“They use visuals, scent, so if you are ever trapped or hiding, make sure to cover your face. And change your scent. We gotta get some sprays or something, soaps. Always have something per-fumy or soapy handy. Got it?”
The girls give thumbs up. “We have a lot of shampoos and soaps. They have strong scents,” his wife says. “I'll put some up in the attic.”
“Remember, hide our features, hide any fast movements, and most importantly, hide our smell.” They nod. He thumbs up and heads back out.
He stacks the larger bodies under the wall. He easily throws the smaller ones and limbs over. For a moment, he wonders if the neighbors might be upset. As if.
He begins to hack away at parts with the smaller gladius style machete he has. Bits of blood still splatter. Oops! He gets a dust mask and covers his mouth and nose. Better. He begins anew hacking at the fifty or so bodies left, tossing and rolling them over the wall. He wonders again why he is doing this? Oh yes, he has a wife.
The girls come out and watch with squinted eyes from the glaring sun. They are amazed at all the blood and gore. It is something one might think that children should not see. But then if you think about it, children used to grow up on farms and see the slaughter of animals all the time. The Jews slaughtered animals for sacrifice. The kids must have been around for that. Only today do we think of slaughter as something horrific. Well it is, but in this case what option is there. They better get used to it. And they do. They look down at parts left here, there and the pile of zombies still to toss. Fortunately, the girls are reacting to it like a pile of giant, fat, red gory worms. “Eeeyewwhh!”
Dad hacks away, cutting limbs and tossing.
“You guys okay?”
“Yeah. That's totally gross,” Lena states.
“How many did you kill?” Charlotte asks.
“No idea.”
“But it worked, huh Dad?” Lena asks.
“What?”
“Your armor, your fighting,” Lena answers.
“Yeah Dad, you kicked zome zombie buttz!” Charlotte shouts.
“Shhh, not so loud,” Lena elbows her.
“Ow.”
Dad stops to listen; did she alert any. He looks at her seriously. She looks down. Lena grits her teeth. They wait. Nothing.
“Charlotte.”
Charlotte looks up with her sad cat eyes.
“Do not yell anymore. No more.” Dad's face is stone cold.
She nods, her lips quivering.
“But Dad,” Lena reminds, “you did kick zome zombie buttz!”
Charlotte smiles.
“Yeah, I suppose,” Dad says looking down at his blood caked armor. He smiles. It's a moment of satisfaction. He continues the zombie hacking and clearing.
After that, he tries the garden hose. The water pressure is still there. He's amazed no one drove over a hydrant to mess that up. He rinses himself and his armor down. Bits of blood and flesh cascade down his many layers of padding, leather straps and metal plates.
His girls want to help but he warns them not to, fearing an infection. They get the pack of dust masks and each put one on. Then standing there, they ask again. He rolls his eyes and consents. They come out and spray the blood down the brick to the driveway. They create some sort of game rolling down bits of guts with water pressure. He reminds them to be quiet.
An hour goes by and the water hose keeps up the pressure. The blood washes away. Zombies don't seem attracted to the sounds of water. Dad has his breastplate off and the cumbersome legs are off too. Both are drying in the sun with an oil wipe down. He keeps the arms on and his sword nearby. He has one eye down the driveway, the other on the girls as they take turns spraying the water. Once in awhile he motions for them to turn off the water so he can listen – nothing, good.
The windows around the back bedroom are shattered from the zombie attack. He was not sure if they could leap up and get in. But they were amassing right under them, destroying the house.
He has two large pine wood half inch boards in the garage. He used those for making shields. There is also a large cabinet door left over from the kitchen redo. The cabinet door has many scratches and drill holes from wood work since he used it as a temporary work table. He has another purpose for the wood now.
They, quietly and carefully, carry the large pieces into the back bedroom. Charlotte carries in the drill case. Dad sets it up and plugs it in, then realizes, ahhh, no electricity. He will have to use the old method, hammer and nail, no wait, screw and screwdriver. That will be a lot quieter.
