“Come on Lena. Kill it! Do it!”
Lena gets an adrenaline rush, leaps close, and swings down, cutting half into forearm, half into head, half into hand, half into chest, half into ribs, and half into neck. The zombie keeps grabbing and flailing at her with its body parts flopping and squirting. She can't seem to get the swing down. Her panic and fear shake her swings.
Dad is off slicing and bashing. Zombies do not fall, as much as they skid across asphalt, fold under cars, fly into windows, or topple over hoods.
Lena finally hacks again into the zombie's head. Its eyes roll up. She pulls the blade. This time it sticks enough that the zombie lurches like a wet rag at her feet. She turns to see another as it leaps upon her, knocking her down.
“Dad!!!”
Dad turns and runs over, tackling the zombie off her as it was grabbing armor, yanking fiercely. It slams into a car door. Dad pierces it like a bug into the metal with his sword. The sword's steel and dad's adrenaline pushed it through the thin metal of an economy car door. Leaving his blade there, he turns to her like a metal giant or titan. “Now kill it!”
She gets up. Dad uses a powerful kick to the chest of a zombie behind Lena. He kicks it so hard, it slams into a car and bounces back. He comes down with a machete to finish it.
Lena turns to the pinned zombie. At first, it seems dead, but its just pinned, moaning. She steps closer and it suddenly lurches along the blade, sliding itself forward. She swings down at its flailing arm, hacking deep but not deep enough.
“I can't get it,” she yells back at Dad.
“Use your shield. Let it grab your shield!” Dad says as he hacks low so a zombie flips and slams down. Then he slices its neck on the asphalt.
Lena pushes her shield in. It grabs the shield. She lowers it enough to see the face of the twisted zombie, barking and biting. She swings her blade. It comes around the side, twanging off the car door to then delve deep into the zombie’s temple. The zombie freezes, staring blankly at nothing. She wrenches shield from the zombie's death grip. Dad pulls his sword out of the door and the zombie collapses.
“There it is!” Dad says. Inside the car, passenger side, the shield is stuffed within. He pulls open the door but realizes he needs to go around to the passenger side. Of course! They have to go around several cars, as it is an island of cars jammed up against each other from the flood of The Horde.
They hustle around. Dad takes out the next leaping zombie. He can tell Lena is overwhelmed and had enough. She is defensive with shield high, cowering and losing her own visibility as she moves along. Dad remembers those days, in the beginning, how incredibly taxing the fighting was. Someone not used to it can be overwhelmed by the exertion, the full strain, the mental shock of do or die, and the reality of kill or be killed. She has had enough for now. He pushes her along.
“Hurry! We get the shield, then go back,” he says. She nods, huddling behind her shield and not looking.
The passenger door is jammed and the window is smashed. He clears the remaining glass bits and pulls on the shield. It is jammed in the cushion somehow. He pulls and pulls.
“Dad, let down the seat,” Lena says.
“Do it!” Dad says as he meets several zombies, bashing one into another, focusing on the third, then all three are dead. He looks up. More zombies are coming from all directions. They are scattered and not from any large mob. At least it isn't a huge grouping. “Hurry.”
“I'm trying,” Lena says with a grunt. She is tugging and fumbling to find the latch. It gives and the shield plunks. She pulls it as it catches and clunks and sticks. It is an awkward endeavor as zombies charge in. Dad catches a leaping zombie, twirls it about and slams it into the window behind the seat. It kicks and punches wildly, knocking Lena into Dad. She falls back into the car. Dad grabs the zombie’s hair, pulling the female zombie out just enough to cut its head off and toss it into the next incoming zombie.
Lena has the shield out. Dad secures his garden machete and grabs the shield up. “Hah hah!” He runs like a wall into zombies, flicking with a momentous torque, blade into necks and spines and shoulders, dropping, paralyzing and splitting zombies. They fly back. He pushes through anything moving. Thankfully, it is not The Horde. The zombies seem to congregate in smaller packs unless they are part of The Horde. Dad stands tall, breathing, calming his nerves, knowing with experience to relax his muscles, to relax.
