Knight of the Dead (Book 3): Fortress

by Ron Smorynski

  The kid opened the car and leaped in. “I hope it starts! Got a new battery!”

  It started.

  “Let's go!”

  The other opened the side door, motioning for them to get in. Dad motioned for the kid to get in as he sliced more zombies. The kid nodded and leapt in like he was a football player. Dad blinked.

  The bigger one got into the passenger side. Dad came to help Steve, killing zombies attacking him. Steve backed off and hurried to the mini-van. They were all bulky in their armor and football gear. It was tight in there.

  The kid in the back scrambled to the back row, rolling and plopping. “Let's go! Let's go!” he screamed like a girl.

  Steve hopped and plopped himself onto the front row. Dad didn't see much room as he backed into it. He then just sat back onto whatever as he punched his sword and gauntlets at reaching zombies. He then rolled back, lifting up his legs and bracing them against the door. Zombies tried to reach in but he kept them at bay with sword and gauntlet.

  The kid drove back, slamming zombies who fell underneath, bumping the small mini-van up and down. But with all the weight inside, it held steady. Dad was at the opening. He rocked back and forth against the seats, bracing as best he could.

  The kid put it in drive and drove into zombies. “Oh my God! Oh my God! It's all our friends! We're killing them!”

  “They be killing us!” the bigger guy yelled back, spitting in his helm.

  A zombie reached into his window grabbing at him.

  “Face mask! Face mask!” he yelled as his helm was being twisted.

  Dad couldn't reach through the seats with blade or gauntlet to cut it. Thankfully, the helm braced against the window and door, keeping the zombie from ripping the kid's head off. The big guy was yelling, staring right at the zombie who was trying to pull itself closer to bite. The driver was yelling and driving too slowly, slamming against zombie friends. Dad finally righted himself better to help the big guy.

  The kid kept driving slowly, swerving, “Where do I go? Where do I go?”

  Dad sliced the zombie's arm off, dropping it as they drove on.

  “Oh my God! Ow! Oh my God... he face masked me man!”

  “Where do I go!?” the driver screeched, swerving and slamming zombies, bumping up and down.

  Dad looked around. The fire engine was alight, the trees were all burning, zombies were scattering, but groups of them were forming to come after the van. “Just crash through the gate! Then turn left!”

  “Okay, oh shit, okay, can I do that?”

  “It's just a chain man. Do it!” the big guy said, shaking his strained head. Another zombie slammed into his side door, grabbing frantically at him. “Fuck! Fuck off damnit!”

  “As long as I don't get into trouble,” the driver said.

  “Whaht!?” the big guy responded.

  “Here goes!”

  Dad swung his sword at the zombies on their side. He cut off limbs reaching in. Some clung to the van but not for long. Either their weak fingers broke or Dad sliced along the outside, using a lot of wrist work. He only had to cut fingers and hands.

  The driver slammed into the chain. It broke open.

  “Oh shit that was easy...”

  On the other side, the windows were intact and zombies just slammed against them then fell away.

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you, man...” the back seat kid said, patting Steve and Dad with his frantic little hands. His voice was girly calm. Then suddenly he barked, making even Dad flinch. “Yo, why we stopped!?”

  “Where we going man? Where to!?” the driver squealed like a crazy kid.

  “Up Fairfax, go up quick, past this mess of zombies. It'll clear out some...”

  “Oh man, oh man, we gotta kill all these people??!” he cried, slamming into zombies, swerving and scratching both sides of the van. “Oh shit! Sorry!”

  Dad had to quickly retract his feet and his sword, making sure nothing was hanging out the side door as the van slammed and scraped practically everything. The sliding door ripped off and clanged behind them.

  “Oh damn! Oh damn! Sorry!” the kid driver squealed.

  “You're doing fine! Just keep going!” Dad grunted. He tried in vain to roll himself up more. He realized he had to grab the interior hook and seat belt to pull himself more upright, scooting in and pushing Steve back a bit.

  Steve was confined, sweating and exhausted. Dad couldn't turn his armored body around to see how Steve was.

  Over the crunching crashing cranking sounds of the mini-van barreling along, Dad had to yell through his helm, “Everybody okay? Steve? How you doing?”

  “I'm alright... just beat... just beat...”

