Z-Level 10: A Zombie Apocalypse Novel

by Cole, Michael

  “Okay!” Hans yelled. “Give it a try.”

  Ford turned the ignition, firing up the engine. The boat vibrated hard as it came to life after being stationary for months. He applied light pressure on the throttle, moving the boat forward.”

  “Wait! Stop!” Jones yelled out. Ford eased back, killing the accelerator. He glanced back through the doorway, seeing the interns on their hands and knees pulling away more weeds. He stepped back to the helm, seeing a concerned look from Reimer.

  “Believe me, it wasn’t our first idea to be in the shallows. But we’ve tried being anchored out there. It doesn’t work.”

  “Man, I just hope they don’t evolve to fly,” Reimer said. Ford bit his lip and nodded in agreement.

  “Okay, try again,” Han called out. Ford throttled slowly and again the boat moved forward. He kept it slow until they cleared the weeds. He accelerated, racing the boat across the large lake in search of a place to dock.

  CHAPTER 21

  The fog was thickest at the center of the lake. The fifty-foot boat broke the glass surface, sending twelve-inch swells rolling out toward the shore. Every so often, the group would hear a thump echo through the boat as it struck swimmers floating on the surface.

  The fog began to disperse as Ford brought the boat along the other side of the lake. He studied the shoreline to determine the location nearest to the radio tower. But much of the shore was impossible to dock. One area had weeds so thick, they bunched up into mounds as he steered close. Had he continued, the propellers would have certainly got hung up in them. The shore in other areas was too shallow to bring the boat close, and others too high. There had been much growth since the state park had ceased to function.

  Ford steered the boat into a cove on the north. Directly ahead was a relatively open shoreline. A broken dock protruded, the legs rotted out from under it. Past the mushy sand was a grass area and abandoned grilling equipment scattered throughout. A few ghouls lingered in the grass. One laid in the sand in a mangled state, its one functioning arm clawing at the water’s edge. He recognized the area and knew the route from there to the radio tower.

  He could hear the hull scraping against the bottom as he steered the boat into the shallows. He noticed the Corporal nervously watching the sediment stirring around the vessel. Finally, the boat pitched as it hit solid ground. Ford throttled back, feeling the engine reverberate as the vessel struggled to free itself. The stern swung like a bat, the bow teetering on the soil bank they had wedged themselves into. Finally, the boat broke free, the keel scraping against the lake floor as the propellers reversed it further back into the cove.

  “Okay, tie up the anchor,” Ford called out. The interns hauled the anchor over the stern and pulled away at the slack until the line was taut. Ford shut the engine down and stepped out to the starboard walkway. The mist collected on his face like a cold sweat as he walked to the forward bow. He watched the ghouls roaming about on shore, several of them now roaming toward them. “We’re gonna have to take the rowboats the rest of the way in…exactly what I was trying to avoid.”

  “Hope you’re not afraid to get your feet wet,” Reimer said.

  “Likewise, Corporal,” Ford said. “Alright, everyone get your stuff together! We’re moving out! 57, get the shotguns out of the trunk. McCartney, you’ll be staying here with the doc. Anything happens to her, it’s your ass.”

  “You got it, Ford,” McCartney said.

  57 hustled into the cabin and moved downstairs to the trunk. He removed the lock and pulled out the three Remington shotguns that were inside of it and the box of shells. Ford clipped a speed-loader pouch to his belt and checked the cylinder of his revolver. He held his hand out and accepted the shotgun from 57. Michele arrived and accepted the second one.

  “Only got about ten shots each,” 57 said.

  “Not much to work with,” Reimer said.

  “Yeah, hence we don’t normally take them,” Ford said. “However, with a little luck, this will be our last run.” He chambered a shell and looked to the shore, then at the three marines. “Looks like we’re storming the beaches of Normandy.”

  “Let’s get to it,” Dunn said.

  They assembled at the aft deck and boarded the two rowboats. Dr. Hill and McCartney handed down the supplies. McCartney stopped and held up the demolition bag.

  “You guys need this?”

