Chapter 22 - Alex
Alex walked down the stairs in a hot temper. He was so angry at his sister that he almost missed the sound of bare feet slapping on tiled floors. He froze mid-step and raised one hand to Amy and Laura, who thankfully remained dead quiet.
A cacophony of growls broke the silence, and the tramping of a couple of feet became the march of many. His eyes widened when he realized what was coming their way, and he knew they’d never make it to the car. “Back, go back!”
Alex turned around and hustled the girls up the stairs, praying there was a way out for them. Or at least, a safe place they could hide.
Laura didn’t dawdle, rushing back to her previous hiding spot with a shrill scream of terror. Amy followed, with Alex taking up the rear, his wound forgotten for the moment.
They climbed the last of the steps just as the horde reached the bottom, their hungry cries spurring them on. Together, they slipped inside Laura’s bedroom and slammed the door shut.
Seconds later, many fists banged on the door until it sounded like a beating drum. The wood splintered around the lock and hinges. It wouldn’t last very long. Alex cast around for an answer and spotted a massive chest of drawers. “Help me!”
He pushed the object toward the entrance, joined by Amy. They slid it in front of the bulging door, then added everything and anything they could lay their hands on: a toy box, chair, mirror, the lot.
Heaving for breath, Alex stood back to examine their handiwork. It wasn’t enough, but it would buy them time. Time to figure out how to escape.
He rushed toward the window and looked out onto the front lawn. There stood their car. So close, yet impossibly far. The ground beckoned below, but jumping would yield them nothing but broken bones.
Unlatching the window, he pushed it wide open and leaned out. Beneath the sill was a wooden flower box filled with tiny white blooms. To the left, a gutter ran down from the roof to the bottom. It was just out of reach, but if they used the flower box as a step, they might make it.
He pressed on the box, checking how securely it was bolted to the wall. It seemed like it could hold, but they were taking a massive risk, especially with Laura. I’ll have to piggyback her. She’ll never be able to do the climb on her own.
He eyed Amy’s slender form and wondered if she’d make it. She was strong and used to climb like a monkey when she was younger, but that was years ago. Still, they had no choice. If they stayed, they died.
Alex reached a hand toward Amy. “Come on. You first.”
“What?”
“You heard me. We’re getting out of here before those zombies bust down that door.”
She leaned over the windowsill, and her face turned ashen. “That’s suicide. There’s nowhere to go.”
“Yes, there is,” Alex replied, acutely aware of the banging behind them. It was growing louder by the second.”Onto the flower box, then down the gutter. Go.”
Amy shook her head. “I can’t. I’m afraid of heights.”
Alex ground his teeth in frustration and gripped her elbow. “Do you hear that sound? It’s the sound of a horde of zombies waiting to strip the flesh from our bones.”
Amy’s eyes grew wild. “I…I know that.”
“Do you? Because if you’d stopped to think for even one second, we wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place.” Alex’s anger at his sister burst free, and he allowed it full reign.
“That’s not fair. I had to save Laura,” Amy protested.
“We could’ve come up with a plan, Amy. Not a wild dash to our certain deaths. This isn’t a movie, and you’re not some brave heroine out to save the day. This is real life.”
“I…I’m sorry,” Amy whispered as tears began to run down her cheeks.
Alex sighed, his anger leaving him in a rush. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that, but if you don’t go, we’ll all die. I could never leave you.”
Amy stared at him for a breathless moment. “Alright. This is my mess, and I have to fix it.”
She climbed onto the windowsill, and gingerly stepped onto the flower box. It groaned but held beneath her weight. “What about my gun?” she asked, indicating the shotgun.
“Drop it.”
She obeyed, and it clattered to the ground below. She leaned over and gripped the gutter with both hands before swinging her legs over. For a single terrifying moment, she hung suspended in the air, her feet scrabbling for purchase. Alex held his breath, afraid she’d fall. But she found a foothold and began the slow climb down to the bottom.
Behind Alex, the door was giving way, the furniture shifting beneath the combined weight of so many bodies pressing against it. He turned to Laura. “Climb onto my back.”
