“The mob chased him!?”
“And he slipped away! He's freakin Jesus. I ain't!”
He unlocks the gate. His coffee mug sits fallen on the driveway next to the severed zombie hand. “Imagine Jesus doing the Sermon on the Mount as zombies attacked. I don't think so. Look, I'll help when I can, when I'm ready, when I know you're safe.”
He picks up the hand by a finger and tosses it to the street. A zombie suddenly lurches out of nowhere after the hand. Dad and Lena back up behind the vines. Dad peers back. The zombie reaches down but sniffs or senses and stops. It ignores the hand, then blindly or with some evil radar, bends its stiff head around. It stumbles down the street to the sound of the screams.
“Sounds, smell, all of the above.”
“Dad, they're dying. Kids...”
“I know. I know.” Dad tugs for Lena to get up to the porch and to the front door. They stay low. The bougainvilleas have grown layer upon layer forming a high hedge and the morning glories have grown over that. It gives their home decent cover from the street. The porch and front door are set back behind these over-growths. They are shrouded from the chaos just paces away.
They get inside and close the door quietly, staying low. The window blinds are down, the room shaded. The outside world seems a distant echo of horror. It's as if these thin wood walls and weak French doors could protect them.
They head to the back room. Mom opens the door and hugs Lena. Both are holding shotguns. Dad puts down his sword and grabs both weapons gently and sets them against the wall. He sees Charlotte holding Rondo, whose snout is muffled with a beautiful print scarf. Rondo sits with fretting brows. Dad hugs her and pets Rondo.
“He wouldn't stop barking so mom and I had to tie the scarf around his mouth.”
“Good job, okay, okay. We gotta figure this out.” The first thing Dad does is open the closet where he has his additional guns and ammo. It's surrounded by his wife's sweaters and scarfs. He reloads the shotgun and pulls out shotgun belts.
“Will the police handle this?”
“Ahhh, no. We're on our own. We are on our own.”
“Is it the end of the world Dad? The end times?” Lena asks.
“I don't know Lena. Could be. I suppose more stuff will happen if it is. We need to act right, whatever the situation.”
“Then let's pray first,” Charlotte says.
“Okay, okay.” A weight suddenly slides from his shoulders but with friction that he has to shake off. “I'll go first, this time, finally. I mean, you know how I don't usually start. Well, this is my time, as Dad, as father to you and as husband to my wife. I am the protector. Dear God, I have spent all these years being silly, spending money on armor and swords and guns, and much to my wife's annoyance, but love, yes, always with her love.”
They are in a circle holding hands and his wife holds his hand tighter. They look at each other and through each other and look up, not at the ceiling, but at the above and beyond.
“And now I see. I thought I was such a fool – why I obsessed over these things and spent so much time fixing up my armor and practicing and fighting. I know I can help in this darkest hour. I will save my family, protect them oh Lord, through you, with you. And I ask you to help me, to help us, to give us strength and conviction in this horrible time, against this disease that is destroying, oh God, destroying this nation. Give my daughters the strength to endure. Give my wife the strength to fight with me. Give me strength oh Lord, to fight, to protect my family and survive this horrible thing, this horror. And if you are coming, if this is it, please come quickly for us and shine your light upon us oh Lord, oh Lord, oh Lord, oh Lord.”
They bow their heads with strength, conviction, and boldness. Charlotte, learning of God's love at an earlier age than Lena, is eager to speak. “Dear God, thank you that we are all together, here as a family and Rondo isn't barking, and that we love each other and can be safe. And help all my school, all my classmates, help them get home too. Help my sister and my mom and my Dad and Rondo because I love them as I love you. Help any policeman out there. Help the people to get home and be safe. Please help us because we need your help. We need you now oh Lord, for our safety and for our home. In Jesus name.”
And with quiet patience the mother speaks, “Dear God, thank you for us, right now, to be together, and to pray, to pray this time in this terrible nightmare, oh God, oh God.” She stops to sob, which brings nervous jolts to Lena and Charlotte.
“Honey, pray, keep praying,” Dad says.
