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

by Smorynski, Ron

  Lena watches him as if in a dream. She watches as the young man reaches in to gently lift up the woman's head. A horde rushes up from behind him. Lena wants to say something but everything is slow, her blinks, her mouth, her breathing. Her chair is leaned back and she can barely peer through the car windows.

  The horde leaps upon the man. They slam him against the car. The woman awakens screaming. Glass shatters and blood splatters. Hands grab at him and tear in different directions as more zombie bodies slam en masse against the car. They tear him apart and reach in tearing at the woman as well. Her hair, her skin, her eyes, her mouth, her screams, she is torn out of the car in shreds.

  “Dad! Wake up! Dad! Dad! Dad! Oh God!”

  “Shit. You okay?” Dad awakens. His eyes focus on Lena then past her at the splattering blood of the other car. The dead driver is being tugged. The woman inside is ripped through the window as bursts of flesh, blood, and clothes.

  “My God, my God,” Dad in a drunken daze tries to turn the Prius back on. He pushes the button. He pushes the button. He pushes the button.

  “Oh God,” Lena stares at his finger and the button. Dad looks at her open eyes. She is going into shock. Twenty paces past her is a horrific horde of gruesome death that at any moment will come to them.

  “No, no, it won't, Lena,” Dad hisses and opens his door. He gets out.

  “Dad.”

  Dad pulls back his lips to reveal his teeth in a grin of determination, in a grin of strength and grit and duty. He levels his shotgun over the Prius and fires. The blast rips through a zombie's back and spine. It crumples. He fires at another. It tears arm and neck. He fires again. A leg is blown off. Again, a head explodes. The mob of zombies are distracted with their blood lust. That's perfectly fine with Dad. He fires again tearing the arm, neck, and head of another. One notices and scrambles at him. Dad answers point blank with his boom stick. The headless charger drops. Dad finds a moment to pull out shotgun shells from the affixed ammo holder on the stock. One, two, three, four, five, six good. He walks forward. “Come on sons of bitches!”

  The zombies suddenly stop what they're doing. There is blood dripping and flesh dropping from their teeth. They rise and hiss. Dad needs no build up. He fires. One is blown backwards. He fires. Another careens past him with half a head. He fires. Another topples against the car, chest exploded. Another comes in. He puts up his right arm. The zombie bites steel. Dad laughs with gusto and pushes the old man back, butting stock into face. A young girl, Dad blows away. And for a moment, he registers that it was a young girl.

  But he has his own to save. He realizes he's gone too far from his Lena. He back steps as more zombies follow. He shoots the legs out from one. It topples and crawls ineffectively. He gets back to the car. His back slamming against it. He fires again. A head drops into the exploding neck. He loads another shell but must fire it quickly. A zombie reels off to one side, its head somewhat dangling. Its ribs and spine crumple.

  Lena is still lying down, stunned and shocked. Is she a zombie? Has she been bitten? He loads more shells from his pocket, quickly. He fires again then pushes back on another zombie. He pushes with the shotgun then kicks down at knees, cracking bones. He must do something else. He turns quickly and leaps to his side of the car.

  There are only a few zombies left -- but are there more coming? Are there more people running towards them from the apartments, crawling out of cars, from down the street? He can't discern through his own controlled panic and the chaos of the city. His car door is open. He grabs inside and yanks out his sword – finally the scabbard falls off. A zombie chases after him. He uses his shotgun like a shield. The zombie bites down on it, grabbing at him. He punches with his right hand, his sword hand, giving him just enough space. He then molinets the blade right down upon its skull, splitting it open. The zombie drops.

  “I ain't running out of this ammo!” Dad looks in the car. “Lena!? You okay?”

  Lena turns her head in the most excruciatingly slow manner and nods.

  “Jesus Christ Lena! Get a grip!”

  “Don't use the Lord's name in vain!”