  Dad was able to angle his helm to the kid in the rear, who was gripping the seat tightly and staring at them. “What's your name? Kid?”

  “Darryl, I'm Darryl... that's Stu, the driver... he's Stu, and that's Marcus... We play football at Fairfax!”

  “How'd you guys...”

  The van jolted. “Oh shit! Oh shit! Sorry, fuck, they're all jumping in my way man! I can't avoid them!” The van jolted again. “Oh shit! God damn it. They're fucking crazy, motherfuckers!”

  “Hey!” Dad roared, turning as best he could. “Stop swearing, stop blaspheming!”

  “What? What the fuck you sayin?” the driver swerved erratically, trying to avoid more splatters against his messed up window.

  “No blaspheming! Stop swearing!” Dad grunted, keeping a tight grip as cars and zombies and battered shops flashed by his view.

  “What the fuck does that mean? Oh sorry! Shit!” the driver babbled on, hitting another zombie.

  “I think he means stop cussing and saying God all the time,” Marcus, the big guy in the passenger seat said, flinching as flashes of zombies passed by his broken window.

  “What the fuck? Shit, we got more shit to deal with than that!?” the driver Stu said, cringing and swerving.

  “Just get up to Sunset, turn right!” Dad exhorted.

  “Alright! Alright! Fuckin shit! Oops, sorry... damn it!” Stu yelped, hitting cars, scraping along the crowded street, careening the van against everything it seemed. “FUCK!”

  “Language!” Dad said to no one.

  There seemed a moment of calm driving and the frantic noises of growls and metal screeches subsided. Marcus spoke up. “Everyone's dead. Right? Everyone, everywhere?” He was able to turn to look back at Dad.

  “Something like that,” Dad said.

  Marcus turned back around to face the front. Stu kept driving, turning right on Sunset, blasting through and getting the hang of all the wrecks and pile ups.

  They saw smoke up ahead.

  “Turn in there. Park near that!” Dad said, hammer-fisting the seat in joy.

  “What is it? Another fire?” Stu asked.

  “It's our deterrent. It keeps the zombies away,” Dad said.

  “See, I knew they were zombies! Just like all those movies!” Darryl said from the back.

  “You guys be careful. Keep your arm pads up, get in there amongst the cars, and keep quiet,” Dad said.

  Stu parked close. They scrambled out, a bit noisy coming out of the beat up van and jumping out.

  “Quiet!” Dad hissed as the boys huffed and puffed, being free from the gym's rooftop.

  “God damn stiff and sore!” Darryl hissed.

  Dad led them through where Lena and Lisa were. The wreck of cars on both sides seemed like walls with the smoke covering the opening. They could see Lena and Lisa beyond, tending to the burning limbs.

  “Oh my God, is that you? Lena? Lisa?” Stu yelled a bit too loud.

  “Shut up Stu!” Lena grunted.

  “Quiet!” Lisa whispered loud.

  Stu did a little jig. Marcus came in and hugged Lena and Lisa.

  “Marcus,” Lena moaned. She hugged him and cried. Lisa cried. They all began to cry. Darryl came in and hugged them. They began to talk quickly, chattering about the fate of friends and of Fairfax High School
.

  Dad and Steve stood a moment as they sobbed. Names were whispered, gasps were shared. Steve and Dad looked at each other, taking slow breaths. Dad noticed zombies beyond, on Sunset, repelled by the smoke, but attracted to the noises.

  “Alright, alright, let's get back. We aren't safe here,” Dad said, coughing a bit as he walked through the smoke.

  “What's that?” Darryl noticed the pile of burning limbs on the asphalt.

  “It keeps the zombies away,” Lena said. “Come on. We gotta go.”

  The pile was isolated on the asphalt and would burn away.

  They led them back through the neighborhood, through side gates and through the yards of homes, hidden away from the main streets and broad openings. They made it to the school.

  Randall came from behind on his bike, quietly getting into the fence with them. Dad thumbed up. Randall thumbed up. “I tried to lead as many away as I could, but it was just...”

  “No worries, I saw it. They were spread everywhere.” Dad noticed Steve bringing up the rear. “How you holding up?” Dad asked.

  “Better,” Steve said. “I see what you mean by the nerves. It's getting better. Gotta work on my swing though. Like yours.”

