we can’t let them catch us on a straightaway,” I said while pointing at the first intersection. Harvey listened and cranked the vehicle to the left, heading down a small road through a nice neighborhood. This road extended in a straight line for about a mile. We had to make another turn, we had to hide. There was a small road that dipped down into the woods and curved around to a clearing. It was private property, but as a kid I used to explore all of the woods back there and knew my way around. Two car lengths into the path and there was a chain with a private property sign.
“Turn there and stop at the chain,” I said while pointing at the turn.
“I don’t like this, but I don’t have anything better,” Harvey said and cut the car hard again to the left. I opened the door before he even came to a stop and flung myself outside to move the chain. My legs shook like soft rubber, but somehow I still moved towards the chain. I grabbed it and unhooked it from the splintering post. Harvey barely even waited for me to move the chain before he blasted past me. He came to a stop and I slid the chain back into the post.
As I began to pivot towards the car, I caught a humanoid figure in my peripheral vision in the woods just outside the path. My body had been going on autopilot and while I wasn’t always proud of the results, I jumped up an inch out of fear and just bolted towards the car.
“Drive, drive, drive!” I screamed as I flung myself into the passenger seat. I grabbed the handle and slammed the door a second before a bloody hand slapped up against the window.
“Shit!” Harvey said while flooring it. The car spun momentarily, spitting mud behind it in heaps. The zombie pressed its face up against the glass, biting at it with its decaying teeth. He fell clumsily to the ground as we sped off down the trail. As the path twisted and turned, we drove for only about thirty seconds before reaching the small clearing. In the clearing was simply grass, a few cut down trees, an old washing machine, and even a ratty, blue tarp that had faded in the weather. It was my old fortress from when I was a kid! I couldn’t believe it was still there. We drove into the center of the clearing and cut the car off.
“Do you think they saw us?” Harvey asked.
“I don’t think so. Maybe they went straight at that intersection. I think we are pretty well hidden here. I put the chain back up at least.”
“Oh, well in that case we are saved, that chain is an impenetrable line of defense,” Harvey said sarcastically.
“Thanks, sarcasm really helps right now,” I responded.
So there we sat, in a station wagon, defenseless in the woods. Zombies were surely closing in on the sounds we had made; all while angry hunters were, well, hunting us. We had no other choice but to wait.
“Do you think they knew we lived there?” I asked.
“I hope not. I bet they attack any car on the road.”
“I hope so. If it isn’t personal they probably won’t search for long,” I said.
“I guess…”
So we laid the seats back and tried to stay calm for 30 minutes or so. We needed to wait for that black truck to give up.
“Yeah, but I still think that a rogue with two poisoned daggers can do more damage than a monk with flaming fists,” I argued with Harvey on the finer points of Megaquest.
“Well, either way, the Shadowknight can beat them all because he has heavy armor to block their hits and he uses a huge sword, end of story,” he retorted with a hint of boredom in his voice.
“Rargh,” the zombie outside moaned while running its mouth against Harvey’s window.
“That might be true, but a wizard could take him down with one fireball,” I continued. The zombie was still lightly scratching its ragged nails against the window and biting at the air.
“I don’t know, man. It’s hard to think with this thing eye-raping me for the past ten minutes.”
“Yeah, he’s creeping me out, too,” I responded.
There was a thud and the car shook as a second zombie threw itself into my window. It was a middle-aged man, or at least it used to be. He had pressed his face up against the glass and peered in with a large jittering eye. I noticed he was wearing a black Grateful Dead shirt. I busted out laughing.
“What?” Harvey asked.
“Look at his shirt,” I said still laughing.
Harvey looked over and it took a moment, then he too was laughing. It seemed to agitate the dead more.
“Grateful Dead, how ironic,” I said to myself while jotting more notes into my book.
Sat in car, zombies came right to us from nowhere. They seem to be able to hear us and maybe even see us, but are not quite frenzied to get to us. Maybe a combination of senses is required for them to put it all together. While I believe they have the strength to break the windows they seem to lack the skill of focusing that strength. What they do not lack is determination; they have been mewing at the window for 20 minutes without looking away.
“Man, it’s hot in here; can you roll your window down so we can get some air?” I asked sarcastically.
“Har, har, good one.”
I looked at my watch; at least an hour had passed.
“I guess we should try to get to Main Street,” I said.
“Yeah I’m ready,” he said and waved goodbye to the zombie at his window. He turned the key and the engine struggled and failed to start. He let go of the key and we looked at each other in desperation. He took a deep breath and turned the key one more time and it struggled, puttered, and finally came to life.
“Oh, man that scared me,” I said putting my hand over my heart.
