If he could get on the neighbor's roof, he could draw some zombies there and test the spear. An old lady by the name of Jan lives there. She could still be alive. He's not sure. But if he hasn't heard from or seen her since that first day, he's pretty sure she didn't make it. When he is done, he can sneak back over the roof away from any more zombies.
But was she still alive? Would he sentence her to death by going over there? She had put bars on her windows because she lived next to the apartment buildings and had a few break ins. But if a horde attacked her home as Dad lured them with his spear, that would be lame.
He'd risk it. To kill off zombies in the area with a focused defensible position without costing bullets sounds too perfect to not try. He places the ladder against the fence and extends it fully to meet the other roof. Would it support his weight with steel armor? Only one way to find out. If he falls, it would be on shrubbery and dirt. Would it be easy to get back? Could he climb back down fast? As long as his girls stay in the attic, he’ll try.
He puts back on his upper armor, and has his sword, and secondary machete. He leaves his shield near the base of the ladder. He needs it most on the ground. He tosses the spear on the roof. He can hear the neighbor's dog barking in the house. It is an old scruffy poodle, perfect for an old lady. It barks hoarsely, weakly. Rondo comes up to listen and sniff, but does not return the bark.
“Dad, can we watch?”
“Yeah, watch from our roof, but in the back. Keep your spears just in case. If anything goes wrong, get back in the attic.”
“Ah Dad, nothing is going to go wrong. You can kick zome Zee but!” Charlotte cheerleads.
“Some what?”
“Zees!”
“Zees?”
“Yeah, Z, zombie? Hullo?” Lena informs.
“You know, this is what I want. Honey, you and Lena take the spears. Poke down at them along the driveway, straight into their skulls.”
“Why can't we just shoot them Dad?” Lena asks.
“We'll run out of ammo. We'll use the shotguns for emergencies, if they're up close. But if you're on the roof, use the spears. They can't get up here. But Charlotte, you use the 22 for now.”
“YES!”
“Shhhhhhh! Not so loud Charlotte.”
“Sorry.”
“There's plenty of ammo. Remember, shoot them in the head,” Dad points to his head.
“One shot, one kill,” she grins.
“Yes, but I'm hoping you guys won't need to do anything, not yet. Not now. I just want to make sure this works. If it does, I'll be plugging away at it for awhile, to pick some weeds.”
“Whah?” the girls wonder.
“Well, kill some Zees, pick weeds. They'll probably always grow back but pick the weeds anyway, clear out the area. Maybe it will work. I want to clear out all the zombies around here. I may attract that Horde we saw. I don't know. If I do, if I attract that Horde, then I will run away from here, okay? You guys live off the food and water. Stay hidden. Pray God will do his thing. But then I'll come back. And if I don't, pray to God again.“
Dad stands fully armored, big, ready. His wife hands him a water bottle and a granola bar. He shrugs it off then realizes she is right. He can't get thirsty or stuck somewhere with no food. He meekly takes them. Oddly, the two small things are a hassle to place anywhere. She goes and gets a clothe bag, puts them in it and then ties it to his belt. He likes it, a handy bag.
He clambers up the ladder out from the cloister of the shaded driveway and into the sun. His dirty mottled steel shines brightly exposed on the roof. The neighbor's poodle still barks but no sound or sign of the old lady Jan. What happened to her?
He ascends the lanky ladder at quite an angle over the fencing through the shrubs and tree branches and on to the roof. He stands and must walk up to roof's slope to see over onto the street below. He looks back at his family. They are watching him.
He waves while he projects his whisper, “Go, to the roof.”
They move.
He waits till they are inside, till he knows they are safe. With him using the ladder, they have to go inside and up through the closet hatchway. They get into the attic then hustle out of the small opening onto the back of their roof. Charlotte has her 22. Lena and mother have the spears.
He realizes something and projects his whisper, “Lena, remind me to give you my old armor. The plastic one and the leather one.”
“Yeah,” she whispers a bit too loud, covering her mouth.