  “Yep.”

  “Got it.”

  “Good.”

  23. Rest

  Stu, Darryl, Marcus sat in the cafeteria, chugging water and eating cookies. Stu cried. Darryl and Marcus sat and stared at their cookies and water. Lena sat close to Marcus.

  Dad noticed, taking off his armour. His wife cleaned his armor again. She then took notice of their football gear and pads.

  “When it started,” Marcus began, “when the people all outside were going crazy, a lot of kids and teachers tried to get out. Some just walked out, then more, and then it all just went crazy. Everyone was running.”

  Everybody sat or stood close to listen. He mumbled a lot of it.

  “They were fighting. The crazies were coming, then we saw our friends go crazy. We knew it was all the biting,” Darryl said, holding in a sob.

  Stu couldn't stop crying. Darryl kept rubbing and patting Stu, who was hunched into the smallest ball. He looked like he needed to lie down.

  Their helmets were off, showing their afros thick and knotted. They smelled horrific. They had scruffy chin growth, like young guys. But it was something everyone was used to.

  “We were weightlifting before first period, then taking showers when it all started. Like half the team was in there. We waited it out. And things just went crazy. I can't remember it all. But when a lot of the guys wanted to go home or whatever, I was like, it's too late. No way. My sister was at her school, far away, and... I texted and called her and my mom... but... “ He collapsed. Lena held him.

  There was a long silence. Everyone knew. Lena rubbed his back. “It's okay. We know, all of us...”

  Marcus looked up at everyone, at their faces. He knew they all lost and suffered too. Oddly, there was comfort in that, the sharing of suffering. He leaned his head on Lena's chest, like a large son to a small mother. Lena's eyes teared as she held him there.

  Dad and his wife shared a look.

  “You guys made it to the roof?”

  Darryl spoke, sipping water, “Yeah, we knew about the ladder, how to get up there. We then got up a bunch of Gatorade packs and water. When they came in, like animals man, they came in, we watched and saw from the gym. They banged on the doors and were like biting the windows and stuff! We ran back in and got all that stuff and went up. Marcus carried a forty five pound weight up, under one arm, to weigh down the door, keep it shut!”

  Marcus nodded, still cradled in Lena's arms.

  “But they can't climb ladders,” Darryl added.

  Dad stepped in, sweaty and robust. “Lena... you know them?”

  “Yeah Dad, all the athletes know each other,” Lena shrugged.

  Marcus avoided Dad's eyes.

  Dad glanced at them all, at Lena, Lisa, the boys, or young men. Darryl looked up with a sad smile. Stu was sniffling, but seemed to be recovering.

  “You know what? I want you three to rest. Get some real sleep and peace in a room. Then, when you're ready, we'll give you the tour and tell you what's going on here, alright?” Dad said.

  “I can give them the tour,” Lena said. She then looked at Lisa.

  Lisa added, “We can give them the tour, show them everything, train them...”

  Dad looked glum at the girls, but nodded okay.

  “Train?” Darryl repeated. “Yeah, what's up with the Lord of the Rings stuff?”

  Some chuckled.

  Dad couldn't help but smile. “You mean my armor, my sword?”

  “Yeah, yeah, what's up with that?”

  “Well, before all this zombie apocalypse, that's what I did, like a sport, like your football, except we fought with swords. They were dull swords. But thankfully, I had some sharp ones. When the zombie crazy stuff happened, I put it on and fought for my family.”

  “You kill a lot of those zombies?” Marcus asked, sitting up.

  “Yes -- a lot.”

  “Oh yeah,” Lena confirmed with wide eyes and a tight smile.

  “I wanna do that,” Marcus said. “Help others.”

  Dad nodded. Everyone suddenly seemed relieved, relaxed, sitting back and returning to their rationed foods.

  “Rest first, then Lena and Lisa will get you up to speed,” Dad said. “We got more stuff to do. A lot more stuff to do.”

  Dad rested in his room. He lay there, cleaned up, watching his wife. His armour was polished and cleaned, set on a table. All around the classroom were more tables full of supplies. Even though she had a separate room for armor crafting, she still had work in their room. He could tell she had gotten many of the women to help her. They were making armor, modern plastic padded armor. He saw stacks of pads, glued, ready to be sewn onto wraps. He didn't know exactly what everything was. His eyes were tired as he lay. He merely watched in that somnambulist state as she tidied up a bit, this, that, putting things into organized bins.

