Knight of the Dead (Book 1): Knight of the Dead

by Smorynski, Ron

  He must move it. He gets out of his car. He walks then stops. He gets a chill and returns to his car. He reaches in and pulls out his sword and shotgun. Unsure of how to hold his two weapons together. He shrugs and takes both. The sword is still in its scabbard. He doesn't think about it, just carrying it that way. He walks up to the small blue dusty car. Its driver side window is shattered and has small trickles of blood on the door. The keys are still in the ignition. Is the car still running? With all the sounds of calamity in the city, he is not sure. He bends closer. It is. He opens the door. Down an apartment's walkway, covered in greenery and shadows, he doesn't notice a zombie scramble out and run towards him.

  Fortunately for him, zombies like to growl. He turns and for a split moment cannot decide which weapon to use. Therefore, he puts both the shotgun and scabbard up in a defensive flail. The crazed lady leaps at him clawing and barking like a rabid dog. He pushes her back with great reactive strength. She falls back in a tangle of chaotic limbs against a parked car. The car's alarm blares. Several more scramble from the walkway shadowed by greenery. They charge crazed and bloodied. Just under the leaves down the sidewalk can be seen the stark contrast of a bloody body. It's a mound of flesh they were feasting upon.

  He drops his sword and levels his shotgun. As she rises, he blasts the lady's face into a gory flower. She falls. He hasn't shot like this ever. The reality of it does not matter right now. Next comes a pale young man rushing between cars. Its arms are raised to grab. Dad fires, blowing out his mid section. The young man topples, flailing by Dad's feet. It grabs his leg. Dad kicks as another comes through. Dad raises the shotgun to block. He nearly trips from the young man gripping one of his legs but Dad is two hundred and fifty pounds and well trained in medieval combat. He pushes back upon the third zombie. She falls over the dead zombies. He turns his shotgun down and fires. The blast shatters the upper spine and neck of the young man. The grip is loosened. With pump-action vigor, he fires upon the third, a lady with gritting dark teeth. The dozen pellet sized lead balls of buckshot bursts through head and shoulders, shredding skull and flesh. It is enough. The lady slumps into the pile.

  “You killed them!”

  Dad looks up. A group of people on an apartment balcony with phones pointing down are videoing the whole thing. Some are talking on them. They all look with various disparate and desperate faces. Another cadre of neighbors are huddled in their apartments, staring out their windows.

  “Oh my God, you killed them.”

  “Stop! We don't know.”

  “We have it all on vid!”

  “Shut up! Or he'll shoot us!”

  “I'm going inside. Don't let him in!”

  One pukes over the railing.

  Dad picks up his sword in scabbard and gets in the car that is blocking the way.

  “He's got a sword?”

  “Is that armor on his arms?”

  “Now he's stealing too!”

  He turns it enough to make room, driving over zombie limbs.

  “Oh my God! He's a sadistic pig! Call the police!”

  “I am!”

  “Does anyone have a gun!?”

  “No, I'm against guns.”

  He gets out of the moved car, clumsily yanking out his shotgun and sword. He hears moans and gasps from the balcony above. He ignores them and rushes back to his car.

  A young man keeps videoing Dad. “You're going to hell for that!”

  Dad stops and looks up. “Do you even believe in Hell?”

  The young man shrugs.

  “I do.” Dad drives off.

  He drives down to Melrose Avenue, another busy four lane street blocked with morning rush-hour traffic. Honks echo from various frustrated drivers. He has to drive around them. He turns the low-clearance Prius to the sidewalk. It painfully bottoms-out just to get over the curb. Another car stuck in the lane sees Dad's driving. The driver tries to get in ahead of him, but hits Dad's Prius on the side. Dad's Prius has a cross dangling from the rear view mirror. Dad levels his shotgun out the window. The driver sees the cross twirling and the barrel of a shotgun aimed at him. He stops and ducks. Dad scrapes the Prius off the car and drives on.

  He drives over a store sign placed on the sidewalk. A coffee slash winebar's sign reads, 'Don't whine. Do wine!' It gets crushed. Dad likes that one. He notices the morning drivers all staring at him. They still don't know the severity of the situation. Many are videoing him on their phones for evidence or for social media. Some look like they're learning what's going on and are glued to their phones or listening to their radios.