It is not so with Lena. The gritting, gurgling bark and breath of the zombies up close waxes her morale to the core. She is shivering, not from cold, but from lack of energy, lack of strength. She cowers behind Dad and in her dulled state, doesn't even notice the zombies leaping from behind.
She doesn't holler out this time, as she is tossed to the floor. The zombies grab and bite at plastics and padding. She can feel the vice grip of the teeth clenching cloth against her skin. Now she screams, a gut wrenching pitch that is exactly the tone to affect a Dad's nerve of rage to its very core.
Dad turns in an immediate fear and sees the zombie pile and his daughter face down, planted on the ground. He rushes in, twirling blade, cutting through zombie parts. He kicks and bashes and plants shield between biting zombie and his daughter's limbs.
He pulls her up with some zombie arms still holding on. She is crying and heavy laden. Her helmet is askew and her visibility is off. Dad hits the helm back on straight. She chokes a scream. He can't tell, he can't tell, he can't tell, as he looks through his own helm at her bloodied limbs. He can't tell, he can't tell, he can't tell. And zombies are upon them again. Dad must now circle Lena as she cries and crumples. He dispenses with more of them.
“Lena, come on. Back to the house now!” Dad pushes her along. They move forward. Dad meets each threat with blade and shield. He bashes them to the ground or smashes them against cars to hack them apart. Some he allows to grab his shield then swings his blade into a circle, cutting through their necks.
He pushes forward methodically, as zombies come in pace. They are now within view of the house. Charlotte is sitting with mom on the roof, veiled by a sheet. Charlotte gets excited and raises her weapon. Mom prepares the second rifle.
She fires at zombies hobbling behind Dad and Lena. The slower ones, the stiffer ones, congregate into large packs behind them as the faster ones catch up. Dad deals with them quickly. He gets her some breathing room. Lena recovers a little. She manages a few swings but nothing worthy. Dad pushes her back. He knows she needs safety. They get to the gate.
“You go in, get to mom, and check yourself,” Dad says, gritting his teeth. He wants to go so badly to see, to know, but he stays outside. He waits for the fast zombies and hacks them apart. He is waiting till there is a decent lull. It seems he has a chance, especially with Charlotte crack shooting the slower ones a distance away. He crouches out of sight and slowly goes up the driveway.
“Charlotte, take them all out, at the gate too,” Dad says up to her in his best loud whisper.
“Aye aye sir,” Charlotte whispers. Dad motions his wife to the back. She nods and goes back inside the attic. He goes to the back yard, back to his daughter.
Dad hustles down the driveway in heavy clanking armor, but with a speed that makes it all seem very light. He turns to the back porch, to their picnic table. Lena is standing there, sobbing, pulling off armor pieces. She is dripping in sweat and blood. Zombie blood, Dad prays.
His wife comes out the back door of the house, much quicker than Dad expected. She helps her with the armor. Lena relents and allows her to do it. She is a flurry of frazzled nerves. Dad knows the experience, well not quite, not at this level at the beginning of his fighting journey, not this sort of gauntlet of tests.
“Are you okay?” Dad asks, taking off his own helm. They hear the surefire cracks of Charlotte's 22 rifle shots.
Lena sobs. The wait is interminable. Dad is too afraid to ask or mention the 'bitten' word. His wife waits stoically, only caring, carefully removing the well sewn, well crafted parts. She carefully squeezes out b
lood and flicks off bits and caresses Lena's young strong arms and back. She looks carefully, rubbing off the blood. Lena merely looks down, sobbing, letting the electric stun of shock subside slowly.
Dad removes his own armor. He can't just stand. His nerves are buzzing in fear yet survival. He hobbles to the wall, peering down the driveway. A fast zombie runs up to the gate, looks about, then a crack from the 22, quite loud, bursts a small hole in the zombie's face. It drops. He doesn't see any immediate threat. He smiles at Charlotte's work. He turns back to see his wife looking at him a moment. The wife smiles relief.