The wife knows to stop, to stop sobbing and to give strength to her daughters. She tightens up. “God, thank you that we are together, against all this. That I, that I cherish that my husband went to get Lena and bring her back to me. That we are together now and that you are our strength in this, and that we are to be grateful, thankful for it. And we will be good Christians and believers in you for each other and for others that we can help. In Jesus's name we pray.”
And with patience they wait for Lena to pray. Their family became practicing Christians when Lena was already a teenager and though her heart was a bit hardened, she too had accepted Jesus. She finally prays with an exhale of sobs, “Dear God, thank you, thank you that my Dad came for me. I know he loves me. And thank you that he can fight them and is not afraid of them. And thank you for letting me not be afraid with him. Please help my friends, many are still at the school. Please help us so we can help others. Give us strength and hope, in you God. Thank you Jesus.”
The girls begin to cry, tears stream and they hug close. Dad knows he can not. It is with God's strength that Dad shrugs it off.
“Okay, okay, we should check the news, see what's going on,” Dad looks out the door into the kitchen and past to the living room. “Nope, no power.”
“What?” Lena peers out. Both are too nerve wracked to go anywhere near the front of the house.
“See the microwave clock is out and the power to the dish box is out at the TV. No power. And it ain't coming back on. That was quick.” Dad closes the door. “Okay, let's all sit on the bed and figure this out.”
They sit on the bed in the master bedroom in the back of the house. The sounds of gun fire, screams, sirens, car alarms, are muffled by the intense foliage of the neighboring Hollywood homes. But the sound is still there and it's pervasive.
“Lena, what are you doing?”
“I'm texting my friend to see if she's okay.”
“Who?”
“My friend Lisa.”
“You're going to drain the power from your iPhone.”
“So. “
“Yeah well, okay. Has she texted back?”
“Yeah, she's at home with her mom, but her dad and brother are on the other side of town! I think...”
“You see Charlotte,“ mom hugs her with shuddering emotions. “We're together.”
“Okay, let's just stop and think. We gotta figure this out. We're not well protected yet. That fence won't hold if any big group of zombies wants to come in. If they detect us or Rondo barks out, they can build up along our fence, and then we ain't got a chance.”
“But what about your sword Dad? And God?” Charlotte asks with a child's hopeful smile.
“I can handle a few, but not that many, at least not yet. And God is with us right now. So we gotta use our brains.” Dad gets up and paces, stepping over Rondo, still muffled with the scarf.
Occasionally, he tries to rub it off with his paw and whimpers, but Charlotte hugs him and says in her doggy voice, “It's okay Rondo. It's okay. Keep it on, shhhhh.”
“I think in an emergency, we climb up to the attic.” Dad stops pacing, turns to the closet, opens it up, and turns on the light switch. The light doesn't come on. There is no power. He points to the small hatchway. “That's where we gotta go. And let's put the water up there too. Thank God I did this! Thank God.”
There are six large boxes of water in the closest for earthquake and or riot situations, in case they were stuck for days without help or bas
ic necessities. Dad experienced the L.A. riots in downtown twenty years ago. For a whole weekend he was stuck in an artist loft with no where to go, smoke rising from all around, ash falling like sparse snow. Back then he was a drunk artiste living in a loft, experiencing the L.A. riots, thinking he knew the world when he didn't, not way back when.
But somehow he saw this coming. He was inspired by what he read in the Holy Bible. He didn't see zombies per se, but he saw the politics of the day and mobs and desire for other people's stuff. What he expected was some disaster or excuse and then a swelling of demon possessed youths running amok in their anonymous hoodies and baseball caps and bandannas. He figured they would come from local universities taking whatever they wanted, destroying society. And then the big government would come in and remake everything, taking away God given rights. After all, those same thugs came from government funded universities. Who would ever know?
Dad slides over a bedroom chair, steps up, and looks into the attic. At both long ends and several spots between, light shines through, giving it a miniature barn like ambiance. “Okay, Lena, you go up.”
“What? Why do I have to go up?”
“Just get up there. I'm going to hand you some of the waters and a box of granola bars! Oh yeah, I knew this stuff would come in handy. 64 bars... that's what? Divided by 4 is uh, 16! So 16 bars each. Well, I'll lose some weight but still, 16 bars, 16 days worth at least!”
