“Hold on a sec,” Mike says, heading for the basement stairs. A few moments later, he emerges carrying four walkie-talkies and sets them on the counter. “I bought these a couple years ago to take when we’re golfing. I thought they’d be better than having to carry a cell phone around on the course because we could clip them right to the golf bags,” he explains.
“But you never used them,” Lynn reminds him.
“That’s really not the point, Mom. What’s their range?” Dave asks, picking up one of the sleek, black boxes to inspect it. It’s about the size of a cell phone but twice as thick. Sure enough, there’s a stout, spring-clip on the back and a fixed, two-inch, rubberized antenna sticking out from one side of the top. There’s a tiny toggle switch next to the antenna, showing the radio has three channels and a small volume dial next to it with a large, talk button running nearly the length of the side.
“I’m not sure. But I think they were supposed to be good for a mile or two… I think,” Mike replies, rubbing his chin.
“Do they work?” Ben asks, picking up another one from the counter.
“Like I said, I never got around to using them,” Mike answers.
Dave finds the power switch on the opposite side of the talk button and presses it, but nothing happens. He turns the volume dial all the way to max, hoping for some static or something. But the device remains silent. Ben does the same with his, pressing the talk button a few times and even tries talking into it but again, silence. Mike grabs another, turns it over in his hand and after a moment and a short struggle, slides the cover to the battery compartment off the back.
“I guess we never even put batteries in the things,” he announces with disappointment. “Do we have any nine-volts around here?” he asks Lynn.
“Maybe. Let me look,” she answers with little confidence. “Excuse me, sweetie,” Lynn says, gently nudging Joe from in front of the junk drawer every family has in their kitchen.
“Dad…” Zack says, sounding nervous about the time being wasted on trying to power up Mike’s toys.
“I know,” Dave answers but continues watching Lynn search through the miscellaneous shit packed into the drawer.
“Here’s one!” she announces, setting out an unopened battery package on the counter. Ben grabs it and touches the round couplers to the tip of his tongue.
“It’s dead,” he says, tossing it down and looking to Lynn for another.
“Wait,” she replies, making a face as she reaches to the back of the drawer and pulling out another.
Ben repeats the lick test and gets a puzzled look on his face.
“Well?” Pam asks.
“There might be a little charge, but it won’t last long,” he answers. Popping the cover off the back of his, he presses the corresponding connectors together with an audible click and pushes the power button. The tiny, red light blinks to life but then rapidly begins to dim. “See?”
“Dad!” Zack says again.
“Just hold on!” Dave replies. He knows time is slipping fast but if they can find a way to communicate while they’re driving, the safer they’ll all be. “Is there any place else we can look? What about in your workshop?” he asks Mike.
“Maybe,” his father-in-law answers, turning back to the stairs with Dave and Ben right behind him.
The three get down to the TV room and continue through the door that leads to the bathroom Dave had showered in, the storerooms, and Mike’s workshop. Dave can’t help glancing over to ensure what remained of Apollo was still covered and lifeless as they turned right to get to Mike’s workshop. They each began pulling open every drawer they could find and searching the work table and pegboards on the walls.
“Here we go!” Ben says in triumph, pulling two, unopened packages of nine-volts from an upper peg. He wastes no time ripping the plastic clamshell from the front and pressed the tips to his tongue. Ben jerks the battery away and furiously rubs his lips with the back of his hand. “Yeah. They’re charged,” he confirms before connecting it to the walkie-talkie he’s still carrying. Cranking up the volume button, the three men are elated by the sound of buzzing static and Dave connects the other battery from the package to his radio and clicks it on.
“Go to one,” he tells Ben as he turns his back to his son and takes a few steps away. Pressing the talk button, he whispers, “Can you hear me? Test. Test. Test.”
“Loud and clear!”
Mike snatches the other package of two batteries, tears the plastic off, and tries to hand them to Ben.
“What?” Ben asks. Looking down at the batteries in Mike’s hand without attempting to take them.
“Check ‘em,” he replies.
