He decides to go race up into the hills. Just north are homes nestled among the ravines and hills of Hollywood. The streets are narrow and winding. The cars are packed on both lanes, winding down from above with a ton of fender benders. He drives up through the tight maze, having to zip along ridges and narrow yards, letting the small gathering follow him. He's curious to see how far they can go. He doesn't know the winding roads that well, but makes good speed through various tight curves and jams. Once in awhile, a crazed zombie leaps from a window or bangs through one of those homes up against the hillside, charging at him, but as they flop against his steel, he slices quickly.
He looks back and waits. There's a sharp turn below him with thick browning plants covering the area. He has lost the horde behind him. He doesn't hear them, at least not close. Do they tire? Or did they lose track of him. He decides to continue up and around and see where he pops out. He drives along past a few jammed cars and a few zombies stuck in cars or in the Hollywood Hill bungalows. Did he hear someone call out for help? He's not sure. He drives on. The road finally bends back down. He is heading back to Hollywood Boulevard.
He makes it down and sees only a scattering of zombies. He drives quietly past them. They are the slow ones. He cleared the area, at least enough. He races past the road he drove up, glancing quickly. The small horde must be up the road. Every horde leaves a trail of slower zombies that can cause others to come. These ones turn back to him as he races by. But they're scattered enough that it doesn't look like the small horde will return.
Further down Hollywood Boulevard, it is surprisingly open. The Horde, the big one, must have come through before. The cars and trucks are piled, smashed up against each side and against the crushed store fronts.
Dad cruises through, past crawling zombies. He swings at a few. He gets a little careless reaching too far and loses control of the bike. He nearly crashes. He stops, chuckles at his own stupidity, and looks back at the hopping crazed zombie trying to get to him. He races along a few more blocks. The cars are more packed here, not as brushed aside as the blocks where The Horde passed through. There's enough room for him to weave in and out and along the sidewalks.
He stops and sees inside a dusty window. It's a pizzeria. There's an old dried pizza sitting on the counter. It sits there looking petrified, but oh, so tasty. He can't help himself. Even with a few dozen crawlers crazily coming at him, slowly from afar, belching and barking, he can't help it. He gets off his bike and hustles.
He pulls out his gladius and uses the pommel to hammer the glass. It breaks open. He reaches in. It is just beyond his reach. The metal security gate keeps him back. And there's the counter glass. He hits that with his gauntlet, glass crackles, and still, he can't reach it. Then he gets the bright idea of using his gladius and pokes the dried crusty pepperoni pizza. It must be so salty and dry like a jerky pizza. But he doesn't care. It sticks and slides over.
A fast zombie comes out of an alley nearby, to see what all the fuss is about. He turns and runs. Dad pulls back the gladius to use it but stops. He needs it for the pizza. He can't slice up the zombie and then use it to reach the pizza. He's going momentarily insane. He lets the zombie leap on him, then throws it hard against the wall. He kicks at it with his boot. The zombie scrambles and leaps back up. He grabs it by the shirt, yanking it around.
For some, zombies are strong and overwhelming. But for Dad in steel armor, he is like a superhero tossing a criminal. He twirls the flailing zombie idiot. Then he throws it up against the wall and slams his elbow into its head. Dead.
He turns back to the window, using all his stretch again, he pokes the pizza with his gladius and slides it closer. He grabs it up quickly. He quivers with anticipation. Zombies are crawling closer. He lifts up his visor and takes a bite. Zombies are getting closer. He chews it lovingly. It's that good. He takes a series of bites and gulps, nearly a quarter of the dried old pizza is in his mouth. He turns and keeps a limping zombie at arms-length with his foot while he folds up the rest of the pizza and pushes it in the duffel bag. Awesome. He puts down his visor.
He pushes the zombie off balance and struts to his bike. He gets back on still chewing. He searches for the dang water bottle. Crawling and limping zombies are starting to swarm. He finds it and with gauntlet fingers, twists the tiny cap off and lifts his visor again. Pizza bits fall out as he swigs half his water while spilling the rest. It invigorates him. He tosses the small plastic bottle at the nearest limper then takes off.