He gets his daughters to hold the boards up against the windows while he screws them in.
Rondo is at the gate, barking. Dad drops his screws and screwdriver, and picks up his sword. “That damn dog, I'm gonna kill it myself!”
“Dad no,” Charlotte pleads.
“Get up the ladder now.”
Dad hustles to the backyard, sword and arm greaves only. His brigandine body armor and other pieces are laid out to dry. He doesn't care. His anger at the dog barking makes him impatient. He peers around the corner, down the driveway to the front where Rondo is barking. Damnit he thinks. He breathes hard, waiting for the inevitable. But while the dog keeps barking and barking, nothing happens.
Finally, Dad sneaks up to get a better look. He uses the cover of the car to keep him hidden. He watches as Rondo barks crazy as zombies meander by. They do nothing. Interesting. They sort of move about, down the street, but don't really focus on the dog. His barks sort of affects them but not in any focused way. Finally, Rondo loses interest, becoming accustomed to them, and meanders back. Thank God. Rondo comes up to Dad and puts his head close. Dad, with sword in one hand, lowers it and pets his dog. Wow, its okay.
“Dad, when can we shoot zombies?” Lena asks when he returns.
“Just hand me another screw.” The boards are up. The back window is covered. It may not hold them back but the purpose is to keep them from noticing anything through the windows.
They go back outside to see how it looks. Dad looks down the driveway. A zombie runs by his view. Dad flinches but it's gone. The sounds in the neighborhood are still sporadic; there are car alarms and occasional gunfire. There are sirens and distant screams. But it seems less.
They turn and see Rondo has a zombie arm in his mouth. The girls scream in disgust. Dad tells them to be quiet. Rondo saunters off with the arm. Dad picks up his sword and shield.
“Daddy! Noooooo! Get it out.” Charlotte yells, not fully loud but still emotional.
“Quiet,” Dad reminds. “Charlotte stop. Look, we can't stop him. There are all these parts everywhere. Let him go.”
“Daddy, please, he's going to be one of them,” Charlotte cries.
“If he turns, he'll attack us,” Lena states.
Rondo comes back up the driveway. He drops the arm. He is hacking and coughing.
“Dad?” Lena worries.
Dad raises sword and shield.
“No Daddy,” Charlotte struggles but Lena holds her.
Dad advances. Rondo hacks up a bit of zombie flesh. He coughs and sneezes. He growls at the vomit and walks past it. Dad raises his sword as Rondo approaches.
“Rondo sit,” Charlotte calls out.
Rondo sits.
Everyone waits. Rondo looks up.
“Rondo, wait, wait,” Charlotte puts out her hand.
Dad is poised to strike.
Rondo's head tilts, his ears flop with each brow, knit with expectation. He whimpers impatience. His tail wags slowly in anticipation.
“Girls, go inside,” Dad says.
“No, please don't kill him. He's not a zombie,” Charlotte pleads.
“But if he turns, he'll be the worst kind! Like the ones in that movie! Uh, ya know, Resident Evil.”
“I didn't see that one. Remember? It's rated R, Dad.”
“Just go inside.”
Rondo wants to move.
Dad eases on the sword pose and hand signals, “Wait.”
The girls go inside. They
wait by mom.
“Mom, Dad is going to kill Rondo,” Charlotte sobs.
“Is he one of them?” mom asks.
“Didn't seem like it but he bit an arm. A zombie arm! He puked it up but seems okay,” Lena says.
Dad comes inside.
The girls look at Dad, at the back door; he closes it and looks at them. Then Rondo prances up to the door. He wants to come in.
“You didn't kill him,” Charlotte runs past Dad to the door. Dad puts down his sword and shield against the laundry.
“Not yet,” Dad says.
“Ahhh, he's okay. Aren't you Rondo!?” Charlotte kootchy koos.
“We'll see. Keep him out back on a leash. No one goes out. I want to see if he turns.”
Rondo snorts.
“Shhhhh Rondo,” Charlotte says. Rondo paws the metal screen door. He wants in but to no avail.
