“It's not like you're gonna be writing that medieval horror novel anytime soon,” Lena says.
“Yep, guess that's right.”
“Christian medieval horror novel! Right Dad?” Charlotte chimed in.
“Sure sure...”
The wife cuts the cake. Each gets their paper plate portion. It is the cheapest kind of chemically processed cake and oh so delicious.
The wife and girls peruse through the two bags: heavy boxes of ammo, the Off spray cans, and the athletic pads. They try on the pads, liking what they see. The wife was a busy body at work. She was a fashion director, working long hours with clothes design and production. She looks at the pads, their materials, and their purpose.
“Mom, these are awesome. We can totally make us some great stuff,” Lena says. Her mother nods. “Dad, could they bite through this?”
“Not the plastics. It would take them a while to bite through the other material too. Hopefully, it gives you enough time to cut them up and get away.”
Dad has removed most of his armor. He is full of sweat. He checks the water hose. There is no more water pressure. Dad stares at it for a while. His wife gets him a kitchen towel and he wipes off what sweat he can. It's a big blow. No more showers. They all stink. The air around them is of death, a rotten stench. At least the smell should help hide them.
Dad looks at the bags of groceries inside. Wow, he had to admit, Lena going out to the street to get the bags was worth it. Whoever shopped for these bags of food must not have been counting calories. They had all the preservatives, sugar, and cheapest items America had to offer. And the food would not perish quickly. Dad realizes he could go and get this stuff anytime at the store. Still, what a find for now. He nibbles at a cookie or two, or three or half a dozen.
They spend the days like this, at home working busily on their future, their home, and their skills. Dad has Lena work on the pell, the practice post. He has her use a polypropylene or hard plastic sword.
Lena has no more distractions and is very focused on learning. There is no more texting, no TV, no internet or Netflix, nothing. He is impressed that his daughter is focused. She spends long periods hitting the pell. Her forehead is often beaded with sweat and her mom has to remind her to take breaks.
In the past, to get her to listen to his conservative values, his politics and all his new found joy in God and the Bible was difficult. But now, in this silent world of death, they all work and sit together for Bible study.
Unlike Charlotte, Lena had grown up with a father who knew God but didn’t know God personally. He was the typical prodigal son. She had grown up with him as the father who left God for the pleasures of the world and whose own selfishness nearly killed him in drunken angry bouts, almost destroying his family. But through the grace of God and the Holy Spirit within him, her family remained intact, and he found God again or God let him return.
And recently, he finally taught her to understand his revelation. It worked but to what extant Dad was not sure. She still had that streak of selfish atheism from their past, from school, from movies and TV shows. At least her eyes are open to the ways of world and she knows of God and the saving grace of Christ. And now with the world at an end, with no other distraction, and her discipline from her basketball practices, she spends hours practicing the slow repetitive movements of the sword.
Dad reminds her of the body, the torque, the turn of torso and carrying the momentum, exponentially up the arm to the very last contact region of the blade to post. She catches on quickly. Dad can't get over seeing the beads of sweat on her forehead and her girly nose as she concentrates.
Dad shows Charlotte the finer points of spear work. He prefers to have his ten year old fight zombies with some distance and as support. A spear punching and thrusting at them from the roof or behind a fence or through the window is something Charlotte can do. But just in case, he teaches her to jab with a knife as well, into the eyes. He gets on top of her and gets her to raise her armored arm up as the shield, the decoy, then as a zombie bites down, she jabs with the knife. He teaches both wife and Charlotte this move. It is the last ditch effort and a difficult scenario, a father teaching his wife and small child how to kill a horrific evil beast.
The mother diligently lays out all the pads and armor and materials on the dining room table. In just a few days, the space went from a clean pristine dining room to a workshop of a focused workaholic artisan.
Dad's suit of steel is well made but underneath and in areas, there is a lack of padding where a zombie could bite. His wife's due diligence and professionalism has led to some new form fitted pieces and undergarments, adding to his armor, adding to his comfort and control.