“Damn it,” Ben says. Following his grandfather’s instructions, he touches each one to the tip of his tongue, exercising a little more caution with each. “They’re good,” he says around the hand he’s using to wipe away the tingling sensation from his mouth.
Quickly rejoining the others upstairs, they connect the other two devices to power, set them all to channel one and check them.
“Fucking, cool!” Dave says when they confirm all four walkie-talkies can be used. He gives one to Zack, Mike, and Pam, clipping it to the inside waistband of his borrowed sweatpants. He steps back to the front window and without moving the drapes, peeks through the narrow gap. The porch and short distance to Zack’s car is still clear of zombies and Dave quickly turns back to his family.
As far as plans went, theirs was a simple one. Get in the cars and leave. Zack, Brigette, and the boys would be the first ones to be noticed by the small horde across the street, so they had to be the first to flee. This gave them a few extra, precious moments to put some distance between themselves and the zombies that would most certainly follow them. Their task was to lead them in the opposite direction of the school, allowing the followers to keep them just in sight and play into the ruse. Once Zack had them drawn away, he’d speed up, break their line of sight and double back to the school. The entire distraction should only take a few minutes, but it’d give everyone else the time they, specifically Dave and Pam, needed to get into their car, out of the driveway and be on their way. This time was crucial to the plan because the end of the driveway they were forced to exit was the closest point to the lingering monsters across the street. Once they’d all made it out, they’d meet at the school as agreed, and start the long journey west to Amy’s house in the suburbs of Seattle.
“Okay. The rest of us are going out through the garage,” he begins, picking up his instructions where he’d left off as if the hunt for batteries had never occurred. “Mike. You, Mom, and Ben get in the Mercedes and get it started before you open the garage. Don’t screw around because we’re going to be in there waiting for the door, too. As soon as it’s open far enough, we’re going under. Once you have enough room, take off for the school. We parked our car far enough away from the garage that you shouldn’t have any problem getting past it. We’ll be right behind you. If everything goes according to plan, the zombies will be so focused on Zack’s car, they won’t even notice us.”
“Are you sure?” Mike continues asking each time this part of the plan comes up.
“Yes,” Dave answers for the third or fourth time.
Everyone takes a moment to give one another a hug before setting their plan into motion.
“Don’t fuck this up,” Dave whispers in Zack’s ear when they embrace.
“I won’t, Dad. We’ll meet you at the school,” he replies, his breath catching in his throat before releasing his father, knowing this could be the last time he sees him.
“Is everybody ready?” Dave asks the group. All the adults nod their affirmation with no discernible conviction. Only Jaxon and Braxton are vocal in their responses, sounding like this was the most fun and excitement they’d had in their lives. “Then let’s get this shit over with,” Dave finally says.
Zack and Brigette take the boys to the front door and prepare for the go signal. Everyone else heads for the g
arage. The back end of the white Mercedes sits low from the nearly solid mass of canned food filling the back and most of the backseat, except for the room left for Ben to sit. He’d already taken his duffle bags out and stacked them on the backseat to form a barrier to keep him from getting buried in an avalanche of canned food at the first turn. His long guns are still in one of the bags, adding to the structural integrity of his makeshift wall and he had his handgun. Joe has his nine-millimeter out and Dakota’s holding a restless Bongo in his arms. Dave and Pam had already decided she’d drive leaving him and Joe, if needed, to protect their asses during their well-planned departure.
Mike, Lynn, and Ben get into the car, being careful not to slam their doors closed. Hearing them through the walls of the brick garage is doubtful, but there’s no sense in casting all caution to the wind. Dave looks at Mike and pumps a round into the chamber of his twelve-gauge. Their eyes meet and Dave gives him a curt nod and a wave. Mike pushes the button above the rearview mirror and the double-size garage door starts clattering upward.
As soon as the door is up enough to get under without crawling, Dave scrambles beneath it, immediately stopping to stand on the other side and searching down the barrel of the shotgun for any threats. He hears Zack and Brigette’s car start up and is relieved by the sound of their engine revving to life and a car door slamming shut. A second later and he hears the assuring sound of them honking their horn, getting the zombies’ attention and letting Dave know they’re leading them away. He quickly backs to the outer corner of the garage, edges the twenty open feet of driveway and around to the back of his car.