  “Uhhhhh... appropriate! This way Lena! Get up! Oh shit!” Dad tussles with another zombie. He keeps the shotgun in his left hand and sword in his right hand crossed as the zombie attempts to bite and claw. He lets it come in. Its teeth gnash near his face. With well memorized muscle movement from many medieval melees, he pushes the zombie back. As it totters, he swings down with an elbow wrist flick. The blade comes down heavy and splits skull, slicing brain.

  “Come on Lena, on foot. Let's go!”

  Lena crawls out of the driver's side. Dad kicks another zombie. It tilts. He swings lateral. The head rolls off. He lets out an insane chuckle.

  Dad notices Lena struggling to get out of the car. He pulls her out. He looks around.

  “Almighty God, they're everywhere.” In the greenery of the apartments, people are running and zombies are chasing. It's like they're in the eye of a hurricane. “Come on!”

  They rush up the street. Cars are jammed, blocking streets, sidewalks, and driveways. Most of the houses in the area have long narrow driveways to the back. Most are unaware of the zombies and are yelling at each other to move, yet there is no where to go. Many are Russian immigrants, yelling at each other, and then, suddenly, zombies rush in. Dad and Lena keep low and dart from car to car.

  They get to another intersection. People are screaming and yelling in all directions. There are cars honking and glass shattering. There's a pop-pop of someone's hand gun that ends with an awful scream. A car accelerates to crash against a parked car. The car jolts, pushing Dad and Lena to the grass. Its alarm screams at them. Lena cries in pain then cups her ears.

  Dad picks her up, shaking off the hit and yells, “It's probably a good thing so they can't hear us. We gotta focus on not being seen, especially by the groups. Take my shotgun. There's only a few shots left. Use it to hold them off and I'll hack them. Keep your arm up.” Dad points to her arm with the armor. “Got it?”

  “How many shots Dad?”

  “Uh, I dunno.” Dad angles the ejection port, pumps. “One, two, three. “ He catches the third rolling under a car, and then reloads the shells. “Okay, you got three.”

  “Can I use it?”

  “This ain't no shooting range. But under these zombie circumstances, I'd say hell yeah. Just don't shoot me in the back!”

  Dad creeps up to the intersection. It's packed solid. Some drivers are safe inside their cars, keeping low. They must have experienced zombies running by. One peers at Dad and sees the bloodied sword. His window comes down. “Can I come with you?”

  Dad points his sword at him. “Fuck no!” The man sinks back down as his window goes up.

  “Dad?”

  “I'm not helping no one right now! Not now!” he says, and moves through the cars. He feels safer within the jammed cars. It means no speeding crazed car can crash through.

  Down the street a minivan smashes and up ends. The sound of crunching cheap metal and splintering glass gives them the chills. People stuck inside their cars scream as a horde charges in. Nearby, people get out of their death traps and run for it. The horde scatters amongst many targets. A few run this way. Dad gets ready.

  He motions for Lena to come with him up the street as a small horde rushes after panicked drivers. Lena aims her shotgun but side steps to clear her Dad. The zombies splinter off to each victim. Dad and Lena move past a few more cars. An old lady zombie scrambles after them pulling a leash with a dead poodle. It looks strangled and crushed.

  Lena fires blowing her midsection. She's not dead but isn't mobile. She pumps the shotgun. They hurry past as the old lady feebly attempts to grab them.

  A man on a balcony, an old Russian in a wife beater t-shirt yells down, “Good shot!” He clasps his hands, raising them in some old Slavic salute.

  They get close to Sunset Boulevard, near their home. They crouch behind more cars. A severed hand is next to a tire.
They're breathing but not too hard. Both are in decent shape. She plays basketball. He takes the damn dog on hikes.

  A helicopter flies over head. Lena stands up to wave.

  Dad pulls her back down. “Forget it. There isn't any rescue! Not for us. We gotta wait this out. This city is filled with ten million panicked and indefensible targets.”

  “What about everyone else? What about my friends?”

  “Don't go there Lena, not now. Everyone's dying. I ain't saving the world, not your friends, not nobody, not yet, not until I save you, Charlotte, and mom.”

  “And Rondo.”

  “Rondo? Pfft, he can save his own dog butt!”

  “Dad!”