Lena spends many hours fitting pieces to add to her plastic armor. It fit oddly since it was designed for her father’s physique. Hour after hour, day after day, the wife works on improving and fitting the armor: areas to tighten, areas of additional padding, sewing within the folds of joints, adjusting, and using stronger material, anything to reduce the chance of a bite.
Charlotte's armor is very cute. It is made primarily of padding: soccer shin guards, volleyball knee pads, and lots of sock-like padded pull-ons. She looks like a little black ninja, padded with well sewn pieces.
The wife sits many hours sewing, having moments of fittings with the girls or Dad. He discusses the finer points of zombie attacks, how they will leap, where they will bite, and how the padding should resist.
Dad is impressed and excited about her diligence on the armor and on the fittings with him, Lena, Charlotte, and herself. He never was with her at work, so he never saw what her once six figure salary and long hours as the head fashion director over scores of designers and production people were all about. She was more adamant about perfecting the armor than he was about standing patiently for the fittings.
She is now a six figure salary sort of retro fitting armorer, a post modern armorer. In a zombie apocalypse where failing armor matters, the diligence of his wife, her professionalism to observe, fit, and accomplish each tedious task before her, to make her family armored, protected, and geared up for deployment got Dad, Lena and Charlotte feeling good.
14. Lena's First Excursion
Dad remembers he has to get his shield. He dropped it back when he first ran from The Horde and acquired the motorcycle. He has several others, but the one he left was the best in size and weight for him. It wasn't far, just down the block. That assumes The Horde didn't obliterate it.
He decides to take Lena with him. He has a small plastic shield that she can use. He has her bash him to see if she understands its usage. They have a good day of practice. She understands the basic block, bash and repel technique. He shows her a swing for when a zombie inevitably grabs the shield. He has her swing in an arc, flinging the blade around the rear to cut deep into the back of the neck or skull. She gets that swing down fast.
Dad only has one medieval sword. He grabs the Roman style gladius machete and a garden machete. These are not really formed blades as much as they are a piece of steel with sharpened edges. They are cheap but very effective. He lets Lena use the gladius machete. He takes the garden machete. It isn't pretty but no one is looking. Lena is all set with her plastic shield and the gladius machete.
“I wanna go,” Charlotte tugs.
“No Charlotte, stay here,” Lena says through her plastic field hockey helm.
“Get up on the roof, cover us with the rifles, and have mom load magazines. We need a look out Charlotte,” Dad says.
“Yes!” Charlotte fist pumps and scurries to the attic entrance. His wife smirks at him. She hugs him in his armor, and hugs her daughter, who in her armor is nearly twice her size. She sprays them with the OFF.
Lena coughs, “That's enough.”
Mom's eyes are watery but not from the spray. She prays silently in front of them, putting her hand on Lena's shoulder pad. Then she follows Charlotte to the attic.
Dad walks down the driveway. Rondo jumps around
them.
“Dad, what about Rondo?” Lena asks, strutting in her armor with shield and gladius.
“Just let him do whatever. We can't really protect him. Hopefully, he'll be okay.”
They walk to the gate, scooting alongside the Rav4 and the exterior fence. The gate is severely bent up. Most of its support still comes from leaning against the Rav4. Dad pulls and yanks it open.
Charlotte and mom crawl out of the attic opening, staying low. Charlotte is already pointing down the street. Dad motions for Lena to stay low. Charlotte is in serious survival mode. She is already aiming as the wife pulls out the extra rifles, magazines and ammo.
Charlotte begins the crack crack of her 22. Dad and Lena can not see what she is shooting. They walk down the short driveway to the street. Cars are pushed up along the sidewalk and fences. Dad notices the cars pushed up against his hedges. This will allow zombies to easily climb up the cars then over his fence. He wonders how he can move them.
Charlotte fires another shot. He looks the other way. A zombie drops from a head shot. Another has a small pop in the neck. It turns. Another pop in the head, and it drops. The zombies nearby get excited but are unaware yet of what to do and where the sound is coming from. The sharp crack sound of Charlotte's 22 doesn't focus their attention. They sense the noise close by but aren't able to pinpoint it. They start a slow migration toward the high pitched crack. The zombies meander around each other a tad excited. Dad stands still, watching them. Just a half dozen down the street. No telling how many more beyond.