She didn’t hesitate, clambering onto him like a squirrel. He climbed through the window and onto the box. It shifted, and he froze. “Please don’t break. Please.”
It held, and he reached for the gutter. It was smooth, hard to hold onto, but there were seams between the different sections. He clung to these with his fingertips and toes, lowering himself to the ground.
Laura held on, not making a sound, and he began to hope. That hope was shattered when the door inside the bedroom gave way to the infected. In an instant, the room was flooded with zombies. They oozed out of the window, reaching for them with hungry fingers.
Alex panicked. “Amy, are you down yet?”
“I am. You can come,” she shouted back.
He closed his eyes and loosened his grip, sliding the rest of the way down. The ground came up too fast, and he landed hard. His right ankle twisted, and burning pain shot up his leg. “Fuck!”
A body tumbled past him, landing on the ground with a loud crunch of bone and cartilage. The infected were throwing themselves out the window. A blast nearly deafened him. It was Amy, wielding her shotgun. “Alex, run!”
He pushed himself up from the ground and grabbed Laura’s hand. “Come on.”
Together, they ran across the lawn, heading for the car. Amy danced ahead of them, firing off her last two shots. She pulled out her pistol next, the shots going wild.
Alex ran as fast as he could with his gimpy leg, dragging Laura by the hand. He dared to look over his shoulder and instantly regretted it. Zombies were falling from the window like rain from the sky. Some fell on their heads, cracking open their skulls. Others broke their necks, becoming paralyzed. But they only provided a comfortable cushion to the rest that followed. They got up fast and sprinted after their chosen prey, running much more quickly than either Alex or Laura could.
They weren’t going to make it, Alex realized in an instant, and his thoughts shot to Amy. She had to live. No matter what. “Amy, start the car!”
She shot him a wild look but obeyed, jumping behind the wheel and starting the engine. Alex sped up, forcing his broken body to move faster than was humanly possible. The distance between him and the car narrowed, and Amy leaned over to open the passenger side door.
Hope rose in his chest. Maybe they could make it after all. It was only a few more yards to safety. Laura’s hand was sweaty, slipping against his palm, but he didn’t let go. She had to keep pace. She had to. They were almost there. His gaze met Amy’s, and she shouted something at him, but he couldn’t hear the words.
Suddenly, Laura was yanked from his grip, and Alex stumbled to a halt. He looked back and screamed. An infected had hold of Laura, her tiny form hugged to his chest as if to comfort her. But comfort was the last thing on the zombie’s mind. His teeth dug into her neck, right where the shoulder connected.
“No!” Alex cried, his insides liquefying at the terrible sight.
The zombie tore out a hunk of flesh, chewing with relish. Blood spurted from the wound, a red mist that covered them both in a spray of crimson fluid. Laura screamed, and it was a sound that Alex never forgot as long as he lived.
Other infected reached them and latched onto the little girl. They dug into her with their teeth and nails, tearing her limb from limb in a feeding fre
nzy.
Alex found himself frozen in the moment, unable to move. Then a hand tugged at his arm, and a shrill voice commanded him. “Alex, move! You have to move!”
His limbs moved on autopilot, and he stumbled to the waiting car. Amy ushered him inside and slammed the door shut. “Wait right there.”
She dashed around the front and jumped in beside him. With a roar of the engine, she pulled away, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake.
Alex sat in his seat like a statue. He’d lost the little girl. She was just a child, and it was all his fault. In his mind’s eye, he relived her death over and over again until it ran on a loop.
Amy shouted something at him, but he couldn’t make out the words. Instead, a dark cloud descended over his eyes, and he leaned back in his seat without fighting it any longer. His body, weakened by infection and blood loss, gave up the struggle, and he sank into oblivion with a sigh of relief. Anything was better than hearing her screams.
Chapter 23 - Dylan
Dylan ducked her head as shots punched into her car. The windshield shattered, raining her with glass, and she swerved sideways to avoid the incoming hail of bullets. The front tire hit the pavement with terrific force and burst with a loud bang.