He races a few more blocks down to the blade shop. It's intact and has its security gate down. It's all metal. He looks back. More zombies are collecting with faster ones appearing. He ponders if there is a back entrance, a less busy area. He races down the street and turns the corner.
It looks clear. He drives down, makes a sharp turn into the back alley where all the shop owners park. It's surprisingly empty. It's almost quiet like. He races quickly to the back doors and sees the right one. He's sure because of the oriental martial-arts stickers and banners stuck on the door. He turns off the bike and listens. He stands still as zombies run down the street. They don't come up the alley. They run past. He waits till they pass. It looks like a small horde he could have probably killed but it would have only led to more zombies coming.
He pulls out the crowbar and easily pries open the door. He enters the back room filled with boxes, a small table, a water cooler, a microwave, and lots of cup-of -noodles. Interesting.
He heads into the store. It's dark and quiet. The metal security gate blocks most of the light. He can barely see. He feels his way up to the front, toppling over a mannequin in quasi-samurai armor. It's made of plastic and used for a costume or display. There are many shelves of martial arts gear. He glances to and fro at the display of blades everywhere. He picks up an axe, an exotic looking axe. He wants more light so he swings it at the metal gate. It cuts through the metal, a small piercing blow. He hacks again to get more light streaming in. The ornate axe, interestingly enough, holds up to the strenuous metal gashing strikes. He's impressed. He makes more slits for more light. The clash of each strike is loud. He can hear zombies seeking out the noise. They come running to his open slits and bite and bang to reach in. They are covering his light, causing a flickering disco aura.
He swings at the hole, cutting off a tongue and smashing in the teeth. The zombies gnash their teeth and lick the small holes he creates. Dad likes the fortification as more zombies come. He realizes he has some time to kill. Literally.
He hacks away, creating larger slits, a few in front of him and a few above for light. He can see his selection of weapons. The axe is nice. He sets that in the 'save' pile. He tries some ornate blades, punching them through the slits at zombies. They poke their faces in, biting at the metal. The slits are now holes that are barely big enough for a mouth or eye. Dad gladly pushes a blade through as zombies seek to penetrate the metal wall. Zombies bang up against it and it gongs that industrial clang. It seems impossible that even with a large force that the wall will give.
So Dad continues the slaughter. Some of the weapons fall right out of their handle. He sees one blade disappear into the small gathering outside as he retracts the pommel and grip. He tosses it and tries another. A few good blades run the course. He jabs into the holes with each new zombie. He has to coax them closer, to open their mouths at the hole, then punches the blade straight through severing their cervix. Steel slides through clenching rotted teeth into flesh then cartilage and bone. He twists it and snaps the top of the spine. They drop.
As more light filters and flickers the store, he sees the plethora of weapons. There are a lot of oriental and Asian style blades for ninjas and Chinese warriors. The store has boxes and plastic wrapped ninja stars, claws, and caltrops or spikes you throw down to pop tires. There are several sai sets which look like shortened tridents. He tries those out and finds them interesting for poking. If a zombie were biting on his forearm steel, he could use a sai to then poke into their eye, up clo
se. He tests one through the openings. It works well. Easy. He tosses a few into the 'save' pile.
He spots a corner with naginatas. He has to look at the price tag to see what they are called. In essence it’s an Asian halberd or polearm. He pulls one out and tries a ninja stance and twirl. He doesn't do a good job being in heavy steel. He knocks things over. For a second, he flinches as if he's vandalizing a store. He shakes that off.
He pokes the naginata polearm out a hole. Zombies grab and bite the pole and blade. He pulls it back with a slight twist, cutting off fingers, hands, and slicing mouths. He punches it in and out, hacking off heads and faces, necks and arms. He giggles a little.
The naginata didn't last long and breaks off. He realizes it has a screw attachment in the middle to break down the long pole. Lame. He tries a few more. The blades wobble or the poles snap when a zombie hangs on to them. Almost as many blades and poles are now outside as dead zombies. He finally gets one, the most expensive of course, that lasts and hacks away. A zombie tugs on it. He lets it, seeing how well it will hold. It feels solid. He pulls it in cutting the zombie’s fingers off. He feels sorry for the fingerless fat zombie. As it approaches again, he sets the naginata blade on its neck, then pushes forward, lopping the head off.