Dad hustles back up the driveway and waves at Charlotte. He whispers up loudly, “Charlotte, don't shoot unless you have to. You're going to attract more.”
“Okay,” Charlotte lowers her weapon.
Dad returns to Lena. She is looking down the street. It's pretty clear on the street around their house, but down the block and near Sunset Boulevard, the cars become more dense. They head that way, slightly crouched in heavy armor.
“Watch your feet. Watch for crawlers. Walk slowly.”
Rondo sniffs under a car then jumps, barking.
“Well well,” Dad takes a slow step forward and looks where Rondo is barking. A zombie is smashed under a car from The Horde. It gurgles and looks quite crumpled. Dad raises blade but stops and motions for Lena.
“Move slow. Put your blade in its mouth. Push through and turn.”
Lena comes up slowly, not to alert the zombies down the street. Charlotte from the roof, poised like a miniature sniper, keeps watching. Lena raises her blade. The zombie seems to sense and gurgles louder. Lena flinches. Dad taps her with the flat of his blade.
She focuses, jabs blade in, pushes through, crunching small bits of spine at the back of the mouth until it stops. “Ack, gross.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He turns to see a zombie limping their way. A distant crack reverberates and the zombie flicks its head and drops. He looks back, Charlotte, huddled, poses with her gun, signals with a thumbs up and a cocky smirk.
They walk slowly as Rondo sniffs ahead. They get near Sunset Boulevard. Dad can hear zombies coming to the sound. They seem like limping stragglers left from The Horde. There are a group of them but they lose direction and meander about. The zombies’ moans echo off the buildings. Dad pushes Lena back against the wall of the corner building. Around the corner is a bus stop and just past that, the place he dropped his shield. There is no telling where it is now. The cars have been jammed up against one another. Instead of a bumper to bumper jam, after The Horde ran through, it's more like walls or piles of cars with plenty of open spaces.
He spots another small group of zombies bashing a storefront. It is gated. He can't see beyond or whom they are after. It is a block down and a good distance. If they walk slowly to where his shield might be, they shouldn't alert them.
Rondo is smart enough to stay close. What a perfect dog.
Dad goes first. He turns the corner and takes advantage of the piled cars. They are like giant crunched metallic cliffs. He sides up to one. He motions for Lena. She hustles to his spot, her plastic armor flapping. “Slowly Lena, slowly.”
She nods. He continues. He can not see his shield. The cars are like washed up behemoths, pushed up against each other. The middle of the road is like a river bed. The hot sun has dried any smeared blood, darkening the asphalt.
He tries shifting his view, down, up, side to side, to look under and around tires and crumpled cars. The leaking of oils and gases certainly worries him. It is a time bomb of flames and horror. With no firemen, the city could go up in flames. He smells smoke in the air. Perhaps the city is already burning. The air is hazy and has a foul stench to it. Visibility is hazy beyond a few blocks or so, with a gray smokey sky. There must be fires about, smoldering.
He has clear sight to the small gathering of zombies. Thankfully, their focus is a slow repetitive beating on the storefront gate. He has to cross a clearing to sidle up against another mound of cars. He moves along slowly. Rondo skips along beside him. No reaction from the mob. He gets to where the cars used to be bumper to bumper, where the bike was, but now the landscape is different. It feels like a ruined industrial riverbed in a canyon and they are moving along the bottom of the cliffs.
He peers across the pile of cars. Some are husks with no windows, with their tops shredded and seats gutted. The cars with shredded seats look like zombies must have torn at humans within, leaving blood splatters.
Lena trots over slowly. Her breathing is building too fast. Dad worries it could lead to fear and panic.
“Calm down Lena, okay. Breathe out. Breathe. It's okay. This is about as far as we're going. I'm just going to look for my shield.”
“Okay, okay, but what if they come?”
“Then we fight. Oh yeah!” Dad raises his sword. He emboldens her with his bravado.
