Max came at her quicker than she thought possible. His gait was all crooked, and even though he veered off across the room at one stage, his eyes never left her.
Still hoping for an escape, Rosalyn dropped her bag of clothes and threw the heavier, food-laden one at the little freak.
It missed.
She scowled at the sound of the shattering sherry bottle and then there was the assault of the scent of alcohol. Stepping from the tall chair, she was now on the kitchen bench. It was the only thing that stood between her and Max. Her sneakers stuck and screeched at her as she sprinted across the marble bench. She jumped through the kitchen door and dashed for the stairs.
What the fuck?
How did that zombie get there? Rosalyn shuddered at the thought of sharing the house all this time with the undead and not even knowing it. She got a quick glance at it and realised it was poor Max’s mother. Oh yeah, she had a key. Could zombies even use keys? It was a thought for another day.
Turning, Rosalyn hurried down the hall. Moans followed her but she was too busy dodging furniture to check out how close the pair was.
Quick! Think, Rosalyn, she frantically thought. Where can I hide?
The bathroom!
She made a sudden right turn and slammed the door behind her. It wouldn’t stop them for long, but it might buy her an extra second or two. Down the dark hall, she sprinted; her heart thumping about in her chest like someone was playing basketball with it.
There it is!
She dived through the door and slammed it shut behind her, leaning on it for one short, sweet moment while she caught her breath.
Tatiana couldn’t believe her luck. Peter had still been carrying his car keys. It was so horrible to have to go through his pockets, but driving his black Navara was worth every grave-scented moment of the search.
She hummed along to Bon Jovi and smiled like a mad woman. What were the odds of finding a car with petrol and one with enough power to go off road when a traffic jam occurred?
Maybe it was time to leave the city.
She’d toyed with this idea before. Perhaps there were fewer zombies in the country? Plus, if she found a farm, she could grow stuff and raise chickens. Sure it sounded like bloody hard work, and nothing she’d ever tried before, but it would be better than scrounging for spam and tongue-in-a-can.
But not now, not tonight. She had to plan for these things. There were a few maps in Pete’s glove box (along with a dry old packet of Drum that she was now smoking - the weed could wait for later), she’d need to check these out and decide where to go before she just up and left her neighbourhood. She had to be smart for the first time in her life.
Surely there was a servo around here somewhere?
Tatiana scanned the road ahead, it was dark still and she was just a little bit lost. She’d entered a residential area by accident and was now looking for a way out. She needed shops, not houses. A street sign caught her attention.
Shit! She was nowhere near where she should be. This was where she grew up. A small, pained smile flitted across her lips. Was she game to see if they were dead too; the parents that she hadn’t spoken to in over five years?
Hell yeah, she was!
Chucking the car in reverse, she backed over the top of a zombie that had come up to investigate. His guts strayed out from underneath her back tires. She revved the engine and minced that sucker for a moment longer, just to make sure he was truly done for.
The house was still the same.
Each rose was manicured to perfection. Sure the grass needed mowing, but everything else was as neat as a newly-minted penny. She turned off the engine and stared at the one place she never thought she’d return to.
Pausing for only a second, she grabbed the crowbar from underneath the front seat and opened the car door. Glancing around, she checked for the undead. Not a single zombie in sight. She could hear moaning though, so some had to be nearby. It didn’t matter; this would only take a minute or two anyway.
The house was cold and stale when she opened the backdoor. She’d been surprised when the old key she kept on a chain around her neck still worked. It made her heart lurch just a little too.
It was so dark inside, she wished for a torch to help her out. Rifling in the junk drawer in the kitchen bought her some luck and she flicked on the penlight.
She should have expected it.
Really, she should have.
Her father groaned and lurched at the same time her mother appeared from the pantry.
Swinging her crowbar, she made light work of her dad. After all, it was a task she had often fantasised about. She didn’t even shed a tear as she splayed his brains out across the kitchen sink. Her mother was another story though. How do you kill someone who never said a harsh word against you – even when you accused her husband of being a sick pervert?
Her mother didn’t seem to recognise her now though and took Tatiana’s hesitation as an excellent opportunity for a light snack of brains. Her shuffling gait quickened and her arms flung up and outwards. Tatiana was now holding up the crowbar defensively to delay the inevitable.
“Mum!” she shouted. Maybe she would remember her like Peter had?
The zombie paused. Or so Tatiana liked to think it had.
The crowbar was clenched between her whitened knuckles and she grunted as she pushed it against her mother’s flimsy chest. A chink of two metals meeting told Tatiana that her mother still wore her big gold locket, the one with photos of her two children – neither of which would speak to her now.
“Mum, please,” she begged. There was another slight pause before another lunge. “No, mama, it’s me, Tats.”
A groan and a high pitched wail followed.
Both Tatiana and her zombie-mum turned towards the noise.
Tatiana’s mother turned and began to stagger away in confusion, her delectable daughter forgotten for the moment. The scent of a new, and possibly easier kill, having lured her away.
It was now or never.
Tatiana clenched her teeth together and raised the crowbar high over her head.
