by Mark Tufo
He knew they were long gone. Right now seeing Trip come up those stairs would be the
most welcome sight he could imagine. He knew better. They had walked into an ambush.
“Melissa, Hal, come back up here,” he told them.
“Wh—” Melissa started.
She began to scream when she saw a trio of zombies running towards her. She hadn’t
completely turned around when they dragged her down. Chewing quickly through her clothes
and into the soft tissue of her buttocks and hips. Hal grabbed her right arm as she
fell. He was pulling her back towards him when one of the zombies peeled off from
Melissa and lunged at him; he put his rifle wielding arm up reflexively. The zombie
bit down hard on his elbow joint, shattering it into three shards.
Melissa was forgotten as he pulled his right hand free to swing at the zombie. He
caught it on the side of its head, shattering one of his knuckles—the pain not even
registering in comparison to his elbow. The zombie had not let go and was shaking
its head back and forth, trying to rip a piece of him free. Curtez went down a few
steps and slammed the butt of his gun into the zombie’s nose, rupturing the cartilage
and most of the bones in its face. Melissa was mewling as the two zombies on her were
ripping strips of meat from her legs. Bone was exposed on her left leg as she still
tried to push away with her right.
Lisa was frozen, trying desperately to take her gaze from the scene below her. She
wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go. She still had rounds in her rifle, but
the engaged fighting was too close to use them. The zombie that had bit Hal was falling
away as Curtez slammed it twice more in the head. He had pushed the face almost halfway
into its skull. A zombie with a long thin strip of muscle meat in its mouth hissed
at Curtez before it chugged the morsel down its throat.
“FUCK YOU!!!!” Curtez screamed as he rammed the rifle into its head as well.
Hal had fallen to the stairs, a glaze of shock sinking down on his features. His mouth
was becoming slack, his eyes were losing focus. Curtez figured it was partly from
the pain, but the majority was most likely from watching his girlfriend get eaten
less than two feet away. Blood was sluicing down the stairs from Melissa’s torn legs.
She was still alive but had long since retreated into herself. She was not cognizant
of the events unfolding around her and was on the verge of passing out from blood
loss.
Curtez had blood and gore all over him as he dispatched of the second zombie. He raised
his weapon to take down the third. The zombie stood and backed down the stairs, warily
keeping its eyes on Curtez.
“That’s right, motherfucker!” Curtez yelled at it, taking a step to meet it. “I’m
the biggest, baddest mofo around!” he screamed, slamming a blood encrusted hand against
his chest.
Lisa was nearly flung against the far wall as zombies began to push against the door
she was standing next to. “Curtez!” She had turned and braced her legs against the
wall and leaned her upper half against the door. The forearm of a man and a woman
zombie were sticking through the small opening their initial push had afforded them.
Curtez looked down the stairs. The way was clear, he could leave. With more difficulty
than he felt he should have, he turned the thought away. He ran up the stairs, bringing
his rifle back, he moved it forward and pulverized the two arms until they hung limply,
nothing much more than tendon holding them to their masters. Lisa was nearly able
to shut the door completely.
She bumped violently when more zombies pushed from the other side. Curtez joined her
in repelling the attack. They stood there for a moment, shoulder-to-shoulder.
“Now what?” Lisa asked him as if she thought he had the answer.
“Well, I suppose I should count to three and we’ll both head down these stairs as
fast as we can and pray we can stay one step ahead of the zombies behind us,” he told
her earnestly. “Move to my other side.”
“Why?”
“You’re slower.”
“Isn’t that better for you?” she asked.
“I’m sick of leaving people behind,” he said with a deep sadness.
“What about Hal?”
“Zombie broke skin.”
Lisa’s mouth became tight-lipped as she slid past Curtez. He moved further down the
door so she would have room.
“Ready?” he asked.
She licked her lips.
“I’ll take that as a yes. One…two…three!”
Lisa pushed off from the door and was halfway down the flight of stairs before Curtez
followed. Curtez was no more than three stairs down when he heard the door behind
him crash open. He didn’t bother to hazard a look, he knew what was coming. Lisa was
standing in the open doorway leading outside.