“Oh, crap, no!” Dylan shouted as she lost control and crashed into a fire hydrant. The nose of the car crumpled inward, and a jet of water shot into the air from the broken hydrant. The water poured back down onto the vehicle, drenching her within seconds, and obscuring her view.
Dylan twisted sideways and grabbed the duffel bag containing her food and water. She unzipped it with lightning speed and stuffed the rifle inside. Her empty Glock and one of the Beretta’s she took from Ray, and his buddies followed. With the second pistol in her hand and Ray’s gun in her holster, she jumped out of the car.
A bullet struck the tar next to her feet and ricocheted into the air with an ugly whine. Hunched low to the ground, Dylan ran toward the nearest shelter she could find. She wedged her body into a tiny gap between two recycling bins and took stock of the situation.
It was as bad as it could get.
Coming into Louisville had been a colossal mistake. She’d have been better off sticking to the back roads and bypassing the city altogether. But she’d been in a rush. The clock was ticking, and even now, she only had around forty hours left to make it to Fort Knox. While it might sound like a lot, getting out of the city was proving impossible.
The city was a war zone. Posters stuck to every lamp post announced that an evacuation would take place that afternoon from the Churchill Downs racetrack located on Central Avenue. That meant every single able-bodied person in the city was fighting to get there, and most of them were armed and trigger-happy. Undead roamed the streets in packs, causing random shooting to break out. The streets ran red with the blood of both the infected and innocent civilians.
“I have to get out of here,” Dylan muttered, searching for a means of escape. It seemed hopeless. Her car was totaled, and she’d never make it on foot.
A zombie spotted her and charged. Dylan raised her gun and fired three shots before scoring a head shot, and the thing collapsed mere feet away. A teen boy ran past with his skateboard tucked underneath one arm. He vaulted over the corpse without pause and continued down the street. A small family followed, the mother carrying her toddler on her hip with the father bringing up the rear.
Dylan jumped to her feet and entered the maelstrom, the duffel bag slung across her back. She couldn’t afford to hide any longer. A truck swerved past her, so close its wake ruffled her clothes, and a rough elbow hit her in the ribs. She stumbled and fell to her knees, one hand bracing her fall. A boot stepped on her fingers, stomping the delicate digits into the ground.
Dylan hissed and yanked her hand away. Suckling on the injured area, she shoved her way through the desperate crowd. Her ears rang from the noise, a hellish mixture of car horns, alarms, shouting, screaming, and crying. “Out of my way!”
From a side street, a group of infected attacked, and the people went wild, trampling each other in their haste to escape. Dylan fired at the zombies, missing as often as she scored. Within seconds, her gun was empty, and she shoved it into the top of her jeans with a curse. “Shit, I’m out!”
“Allow me,” a man with a thick beard said as he let rip with an AK-47.
Several zombies went down, but he missed the undead woman that crept up behind him. She pounced onto his back and sunk her teeth into his neck. Blood spurted in a fountain of red, splashing onto Dylan’s shirt. She aimed a quick shot at the zombified woman and hit her between the eyes. It was too late for the bearded man, however. He was a goner.
Dylan scooped up his AK-47, aimed it at the remaining undead, and pulled the trigger. A spray of bullets erupted from the weapon, cutting down the last of the infected. She was unprepared for the kick-back however and dropped the rifle with a cry as fiery pain shot through her injured fingers. “Ouch, that hurt, you m—”
She swallowed the rest of her sentence, aware that she was down to one gun unless she dipped into the duffel bag. Even then, she only had one more loaded handgun, and the rifle left. Besides, the rifle wouldn’t be of much use in such close quarters.
Dylan pressed ahead, searching for a way out. There had to be something she could do, somewhere she could go. It didn’t help that she was a stranger to the city, and none of the street names meant anything to her.
A pair of clawed hands latched onto her shoulders, and a diseased face appeared in front of her, the mouth gaping. A rotten stench filled her nostrils, and Dylan fought to keep the snapping teeth out of her flesh.