“I love you mum!” she screamed and bought the great metal bar of death down upon her mother’s skull.
The woman crumpled at Tatiana’s feet like a dusty old sack of potatoes. A sob tore free from Tatiana’s throat and she dropped to her knees in the dirt and guts on the kitchen floor and hugged her mother tight. She didn’t even give a thought to how contagious the dead woman might be.
“Help me! Somebody help me!”
Tatiana was pulled from her keen grieving. Taking the crowbar and her mother’s gold locket, she jumped up, wiping snot and gore across her face, and listened again for the voice. It wasn’t long in coming.
Tatiana was sprinting now, out the back door and across the vast lawn, her camo heels sinking as she ran. Only a small box hedge separated this yard from the next and not wanting to break a leg, she darted back towards the house and the small gate that was there. It wasn’t even closed now.
The wailing was getting more frantic.
Tatiana pushed her taunt muscles to the limit as she bolted next door into the O’Connor’s old house. There were new neighbours now, but Tatiana had been on her way out as they were on their way in; it was a young couple from memory.
“Where are you?” Tatiana finally broke her silence, hoping to distract the zombie that was obviously the only reason for such a shriek in these troubled times.
“In the bathroom,” a startled voice bellowed. “Bottom floor, take a right down the hall from the kitchen.”
“Gotcha!” Tatiana was nearly there, thankful she’d remembered the layout of the house from her childhood. “Come and get me mother-fucking zombie bastard!”
Her voice was more than enough to tease the two zombies reaching through the broken door. If it weren’t for something heavy behind it, they would be dining on brains now and not eating cold hard steel.
The first one was too surprised by the brutal blow to eve
n realise it was dead all over again. The second – and Tatiana swallowed bile when she saw this one – roared in disgust at the loss of its mate and threw itself at Tatiana.
“You’re a child!” she cried. “Only a baby.”
Yet still she killed it.
Berta Escapes
She should have known there was only one reason for a man to be standing on the roof of his car and shouting for help in the midst of a zombie apocalypse. Still, she turned the key and hoped for the roar of the engine. Martin yowled in the back seat, both at the indignation of his confined space and at the small mob of zombies that were now rocking the car.
Berta didn’t know what to do. She’d tried praying, clutching the small gold cross around her neck and confessing her sins. Telling the zombies to go away, butting her head against the steering wheel (although the noise of the horn had startled everyone briefly into a stunned silence) and jiggling the key in the ignition were just as useless in effect.
“Think, Berta, think!” She mewled over and over again. Martin yowled and his furious scratching was setting her teeth on edge.
Undoing her seatbelt, Berta swivelled in her seat and shoved her hand through the wire gate at the front of Martin’s carrier. She patted him briefly, although in his terror and excitement, he scratched her arm. Quickly she retreated. The zombies outside renewed their frenzied attack with the smell of freshly spilled blood.
The car roiled as it was shaken by the mob of frenzied zombies. Placing one hand on the sun roof, popping it up slightly in the process, she pulled open the glove compartment, looking for a weapon, scrounging for hope.
Nothing.
Slamming the door shut in frustration, she leaned down and hurriedly felt around underneath her seat. This wielded an old coffee cup and one solitary gold earring. The smell of spoiled milk knotted up Berta’s stomach more than the panic did.’
The car bumped and jangled as Tatiana drove it through the night. The woman in the seat next to her stared out of the window and didn’t speak a word.
It wasn’t through want of trying either. Tatiana had asked her a hundred questions before giving up on her. Already she regretted saving her.
“I’m taking you home, back to Morristown,” she said. Not that she expected a reply, but she was sick of the non-zombie woman who behaved like one.
When that thought had first occurred to her, she hit the brakes and did a complete body search, looking for bites on the silent woman. There wasn’t even a scratch on her. Nothing that could indicate she’d been bitten. The woman now leaned sideways and rested her head against the cold glass.
“I’m planning on moving to the country,” she continued to the mute woman. “You know, grow some food and keep out of the way of all the dead people in town? I have to pack first. Is there anything you need to go back for? We could stop on the way outta town, I guess.”
Still no answer.
“Well, I guess you won’t complain at my music choice then,” she muttered, replacing Bon Jovi with Mumford and Sons. The banjo played as they bumped down the road towards the city.
***
Martin swiped at her again, but Berta swatted him away as she wiggled between the front seats. Pulling herself over, she landed with a plop in the back seat next to her mad cat.
“I’m sorry I got you into this mess Martin,” she clucked at him as she moved his cage down onto the floor. He hissed in reply.
Frantically her hand slapped at the backseat as she felt for the pull tab. The car rocked some more. It seemed like there were a hundred creatures out there, but in reality there were only five.
For now.
She wasn’t stupid. If she didn’t do something soon, there would be more arriving, and she didn’t think she could outwit the few that were here already.
Finding the canvas strap, she yanked the seat forward and scrambled into the boot of the car. It was so dark back there she had to feel for items. Mostly she just found a suitcase. Unzipping it, she was rewarded with nothing but clothes and toiletries – nothing that could actually kill the undead.