  He is only two blocks from the high school now. It is completely enclosed with a high chain link fence and metal doors. He turns up a side street. He decides not to cross the main thoroughfare of Melrose Avenue. To get any closer with the amount of stuck cars and people waiting, he might get trapped. Up ahead a fire engine, an ambulance, and two cop cars have blocked the major intersection. He reverses back up the neighborhood into someone's driveway so he'll be able to drive out. He gets out with his sword and shotgun. The door opens and a scrawny man in a t-shirt and sweats comes out holding his coffee mug. Dad is reloading the shotgun. The man decides to go back inside.

  “I'll be ten minutes!”

  The man nods as he closes the door.

  Dad tries a polite smile as he pulls out his cellphone.

  “Lena, I'm a few blocks away. I'm walking over.”

  “Dad, what's going on!?”

  “Remember the side exit? The one by the gym?”

  “They won't let us out. They are on lock down. Is something going on outside?”

  “Lena, listen to me. Get to that side gate, the one down, uh, you know this side, eerrr, the closest side of Fairfax, that gate.”

  “Dad, they won't let us out.”

  “You gotta get there. Tell them I'm going to meet you there.”

  “Just a minute. ….. Dad? He says he can't.”

  “Yeah, tell him I'll meet you at that gate or I'll meet you inside with a damn shotgun.”

  “Dad! I can't say that.”

  “Don't listen to him anymore. Do what I say. He ain't holding you by the hand. Just go.”

  “I don't know if I can.”

  “Do it. We'll work it out later with them, okay?”

  “He says he'll call the police.”

  “Tell him I'm totally fine with that. Wait, I'm close to the front door. There's someone there. I'll meet you there.”

  Dad hurries down the sidewalk, heading to the stuck mass of cars on Melrose. He cradles his sword and shotgun awkwardly as he keeps the phone to his ear.

  “Dad, can I bring my friends?”

  …..

  “Dad?”

  “No Lena, I don't think that's a good ideal. Their parents should come get them.”

  “But Dad?”

  “I'm getting you. You got it! I'm getting you! Hurry to the front door, damnit!”

  “Okay, bye!”

  A security guard is standing at the front door on the steps. He is tiptoeing, trying to peer at the main intersection at the corner of the high school's parking lot. He is on his walky-talky. He notices Dad with his sword and shotgun. The guard glares wide-eyed then rushes back in and closes the door.

  Dad puts the phone away and rushes along through the cars, sword, still in its scabbard, in one hand and shotgun in the other. Drivers with rubber necks and glazed eyes stare, mouths agape as a man with armored arms, a sword, and shotgun rush past.

  He can see police and firemen at the intersection. They are wrestling with crazed people and trying to handcuff them. Suddenly, another in an ambulance goes crazy and a scream is heard. A bandaged paramedic is biting his co-worker in the arm. The police yell and rush to tackle him. The policeman shouts in pain as he his bitten.

  Dad knows it has really begun. It is happening. He rushes to the school through the front parking lot. It has giant pine trees in odd juxtaposition with the surrounding palm trees. Both were imported. He leaps up
the stairs to the main entrance and tries to peer through the fenced windows. They are so scratched and greasy that he can only see a hazy light. There is a shadow of two men inside. He sees them standing there. He lifts up his shotgun and bangs it on the door. The men inside back out of sight.

  “Let me in! I've come to pick up my daughter.”

  “We are on lockdown sir! No ins or outs. You need to put away your gun. We have police coming any minute,” Dad hears from inside.

  “No you won't! They are stuck on the streets out here where the shit is happening. Open the door or I'll freaking blow it open! I'm getting my daughter!”

  “No can do, man! I can not let you in! No guns allowed,” a voice echoes from within.

  “No guns my ass.”

  Another shadow approaches.

  “It's my Dad!” he hears Lena.

  “Hey, you can't go out there. He's got a gun,” the guard says.

  “Yeah, it's my Dad!”