Although Zack’s car is out of sight from this angle, Dave’s happy to see a dozen of the flesh eaters running down the street after them. What he hadn’t expected was the number of them stumbling around in the neighbor’s yard to have increased while they’d been formulating their genius plan and searched for the elusive batteries. When he’d taken his final look, he’d only checked to make sure the space between the front door to Zack’s car was clear. He hadn’t bothered to take a head count across the street to see if their numbers had grown, leaving nearly the same number they’d originally seen still shuffling around.
“Fuck,” Dave whispers to himself as he starts flagging Joe to follow him. “You zombies just stay right there and keep watching your friends run away.”
Joe dips under the rising door and starts to follow the same path Dave had taken to the back edge of the driveway. Dave waves his hand to get his attention and Joe freezes in place. Dave pushes down the air with the flat of his hand like he’s pumping a brake pedal with it, signaling for Joe to slow down. Joe edges closer, but his head is tilted to one side, the international signal for, What the fuck? Dave quickly points across the street to the lingering baker’s dozen plus six. Joe follows his finger and then nods his understanding. The zombies haven’t noticed them yet, but they’re not showing any signs of following the rest of their horde-mates, either. What they are showing signs of is agitation. All but three of the nearly twenty stragglers have forgotten about the shattered window and the hollow promises the Baker’s house holds inside. The rest are gazing in the direction Zack had taken, but they’re waving their arms in a way that’s making Dave’s stomach roll. It wasn’t like they were using hand signals or anything that sophisticated, but they were clearly trying to send a message. He hoped it was something like, “You’re never going to catch them.” But his stomach was trying to convey to him the message was more like, “Don’t go! There has to be more of them around here!”
Joe quietly slips up next to him, keeping his attention and aim to the backyard like they’d discussed as the Mercedes and its occupants are next out of the garage. They’re followed immediately by Pam and Dakota, holding a squirming Bongo in his arms. Lynn waves at Dave from the passenger window as the Fosters and Ben pass on their way out of the driveway. He catches a glimpse of Mike lifting his hand and has an instant to think Mike was waving too. But instead, his father-in-law not being that kind of sentimental guy, had reached up and pushed the remote for the garage door. This fact was driven home by the fact the door, almost completely open at this point, jolts to a stop. It pauses for a second before Mike punches the button a second time, and the double garage door begins to lower behind Pam and Dakota as Mike drives out of the driveway and down the street. Dakota joins Dave on the passenger side with Pam going to the driver’s door and Joe guarding from behind his mother.
All the movement finally draws the zombie’s unwanted attention their direction, as Pam tells Dave, “Give me the keys!”
“You had them!” he replies as the icy spike of panic punctures his chest. Grabbing the door handle, he jerks it upward, but it’s locked.
“No! I didn’t!” Pam answers, reaching for the handle on the driver’s door. The zombies forget about Mike’s car and freeze, focused on the four two-legged meals and the dog standing helplessly in the driveway. Scores of milky eyes fixate on them. Dave’s first thought is that Pam took the keys into her parents’ house when she and Dakota left the car after he and Joe gave them the all-clear. He glances to the garage door, praying silently it’s still wide open so they can escape back inside, but it’s completed its descent and is resting firmly in place.
“Where are the fucking keys?” he asks Pam with more accusation in his tone than he’d intended. He knows he’ll pay for that oversight if they survive the next few minutes, but he doesn’t have time to grovel for her forgiveness now.
“I don’t know!” she answers. Slapping at her pockets, Pam knows full well women’s jeans don’t come with front pockets large enough or deep enough to hold a set of keys, but she goes through the motions anyway.
The zombies had been momentarily motionless, probably in disbelief at their good fortune. But, as if someone had fired a starting gun only they could hear, they simultaneously start to run across the Baker’s yard and into the street. Dave looks in all directions, trying to come up with an escape plan when his search passes the window and sees the keys hanging from the ignition. As the first zombie hits the pavement, Joe takes a shot, hitting it in the shoulder and spinning the creature to the side. It quickly recovers and keeps coming, leading the rest down on top of them.