“Remind me, or, nah, I'm coming back!” he climbs back down the ladder. They roll their eyes and return back down on their side. They meet in the back.
He takes his helmet off and fusses in the guest house. This musty little room is Dad's storage for his armor. Inside are two older suits stowed away. His very first suit is a plastic one. It is made out of pickle barrel plastic, was cheap, and made for beginners. It is very durable and light. The other, a leather barbarian style one was his first 'upgrade' and attempt at something slightly fantasy. Both of these were used when fighting with rattan swords.
He spreads those pieces out on the porch table for Lena and his wife. The plastic one makes quite a bit of hard plastic noises but the sounds do not reach down the driveway. It has many chord and leather strap adjustments. He shows Lena how to put it on. With the added under armor padding, it will give her great protection.
“Start from the legs and work your way up,” Dad says. Lena and his wife focus on putting the plastic armor on. With each piece, Lena becomes more confident, more manly. She shows how tough she is by posing. Her mother smiles. Dad is unmoved. Charlotte giggles with each pose, encouraging Lena to do more.
For his wife, who is much skinnier, even the tightest buckling of straps is too loose with the thick leather arm and leg greaves. But he has the leather hole puncher and blades, enough tools to adjust and cut leather as needed. There is a whole roll of thick sixteen ounce hard leather, a side of leather from a cow. No zombie could bite through it. They could make more pieces, more greaves and protective wear for the whole family. His wife is a director of fashion, a clothing designer. She would be in her element making the pieces. Dad shows her all of his tools in boxes. It's disorganized but got really messed up when he fought his way out.
“Wife, your task is at hand!” he muses.
“You never organized this place? It's filthy?” she moans.
“Well, it's good enough for me.”
As a director of fashion production, she is annoyed by the disorganization of an amateur worker and his tools.
“Hey, this is my place.” She gets the whole house and he gets this small back room. And now she is taking that over too. “Well... I guess... it's your stuff now, to make stuff fit and to make sure we are armored, especially our arms and legs, where they bite first. Then focus on shoulders, because they leap on you and try to bite there too.”
“Okay, I got it. I can do this. We girls can do this,” his wife says.
“Yeah Dad, we can kick some Zee butt too!” Charlotte chimes.
“That's right, fwack fwack,” Lena motions with swordplay in her plastic suit. The sounds are quite different from his steel armor. The clacking of plastic is not as deep-toned as screeching metal but it's still nice to hear. Protection. A chance.
“Ah hah,” he pulls more stuff out. Two street hockey masks! Perfect. These were used for practice with foam and plastic swords. He hands them out. Lena tries one on, Charlotte the other. They have bands that allow them to stretch to fit different size heads. His family will be armored. They are perfect for the kids. He takes a mental note to get more of these. Get more? Hmmm...
He returns to the neighbor's roof, climbing up the ladder. He feels precarious with his two hundred fifty pounds plus all the steel. At least wearing armor and padding gives him the fearless bravado to do this. He rises to the roof like an ascending killer robot. He looks back. His daughters and wife crouch on their roof, fully armored and misfit looking.
Lena fits qu
ite well in the plastic armor.
His wife and her one-hundred and ten pounds are in his over-sized leather arm greaves. Over her shoulders hangs the massive fur armor of the barbarian leather kit. She looks like some skinny gothic steam punk from the apocalyptic future, well, apocalyptic present. At least it covers her neck and shoulders. They are pretty important areas. They will at least reduce the chance of a standing zombie bite and will do for now, until she designs something better.
Charlotte is a small sixty pound girl. She wears the second field hockey mask to fit in. She'll get something very soon.
10. Battle Royale...
Dad is finally on the roof of his neighbor's house. He toughens up. He tenses, flexes, stretches, and huffs, then walks over to the other side. A zombie spots him atop the house immediately. That was quick! Dad merely stumbled along and it saw him. He realizes they most certainly can spot human movement even under armor. Only very slow movements will hide him.
It hustles through the maze of cars grunting and gurgling. It leaps then topples over the driveway bar. The bar is a low metal fence, placed to keep Hollywood traffic from constantly using the old lady's driveway as a temporary parking spot so they can run down to stores on Sunset.