Lena pulls away from her texting.
“Doing the last of your texting?”
“I dunno. She hasn't texted back in awhile.”
“Oh, I'm sorry Lena.”
Lena puts her head on Dad's shoulder.
“I'm sorry Lena. I don't know what to do, not yet.”
“I know. It's okay.” Lena sucks it up and steps up on the chair. There's still a bit of climbing to do. She puts her hands on the upper shelf, shoddily built, then lifts up into the hatch. It's difficult to lift oneself up through the hatch into the small attic, but Lena manages.
“Uh, I better get the stepladder. Be easier to get up. Charlotte won't be able to go up without it. But I need to go to the garage to get it. You up there Lena?”
“Yeah, it's so dusty up here. Agghh. Are there spiders?”
“Yes. But no zombies.”
“Ha ha.”
“Yeah well, mom doesn't hang out up there, so yah know. No cleaning enforcement.”
“Again, ha ha.”
Mom smiles. Charlotte smiles. Dad grabs a box of water bottles, the two and a half gallon ones with the bottom spout, two in each box. He lifts one up, nice and heavy, pushing it through the hatch way. Lena is strong. She picks it up and sets it aside. He picks up the second, same. Then hands her the granola box.
“What about some blankets or something?” Lena asks.
“Oh yeah, good idea. Maybe we should just sleep up there. I mean, in case zombies meander about at night.”
“Yeah, and a broom,” Lena adds.
“Okay, honey, you and Charlotte hand her that. I’m going to the garage. Wait, let's get Charlotte up there now and then I can go out and get stuff from the garage or whatever.”
“What about Rondo, Dad?” Charlotte asks.
“Honey, don't worry. He'll be alright,” Mom says.
Dad kneels down to Charlotte. “Charlotte, we can't worry about Rondo. He'll survive or not. I don't know if the zombies are attacking dogs or not. I didn't see any zombie dogs. So I'm thinking it's just a human thing. But we can't worry about that right now.”
Rondo is an eighty five pound dog, a bit much to haul up a clumsy chair or ladder into a hatchway.
“We gotta save him Daddy. He's family.”
“Charlotte, he's a dog. Yes, he's family but he's still just an animal. If we put him up there, he's gonna freak out, bark and give it all away. Got it?”
Charlotte nods. She has no tears, but has that glazed look, one that cuts Dad to the core.
With Mom's help, Charlotte gets up on the chair, to the shelf, then Lena pulls her up easily.
“Oh Mom, it's so dirty up here!” Charlotte gasps.
“Shhh, Charlotte, you want zombies to come get Mom and Dad?” Lena hisses.
“Sorry.”
“Let me see.” Mom pushes herself up on the shelf clumsily. She hits her head. She drops to the chair. Luckily, the hanging clothes soften the impact.
Dad winces, “You okay?”
“Yes?” Mom says, rubbing her head.
Lena and Charlotte look from above. “Mom?”
“I'm okay. Just stupid. I need to be more careful.”
“Honey, for God's sake, please, do things right. I ain't taking care of a brain dead person in a zombie world.”
The wife knows his dead pan humor, but with all that is going on, it's still good advice. She is more aware now of the shelf, her balance, and the small hatchway. She goes up more solid, more careful, and gets her head above the hatch.
Lena pulls her up with more strength then her own mom has, even though her mom can run a marathon. Mom looks down to share a glance with her husband. They both smile as she is whisked up by her own daughter. Mom is hovering just at a hundred ten pounds in weight, working out and eating mostly salads. Her daughter is an all American basketball girl: heavy, strong and solid.
Dad looks up into the hole with impatience. He can hear his wife's muttering quite well. “Oh, what a mess. We're staying up here? This is impossible.”
“I know mom. This is lame.”
Mom drops back down through the hatch, still a bit clumsy but okay. She looks at her husband. “We need a broom.”
Dad rolls his eyes. “Can't you just lay down some sheets?”
“No, get a broom,” mom says with serious eyes.
Dad grits. “Alright. A broom, the ladder, survival stuff.”