Dad comes up. He wants to hug Lena but he can tell. She has that same demeanor when she has played a basketball game and lost, and the team knows that not only did they get stomped but they played terrible. She, being the freshman star player, would feel responsible and with her focus and personal high expectations, it made it all the more intense. She stands there, with her team, and Dad knows that there is no way at that moment he should go up to hug her.
He gives her space to think on the recent events. She has her mother, whose hug works much better in these circumstances. A dad's hug is an opening to critique; a mom's hug is a nurturing hug. Her mother diligently removes the pads and wraps. The cool breeze brings life back into her from her defeat. Lena moves now, awakens a bit. “I'm thirsty and hungry.”
“Okay.” Her mother shares a smile with her father. She goes to get some food, whatever is there. Lena takes a rag and wipes off sweat.
Dad wipes off his sweat, some blood. He wipes down his steel as best he can. He places it in the sun to dry.
“You okay?”
She nods.
He doesn't want to push it further. Well, he does so desperately, it's his daughter, but he doesn't.
His wife comes out with some crackers, saggy celery, and warm cheese. And she brings a bottle of water too.
Charlotte is still shooting.
“I'll go see how she's doing,” Dad says. He goes back, climbs up the hatchway into the attic. He hates having to crouch and hobble to the front. Their attic is very low, completely unable to be refurbished as extra rooms. There are dusty crossbeams he has to step over or duck under. Charlotte sits at the other end in the opening on the flat part of the front roof, behind a softly billowing sheet. She fires again.
Dad gets up to her and puts on one of the earmuffs from the bag. All the ammo and the extra rifles are there, the extra magazines, half are loaded, and half she has already used. She is aiming, following, then fires one shot, then another. Then she looks, peers, waits.
“Hey?”
“Yeah?”
“There still more?” Dad asks, trying to get closer without messing her up. The opening is small. He can't get through nor would he want to, to peer as she fires the rifle.
“A few.” She begins to aim again.
“Maybe you should just let them wander off?” Dad says, thinking play time is over.
“Ahhh, just one more,” she says. She fires one, two, three, then looks. “There, all clear.”
Dad is proud she can control herself and knows when to stop. “Well, any coming up here?”
“Sort of. They seem to go wherever I shoot a zombie now. Sort of,” she says, taking off her own ear muffs, carefully scooting back from the opening.
“Good idea with the sheet,” Dad says.
“Yeah, mom put it up, to give us cover so I can shoot,” she says, taking out the magazine from her baby, the 22.
“So, how many rounds did you shoot?” Dad asks.
“Uh, I dunno, a lot,” she says.
“Well, you can tell by the magazines. Each only holds 10,” Dad picks up an empty mag. “You can count by tens. And you should keep track of the bullets, okay? So you know how many you have left. Once you get down to a few hundred rounds, or at least like only a half box left of ammo, you gotta tell me. There's a few more stores around I could go to get more. Well, go if I have to.”
She nods as she starts loading some magazines. “I wish they held 30. It would really help.”
“Well, they only made these hold 10 by law.”
“That stupid Democrat law, right Daddy?”
“Yep, sorry.”
“It's not your fault,” she shrugs, “it's those Democrats. You think they made the zombies too?”
“Hah, uh, I dunno. I dunno.”
“Did God?”
“I dunno. I think probably man made them, or a disease, some virus. With the way we have been in the last fifty or sixty years, doing things against God, I wouldn't be surprised if God was looking away.”
“All because of those Democrats!”
“Well, hah, yes and no, Republicans too, anyone who forgets God. Anyone who gets rid of God and his laws deserves what comes. So as much as I talk crap about Democrats, in the end, we're all to blame.”
“Do we deserve it?”
“I hope not Charlotte. I hope not. We just keep praying and thanking God for each day we have together. You should go see Lena and give her a hug. She made it today. Barely, but she made it.”
“Oh my gosh, how did she do? Did she kill any zombies with a sword?”
“Yeah, but it was tough. She's pretty tired right now, but I think you should see her.”
“I'm going,” Charlotte says, easily heading off, leaving a slumped over Dad under some crossbeams.
“Don't forget what I told you about the bullets,” he whispers after her.