Of course, upon seeing the bar, these drivers would then go up one more driveway to his house to do their turn around. That was life in a big city. The zombie gets up, growls, then rushes up the driveway. Dad steps to the corner of the roof, twirls the spear and points it downward. The zombie barks as it leaps up. Growls of other zombies are heard. He punches down with the spear through the skull and the zombie jerks then drops.
“Awesome!”
More come. They run up. They too topple over that metal bar, clambering over each other and making a ton of growling and grunting noises. Dad waits with the spear. He has to crouch just a bit in his armor to get a good reach with each jab. It’s not so great on his back. He'll have to rethink that. They scramble up. He thrusts. A few misses go into shoulders and collar bones, or slicing hands and arms. Some grab at the spear. Dad yanks the blade to slice up and down on fingers. It causes severed fingers to fly and hands to split open. They keep grabbing up at him with bloodied flapping limbs. He makes it into eyes and skull caps, twisting the blade each time. A few more are down. The echo of zombies racing up the street and through the jammed cars increases. How many? Not the Horde he hopes but definitely a horde.
More run up the driveway, coming from the street, crashing through the yard, the foliage and plants, ripping along, leaping up to the porch and underneath him. They run in circles around each other. One tries to climb a post but shows no coordination. It's just a frantic clawing zombie that grabs and pulls but does not comprehend climbing. It drops to run around. Good.
He punches down again and again, piercing skulls and necks and eyes and mouths and noses. Some pull away with a splatter of blood and a gory face. Others drop dead twitching. He continues the weed killing as more weeds pop up. A dozen are dead but a dozen more are scrambling under him. He decides to sit on the edge. His back is tweaking. If the spear were longer, he could stand but the eight foot reach and having to hold it with two hands to get a thrust takes a toll. Imagine taking out his lower back now. What a fearful thought.
He sits with his boots dangling. He jabs that way for a while. He is able to jab at various zombies twirling about, leaping up, and tripping over their fallen comrades. He keeps it up. More zombies die. The pile is getting higher and higher. If the zombies could balance on that pile, they might actually reach his feet. A lot of falling and ankle breaking causes a pile of squirming and slithering zombies.
He decides to move over a bit, to give them some room to stand on firm ground. It helps him when they stand, so he can continue the spear impaling. He gets a feel for the motion of his spear and their movements. His thrusts become more accurate and deadly. The zombies pile up. They form a long mound of dead down the driveway. He is more confident and stands. He thrusts down with two hands but uses just one hand at the full extension then pulls up with it. The driveway is a scattered network of dead bodies and convulsing zombies.
More run up the driveway growling and barking at him. They leap up yet trip over their own dead. Dad waits for them to find their right footing, then jabs into their skulls. Each time he pulls out, the spear squirts blood and they drop.
Some have broken ankles, crawling and unable to get up. Some are paralyzed by his piercing spear but lying there, able to bark. He can not reach them. So they keep calling others. He has to go down there. Each time he wants to leave, more zombies rush up. What is the range of these zombies and their barks and growls? Is it a chain effect amidst a dense city? Dad fears that he has caused a chain reaction, and any moment a huge wave of The Horde will wash in. He can't continue this for long. He decides to back away and hide on the roof. He ducks back beyond the vision or senses of the zombies. He sees his family in the back. He waves at them but motions to be quiet. They give a thumbs up.
More zombies are collecting along the driveway. The barks of excited zombies keep up. He waits for a while. He sits, removes his helmet, and reminds his wife and daughters to keep quiet. They motion, pointing down that they hear them. He motions to be quiet and to get back out of view. They stay low.
Rondo barks at them on their side of the neighbor's house. Crap. Charlotte tries to crawl to the edge of the roof. Dad waves angrily for them to pull her back. Mom and Lena pull Charlotte back. Rondo barks crazily. Dad can hear that the crawling, wounded zombies are spreading. He left quite a few injured ones with broken ankles or sliced knees. They are crawling around the perimeter, spreading. Some are heading over to where Rondo is barking. Damn it.