“Me too,” he said while staring blankly out the front window. The engine was rumbling and caused our two friends to become more agitated. They went from softly pawing at the windows to actually biting it with some force. Their teeth made a horrible clicking sound when they hit the glass. “You’re pissin
g them off,” I said as he put it in drive and left them reaching and shambling behind us.
“At least I’m good for something,” he replied while wiping his brow with his sleeve.
As we slowly continued down the path, Harvey looked over a little worried and asked me a question. “If they were spreaders, do you think they would cough into the air intake?”
“Would they?” I said back. I pondered on this for a moment and thought that the stuff they spit out seemed mostly liquid. I had no clue if there was any vapor component that we could breathe in.
“Honestly? I think they could, and it might infect us. I just don’t think they would. I mean, they don’t seem fully engaged with us. They think something is here, but they aren’t, I don’t know how to say it, fully in attack mode. I doubt it would spit on a car, let alone the perfect spot to get inside,” I said, trying to reassure both Harvey and myself.
“I hope you’re right,” he said and took a deep breath.
We drove through the short winding pass and back up to the chain. From what little view we had, it was undisturbed and there were no vehicles on the road. We looked at each other as the car came to a stop. “I got it last time,” I said.
“I’m driving, that doesn’t make any sense for me to do it,” Harvey replied.
“What do you mean? I can just take over driving,” I said.
“Nope, only I drive Betty. You better hurry, I think I hear them catching up to us,” Harvey said teasing.
“Ugh, fine. I don’t know which is worse though, that you named your car or that you named it Betty.”
I got out and moved slowly, scanning the dense foliage for movement. I listened for footsteps, but the engine drowned out all the subtle sounds. I grabbed the chain and unhooked it from the post. I made a little bow to Harvey and he made an uppity clapping impersonation from inside. When I came up from my bow I saw the Grateful Dead, eight paces from my door.
I froze. I used to love math, it was one of my favorite subjects, but at this moment numbers that made no sense flashed into my head. Eight paces … I’m three paces from the door; the time I need to open the door is X … or is it Y? Only, he didn’t waste time on math, he simply kept moving forward, exploiting my hesitation. Then he got close enough to put together his trifecta of senses. Whatever it was that set them off … happened.
He threw his arms backwards and unleashed a horrid gurgling scream into the sky. It was terrifying. My machete was at my side and my friend was in the car, so it was fight or flight time. So this time, without hesitation, I ran like hell onto the road. I hit the pavement and sprinted faster than ever before. When you are running for your life you never look back. You just don’t do it, because it slows you down and leaves you vulnerable to tripping. That is practically one of the prime rules to surviving a horror movie, but like the movies, I did it anyways. I couldn’t help it, I had to know. The zombie was not even close to keeping up, but his pace was still impressive. He was moving at an arm flailing jog about a third of my full out sprint pace.
At the moment, that was somewhat comforting, but I pushed it as hard as I could. It seemed that spreaders had the swollen necks, but I couldn’t remember if he had that or not. I just ran and ran until the pain in my legs started to become unbearable and I was gasping for air. Finally, right as I was starting to succumb to a slower pace, the station wagon jetted up beside me and matched my pace. I jerked at the handle and swung the door open, still jogging alongside it. I flung myself into the seat and shut the door. I threw on my seatbelt and breathed heavily. I turned around and looked out the back window. Even as we drove 40mph down the small road, I could see Mr. G slowly disappearing from view. Even as he faded from my sight he never let up, his pace remained constant.
I glanced over, still catching my breath. Harvey turned to me with a look that seemed confused on whether to console me or laugh at me. I took enough deep breaths to pull myself together and slumped in the seat holding my chest.
“I never liked their music anyways,” I muttered.
“Me either, Man,” Harvey chuckled and handed me a bottle of water.
We weaved our way through back roads and luckily saw no signs of the black truck. We made it to Main Street. This street ran all the way to the beach bridge and the other direction went past Allmart. Along this road were probably 30 or more restaurants and stores. Now we weren’t stupid, we imagined that all of these places we inhabited and guarded. I started to wonder what we had expected to find. At this point, even just a building with a low profile and a sturdy door would be a blessing.
This road was like the others, with the vehicles shoved to the shoulder. All of them showed some kind of blunt damage from whatever pushed them aside. We passed a jeep with a spare tire cover that read “Zombie Outbreak Response Team” with a half skeletal head icon and two rifles crossing the image. Funny, I had wanted to get a bumper sticker like that for my car. As we passed the jeep, the driver, still firmly strapped into his seat, clawed and grabbed for us as we drove past. Well, he got what he wanted, to live in this adventurous world, if only briefly.