“Okay Daddy! Load up the magazines for me,” she says clambering out of the attic.
Dad smiles and diligently reloads the magazines with the tiny 22 rounds.
15. City of Nightmares
Dad hears it first, waking in the attic. His wife and girls are sound asleep. He grudgingly gets up. Rondo is down below, near the hatchway. Dad crawls stiffly in boxers to the front opening of the attic. He reaches the sheet and sits listening. He can hear the sound of zombies attacking. It isn’t far off, and echoes across the city blocks.
He slowly moves the sheet to look out. In front of their house across the street is the chain link fence surrounding the schoolyard. On the other side are apartment buildings, small high rises, four to six storied buildings. The building straight across is besieged by zombies. There are survivors in there screaming. Something must have gone wrong inside the apartment. The zombies must have found a way in or perhaps someone inside was infected and turned.
Dad isn't sure. His thoughts race, wondering sadly what disaster finally came upon them. His wife, small in stature, walks up and sits beside him at the opening, hugging him in the cool air of the Los Angeles autumn night. She is less than half his size.
It does not sound like The Horde, but it certainly sounds like a horde. The barking and groans of zombies below the apartments are loud. There is the definite sound of men, Russian men, yelling, not in a panic, but as if fighting or holding them back. The area has many Russian immigrants. His daughters know many of their kids in the public schools. Most live in the apartments in the area.
The yelling is coming from the street level, where they can not see. Heavy things are clanging, perhaps a barricade held up by desperate men is being pushed by zombies. The yelling of men brings more zombies and their growls grow. Women scream from within.
Gunfire erupts, zombies growl louder, glass shatters, and metal scrapes. There are screams of pain and loss.
“Could you help them?”
“I don't know. I'm too tired. I just can't. I can't save everybody.”
Someone runs from a darkened balcony and leaps. Zombies rush off after her, grabbing into the air, not stopping as they leap for their prey. It seems to be on the third floor. That is where they hear all the noises of gunfire, clanging, and zombie growls.
His wife gasps. He closes his eyes and looks down. The sounds are still there and the gunfire lessons as the growls of zombies rise. And they feed.
They make love, quietly at the side of the attic, not concerned that their daughters will wake. They return t
o their bedding and sleep. It is oddly peaceful and quiet and dark. They lay near their children, who are alive, breathing, and peacefully asleep.
16. The Plan
The next morning, the girls, after praying for safety, for others, for the end of this, are quietly picking at their bread and butter and jam. There is still some perishable foods to finish that have lasted these many days. They are in the kitchen, quietly eating away. Rondo is given a bowl of food.
“He sure eats through his food fast. I don't think he knows we're rationing.”
“Dad, he's a dog,” Lena reminds.
“Dad, are we going to save anyone?” Charlotte asks.
Dad and his wife share a look.
“Do you think any of my friends are alive?” Lena asks. At first, she is curious but then realizes the weight, the tragedy of her question. Her mother hugs her. Lena's face is red with tears. She and her mother wipe them.
“Don't go there, Lena. I know it’s hard. I don't know, so don't go there, okay?” Dad says quietly.
Lena and mom hug. Charlotte, much smaller with smaller arms, hugs Lena from the other side.
“I just wish we could do something. We're so safe here, and Dad you can fight them,” Lena sobs.
“I know. I know. I just don't know what to do. I can only fight so many and then I gotta run away. There must be millions out there. And That Horde, if I fight, eventually they'll come. I know it.”
“Let's pray Dad,” Charlotte suggests.
“Pray for what?”
“For help,” Charlotte shrugs.
Lena and Mom and Charlotte put their hands together.
“Dear Lord, help us, help us to help others. Give my Dad the strength to carry on, to save Lena's friends and the rest of America. To save my friends too, and to save my school, so I can go back to school.”
“Wait, what?”
“Yah Dad, the school!” Lena says. She gets up, pushes off mom's arms. She rushes through the living room barricades to the front window. All follow her quietly, carefully to the window. She slowly looks out, staring past the foliage to the schoolyard.
Knight of the Dead (Book 1): Knight of the Dead Page 14