Rondo gets into a barking match with some zombies. Thankfully, Rondo is a coward. Dad spots the dog with tail between its legs as it rushes down the other side of their house.
The zombies are only mildly interested in the dog. They don't bark or call out when they near him. And as he leaves, their interest disappears. Dad and the girls, hiding on their respective rooftops, listen intently to the whereabouts of the zombies. They wait.
Dad pulls out his plastic bag. The crinkling sound is so loud, but no zombie responds. He unwraps the granola. Never in the history of granola unwrapping has the packaging been this high of a decibel! But still, no response from the driveway where he can hear a low rumbling hum of zombies beyond. He eats his granola and snaps the loud cap off the water bottle and drinks. The sound of gurgling water seems very loud. Yet the hum of zombies below remains constant and very anxious.
He waits.
His family sits bored on the roof: Charlotte with her 22, Lena with the spear, and his wife watching. They sit. On occasion, Lena motions that she wants to crawl to the edge of the roof and look, but Dad motions for her to stop. He has to use his angry face and certainly feels angry because she continues to try to persuade him.
He motions her back angrily, again. With her stubborn impatience, he feels angry enough that he must do something. He turns to look down the driveway. It's still full of zombies. He blinks. There are so many gathered. They are aimlessly wondering like bees in a hive. They are bouncing off walls and each other and tripping over the fallen. He ducks back slowly. This was a bad idea.
He looks to his family and points down. He can't let this happen, this many. They look at him. He puts on his helmet. He goes to their side. He stands at the ladder. They wave hysterically at him to stop and point down to their side. He waves and points them to get back. He points at himself then down the driveway repeatedly. They nod no.
Now Lena is crying quietly: “No Daddy, I'm sorry, please.”
He must lead them away. There are too many and they will never leave. They will meander here and take over his house. They will tear things down. Eventually, they will sense his family. He must lead them away.
He climbs down the ladder. A zombie crawling under the trees with a broken ankle is there. He steps down the ladder just over it, as it reaches up, pu
lling itself up the chain link fence. It barks and an instant echo of howls and jowls reverberate from the opposite side.
He leaps down and picks up his sword and shield.
“Dad, come up. We'll hide!” Lena cries.
Zombies buzz at her voice. But Dad bellows even louder.
“I'm leading them away. Be quiet! Hide!”
His wife pulls them, having only a moment to look into his helmet covered eyes. He stabs at the one pulling itself up.
Others rush around the neighbor's backyard. They leap upon the fence. They climb. More crash in behind them.
Charlotte does it. She fires her 22, shot after shot, hitting head, neck, shoulders, some zombies fall, others just twitch. Lena and his wife can not reach with the spears. Dad runs down the driveway.
“Get back, damn it!”
Charlotte empties her magazine. She is too stunned to change magazines. Lena tugs at Charlotte and her mom. They try to cower back from the zombies’ vision. Some zombies spot them and leap up to the roof uselessly.
“Come on you sons of bitches! Yay, though I walk through the valley of death, I fear no evil! For you are with me God, your sword and shield! Protect me! Grraahhh!!!”
The zombies turn in unison, looking at the steel giant down the driveway. They seem stunned for a moment. Dad blinks inside his helm. He breathes in steel and sweat. He doesn't know why they stopped. All just stand for a moment. Or is it time dilation within his mind and breath? He can't tell. They stare at him dazed. He exhales.
They growl and move. He can feel them build into a momentous rush! Dad backtracks. They clamber over the fence and leap through the yard. He is about to be surrounded. He shuffles sideways past his Rav4 parked at the front. Zombies along the fence grab at his armor but his strength and weight push past them. He kicks open the fence. A fresh nimble zombie leaps and grabs him, biting at his steel shoulders. He swings his arm up and over. It gets tossed, smashing onto cement. Its head bursts like a watermelon from three floors up. Others rush through and more come from the old lady's yard. At least he is leading them out of there.
Knight of the Dead (Book 1): Knight of the Dead Page 10