  “Shhhh. You ready?”

  She nods. He motions. At the end of the apartment strewn street is another wide street. Cars are jam-packed and there is the chaos of zombies and victims. Dad looks around waiting for a moment for them to move. He senses a chance now. He hustles her through the cars to the other side. They reach a huge oak tree. It denotes the beginning of the larger yards, the million dollar homes. Up the street a few cars sit smashed up against each other. Someone has blocked off the street, with their Humvee and Range Rover at this end, and a really nice RV at the other. Rich folk figured out it was some kind of riot and blocked everyone from coming through and jamming their streets.

  Dad goes in with his sword and his daughter with the shotgun. They are immediately met by an elderly yet thick set man with a really nice looking M4A3 assault rifle with all the accessories: pistol grip, scope, extra mag. Nice. The guy has bullet proof armor over silk pajamas and night vision goggles. The goggles sit atop his head. They're there for show.

  Dad whispers, “We're passing through to Sunset.”

  “Go around! This is our neighborhood.”

  “We're residents on the next block. We live here.”

  The rich old guy pauses a moment, then waves them on. “What did you see?”

  “Rabid virus zombies. If they bite you, you turn. Shoot them in the head.”

  There are a few more well-financed city men holding similar high end weapons. Movie producers? B-list actors? Agents? Thought these guys were for gun control? They sure don't look it. Dad recognizes one as a famous action director. They nod as he passes.

  One notices, “A sword, not a bad idea!”

  Dad nods and moves along.

  “Don't you have a samurai sword?”

  “Ten thousand dollar authentic one. Oh yeah, I'll get it.”

  Oddly, Sunset Boulevard seems quiet. The cars are empty. A few smashed ones look like a half dozen people decided to play bumper car rage but then a horde of zombies must have come through and ended the fun. Dad weaves through the five lanes. Lena is right behind.

  Lena screams and falls. Her shotgun hits hard against the asphalt. She lands painfully, skidding her knees. Dad turns to see a zombie crushed under a car gripping her foot. It pulls at her and its mouth opens showing darkened gums and white teeth. It must have got crushed under the car, suffered and was partially eaten before it turned. Dad swivels and points his sword down. The blade sinks into the zombie’s mouth, piercing through to the asphalt, pinning the lower jaw. It's inches from her exposed calf.

  He places his shoe on its head, holds it down firm, pulls the sword, then hacks the hand off. Lena yanks free and kicks the hand away. Dad pulls back his boot, slices down, hacking off the nose. Not good enough. He swings again, cracking the skull. It finally stops moving.

  “Remember to wear boots from now on.”

  She nods, sobbing, trying not to get hysterical.

  They cross to the other side. Their home is a few more blocks down. Dad leads her through the neighborhood of multi-million dollar homes. The side streets are packed with cars. Many tried taking these streets from Hollywood Blvd, while others tried driving up the hill from Sunset. Both found jams when they got there. Oddly, one block in the road is open with a few fancy parked cars and fancier lawns. An odd zombie roams aimlessly there.

  “Hey, Lena, practice on that one. Aim sort of high, ya know. Take out its spine or neck or head.”

  Lena lifts up the shotgun and aims.

  “Oh no, you don't! Put your gun down.”

  Dad looks and sees someone pointing a handgun at them. Lena lowers her shotgun.

  “She's a zombie. We're going to shoot her.”

  “That's my mom and she's doing just fine.”

  The old lady turns. She is in a morning robe with one slipper. The other leg is mauled and bandaged. She's definitely infected. She's on a leash latched to a post.

  “What the hell are you doing man? She's infected!”

  “I don't care. Just leave her there. They'll find a cure.”

  Suddenly, the old lady lurches forward at them. Lena instinctively raises the shotgun as the old lady meets the end of the chord and suddenly jerks to the ground.

  “Holy shit.”

  “You need to leave. You're getting her excited!”

  “No shit man.”

  The old lady stumbles up.