“Fuck!” Dave shouts in frustration, sending a round of buckshot into the approaching mass. From this distance, there’s no way he’ll bring any of them down, but it does manage to make the ones in front misstep and stumble. The others following closely behind them get caught up and topple over each other in their rush to get their teeth into their new prey.
Joe takes this fortuitous opportunity to solve the key issue on his own. From the rear driver-side door, he slams the butt of his pistol into the small panel of glass behind the door. It shatters and he swings again to break it free.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Dave shouts, firing another shell at the horde that’s quickly getting its shit together and are rising to their feet.
Getting us into the car!” Joe replies proudly as he thrusts his arm into the open hole and starts feeling around for the lock.
“You can’t reach the button from there!” Dave shouts, blasting into the bloodthirsty mob again.
Realizing Dave’s right, Joe pulls his arm from the small, open window, rears back and smashes out the window of the rear door with three strikes.
“Fucking, stop it!” Dave yells, firing again as the zombies hit their side of the street and start coming across the yard. “There’s no lock button on the rear doors, goddamn it!”
Understanding washes across Joe’s expression as he realizes his mistake. Like most new cars, the Rogue doesn’t have a plunger-style lock in the top corner of the door. Everything now comes with electric locks that can only be disengaged from the inside, by keyless remote or in the old-fashioned way of turning the key in the outside lock. He pivots and takes aim at the driver’s window, planning to shoot out the glass and unlock the door. Before he can squeeze off a poorly planned round, Pam grabs his arm and
spins him toward the looming horde, barreling across the grass.
“Shoot the zombies!” she shouts, pushing him out of her way so she can lean in through the missing window to reach the lock button on the arm of the door. Being cursed with short arms that Dave has always found amusing, Pam’s forced to lean farther in. Her feet lift from the driveway as Joe joins Dave in firing at the zombies. She glances through the windshield in time to see one of their heads explode but can’t tell who fired the fatal shot and doesn’t have time to applaud. She slaps at the arm of the door and finally fingers the lock button to release. Throwing herself back, she rakes shards of broken safety glass across her stomach as she pushes herself out of the window, leaving deep scratches and a few shallow cuts. Dakota opens his door as soon as it unlocks and tosses Bongo inside, heedless of the pebbles of glass covering the rear seat.
Pam jerks her door open, surprised she hasn’t pulled it from its hinges as Joe and Dave fire again seeing the zombies are only a few feet away from closing in on them.
“I’m out!” Dave shouts when his shotgun dry fires.
“Get in!” Joe yells to him over a rapid volley of rounds. Two zombies fall to their knees, causing the ones behind to go down. The ones that have time to react flow around the others, forming a temporary bubble in front of them. Instead of taking Joe’s advice, Dave starts shoving more shells into the feeding tube of the shotgun. He pumps the first one into the chamber and then fills the tube to capacity. The gun roars in his hands as he fires one of the two-inch mags Ben had given him into the zombie closing in on Pam. The creature’s arm is blown from its shoulder as Pam slams her door. Joe shoots twice more before his bolt locks open and he fumbles for the door handle to get inside. Pam leans across the seat and pushes Dave’s door open as he keeps firing into the crowd. A zombie slams into the hood trying to get to Dave and he fires another mag, almost point-blank, at its head. Thunder erupts from the barrel as the monster’s cranium is transformed into sticky, high-velocity pulp. Shards of his skull pepper the flesh-eaters closest to him, rupturing more than one eyeball and spraying their faces in a coating of scalding viscera, stunning them for the briefest moment. With no time to celebrate, Dave pumps in another round and fires again through their heads, dropping two and shredding the lower jaw of a third. Shattered teeth and black mucus drip from its destroyed face. There are a few tendons and bits of stringy muscle still connecting its jaw to its skull. The broken bone swings back and forth as the ghoul continues to try and bite. Already in the backseat behind his mother, Joe’s ejected the empty magazine onto the floor of the car, slammed in another and is firing wildly through the missing window to his left.
The F*cked Series (Book 2): Proper Page 10