“Go, go, go!” he urged her, catching up.
He stopped short when he saw what was blocking her way. A dozen zombies were standing
in a semi-circle looking at them. He was barely able to register how complete of a
trap it was when he felt a spike of pain and heat in his neck as a zombie tore into
him. I should have gone with Trip, was his final thought.
Lisa bolted, nearly breaking free of the ring; it was a bite to the back of her skull
that brought her down. The zombie’s teeth had cracked through the thick plate and
skimmed against her cerebellum. With her motor skills misfiring, she could not get
her left leg to bend properly. Stiff-legged, she still tried. It was a short-lived
attempt as a zombie dove onto her back and drove her into the ground. Her front teeth
shattered as she hit the pavement. She couldn’t think why she thought it, but a bus
ride sounded like the best thing in the world right now…and then her eyes shut.
Chapter 8 – Mike Journal Entry 5
“Mike!” Ron yelled through the heavily crackling radio while BT and I stared at hex-head
screws and wondered how we were going to get them out. The library housed all sorts
of ‘How To’ home improvement books. But in all of them, one needed tools.
“How about we just smash the damn thing against the ground until it opens?” he had
asked at one point. I was inclined to agree.
I ran over to the window, figuring Ron was getting ready to give me tongue-lashing
number two for destroying another truck. I knew something was wrong the moment I looked
out. Zombies were surrounding the truck, and not just milling about, they looked aggressive.
We’d found that, throughout most of the invasion, if the zombies had a choice between
a car and a building, they invariably stayed around the building. I can’t really attest
to why this is. Maybe they felt that the odds of more people being in the building
were higher. As good a theory as any I suppose.
But that was changing right now. Zombies that had been perfectly content to wander
around our stronghold were now peeling off and heading towards Ron’s truck, and what
was more unsettling was that they were trying the door handles.
“Holy shit,” I said aloud.
“Are they trying to get in?” Tracy asked me.
I thought about going with ‘You think?’ Luckily, from time to time, an inspiration
of wisdom hits. “Yup,” was my answer. “
Looks like our friends slept at a Holiday Inn.”
“What the fuck are you talking about, Talbot?” BT asked, coming up next to me.
“You know, because they’re getting all smart and shit,” I said defensively. “Want
me to shoot some of them?” I yelled down to Ron. I was ignoring BT’s shaking head.
“Don’t you fucking dare!” I heard him somewhat through the failing radio and the span
of distance; although that latter voice was muffled from the closed windows.
From his angle, it would look like I was shooting right at him. I mean, I wouldn’t
be, but there was a chance I’d send rounds into his engine…and that wouldn’t be good.
Zombies or not, he’d get out of that truck and come up here and kick my ass for wrecking
another one.
“I was afraid this might happen,” Tommy said from the next window over.
We all stopped to look at him. “Any chance you would like to elaborate?” BT finally
asked.
“Eliza sort of kept the zombies at bay. With her giving them commands, they never
had to think much past what she told them to do. With her influence gone, they are
free to learn, or relearn, or just plain remember, I’m not sure.”
“How much of any of that can they do?” I asked, fearful.
“Well…none of them are ever going to write great novels. But opening doors and figuring
out basic tactics shouldn’t pose too many problems.”
“How do you know all this?” Tracy asked.
“When I was linked to Eliza I could feel what she felt when she reached out to them.
She suppressed them to keep them under her rule.”
“Who would have figured having Eliza around would be a good thing?” BT asked as a
statement.
“This is worse than pissed-off flying monkeys,” I said off-handedly; a thought I probably
should have kept to myself.
Tracy stopped her thoughts to look over at me. “Huh?”
“Heavy medication day?” BT asked her.
“Forget it,” I said, feeling fingers of embarrassment flick up my neck.
“We gotta go!” Ron shouted as the zombies began beating on the hood and glass of his
truck.
“I didn’t think the cavalry was supposed to retreat.” Travis said, beating me to the
punch.
“We’ll be back!” Ron yelled over squealing tires.