He sets that on the save pile. More zombies are coming. A horde is forming. The metal wall is slightly buckling, nothing he is concerned with for now. However, the noise and banging and growling are getting louder and louder. It affects his nerves. He feels his heart skip a beat or two, every so often. Their noise, so close, has an effect. He still has more weapons he wants to test out. He picks up the pace, jabbing fiercely at zombie after zombie. Many blades are decorative and don't last long. But plenty work and work well.
He tries the 'Lord of the Ring' swords, fantasy swords, battle ready swords, an Excalibur exclusive, Chinese blades, ninja blades, katanas, a 'Highlander' sword, strange movie scifi swords, and viking swords. It is a mixed bag but at least he has more than enough swords. He particularly likes the sai blades for poking. He can see his daughters in a bind holding up their armored arms, a zombie biting down on that; and with their last chance, they use the sai blade to pierce it through the eye and into the brain. The arm protection being the key point of contention, the girls should be able to safely hold up the vise grip of a zombie jaw.
His save pile is growing impressively. He can not carry that much. He can take less than half of what's in the save pile. Though he has killed perhaps a hundred zombies, there are still more and they're buckling the wall.
Ah screw it. If only he could call back to his wife and say, “Honey, I'm going to be late.”
He pulls out more blades and goes to work. At first, he punches in and out at a fast pace. Then he begins huffing and puffing, and so slows down his pace. Zombie after zombie falls onto the pile outside. Zombies coming forth are now tripping on the dead. Other zombies climb over those, with the pile of squirming and crushed zombies increasing. As he gets to the hundreds upon hundreds dead tally, he is getting confused by which are still alive and which are just the dead being jostled by others. He hacks more holes in the metal to find the fresh zombies to kill. Where are they?
He decides to hack the wall to the next store with a warhammer. He enjoys smashing the drywall and brittle two-by-four studs. It falls apart easily with each slam of hammer or kick of boot as the hole opens to the next business. He pushes his way through to a wig shop. It has sexy buxom mannequins dressed in tight sexual outfits and bikinis. He thinks with Lisa there, it will be more difficult to be alone with his wife. Sigh.
He looks to the front of the store. The security gate is a metal fencing, a roll down grille that gives visibility to the street. He crashes through the glass front door. The zombies immediately react and move over. He clears the metal framed glass doors. He has to smash and yank parts of the doors free to give him more room. He loves wearing armor! He tosses a few hot mannequins back as well. He slightly feels like he has cheated on his wife. The large plastic breasts are the easiest to grab for tossing. At least that is what he tells Jesus, who rolls his eyes at him in the back of his mind.
The zombies pile up, grabbing at the metal grille. It is very strong. It is more modern then the metal shutters of the sword store. The entire wall is an opening for this warrior to jab blades in and out, anywhere.
He collects more weapons from the sword store and drops them in front of him as zombies run up. He cuts away at necks and into heads. He drops zombie after zombie. The zombies pile against the grill and keep it firm. They are their own weakness, pushing the front ones, pinning them as Dad pierces their heads with blade after blade.
And it stops. The zombies are all dead. Not one hundred percent, there are still plenty of moans and groans within the pile, the mound. Some are so eviscerated that their zombie form has them squirming as useless flesh in there somewhere. Dad's strikes were not perfect kills either. Many are still alive but unable to call out or move in any coordinated way. The voracious ravenous horde of zombies is wiped out. From the outside of both storefronts are huge piles of dead zombies. From his perspective, it is a wall of gruesome undead flesh, oozing, flicking, convulsing, dripping, squirming, but not voracious.
This is what it takes to clear out an area, at least an area with scattered zombies, a wall of protection and room to cut and hack at them. He can tell by the light, that the day is darkening. He should get back. He feels an accomplishment in this task, in clearing an area, knowing there is a possibility. Its not a possibility against The Horde, in this way, but against a spread, a smattering of zombies in an area. But the work and time and fortification it would take is something he will have to consider.
