Zombie Complex | Book 1 | The Battle For Chattahoochee Run

by Pain, Alexander

  Chapter 54

  As we watched out through the blinds, we could see lots of zombies milling around on the entry road and walking down into the parking lot. In the meantime, the flames in the woods across the parking lot were spreading. Thick underbrush and pine straw added fuel to the fire. While a fence and a ravine separate the complex from most of the burning woods, some of the zombies walked into the blaze that was inside the complex and walked out on fire. Other zombies made it down from the main road, through the woods, and into the blaze. A few emerged and made it to the chain link fence separating the bulk of the woods from the complex. There they stopped, pushed on the fence, and burned. It was a horrible sight, but they never screamed.

  A few Zombies wandered into the fires burning in the portion of the woods that fell inside the complex. They too burned. But, there was no fence to stop them. Instead, they wandered randomly. Some wandered in circles. Others wandered off into the woods or stumbled into the ravine. But, the remaining few wandered straight down into the complex. As they got closer and closer to our building and the line of bungalow studio apartments that lay perpendicular to the entrance road, we realized that we would have to intervene. As they came closer and closer, it was obvious that they would wander into the buildings and set them on fire. We wait and watch and then SWAT COP stepped out on the balcony and shot them down whenever they got into threatening distance.

  “Do you think Dale is o.k.?” Karen asked in a low voice.

  “Oh lord,” I said. “I hope so.”

  If the front woods were on fire, it stood to reason that the woods in the middle of the complex might also be on fire. We needed to check and we needed to get our dog. I wandered over to SWAT Cop Larry.

  “Larry,” I said. “We need to get back to our building.”

  “Why?” he asked incredulously. “Do you see what’s out there?”

  “If the woods across the street are on fire,” I said. “The woods behind our building might be on fire.”

  “Oh crap! That’s where I keep my ammunition, my other weapons, and my gear.”

  “Hey guys,” I told the young Indians. “The three of us need to get back to our building. You guys can stay here and watch the front.”

  “Sure,” one of them said. “We don’t have anything in our buildings. We are just here temporarily. We can stay here and watch the elders.”

  The next big question was how we would escape from the building and the monsters in the hall. Fortunately, the answer was easy. Karen was looking through the peephole and saw nothing. The breezeway seemed clear. We opened the door and heard the crackling fire. The breezeways were hazy and the smoke was thick. The fire light from across the parking lot cast eerie shadows through the breezeway railings. It was a strange feeling to see the hallway empty so we moved through the doorway with caution. As we moved towards the stairs, we looked across the interior courtyard of the building and saw Marcus and the Morehouse Men standing on the same level as us across the court yard.

  They smiled and gave us a thumbs up. We walked over to the rails facing them and looked down. The mystery of the empty hallways was solved. The courtyard was now filled with the shattered bodies of the zombies. They had been distracted by the Morehouse Men, rushed towards them en masse, and simply fell over the railing as they walked mindlessly towards their prey. It was an elegant way to clear a hallway and it reminded us that our Zombie foes were truly devoid of consciousness.

  We made our way down to the ground floor with our weapons at the ready. When we got to the courtyard, the sight was horrific. Two dozen zombies were splayed about the courtyard. Some had bashed their brains in the fall, others had legs and arms twisted in unnatural positions. The red brick walkway had turned nearly blackish crimson with their blood. When they saw us, they turned and gnashed their teeth, and tried to maneuver on their shattered limbs into some sort of position for a bite. We made short work of them with our blades and clubs.

  We dashed across the courtyard and up the steps to the Morehouse Men. We were not alone and we were not beaten. We had simply been driven to take shelter from the horde. Greetings were quick. There was more work to do.

  “What’s the situation with the woods behind our building?”

  “There are some brush fires on the wooded south side that are quickly spreading north into the complex,” Marcus answered.