She hits him with her plastic armored elbow, hitting his solid steel. Dink.
“Just stay here. Let me look for that dang shield.” He peers around and under the flattened tires. He gets low and moves alongside the pile of cars, peering in and out. It could be high, it could be low, or it could be blocks away. Rondo trots along, sniffing. He barks. Dad sees a crawler coming at the dog, slowly, reaching blindly. The zombie is a mash of flesh: two good arms and practically no face. It looks like it was smeared along asphalt for a hundred yards. Rondo barks loudly. Some of the zombies from the mob turn. Dad is tense.
He lowers and scoots closer, quickly swipes his blade to hack into the mushy head. It shudders dead. Rondo rushes away to Lena. Dad looks up over the cars. He looks at the mob. The zombies begin to disperse, to fan out. Rondo's barking already has a few rambling in this direction.
Dad is running out of time. He moves behind cars, looking and looking. It seems hopeless. Everything is so different, so catastrophic compared to the traffic jam before -- like a flood came through and washed it all aside.
Rondo barks at the approaching, meandering zombies. He is still attracting them. Lena tries to shush him. The zombies are suddenly curious. Her shushing may have alerted them. They hasten towards Lena.
Dad isn't far but not close enough to warn her without alerting more zombies. He moves closer as they do. Rondo barks louder. Lena hits Rondo. He cowers away. Lena remains quiet. Good for her.
One zombie gets close. Lena screams, “Dad!”
Damn it. Dad charges, turning the corner. Lena is paralyzed with fear. Dad hacks down the back of its spine. The zombie convulses to the ground.
“Lena!”
The zombies scream their hunger.
Dad turns to bash the second zombie, bashing with steel fist, hitting it back repeatedly. It flails backwards, its face bloodied and blinded. Like a lion maiming its prey so its cub can learn to kill, Dad turns to Lena. “Kill it! Now!”
Lena freezes, holding shield and sword way too open, leaning against a car.
“Lena, hurry!” Dad yells under his breath. The echo of zombies scrambling around cars gets louder. Rondo barks like crazy but backs
off.
Dad turns. The bashed zombie stumbles about, growling bubbles of blood, grabbing wildly in the air.
“God, give my daughter strength, give her the will to fight, give her your armor God, your shield, God, your sword, God. Give Lena the courage to hold fast, my Lord,” as Dad prays aloud, Lena steps up. She raises her gladius. Another zombie runs around a car. Dad crushes it with a hammer fist of steel, then runs his blade straight through the mouth. It drops.
“Give her your strength Lord. Give her the will to fight until the day you take her from this place!”
Lena raises her blade, unsure, wrongly placed.
“Pell work Lena! Just like the pell.”
She cocks the blade back, then swings at the gurgling zombie. The blade hacks partway into the head. The zombie jerks and drops.
Dad meets another, machete raised to greet the grabbing arms. Dad is not as well skilled with his left hand holding the garden machete. But a zombie running into the blade causes it to cut deep. He pulls the machete out as the zombie flails with severed palms. He swipes with his left forearm, knocking the zombie’s arms down, exposing its head to his incoming right handed blade. Watermelon splits.
Lena stands unsure.
“Lena, fight there!” Dad points blade to an upturned car. She sets her back against it. Dad fights off to her blade side, so she can focus on zombies coming from her left. With her shield raised, one is already upon her.
It grabs at her shield. Being a plastic and light shield, it flops with each grabbing hand. Dad lunges past her and the grappling zombie to push another zombie into a car window. He pokes repeatedly and viciously, puncturing its neck, skull, chest, head... dead.
Lena swings awkwardly, never bringing forth the practiced swing of her pell work. Working on a pell and fighting a grabbing, flailing, leaping, pushing, gurgling, barking zombie are two very different things. A zombie over takes her and grabs for exposed flesh to bite deep into, but Dad is near and will not have it. He cuts the back of the zombie's leg. It drops to the ground, grabbing wildly into the air.
Knight of the Dead (Book 1): Knight of the Dead Page 13