We passed about six places and all of them had blankets, sheets, or other makeshift signs designed with spray paint. “No food only bullets,” “Trespassers will be shot,” “Alive inside,” and “Back off.” I hadn’t expected a warm welcome, but this was depressing. Now, as we drove along, we noticed that zombies were congregating in front of a lot of these buildings. Some peeled off and started to follow us. We had begun to make a conga-line of stragglers. We drove past a few more buildings, all of them sporting signs warning the living to stay away.
“Looks like a friendly bunch of people,” I started to say sarcastically before being cut off. The vehicle jerked and lost its momentum. We both felt ourselves push against our seatbelts as our speed began to decline.
“Oh shit,” Harvey stammered while pumping the gas pedal. We were losing speed and started coasting down the main road. Harvey was frantically messing with anything he thought would help and the engine struggled and whined. I looked out the window and saw that undead were closing in from all over. I easily counted at least twenty moving right for us.
“If we can’t get it started, we are going to have to run,” I said with a shaky voice.
He kept cussing to himself and continued to try to get it to start. Betty wasn’t coming back to life and we were now coasting under 10mph.
“C’mon! C’mon!” Harvey pleaded, smacking at the control panel. He turned the key one last time and the engine kicked and made a terrible metal on metal screech before dying completely. He winced as the sound echoed down the road. It immediately drew the attention of practically every zombie.
“We have to go,” I said while shaking his arm.
He looked at me, all the color gone from his face, “Where?”
“I don’t know,” I replied while opening my door. I ran around to the trunk and grabbed a duffel bag and threw it on my back. Harvey came around the side completely shaken.
“You are taking the bags, but they will slow us…,” he stuttered before having a zombie present itself five feet away. He stumbled backwards and fired the shotgun without really aiming. The blast tore a huge chunk of the zombie’s stomach away and sent it sprawling onto the ground. The sound of the gunshot shook him free of his fear. The zombie lay on the ground, reaching slowly at the air. Harvey got his determination back and threw on his pack.
I frantically scanned the surrounding areas and the undead were everywhere. Ahead of us, down the road was the least saturated path, so we trudged forward. “We have nowhere to go. We have to see if anyone will let us in. Stay two lengths apart and we work together,” I called out.
Harvey nodded and we made our way down the road. The zombies were matching our speed, if we slowed down or hesitated a wave of them would crash over us. Ahead of us were a couple singles moving our way. The first one approached and my whole body went numb from fear and adrenaline. The woman with oversized sunglasses dove for Har
vey. He kicked at her, pushing her square in the stomach and sending her flailing backwards a step. As she flailed for balance, I stepped behind her and struck her firmly in the back of the neck. She fell face first onto the road shaking and screeching. I felt proud of our success and wanted to give a high-five, but I quickly came back to my senses. That was only one kill against an endless army.
“Three up ahead!” I exclaimed.
Harvey raised the shotgun, aimed, and fired. The zombie in the middle lost the top half of its head and its face transformed into a red cratered mess. The zombie on the left took some shards of buckshot in the arm, but didn’t slow down. He switched to his machete and we both prepared for the attack. They split up, coming at us one-on-one. The younger man in a high school band t-shirt came at me, arms wind-milling forward. I stepped back and made a defensive swing of the machete. It struck one of the flailing arms and glanced off, causing no real effect. Both arms were still swinging through the air, grasping and clawing. I could just envision one of those ragged finger nails, running across my face, ever so slightly breaking the skin. I panicked and front kicked at him. I misjudged the distance and barely hit him with any real force. It latched onto my leg with both hands and leaned in to bite. There was a cracking sound as Harvey put the machete into the back of its head. It released its grasp and I shook it loose.
“I owe you one,” I said. We scurried over to the Taco Mill and there was a man standing on the roof with a rifle. I couldn’t make out his appearance, but as I got closer I started to wave my arms.
“We need help,” I shouted.
“Back off,” he replied.
“We have food,” I called out.
He raised his rifle and without saying a word shot the entrance sign three feet to my left.
“Ain’t no help for you here,” he yelled.
I opened my mouth to try to reason with him, but Harvey pulled me away. We continued down the road, looking back every few steps to see a horde of wandering dead following us. They were in that first stage, they hadn’t locked onto us, but they sure as hell were getting closer. We had been making a lot of noise and drew a lot of attention, from both the dead and the living. Most residents kept their guns trained on us and made it clear that we were not welcome. At the fried chicken joint, they actually shot at us a few times with no warning. I wondered if those were warning shots or they wanted our rucksacks. After a couple misses they stopped and went back inside.