Dad is now feeling it. He is exhausted. His wife feeds him the salad and fruit. They'll spoil within days.
After he eats, he herds everyone up into the attic. He must sleep. He is dog-tired and sore. He cannot risk them being down below while he sleeps. Perhaps this will all be over soon. Perhaps the National Guard will come in and clean this mess up. Good thoughts flash as he lies in a wonderful spot spread out by his women. They sit and pray and talk something about the future: about God and this nightmare, about their new life and the nightmare all around them, and the love they must hold on to. He falls into a deep sleep.
8. Into the Night...
Dad wakes up sooner than he planned. After a short drowsy sleep, it turns into a troubling haze. His heart beats rapidly. He cannot sleep. He is wide awake. It is dark out except for a small light. His wife is on her iPhone. Perhaps it is the last time she will use it. Is she texting? In the dark, he can see her bloated, tearful, and drained face and emotions.
“What are you doing?”
“I'm texting my family, your family, Sally.”
“It still works?”
“Sometimes. It's not in England, the infection, but everyone there is hearing the news. They have gone into marshal law. I haven't been able to text them for awhile. The last thing my sister said is that there was a big fear of it spreading there. It has taken most of Asia.”
“Oh my God.”
“I was at least able to say goodbye, to tell them I'm praying for them. And that no matter what, I'm happy.”
They hug quietly for a moment as the iPhone buzzes that a text message has come in. She continues with the texts.
“What about my family?”
“Your sisters and brother are with your mom. They are together. I told them about your fighting. They are proud of you. They have been praying for you and us. Samantha said she knew you would fight them and save us. They don't care what happens to them, just save their nieces. They said they have been quiet in you mom’s house. They don't have any weapons. The last text wasn't good. They said they could hear them outside.”
Dad pulls at his hair. His emotions rise but he is comforted knowing they love God and are saved by Christ. He does not need to break down concerning their demise. There is nothing he can do, being 350 miles away.
“Whose Sally?”
“Sally Tisdale, Cory's wife.”
“Cory? Our pastor?”
“Yes. “
“Oh yeah. Man, are they alive?”
“Yes, I'm texting her right now.”
“How much battery do you have on your iPhone?”
“Twelve percent.”
“Eeech. What are they doing?”
“Hiding, mourning.”
“Mourning?”
“They lost their oldest son, Camden.”
“Oh. Camden? Jeeeze, Jesus... no, man. ”
“He fought off a zombie so Sally could get the other four inside. Then he led them away from the house.”
“Maybe he got away?”
“She said he was bitten and they saw them eat him. It was terrible to read.”
“Well maybe I should go get them. I dunno. It's so far across town.”
“No, don't worry. They know. We have to protect our family. We are in a worse place than them. I told them about your fighting. Cory has those swords too.”
“Yeah, but he doesn't know how to use them. Just because he has some movie prop sword doesn't mean anything. He should not expect to have any chance against them.”
“Well, she said he has them.”
“But no armor? No skill? Pfft.”
“He still has a chance.”
“Are you serious? I seriously doubt half the guys I fight can handle it, always telling me I hit too hard. Whatever.”
“Well, what should he do?”
“Pray.”
“What should he do with the swords?”
“I don't know. He'd be better off getting some kind of armor on his forearms, then as they bite down on that, use something like a kitchen knife to pierce an eye, long enough to go into the brain. I guess.”
The wife sits and texts furiously.
“You're typing that?”
“Yes.”
Dad rolls his eyes.
She stops and looks at him, “You need to save them.”
“What?”
“You need to save them.”
“Save? Them? He's a pastor. They're saved.”
“Honey, save them.”
“I can't.”
“Yes, you can.”
“I can't. It's too far. I'd have to go through Hollywood, east Hollywood, miles.”
“You need to save others.”
“What?”
“Others, you can save others.”
“Let me save my own family first. Let's just wait this out. The military, America, will fight back. Once the beast is revealed, man will figure it out and fight back.”
“You're that man.”
“Uh, well, yeah, you know.”