  “It looks like the highway sound barrier stopped many of the fireworks from getting into the complex on the east side near our building,” he continued. “But, there are some flames in the woods running right along the barrier.”

  “We have no idea,” another Morehouse student interjected, “about what is happening on the north side of the complex.”

  “Shoot,” Marcus said. “As many fireworks as they shot, there has to be fire.”

  “We have to get back our apartment,” Karen said emphatically. “I think our building could catch any minute.”

  Chapter 55

  We agreed to leave Marcus, Preston, and the Morehouse Men in the C building to guard the clinic. Our mission was to make sure our building wasn’t on fire, check on Sabrina, check on the dog, get more ammunition, and get back to clean out the complex again. It sounded simple. But, the horde of zombies in the front of the complex was so thick, we wouldn’t be able to use the main drag to get back around to our apartment. Instead, we’d have to go cross country.

  Cross country meant down into the ravine that ran between the front and the back of the complex. As we set out the back, the skies were still dark and foreboding, flames were to our right, and we could see that the parking lot across the ravine was full of zombies.

  “It might be better to stay in the woods,” Karen suggested. “And come up directly behind our building.”

  “Good idea,” SWAT Cop suggested.

  “Let’s skirt the back of this building,” I added, “and come out by the picnic table.”

  We made our way down the stairs to the terrace level and out the back of the building. I felt a drop of rain on my cheek and hoped rain was coming soon. There was a seldom used path that ran right behind the building. We never used it for dog walking in order to give ground floor people their privacy. But, maintenance men, landscapers, and pitbull owners used it from time to time. There was nothing to see behind the building. So, we quickly made our way up to the next rear entrance to the building. It offered a totally darkened corridor than ran into and beneath the building. If we took the hallway, we would be totally hidden from outside observers. However, even in the days with electricity and before zombies, it was a very creepy corridor. I took a deep breath and entered the hall way. I made it passed the staircase leading up into the building and to the corner of the hallway. Across from me in the upper corner of the corridor was a small 1-foot diameter convex mirror. It was too help residents see what was around the corner on good days. On a bad night like this, I noticed a faint glimmer of light in that mirror. Someone was at the far end of the hallway with a lighter. That someone was smoking.

  My heart skipped a beat. Who were they? I motioned for everyone to get up against the wall. SWAT Cop immediately flattened himself against the wall. But, Karen had bypassed an entire era of Vietnam War movies in favor of romantic comedies and 80s teen movies. I told her to shush and pushed her up against the wall.

  “Don’t push me . . .”

  “Ssssh . . .”

  “Don’t take that tone!”

  “Shaddup. Someone’s down there.”

  “O.K., you could have just said that.”

  I returned to the peek around the corner and the people were still there. There were two or three of them. I could even see that they had some sort of AK-variant rifle. We had a lot of different weapons, but no AK-47. At least, we had no AK-47 that I could remember. I motioned for SWAT Cop Larry to come over.

  “Dude,” I said. “Give me thirty seconds and then shoot those guys.”

  I dropped the magazine from the Glock, checked to see that I still had bullets, an
d reinserted it. I was really nervous.

  “I’ll be right back,” I told Karen.

  Then I ran around the corner and hoofed it down the footpath towards the end of the building. As I got within ten feet of the end, I slowed down and tried to be sneaky. If no one hostile was in any of the rear-facing terrace level apartments, I would be able to surprise the little group.

  At the corner of the building, I had the Glock at a low ready position gripped in both hands in front of me. I brought the pistol up into a standard shooting position and stepped out from the corner to see as much as I could of the picnic area at the end of the building and of the walkway leading around to the side entry to the terrace level corridor. I tried to see “pie wedges” of area and angle so that I could see the entrance to the hallway. Unfortunately, there was a large bush blocking my view. The choice was stark. I could either expose myself and take a shot at them or wait for them to emerge and then engage in a gun battle.