Pushing the case to one side, she felt her way along towards the side of the car. Hitting something soft, she was rewarded with the tinkering of metal. She pulled the bag and herself out of the boot at the same moment that a zombie managed to get purchase in the sun roof.
Tatiana was sick of driving. She hadn’t realised how far from home she’d travelled when she was lost. It didn’t help that the shorter route was laden with obstacles, mostly in the form of cars blocking the road. She reversed her way out of yet another roadblock and let the car idle while she rested her head on the steering wheel.
Would she ever get home? Tears were threatening. Maybe she should ditch the city now? Maybe it was some sort of a sign? But she wasn’t a superstitious woman and this idea bought her little comfort.
A fragile hand tangled in her hair and for the first time since rescuing the mute, she was hopeful.
“Thank you.”
Tatiana looked up at the frail woman and smiled through her tears.
In the distance a woman screamed.
“Here we go again.” Tatiana rolled her eyes.
Oozing grey fingers probed the sun roof, searching for a way to open it further. Berta screamed and Martin yowled, desperate to get his claws into the undead beast.
“Oh dear Martin, I really fucked it up this time,” she whispered.
Her only chance was the bag in her lap, the lumpy, clanging bag of something metal.
The fingers had now become a hand and its owner moaned with pleasure. Berta scampered back into the boot, dragging Martin and his cage with her. It was dark, but further away from the zombie. Frantically, she scratched around for the zipper and ripped it with such force when she found it the metal tag came clear off the zip and tinkled across the floor of the car.
Her arm reached in and she clutched at the first thing her fingers felt. Wrenching the item from the bag, she sighed in relief.
“Martin, we may get out of this mess yet.”
One hand went back into the bag, searching, prodding and finally finding what she was looking for. Loading the spear into the gun, she tried to steady her hands. While she waited, the zombie clawed around in the opening. It certainly wasn’t in the car, but a great deal more of its arm was inside the vehicle. Another zombie was trying to reach in also. In the process of the pair of arms scrabbling about, a finger snapped. Berta was horrified at the sound and held back vomit as the brittle finger snapped clear off its owners hand and fell into the car. Thick blood spurted out briefly before coagulating.
She’d screamed at the sight before she even realised it. Clamping one hand over her mouth, she stifled more noise. Closing her eyes, she tried to breathe slowly in an attempt to calm her jangled nerves. The rocking and thumping on the car didn’t help.
Taking one last deep breath, she opened her eyes, took her hand away from her mouth and raised the spear gun up, pointing it at the roof of the car.
That first shot took off the zombies arm.
Dragging back on the spears rope, she pulled it free from the roof of the car and loaded her weapon again. Martin reached out and hooked the dead fleshy arm that now lay in front of his cage. Berta hoped cats couldn’t turn into zombies as he gnawed a hunk of decaying flesh off the bone.
She wriggled forward and freed herself from the car boot. It was time to dispatch these hideous beasts.
Reaching over, she slowly grasped the handle and began to wind down the back window. She was eternally grateful this was an older model car. The handle was stiff and she had to jiggle it considerably before a small gap appeared at the top though.
For dumb critters, the zombies sure were on that gap quicker than a fly on a turd. Berta shot off her spear again, missing this time.
“Damn it!” she whispered before dragging the spear back and loading it again.
She moved closer. It was time to move quickly, before the zombies managed to get the window open any more by
themselves. Pushing the gun right up to the window, she shot the zombie at point blank range. She was disgusted at what she’d done. Still, she yanked back that spear and reloaded like there was no tomorrow.
There would be time to clean up the remains of fetid brains tomorrow – if she made it through the night, that is. And, realistically, if this didn’t work, there would be no tomorrow for her or Martin.
The head of the finally dead zombie was wedged sideways in the window, its body dangled below, but two more heads were now trying to get inside the car. The hands were still clawing at the roof of the car since there was no more room for zombies in the window. Scraps of material fluttered down from the roof as the splintery nails became progressively frantic.
As Berta loaded up again and took aim, she heard a noise that was completely unrelated to what was going on inside the car.
Is that a banjo?
Shaking her head, she concentrated on the task at hand. It took only a moment longer to pierce the eye of the second zombie. It made a sickening squelch as she pulled back the spear. This zombie fell backwards rather than clog up the car window.
Martin was finally quiet as he chewed on his undead meat. Chancing a quick glance, Berta took a good look at him. Was his coat less shiny? Were his eyes a little dull? If he turned, could she spear him too?
Yes, it was a banjo she could hear.
Her aim was off as she realised this and the spear went straight out the window. She pulled back quickly but the spear butt hooked on the window and wouldn’t come free without some serious tugging. Leaning forward she took the rope in both hands and prepared to pull with all her might in order to lift the spear up and over the glass edge.
A cold dead hand grabbed at her hair.
Berta screamed and yanked her head back.
In the distance she could still here the banjo playing.
“There!” Rosalyn called. Her muteness had disappeared completely at the sound of someone else in distress. Her finger jabbed forwards and Tatiana could see a car surrounded by zombies.
Zombie Apocalypse Now! Page 3