  “Yeah, never know when we might need it,” Reimer said. McCartney tossed it to him, the boat rocking back and forth as it landed in his arms. As he sat down in the center seat, Dr. Hill extended a two-way radio to Ford.

  “I tried fixing the receiver on yours. Hopefully it’ll work this time,” she said.

  “You know anything about electronics?” Ford said.

  “Not that kind,” she said. “Had to wing it.”

  “Guess it’ll have to do,” Ford said. He sat down at the center of the second boat and took the oars. “Let’s do this.”

  McCartney untied the lines and tossed them back to the boats. Oars smacked the water as Reimer and Ford rowed back with all their might. Gordon, Dunn, Michele, and 57 watched the shore as their boats neared the sandbank. Water rippled as they moved in, while a stringy saliva-like substance clung to the oars. After several yards, the hull began to brush the bottom. Ghouls waded in toward them, their feet sinking in the loose sand.

  Michele stood up, wielding the park ranger’s machete in her right hand. She drew down, embedding the blade in the skull of the nearest corpse. On the other boat, Dunn leapt from the bow. Water splashed as he landed ankle-deep. It splashed again as he bludgeoned a ghoul with his rifle, its open head leaking decayed contents into the shore.

  57 and Gordon immediately jumped out next and joined the fray, followed immediately by Han and Jones. With the boats wedged sufficiently into the sandbank, Reimer and Ford splashed down and stormed the shoreline, striking ghouls as they ran into the grass area. Knives, hatchets, and machetes swung wildly, splitting skulls as they found their marks.

  Ford thrust his knife upward through the jaw of a corpse. It shook and clawed at him until the tip of the blade finally reached its brain. As it slumped against him, another one sprang at him. Saliva, peppered with decayed cells, dripped from black teeth as it lunged for a bite. Ford twisted his body, putting the recently deceased ghoul between him and the new attacker. Teeth ravaged the shrunken neckline of the corpse shield. Ford stepped back to give himself space. The ghoul abandoned the attack on the body and lunged for him once again. He pivoted on his left boot, thrusting a high kick out. The heel of his boot crunched the ghoul’s jaw, knocking it on its back. Its arms flailed, still attempting to grab at him as he closed the distance and plunged his knife through its eye.

  Several feet away, Reimer and Gordon stood side-by-side, plunging knives into approaching ghouls. The Corporal twisted his blade as it entered the eye socket of a bloated corpse, killing it. Pulling it free, he looked to the trees. A few more were stumbling out from the forest to greet them with snapping jaws.

  Ford and 57 rushed the incoming collection of ghouls. 57 swung his heavy pipe like a baseball bat, indenting the side of a skull. Ford struck another with his hatchet, thick blood squishing from the fleshy crevice atop its head. Han and Jones dashed past him, crowbars raised high over their heads. Metal struck bone, rupturing the ghoul’s one truly functioning organ.

  Back on the shoreline, Dunn approached the ghoul stuck in mud. He walked calmly and silently, watching as it reached at him with its broken limbs. Its face hardly had any flesh on it. Whatever was there had been eaten away by the sand and water. Yet, it was looking at him, somehow able to see him despite no eyes being present. He clutched a pickax he had taken from the Gibson boat and held it high over his head and brought it down. The metal spike ran through the skull before penetrating six inches into the earth.

  Dunn yanked the tool free then watched the clash taking place near the trees. He stared blankly, seeing his friends fighting alongside the three survivors. Bon
e and guts trickled from the scrimmage like salt and pepper. A series of hopes filled his head. They were all different, some contradictory. He hoped, while he watched, that some of the undead would overtake these new ‘allies’ who he wasn’t convinced were allies. On the other hand, he hoped there would be enough room on the chopper for everyone. If that were the case, then everyone would win. It would prevent any need for escalated conflict between the two halves of the group. Similarly, he hoped that Reimer was right: that this group did not present any threat.

  Most importantly, he hoped to see no more soldiers be killed uselessly in infected zones such as this. Even Reimer and Gordon, despite their disagreements. After all, they were friends. But sooner or later, they would be among those whose death he’d have to witness. He still had doubts about Dr. Hill’s importance. After all, it seemed odd that she didn’t have any lab samples with her. Then again, he didn’t understand the digital era of science. If she did have the cure, then hopefully these missions would have to end.