  The first shadow blocks the second shadow.

  “Hey, let her out now!”

  “Just come here quick. He's got a gun!” Dad can hear from within as another talks on a walky-talkie.

  “Lena, kick open the damn door!”

  Lena is a varsity basketball player. She is strong, quick and clever, all unexpected for her age. She busts a move past the rotund government issued security guard and opens the metal door. That door will not close while a man bearing a sword and shotgun stands in it.

  “Hey man, we don't want no trouble.”

  “There's trouble man but not from me. The whole world is burning outside. You gotta save these kids, this school. No help is coming.”

  Dad points his shotgun outside to the intersection where police are being mauled by zombies. The fat Hispanic security guard and old crusty janitor stare at the mayhem outside.

  “Figure it out. It's an infection man. They bite.” Dad nods. The security guard nods, sweating and on the edge of panic.

  “Let's go Lena.”

  “Dad, what's going on?”

  “End of the world! Let's go.”

  “What are you talking about? Oh my gosh, what is that?”

  At the front entrance of the high school, the Dad, his daughter, and the security guard are elevated above the street. They can see over the cars at the intersection. There are jammed cars with people standing at their doors, peering over at each other. Many are on the sidewalks with smart phones aimed. They see the police, firemen, paramedics, and the rush of people. They see blood suddenly appear and crazed flailing limbs. And finally, in that chaos, a police man dazed and stumbling, fires into the others, into one on the ground in handcuffs spitting and barking with guttural insanity. The group scatters, some fall, with others atop them like pouncing wolves. Civilians on the sidewalks scatter. Cars rev and drive forward to push others. The crunching of metal, the crackling of headlights, and the gasps of shock and anger rises.

  “Hurry!”

  Dad rushes down the stairs with Lena. The guard goes back inside closing the metal gated doors.

  “I want to go back inside!”

  “No, come on. The car is just up the street.”

  “Dad!”

  Several people run by. One holds his bloodied arm with a pained face.

  Dad aims his shotgun at the wounded. The injured man takes no notice and keeps running.

  “Let's go.” They meander through the jammed cars. One revs his car and lurches in front of them, nearly running them over. Lena screams. Dad steps back and waves his shotgun.

  “Sorry! I'm so sorry!” The man reverses, smashing the car behind him.

  “Hey! What the hell are you doing!?” the other man gets out as a crowd of people rush by screaming. He gets back in his car. A panic spreads amongst the drivers. Car doors are shutting, windows are rolling up.

  They hurry to the other side onto the sidewalk. A car races toward them. They leap into a doorway. The car accelerates past scraping the walls.

  “Dad!? What's going on?”

  “Zombie shit, some kind of infection! Whatever happens, don't get bitten! Take this.”

  “What do you mean? Like in the movies?”

  “Uh, yep, like in the movies, in the games, just like in the Bible.”

  Dad unbuckles his left arm greave. She sobs slightly as he puts it on.

  “If they attack you, if they jump on you, raise this up. Let them bite into this. Got it!?”

  “Dad, what the fuck is happening!?”

  “What? Watch your language.” In the horrific moment, he can still get her to pause and smile, even angrily.

  “The car is up the street. It’s close. We get there, drive home. Remember, lift that up if they jump on you!”

  She nods. He nods and pats her shoulder, giving her bravado.

  “Are mom and Charlotte okay?”

  “Yeah, they're safe, and they're waiting for us.” Dad goes first, quickly along the sidewalk then turns off the nearest side street away from Melrose. A man runs up behind them. Dad turns with sword and shotgun in hand. The man turns back into the panicked crowd and keeps running.

  A woman screams and runs past them. “Help me! Help me!”

  Dad looks back. A fireman chases her with a feral look. He scrambles through the cars. Dad keeps Lena low behind cars. A sense of something overrides him, a sense of something else, louder, bigger, and more. At the intersection beyond their view, there is a sense of overwhelming barks and gurgles and growls and screams of car windows breaking and alarms going off. Gun shots are fired then stop. A crescendo of car horns go off. It’s as if angry people in cars got tired of the bad L.A. traffic. Then horror overtakes them as they realize what is unfolding. Their anger turns to panic and the horns cease as the screams increase.