“Seems the cavalry is re-grouping. Boys, this changes things a bit. Stay together.
I want you to check out every weak area this place has, no matter how small the chance
you think a zombie can use it. I want you to either fortify it or let me know about
it. Tracy, Tommy, if you two could keep an eye on the zombies, me and BT are going
to get this box open.”
“What about Gary?” BT asked.
“Let him sleep,” I answered. I went over to the librarian’s desk and began to rifle
through it until I found something I thought we could use on the screws. “Hope this
works,” I said, holding up a pair of toenail cutters.
“Damn, did she cut horse hooves with those?” BT exclaimed.
I hadn’t noticed how big they were until he had said something. I was just happy to
have a tool. Then thoughts of what those had been touching began to dominate my mind.
What if she had toe fungus like the zombie?
“Here, you should probably use these.” I thrust them out to BT and quickly rubbed
my hand on the side of my pants.
BT figured out my unease and the source of it quick enough. “This little thing grossing
you out a bit?” BT asked, holding them dangerously close to my face.
“I’ll hit you, man.”
“I can almost see the germs wriggling around on it.” BT held it up to his eyes. “Looks
like some of them have horns.”
“Why? We have zombies running around outside trying to get in and you feel like you
have the time to give me shit?”
“Because it’s fun, man,” he said, sticking his tongue out and nearly licking the apparatus.
Heaving was not out of the realm of possibilities. As difficult as it was, I had to
man up. My man-card was already in jeopardy of being revoked. As soon as this shit
was over I was going to have a metal one made. Then I rethought my strategy; metal
rusts.
“Just get the screws, will you,” I said to him, peeling my eyes from the horror he
was trying to inflict on me.
BT slowly removed half the screws, the soft metal on the clippers was beginning to
twist. We could only hope it would last. Justin came up behind me. I hadn’t even heard
him approach as I was concentrating so hard on the process in front of me.
“Hey, Dad.”
I hoped the small jump my heart took went unnoticed.
“Hey,” I said back.
“Everything’s secure, but they’re trying all the doors.”
“Fuck…that’s creepy,” I said. “Whatever happened to the good old days?”
BT stopped. “Good old days?”
“Yeah, stupid slow shufflers,” I told him.
“Yeah, those were the good days,” he said, getting back to the box.
“There’s more…they’re really starting to congregate around the small basement windows,”
Justin reported. “Trav’s keeping an eye on them. We don’t really think they can get
in that way, but they seem real interested.”
“BT, you good?” I asked.
“No. Without you watching, I’m not sure how I’ll ever get this done.”
“Funny. I’m going downstairs.”
“Alas, what will I ever do without your micro-management?”
“Come on, Justin,” I said.
The basement was darker than I remembered; then I realized it was because the zombies
were crowding out the ambient light. Mostly we were staring at legs, but more than
a couple of the windows had the faces of the living dead staring back at us. Talk
about a nightmare. Think about that the next time you have an opportunity to go down
into your basement and get supplies. We were fish in a fishbowl and the cats were
trying to figure out how to get their paws in. Did I mention I fucking hate cats?
“Shit!” I heard BT bellow upstairs.
“You alright?” I yelled.
“Broke a nail,” was his terse reply.
I was about to say something when a zombie hand slammed against the thick-paned glass,
followed quickly by another. And then, as if they had synchronized their attack, pounding
was going on all around us. I did a quick three-sixty to watch. Travis pulled back
from where he was to be in the relative comfort and safety of us.
We were all holding our breath, so it was pretty easy to hear first one window crack
and then another.
“Well, this just got interesting,” I said more as a way to calm my skipping heart.
“Shoot?” Travis asked nervously.
Tracy and Tommy had come down from the top floor to see what was causing so much noise.
Large pieces of glass shattered on the cement floor. Hands shot through, trying their
best to seek purchase on something that was WELL out of reach. On a few of the windows,
hands and arms were replaced with heads as zombies tried to wriggle their way in.
Fortunately, they were getting hung up on their shoulders. A smaller woman zombie
was able to flop most of the way in; her gratuitous, child-bearing hips became her