  In this moment, he’d settle for never returning to this place. Even if he couldn’t get himself discharged from the Marine Corps, he would see to it that he would never return here. In his mind, he vowed never to come here again.

  The fray came to an end, with numerous bodies embedded into the mushy ground. The group formed a circle, carefully watching their surroundings. The air was filled with the heavy panting as everyone caught their breath. Reimer noticed Dunn standing at the water line, his expression blank. He let go of the pickax, letting it drop into the sand.

  “You okay there?” he asked. Dunn faked a smile and started walking toward them.

  “Yep. All good.” He realized Reimer was staring down at the pickax. “Too heavy to take along,” Dunn said. He strolled past the group toward paved pathway between two enormous pines, then glanced back at Ford. “This way?”

  “Yes,” Ford said. He led the group past the picnic area to the asphalt trail. The path was long and narrow, the farthest points almost appearing black as night due to the canopy. “Let’s get this done quick.” He held his shotgun to his shoulder and took point. Gordon raised his M4 and walked the opposite edge of the trail.

  Dunn stood to the side, allowing the rest of the group to go in ahead of him. As he walked off, he noticed Reimer was waiting as well. He glared at Dunn, his eyes heavy with suspicion and concern.

  “I’m fine, Corporal,” Dunn said.

  “Are you?” Reimer asked.

  “Yes. I just want to get out of here,” Dunn said. Reimer continued his stare, trying to gauge what was going on in Dunn’s thoughts. Whatever was going on, the one sure thing was that he was being honest about wanting to leave. He felt uneasy about trusting him. However, given the circumstance, he had little choice.

  “Alright then,” he said. The two marines hustled to catch up with the others. The group walked in unison as the path zig-zagged further into the forest.

  CHAPTER 22

  The path rose and fell with the hills, winding further into the forest like a slithering python. Moving past discolored tree trunks, the team came to the top of a large hill. From there, they could hear the distant growling from multiple ghouls behind the trees. Ford led the team off the path. After hustling fifty yards through the trees, they ducked at the ledge of a small drop off overlooking the radio tower.

  “There it is,” he said. Less than a thousand feet away was the base of the radio mast. Stretching two-hundred feet high, the structure was intact, held up by four supports embedded deep into the ground. Between the tower’s four ‘legs’ was a cubed shaped building with wires leading up through the mast. The metal was discolored from the constant exposure to the mist and the diseased elements of the forest. It appeared much of the metal was starting to rust.

  However, the group was barely paying attention to the condition of the tower. Instead, they were focused more heavily on what surrounded it. Like a herd of wildebeest in the African plains, thousands of undead had gathered around the tower.

  “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Gordon whispered. The group ducked as low as they could, staying hidden behind clumps of rock and soil at the cliff edge. The horde were jam packed into the small clearing like sheep, some snapping jaws at others that mindlessly bumped into them. The combined smell of their rotting flesh stretched high into the trees. It was proving too much for Michele, who had to back away and cover her mouth. Han and Jones moved aside, letting her pass between them. She spat and dry heaved until she regained control. Even the marines struggled to not succumb to the nausea.

  “We’ll, we’re fucked,” 57 said.

  “No, we’re not,” Ford muttered.

  “Dude, are you blind?” 57 pointed down at the horde. “There’s no way we can fight through that.”

  “…and live,” Han added.

  “We NEED to get to that tower,” Reimer said.

  “He’s right,” Dunn said. “If we don’t do it, we’re as good as dead.” 57 stared down at the horde. Bodies stumbled back and forth, packed so tightly together that the group couldn’t even see the ground they walked on.

  “If we go down there, we’re as good as dead,” he said.

  “Don’t panic. And for chrissake, keep your voice down,” Ford whispered. 57 held his breath, his shotgun shaking with his hand. He took his finger off the trigger-guard to avoid an accident.