“I don't want you to leave us. I don't. But we have to save others. Somehow…”
“Let's get this place situated, like a fortress. If I know you're safe and can last, food and water, then I'll try.”
“If not you, then who?”
Dad looks at her in the dark, lit by the low light of her iPhone.
“You always came home from your fights, bragging, telling me how tough you are. How you fought the tournament winners and beat them. How they'd have to ask you not to use heavy weapons, right?”
“Swords.”
“Swords.”
“Yeah.”
“Then if not you, who?”
Dad looks at the girls who are sleeping. He shrugs. He ponders about their restless sleep. Then he realizes something as she keeps staring at him. “Maybe we could go down?”
His wife looks at him in the dark. She nods. They lower the ladder. With each clang, he's more worried about waking the girls then attracting zombies. And below, not there on their own bed just below the attic hatchway, but in their daughters' bedroom, they make love.
It's short, but that's the skill of a married couple. They hold each other. She softly caresses him as he breathes, tired. They cherish this moment. In the dark, they look at each other's tearful eyes. Every moment could be their last. Dad lifts off her with a grunt. They share nervous laughs and hugs. They quickly and quietly clean up, worried the girls will awake. They go to the hatch. There is no sound from above.
Dad goes to the back door. Rondo is not there. He clicks his mouth to call the dog. Rondo doesn't respond. It's dark out. There are no lights. He's not sure. He gets a chill as if the dog is in the shadows just paces away, ready to pounce. Did Rondo turn? Is he a zombie dog? Wandering about with its deadly canine bite and four legged furious leap? Is he waiting in the shadows to ambush them? But that would not seem right for a zombie dog. Dad remembers his armor is paces away outside on the deck. He left them on the table to air out. He opens the door to get them.
A sputtering noise of dog paws scraping cement rapidly nears. Rondo suddenly appears. Dad freezes in terr
or. Rondo wags his tail and puts his head next to Dad's leg. He whines for attention. Dad's heart skips a few beats.
“Rondo bondo, geez louise, phewww.” Dad gets his armor pieces, bit by bit. He puts his knee out to keep Rondo from coming in as he carries his armor pieces inside. He comes back out to fill the bowl with dog food and fills up a pan of water. Rondo drinks and eats.
“Sorry Rondo, I have to quarantine you. Just want to wait a little longer and see if you become a hound from hell. I know you don't want to stay out here with rotting zombie bits.”
Rondo licks Dad's hand. Dad carries the last bits of armor and closes the door gently on Rondo. He turns quietly.
A shadow comes from the kitchen too big to be his wife. It's Lena. He has a minor heart attack. It passes.
“Why's it so dark?”
“Whah? What do you mean?”
“It's so dark?”
“Yeah, so?”
“But I've been out before at night and it's not so dark?”
Dad looks about.
“Dad, look at the sky?!” Lena peers out the kitchen window and past the Hollywood foliage and hills to the sky.
Dad looks. “Oh, yeah. There's no electricity Lena. I mean the city, no lights, so there's no glow or reflection from us. Since it's so dark, we can see the stars now.”
“Wow, that's so amazing. Oh my gosh, I gotta show Charlotte. There's so many of them. Where'd they all come from?”
“Hey don't wake her if we don't have too,” Dad says, placing his armor on the dining room table with a clang. It's a bit too noisy. He sets the rest down gently.
“Are you going to keep that here?” his wife asks.
“Are you serious?”
“Well, no, I guess not,” his wife realizes.
Dad goes to hug her with a bear hug. “My wife, even in a zombie apocalypse, she can't help herself.”
He chuckles. She giggles. Lena cringes.
“Oh my gosh! Look at them!”
“Shhhh,” Lena reminds.
Charlotte quivers and then is amazed. They look out the window up at the stars.
“Be quiet,” Dad says.
They go from window to window in the dark house, peering through the closed blinds.
“Look, there's more over here!” Charlotte whispers loudly. “Are they angels? They look like angels”
Knight of the Dead (Book 1): Knight of the Dead Page 8