  Suddenly shots rang out from the hallway and two guys ran out of the corridor. One had growing bloodstains on his pants and shirt. I rounded the corner and started firing. I tried two shots and one and then two shots at the other. I focused on the center torso on each target, squeezed the trigger, and in a flash both men dropped.

  “We got ‘em!” I yelled careful not to actually cross in front of the opening to the terrace level corridor.

  “We clear?” SWAT Cop inquired from the down the hall.

  Thunder rolled in the clouds above us. Drowning out everything and a breeze kicked up blowing smoke and embers everywhere. Lightning flashed in the skies above.

  “Yes, we’re clear!” I yelled. “We’re clear!”

  Karen and Larry ran down the corridor and emerged out into the small picnic area just as the skies opened up and torrential rains poured down in sheets. Lightning crackled across the sky and unleashed thunderous booms. I was getting ridiculously wet, but I did a quick search of the two guys I killed. I snagged two semi-automatic pistols, two knives, and a satchel of granola bars before retreating into the hallway. A really quick search of the guy we killed in the corridor provided an AK-47, four full magazines, and a backpack filled with fireworks. We sheltered in the corridor, looking out at the rain, and pondering our next move. With the rains knocking down the fire, some of the urgency for a trip back to our building was gone.

  “What was up with the fireworks bag,” Larry wondered aloud.

  “That must have been to lure the dead further into the complex,” Karen replied.

  “What did they bring?” I asked.

  We focused on the backpack and saw that it contained rockets and M-80s and fire crackers. There was lots of stuff and a couple of long grill lighters to boot. As we sorted through our booty and reflected on the wisdom of the elderly Indian man, a plan started to come together in my brain. We had found a lot with our quick search of the dead guys. But, we had also missed something very important on them: bite marks.

  While we had holstered our weapons and were taking inventory, the backpacks former owner opened his eyes. While we unzipped and re-zipped various compartments, the dead man’s hands slid across the floor. When we were discussing the merits of various rockets, he sat up. We looked out at the torrential rains and the howling wind and were amazed. He stood up and mastered his ability to move. He turned, reached out his hands, and walked towards us. Then a lightning bolt hit a tree right across the picnic area from us. We all jumped and recoiled backwards right into our new dead friend.

  The bloody zombie grabbed SWAT Cop Larry by the back of his tactical vest and pulled him backwards for a bite. His teeth sank deep into our neighbors shoulder and he continued to chomp on him. The only saving grace might have been that Larry’s tactical vest was pretty thick. Apparently, unsatisfied with his initial taste, the Zombie tried for the more exposed neck for additional bites. I could see that the ghastly creature wanted Larry’s neck and I threw myself forward. I drove my right forearm into the zombie’s throat and slammed him back into the wall of the corridor. I tried to separate our dead attacker from his living victim with my left arm using a swim move that would make any defensive lineman proud. It worked and Larry spun off a little further down the same wall.

  Behind me, Karen was waving her .22 semi-automatic rifle around yelling for me to move out of the way. That wasn’t happening because I wasn’t going to let up pressure on the zombie and inadvertently let my forearm get within bite range. Instead, I looked into the bloodshot eyes of the dead man and grabbed my Bowie knife from my belt. I’d like to say I was smooth, but it is very hard to unsnap the strap on a sheath while maneuvering a gnashing and thrashing Zombie. I fumbled at it a bit before getting the big knife out and plunging it straight into the zombies brain. The fury left his eyes, he went limp, and dropped straight to the floor.

  “Dude, Dude, Dude,” I yelled. “Did he get you? Did he get you?”

  “I think he did,” Larry said over and over.

  It seemed like we were tugging at nylon straps forever before we could pull the vest back and take a look at Larry’s shoulder. Some of the teeth had indeed been stopped by the nylon straps of Larry’s hydration backpack and by the thickness of the vest material in the shoulder. But, “some teeth” was not “all teeth.” A row of bloody tooth marks on Larry’s shoulder told a story none of us wanted to hear. At some point, the zombie’s teeth had straddled the reinforcing nylon shoulder strap of the vest and sank deeply into Larry’s shoulder.