  Ford glanced at Reimer. “What do you think?” Reimer watched the horde in silence, pondering ideas in his mind.

  “We’re gonna have to draw them off somehow,” he said. Gordon snickered.

  “What are we gonna do? Ring a dinner bell?”

  “Something like that,” Reimer said.

  “I got the bell right here,” Dunn said, tapping the bag of explosives. Gordon glanced at the bag, then back at the horde.

  “You gonna blow them up?”

  “No, stupid. We’re gonna set off a blast to lure them off,” Dunn said. He pushed himself up on his elbows and scanned the surrounding forest with his eyes. “Ford, you know this place best. Where can we set off a charge that’ll lure these freaks away?”

  Ford propped himself up and gazed over to the left.

  “There’s small canyon over that way. There used to be a stream there. The land just dips into a small crevice. If we lure them to it, not only will they be out of the way, but most of them will fall in and get trapped.”

  “It’s worth a try,” Reimer said. “Let’s go.” He started to get up, only for Ford to stop him with a hand to the shoulder.

  “I’d rather only a couple of us go,” he said. “We need to be as quiet as possible. Plus, we’ll only need a few charges, not the whole damn bag, so there’s no point in everyone going. Also, I want someone to keep a lookout here. If they start to wander our way, I want one of you to let me know.”

  Reimer nodded. “Understandable. Who’s going?”

  “I’m not planning on staying here,” Dunn muttered. “I’ll go.” Ford watched as Reimer shot Dunn a look. He saw something in the Corporal’s eyes he didn’t like, though he wasn’t sure what it was.

  “We need to move now. Is there a problem with him going?” Ford asked. Reimer heard a hint of suspicion in his voice. Reimer’s mind raced as he thought of an answer. He didn’t trust Dunn. Yet, he couldn’t admit it. Given Ford’s past and the knowledge that he was still wary of trusting the marines, he didn’t want to risk their fragile alliance. Making it known, even hinting his suspicions about Dunn, would possibly cause Ford to turn against him again. Yet, he was nervous about letting Dunn go off alone with Ford.

  There was no time. He had to answer.

  “No…it’s good,” he stuttered. “I, uh, was about to volunteer, was all.” He opened the explosive bag and handed three blocks of C-4 to Dunn.

  Shit, what am I doing? he thought.

  Dunn took the explosives and the triggers and stuffed them into his vest. He and Ford shared a nod, signaling that they were ready to go.

  “Don’t attract atte
ntion,” Gordon said.

  “No shit,” Dunn remarked. He and Ford crouched low and moved away from the ledge down a narrow space between some trees. Reimer watched as they hustled away, stopping every few yards to make sure they weren’t seen by the horde.

  “You okay there, Corporal?” Michele asked. Reimer whipped his head around to look at her, sending beads of sweat zipping off his brow. He faked a chuckle and gestured toward the huge horde below.

  “Just a bit anxious to get down there and call our ride,” he said. Michele smiled back.

  “We’ll owe you big time if you can get us out of here,” she said. She stared down at the horde. “I’m serious. Sooner or later, we’d be dead. But thanks to you, we have a chance. Ford will see that.”

  “Shh,” 57 hissed at them. Reimer held a hand up, mouthing “sorry” to him. He took in a deep breath, the smell almost causing him to gag. It seemed no matter what he did, he could not calm his nerves. The only thing he could do was sit and wait in silence, and hope his concerns were not warranted.

  ********

  Ford and Dunn kept their pace at a minimum as they moved from the foot of the hill. They were on even ground with the horde. Any wrong movement would easily attract their attention.

  Dunn kept looking over his shoulder at them, fighting the urge to quicken his pace. Ford walked in front, his stance low. They moved out further, stopping every few feet to make sure they weren’t seen. Surprisingly, there didn’t seem to be many undead walking ahead of them. For whatever reason, they had all gathered around the tower and stayed. Ford wasn’t complaining, as anything more than a few stray ghouls in their path would spell certain doom for them.

  They moved another few yards and stopped. After waiting, they repeated the process, gradually putting more trees between them and the horde. After traveling a couple of acres, the duo quickened their pace.