  “See! She's okay. Just leave her there.” The son, some old pudgy guy living with his mother, steps closer, gun quivering. The old lady suddenly lurches at him, but he knows the leash's distance. “Just don't shoot her or I'll shoot you.”

  “Whatever man!” Dad and Lena go by to the next block. There's a smash up of cars, with one wrapped around a tree. A zombie, strapped in, barks at them.

  “Wanna shoot her?”

  “Nahh, let's just go home.” Lena looks at the barking zombie. “They got her in her car. They bit her neck. And she got infected.”

  “Yep, that's about it.”

  They walk by her car. “Dear Lord, save these souls. Please help them. Help everyone suffering down here. Please stop this horrible nightmare.”

  Dad pierces the zombie's head with his blade. It stops.

  “Ah-men.”

  4. Your Home Is Your Castle

  Their house is on a busy street opposite a school yard. For two thirds of their block, a high chain link fence runs along the school and on the other side, there are residences. For the lower third of the street, there are businesses on both sides to Sunset Boulevard. Trees line the housing side but the school side is open to the hot exposure of the sun.

  “Good God!” Dad stops at the top of their street breathing heavily.

  “Dad... blashpemy...”

  “Uhhh... good gosh...”

  They came around from the upper streets to avoid Sunset Boulevard's traffic. On their street, it looks like a nightmare.

  The cars are jammed bumper to bumper. Parents dropping off their kids did not fare well. There is blood splattered all over the cars and street. In many places there is no room to walk. Cars are packed against one another. There are broken windows and open car doors. There are many darkened stains. It looks like a snapshot of mayhem from earlier. Parents were trying to drop off their kids when the chaos and death and horror ensued.

  The school gate is locked and the schoolyard empty. They must have gone into lock-down mode just as school was starting. Most of the teachers' cars are in the parking lot but the gates and doors are closed. Somehow, the school managed to lock the gates. Perhaps they are huddling inside, the teachers, students, and kids. Dad isn't sure. Lena is more focused on getting home.

  Mom and Charlotte, are they safe?

  “Come on. We gotta get home!”

  “Mom!? You okay?” Lena is on her iPhone.

  “Yes, we are in the back bedroom. Where are you?”

  “We're almost home. I love you.”

  “Oh, I love you too Lena. Hurry.”

  “They're safe.”

  “Surprised it still works!”

  “What, the phone?”

  “Yeah, everyone calling. Well, I guess not everyone.”

  They hustle down the sidewalk. Each driveway has a car pulled up at odd angles with dents and damage. They were attempting to get through, but the hedges, fences and tree
s stopped them. The cars are empty with broken glass or doors wide open. They were set upon by the afflicted.

  Several zombies are in a yard beyond some bushes. Dad hurries Lena along. The infected are crouched on their prey. Unnoticed, Dad and Lena pass. They get to their yard. The front yard is obscured by a fence with morning glory vines and bougainvillea branches. They have to go around to the driveway side. They see down the street to Sunset Boulevard. A horde of zombies, adults and children, are running after others.

  In that split moment, Dad sees how modern day humans have lost any ability to survive or fight. The zombies are mindless predator monsters charging with hungry rage. Humans, city dwellers, don't even know how to run. They stare in disbelief and flail weakly as they get mauled. Those that try running have a panicked jaunt with less control in their movement than the crazed zombies. They rush away, only a few paces then fall in a crouched fetal position only to be set upon by gnashing teeth.

  A car suddenly bursts out from the jam. It doesn't get far. It runs over several zombies, jolts out of control, then smashes into a traffic pole. The driver screams for help as zombies smash in and rip her apart. More zombies rush in.

  “Noise Lena, they are attracted to the noise.”

  A group bangs on a business door and windows nearby. People are screaming within. The glass breaks and the screams intensify. The zombies trip and lumber through the glass front. Dad ushers Lena up their driveway.

  Sobbing, Lena asks, “Can't you save them? Please?”

  “No Lena, not now. Not until you are safe. Not until I know what I can do.”

  “But Jesus, he'd save them. He'd help!”

  “I'm not Jesus, and he was never attacked by zombies. Or at least they never got him.”