They don't seem to call out for more and more. He runs out of lively ones to kill. He isn't sure why they seem so docile. He wonders if it has to do with him being holed up, hidden behind the sickening mounds of dead.
He drinks some water, eats a dried cup of noodles, and then packs up many good blades. He is so tempted to eat the rest of the rolled up dried pizza. It's more hard crusty than spoiled gooey. But he saves it. He gets some plastic off some martial arts gear, tucks the pizza in and stuffs it in the bag. He rolls up some of the plastic samurai armor. His wife could use it to fashion more armor. The plastic couldn't handle steel but it sure could handle the viral decomposing gums of rotting teeth.
Going out the back seems surreal from the front, which now has the mounds of devastation. It is a clean parking lot full of business owners’ cars. It looks almost as if nothing has happened, except that it is noticeably darker.
It is evening and he is feeling tired. He packs up and drives back to his home.
He drives down smaller streets parallel to Hollywood Boulevard. He cleared it out nicely. There is a calming silence. He stops at an intersection to peer about. He feels a sense of pride, having killed all those zombies. The area feels clear. But he can hear at a distance, toward the Hills, a chant of zombies. He decides to slowly drive up to get a view through the streets.
There is the small horde up a street, where he led them earlier. It has surrounded a house. In leading the horde there, did he spell doom for the residents who huddled in their homes away from the Hollywood crowds? He can not think too much on that. The choices he makes are to survive and he is unaware of the demise caused to others. He remembers the man he killed for leading zombies to his home. He shutters. He drives past quickly before the horde notices him.
He gets to his street and drives down weaving in and out of jammed cars. He goes slower, quietly to the backside, not drawing any to his home.
He makes it to the rear and in two trips from bike to backyard, tosses over the weapons and silly samurai armor.
They love the swords and armor, but the crackly dried pizza comes first.
23. Staycation
His wife has the dining room table set up for work. She was a workaholic as a fashion director in the past world. Now in ragged clothes, no bra, and tattered hair, she is worki
ng diligently on armor.
Under his suit, Dad has new padded wrappings and back coverings on once exposed parts. She has fully outfitted each member of the family with a style that oddly fits their individual character. Dad is in full medieval steel armor and black under wraps. Lena wears the plastic armor for her body and limbs, and additional white volleyball pads segmented across exposed parts. She looks like a robot field hockey player, only deadlier. The wife is covered in plastic pads sewn in succession along leg tubing or wrapped around a leather jacket. To her credit or fixation, it looks stylish yet functional. She scoffs at the accusation that she put an eye to fashion when making it. She is more proud of the fact that she could tear up a five hundred dollar leather jacket to make the damn thing.
Charlotte looks like a little ninja. Her padded pieces fit tight on her high black tights and black karate gi or outfit. The karate shirt's material is thick enough that it allowed mom to sew plastic coverings throughout. Dad emphasized ensuring good coverage while allowing for movement of the arms, the forearms, the shoulders and elbows. All of them have segmented padded limbs.
With the new samurai armor, the wife is working on an Asian style suit for Lisa. She stands so mom can piece it together, working out the function and use of the new armor. The girls help and have a little chit-chatting girl time.
Rondo gets nervous around them. They all look and sound different to him. He tries to rush off but realizes, its worse out there. He sulks back around. The girls toy with him until he finally, lazily, realizes he has to get over his own made up fears.
Dad is thrilled at the new weapons. He places extra ones about the house, in the dining room, in the attic, in the garage, in the backyard guest house and under the picnic table. He wants them everywhere so they can access blades for defense wherever they are on the property. He has several extra shields he made but never completed for his medieval re-enactment fights. Now is the time. One is a smaller aluminum one he had ordered and used. It is the traditional medieval heater shape where it's square on top and pointed on the bottom. It was too small for him so he tucked it away. He crafts a handle for it and gives it to Lisa. It is slightly larger than the plastic one Lena uses and has additional weight. There is a give and take. A heavier shield can absorb charges better but can also tire one out quicker. He shows them how to work each shield.
Knight of the Dead (Book 1): Knight of the Dead Page 20