  “I’m sorry man,” I said shaking my head. “He did get you.”

  Karen rushed forward with an alcohol wipe and rubbed it across Larry’s bare shoulder.

  “Maybe this will help?” she said. “It has to help.”

  “Now,” Larry winced. “I’m really, really, pissed.”

  He stood up and waved us away. His face was a mixture of fury and of pain. He knew that his fate was sealed.

  “Dammit! Dammit! Dammit!” he said gathering up the dead guy’s AK-47 and stuffing the magazines into the many pockets of his vest. When he was done, he stood up, slung his AR on his shoulder, inserted a fresh magazine into the AK, and racked the slide. Then, he turned and walked out into the diminished rain.

  He turned to us and yelled, “When I am done, y’all need to find me and finish me!”

  Larry was a hero that day. He walked up the narrow gravel path that led from the picnic area up to the parking lot. When he got to the parking lot, he just started methodically shooting zombies with the AK. Karen and I slowly walked up the hill and trailed along about 15 yards behind him. Karen watched the left flank and I watched the right. When a zombie made his way into the parking lot from the right, I put him down with the 9mm Glock.

  Pop! Pop-Pop-Pop! Larry shot every zombie in front of him. He took his time and tried to get head shots. Some of his shots creased a scalp or blew off a cheek. But, Larry stayed on target and put the zombies down one by one with quick follow up shots. The Zombies massed and moved towards him. But, the people of our complex had other ideas.

  Once Larry cleaned out the C building parking lot, the Indians, and the Morehouse Men emerged from the buildings and joined us. We stood shoulder to shoulder together in the now light rain and we formed a line between the larger C building and across the parking lot to the D Building. The D Building was line of low ranch-style apartments that greeted visitors at the bottom of the entrance hill. These were known as “bungalows” by the rental office and around the complex. I guess it sounded better than teeny-tiny studio apartments. We had a mix of firearms, bats, and blades. Larry was at the center of the line steadily pouring out fire. The Zombies were dropping, but they kept coming and coming. When the horde got close, the bats and the blades would emerge to drop more of the dead in an up close and personal way. The pavement was slick, and wet, and rain. Fortunately, Larry was fast to reload.

  As the sky began to lighten with dawn’s approach, we pushed the zombies back and advanced to the bottom of the entrance hill. We were determined to pus
h them out of the complex. By this time, Larry had expended four of the 30-round AK-style magazines and switched back to his own AR-15. We formed a wedge and pushed our way up the hill. We walked slow and steady, shooting, stabbing, and whacking the dead as we moved. As we walked passed the abandoned motorcycle, Larry dropped out of the line and picked it up.

  “Karen,” he said. “Hand me the fireworks bag.”

  She tearfully handed over the bulging black back pack and he handed her his AR-15.

  “Take good care of her,” he asked as he climbed on the motorcycle and started it up. Larry revved the bike, loudly enough to prompt our line to part and then he roared through the thinning ranks of zombies. He roared up the hill around the corner by the trash compactor. He revved the bike some more to get the attention of the zombies. The rear of the small horde turned to follow him and slowly shuffled away after him. We switched completely to our blades and bats and smacked down the few that remained focused on us.

  As those zombies fell, we heard Larry roar off on the motorcycle. A few minutes later, we heard some fireworks explode and saw some rockets roar up in the distance and explode. That was the last most of our people saw of Larry.

  We rushed up the hill, closed the gates, and quickly reinforced them with chains and then with some of our cars. I explained to everyone that Larry had been bitten and would be a monster by the next time anyone saw him. Over the next few days, we would go through each building again and mop up any remaining zombies. Our battles weren’t over, but our most important battle had been won. Larry had led the charge. He died as the real soldier he had always wanted to be.

  Thank you!