  He couldn't help but smile and see her busy little professional self, hard at work in this post zombie apocalypse. He told his wife to come to him, then they fell into a peaceful rest.

  24. Coffee & Danish

  The next day was as busy as ever. He awoke late, and sensed that everyone was already busy. He got up and donned on his legs and arms, his belt, sword and gun. The rest he left. He'd wear it soon enough. He marched downstairs to the cafeteria.

  It was empty. Beth was in the adjacent cafeteria kitchen organizing and counting the food stocks. That girl, Ginger, in her thick red matted hair was helping. Katrina wanted to brush it out but Ginger ignored her. Eva was there just talking away and not being very helpful. Dad noticed Katrina and Beth share an eye roll. He looked to his wife, who was bent over doing something. Dad tried not to stare too long. They noticed.

  Aside from the large dog food bags, there was a variety of food items they scavenged from nearby houses. It was surprisingly a lot. They were talking loudly about stuff, women stuff, the food, the people. His wife motioned for him to sit. She'd serve him. Dad sat and peered about.

  Outside, through the windows, with his view a bit blocked by the outside roofing, columns and tables, he could just see Lena, Lisa, the high school boys, and others practicing. Steve was out there, giving them workouts, stretching them, doing air squats, some strengthening stuff.

  It was a routine they did, nothing too taxing. It was just right for building up strength, working out the stress and stiffness. The whole day, each day, they had plenty of work to do. No one was sitting at a desk, so there was no need for intense workouts.

  Rick Gomez was out there too. Dad could remember his name because he was a portly white guy with a Hispanic last name. Was his first name Ricardo? Dad mused. He was sweating profusely and barely able to do plain-ole squats.

  Eddie, the more athletic of the two stoner dudes, was with Cory, the Native-American guy, and Jerry, th
e older gardener guy. They were on the pells, the padded trees, working on sword and spear movements, building up their memory muscle. Lisa and Lena were going back and forth, showing them, but also working out. Steve was turning into a trainer for sword work and his work outs, watching to make sure everyone was doing the right stuff.

  Dad felt relieved, as much as he knew to fight, he didn't care much for teaching over and over. Delegating was a good thing.

  Jake and Trish were there. Dad knew they'd mostly hang out with the kids. He was okay with that. Jake knew rifles and hunting. Dad saw him take a back seat to the kids, letting them handle the guns while he kept an eye on them, from getting into the line of fire or waving the guns about. Dad definitely felt good about that. Trish was also great. She kept the kids positive with her cheery disposition. She was turning into a big-sister chaperon.

  Dad smiled at that, or perhaps it was the plopping of a bowl of dog food, an actual danish, and some coffee in front of him. His wife kissed his forehead. Dad sipped the beautiful cup of coffee in a teacher's mug. He watched as they practiced.

  He saw potential in Cory and Eddie. A Cherokee warrior and a tough white guy... he stereotyped them, slotting them in his mind for easy reference. He didn't know what tribe Cory came from, or if he even knew. Odd, Dad never had that kind of conversation with any Native American.

  Rick definitely looked like a comedian, like an underdeveloped version physically and mentally of that famous one... uh... Dad tried to remember. Jim Gaffigan, yeah, that's who he sort of looked like. He was a younger, but not so refined version. Dad smiled at himself, smelling a waft of coffee. Rick peered at the plastic sword Steve handed him. He looked at it like it was some technological device.

  Behind Dad, Amador came through with a rickety school cart. Amador had a cart full of power tools, power chords, and an assortment of nails, tape, etc. It was quite glorious. Randall and the little stoner guy Trek were with him. They were laying out more power cables, getting the electricity from the solar panels spread out to various rooms.

  Dad took the danish and topped off his coffee and then walked about. He walked about in silence and peace, watching them all. Everyone noticed him but saw his state of peace, in a resting mood after fighting hard to save others. Some nodded, smiled politely, but all were automated, doing their own thing, knowing what to do somehow. Dad knew they had many talks and meetings on this. But still, in his post fighting state, he was in a lull, a peaceful lull, and walked about, holding his coffee and nibbling at his little factory made danish.