  Various screams are heard. “No! No! Stop! Please! Help! No! Aaaggghh. AAAGGHH!!!”

  Lena holds her mouth. She holds her crying. Dad urges her on. They run up the street through an alley behind the stores. There is a semblance of quietness as they jog through. The muffled sound of a crowd, a horde, echoes over the rooftops from the main street. There are horrible screams for help. Honks. Cars racing and crashing. Horrible.

  “The car is just up the next street.”

  “I'm calling mom!”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  “It's not going through. I can't get a signal.”

  “Probably everyone is using their damn cellphones.”

  They jog to the next opening. Dad stops Lena. He peers down the neighborhood streets. Two cars are smashed together. Both tried to drive up the narrow street. The two drivers are fighting, yelling at each other. A young lady is reversing the car but it’s jammed into the parked cars. She has no understanding in her panic of what to do.

  Dad takes daughter in hand. They walk past the ordeal to their car in the driveway. He gets in. Lena gets in. The man at the door doesn't come out.

  He drives out and up the street past two cars that are double parked. The opening is narrow, but he thinks he can drive through. The Prius scraping is so loud and long against the two cars. In one car, the passenger is crazed, lurching and grabbing at the window. Lena screams.

  “No worries, look!” The seat belt is intact, bracing the zombie to the seat tighter and tighter. Her head shakes maniacally. The crazed old lady's face is rabid and zombie. Her arms have been eaten away.

  Dad pushes through.

  “Dad, zombies! It's zombies! It's crazed fucking zombies!”

  “Language!”

  “Dad! Zombies!”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know, end of the world. You right with God?”

  “I'm praying to Jesus right now.”

  “Good job.” He clears the two cars and drives up to next intersection.

  3. Just a few blocks...

  “Dear God, help us. Jesus, help us. Please bring us safely home to mom and Charlotte. Please keep them safe. Please help others. Help us all in our need. Please stop whatever is happening out there. Give us the courage to go
on. In the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.”

  “Amen,” Dad says, “just a few blocks.” He drives slowly through the narrow streets and back up the street where the blue car blocked him earlier. Scattered about are the dead zombies he killed.

  “Dad.”

  “It's okay. I killed them.”

  “I'm gonna puke.”

  “I don't blame you. What the?”

  Up ahead are more of them. They are huddled on a lawn, grabbing and feasting on flesh. On a balcony, a woman in a robe is reaching down, crying. Residents from other windows are looking and pointing. Several are using their phones. Dad drives forward. He must drive past them. They are on his daughter's side of the car.

  “Get down Lena,” Dad says.

  She reclines the chair and scoots down as far as she can. Her breathing increases. He drives up closer. There are ten or fifteen of them, all reaching in and ripping apart something very red, very bloody, and very fleshy. Dad speeds up to get past them and on to the next intersection. It feels like slow motion. The small Prius glides by. One is on the sidewalk, crouched with a bit of dangling flesh. It turns and looks. It leaps toward the Prius as they pass. Dad speeds up. The zombie hits the window on Lena's side.

  “Dad!?”

  He drives to the intersection. There's a stop sign but Dad speeds through.

  A car races into his left front and there is a loud CRUNCH. Both cars are small. They jostle into the air as they spin. The Prius stops hard, smashing against a parked car. The other car spins to a stop in the middle of the intersection. Inside are two young men and a woman. They look like your grungy Hollywood types, rockers or struggling actors. The airbags work in the Prius. Dad is stunned. Luckily, Lena, having leaned back, merely felt a whomp of hard balloon on her thighs and a white balloon explode before her face.

  The other car is some old economy beat up with 'Save the Earth' stickers and 'God is Stupid'. It has no airbags. The driver's head is up over the steering wheel, angled wrong, bloodied. The female passenger's head is down in a mop of hair. The backseat passenger is already stepping out of the car. He reaches in, to the driver to try to pull him out. He can't. He grabs his own hair in frustration. Perhaps drunk or stoned or just jostled, he hobbles to the other side.