“And a dustpan.”
“What!? Just broom it, sweep it aside.”
“A dustpan, and the hand broom. Get them.”
“Look, we're trying to survive here, not live up there forever.”
“I'll get them.” Mom makes an effort to get around him.
“No, no, no, nope, okay, just, yuh know, wait. You go up. I don't want any of you getting hurt. I'll get the sweeping stuff right now. It's just in the kitchen. You stay. I'll get it,” Dad says, motioning for her to go back up.
She sits up on the opening to the attic. He gets the shotgun to show her he means he'll get the rest. “I'm going. See, shotgun in hand, serious business. I'll go. You stay up there.”
“Ugh, hurry,” mom says as she reluctantly climbs back up the hatchway. “Oh my dear Lord.”
Dad gets the 20 gauge, the second shotgun, and ammo box and waits as mom's legs go up the hatchway. “Lena?”
Lena looks down. “Yeah?”
“Take this.” Dad hands her the 20 gauge and the box of shells.
“Dad!” Charlotte yells down.
“Charlotte!” Lena barks under her breath, “shut up!”
“Sorry! My 22 Dad, my 22!”
“Yeah okay, shhhh.” Dad is frantic to appease. Her .22 tactical rifle is on the bed. He grabs it and the four magazines. Sadly, there are only 10 rounds in each due to California laws. He never got around to smuggling in the thirty round magazines, you know, the kind bad guys already have.
“You got it?” Dad passes each bit to Charlotte's little reaching arms. The rifle is so light, she easily lifts it up.
“Yeah, thanks Dad.”
Lena tries to hold her breath as she peers down. “Dad hurry, it is so freaking dusty and gross up here.”
“Yeah, I'm going.”
“Oh, is that a spider web!”
“Shhhh!”
Dad opens the door. Rondo follows him out. The scarf is still tied around its muzzle, but he still does plenty of huffing and gruff noises. He prances over to the front door and is able to bark through the scarf, though muffled.
“Crap.” Dad rushes over to get Rondo. The distance from the back bedroom door to the
front isn't that far. Dad, crouching, courses through the open area of the dining room and living room, but chasing after the pitter-patter hustle of his dog seems a long way.
Thankfully, they closed the interior French doors. The doors are between the house and a small eight-by-eight foot foyer to the exterior French doors. There doesn't seem to be any movement outside, at least not on their porch or driveway.
“Come on Rondo!” Dad pulls him by the leash. The scarf loosens a bit. Rondo is about to bark. He growls, sensing something just outside by the fence. Dad thrusts the leash so hard that it chokes Rondo in the nick of time. Dad clamps down on Rondo's snout, causing Rondo to whimper a hurt response. “Shhhhh, it's okay, IT'S OKAY.”
'It's okay' is a command Dad has taught his dog. It is a calming command to get Rondo to stop barking at visitors. Rondo knows the command well but under the circumstances has a hard time responding. But finally does. Dad puts the scarf back on, nice and tight, and pulls him back. Rondo still quivers with instinctual guarding. Dad has to pull him all the way back to the closet.
“Dad?” Charlotte yells in a whisper.
“Yeah?”
“Is Rondo okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, I got him.” Dad puts the leash on the bed post. Dad can't help but glance up at Charlotte.
She looks down at Rondo and smiles. “It's okay Rondo,” Charlotte scrunches her lips looking down through the hatchway.
“Honey?” the wife calls down.
“Yeah?”
“You get the broom?”
“Working on it.” Dad steps over the leash to return to his original task. He's sweating bad, covered with layers of dust and street grime. He wonders if the shower would work this one last time. He gets to the kitchen. He opens the broom closet and gets the broom and dustpan. He stares a moment at the vacuum, wondering if he'll ever hear that sound again. He goes under the sink, grabs the hand broom and another dustpan. That's all he can hold in his sweaty arms with the shotgun. He goes back to the bedroom.
He can hear the girls talking above. It is a wonderful sound. They are discussing where to put things, where they will sleep, about bathroom needs and what they'll need up there. A warm feeling rises within him.
Knight of the Dead (Book 1): Knight of the Dead Page 4