A blade flashed through the air, narrowly missing Dylan and lodged in the infected’s neck. Thick, black blood spurted from the wound caused by the machete, but the zombie barely paused. Instead, it lunged at its attacker, a well-meaning young man trying to save Dylan’s life.
Having lost his weapon, the youngster became the victim as the infected latched onto his face. His gurgling screams were lost in the din, and Dylan had to fight to keep her spot in the surging crowd. She pulled her gun from its holster and shot the zombie in the head. One look at her rescuer showed her it was a lost cause, however. Blood bubbled up from a deep hole in his cheek, and more pumped from his neck. He’d be dead within seconds. Their eyes met, his wide and frantic, hers shocked and horrified.
“Kill me,” he mumbled, bloody foam frothing on his lips. “I don’t want to turn into one of them.”
Dylan nodded. “I’m sorry.”
She pulled the trigger one more time, ending his suffering. For a single moment, Dylan considered giving up. It’d be easy. All she had to do was turn the gun on herself, and it would all be over.
Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to carry on. She couldn’t give up. Not now. Tucking the gun back into its holster, she grabbed the machete instead. She needed a hand weapon, and she had to save her ammunition.
Suddenly, a young teen girl appeared in front of Dylan, her blue eyes wild with terror. They fixed on Dylan’s face, and she reached out a pleading hand. “Can you help me, please? It’s my brother. He’s hurt. I need to get him inside.”
Dylan hesitated, then shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I need to get out of this city. I don’t have time to waste.”
She pushed past the girl who grabbed her hand and pleaded, “Please. I need you to help me carry him inside. He’s in the car over there. It’ll only take a moment.”
Screams erupted behind them as another wave of the undead attacked the fleeing masses in the street, and Dylan pushed the girl into a dark alley. After checking that it was clear, she hunkered down behind a trash bin with the girl by her side.
“Car? You have a car?” Dylan asked, the wheels spinning in her head.
The girl stilled, and a calculating look entered her eyes. “You said you need to get out of the city, right?”
“That’s right.”
“Help me get my brother fixed up, and we’ll take you whereve
r you need to go. He’s a soldier, a fighter, and I can shoot too. Plus, he knows this city like the back of his hand. Together, we can make it.”
“What’s wrong with your brother?” Dylan asked.
“He was stabbed two days ago. We patched him up, but it’s infected. He needs antibiotics,” the girl replied.
“Where do we get that?” Dylan asked. “I haven’t seen a pharmacy anywhere near here.”
“There is a veterinary clinic three shops down,” the girl replied, jerking her head back the way Dylan had come.
“A vet?” Dylan asked, amused. “I suppose it could work.”
“It will work. I know what to look for. I spent last summer volunteering there, and I learned a couple of things.”
“I see,” Dylan said. “So, here’s the deal. I’ll help you get your brother safely into the clinic if you give me the keys to your car.”
“No way,” the girl replied. “You help me get him inside, fixed up again, and back to the car. Then I’ll give you the keys, and we can all get out of here.”
Dylan chewed on her bottom lip, thinking it over. It wasn’t as if she had a lot of options open to her, and frankly, she needed the help. Finally, she nodded and stuck out her hand. “You drive a hard bargain, little girl, but it’s a deal.”
“I’m not a little girl. I’m sixteen, and my name is Amy.”
“Alright, Amy. I’m Dylan. Nice to meet you. Now let’s go save your brother.”
They shook on it, and the bargain was struck.
Chapter 24 - Dylan
Dylan gripped the machete with both hands and peered out of the alley. The street had cleared somewhat as the people had run away with the latest horde of infected howling on their heels. She wasn’t sure it was a blessing, though. The streets of Louisville were a horror, something from a different dimension, and the lack of crowds lay it bare for all to see.
Bodies lay sprawled out in the open, their eyes sightless and their faces frozen with terror. Blood congealed in puddles around them as the monstrosities that used to be human once fed on their flesh. Flies buzzed around these clusters of death in black clouds, drawn to the feast, and the scent of blood, offal, and decay was impossible to ignore.
Rise of the Undead Box Set | Books 1-3 | Apocalypse Z Page 13