by Matt Hart
“Got it!” He turned right and slowed to look between the houses. I knew this neighborhood pretty well since I always walked this way to the beach.
So shoot me... I never thought to check for fences that could keep out a zombie horde.
I slowed my pace and brought up the AR-15. I walked slowly and aimed at concentrations of the creatures. They were fifty or so yards away, and I hit a few of them. Not in the head though, so they staggered or fell, then kept coming, a little more slowly than before. I swapped magazines and continued firing until they we were only ten yards away. I dropped the rifle and let it dangle on its sling and grabbed my shotgun, which had been bouncing in front of me as we jogged.
“Erin! This way!”
I fired a shot and dropped two zombies, then turned and ran toward Joe. He was standing at the corner of a house and waving at me. I ran around to him and he led me through a fence and into a backyard.
Deja vu.
It looked almost exactly like the one where he'd been shot. There was the table, and the stucco fence. A zombie hit the gate behind us and we both jumped and looked back.
“Joe, scan the windows for threats!” I grabbed the table and started pulling it to the stucco fence. I could barely budge it.
“On second thought, you move the table, Gorilla Joe. I'll scan for threats.” I stepped back and unslung the rifle, then began aiming it at various windows, looking for a count of two before switching to another window as I moved back and forth – might as well provide a moving target instead of a stationary one. I finished a round of windows and looked at Joe. He had picked up the heavy table and was carrying it in front of him. When he reached the stucco fence, he dropped it to the ground and looked back at me.
The gate behind us cracked, then busted open. Three zombies fell on the ground and the rest of them poured through the opening, tripping over each other as they came.
“No time for pleasantries!” I yelled, running up and jumping on the table. “Up and over!” I hopped lightly onto the stucco fence and turned, firing at the approaching creatures. Joe lumbered onto the table, which creaked alarmingly. He put his arms over the fence and grunted, pulling his stomach onto the fence and balancing precariously. I reached over and pulled at his pack, shifting his balance and causing him to roll and drop to the other side. I emptied the clip into the table and then hopped down beside Joe.
“Thanks for the assist,” he said.
“You’re welcome, Floppy Joe,” I said. “Are you injured?”
“Even if I am, we gotta get out of here. Those things can climb that table too.” I smiled as a loud CRACK sounded on the other side of the fence. The arms that had been reaching over the fence suddenly dropped.
I held up my rifle. “I shot the table.”
“Malicious destruction of property!” exclaimed Joe as he struggled to his feet. He groaned and held a hand to his side. “I think I bruised a rib or two,” he said. “Someone pushed me off the fence.”
I pointed back at the zombies trying to get over the fence. “I didn't do it!”
“Mm, hmm,” murmured Joe. He squared his shoulders, and I switched magazines.
“Give me two of your AR mags,” I told him. He removed two from his cargo pants and handed them over. All of the ones in his vest were for the not-so-shiny new AK he acquired from the now burning house. He checked his AK mag and then slammed it back in. His hand stuck to the side of the cartridge where it had been pressed into the asphalt; he pulled it off and tried to wipe it on his pants.
“Let's go, Sticky Joe,” I said, pointing to the fence gate. I could smell the breeze coming off the ocean.
So close!
I moved behind Joe, who held up a hand, then motioned me forward. He opened the fence slightly and I peered through the small gap. He closed it almost immediately. I didn't need it opened for longer, anyway.
Zombies.
Wall to wall zombies.
They were shuffling through the street, going right. Probably joining the rest of their kind at the convenience store or the fire.
Or they're joining the ones in the backyard behind this one.
I glanced back at the fence. I could see faces pushing up above the fence line. Apparently there were enough of them to literally lift up the ones in front of them, or else they were stepping on each other just like at the convenience store. I tapped Joe on the shoulder and pointed to the fence. His eyes grew wide.
“What do we do?” he asked.
“Come on,” I said removing my pack and guns and walking around to the back porch. It overhung the patio, giving some shade to the owners, but it was pretty high, also providing a balcony for the second floor.
“Toss me up,” I told him, backing toward the fence. He looked confused.
“Throw you up there?”
I cupped my hands and put them in front of me. “Like this, Dopey Joe. Lift me when I jump onto your hands.”
“Got it, Ninja Girl,” he said. But before cupping his hands, he stopped. “But...” he paused.
“Out with it! We don't have much time,” I said in a singsong voice, gesturing over my shoulder.
“We could just break a door in.” He pointed over his shoulder.
“Great,” I said, “and make a lovely zombie entrance. Perhaps we could have an open house, serve brains instead of cookies! Let's go! Make with the muscle!”
Joe looked abashed, then nodded and cupped his hands together. I ran and jumped into his hand, and gravity got a lot heavier as he matched my jump and heaved me up nearly as high as the roof. I grabbed onto the gutter as my machete and baton clanged into the side of the house, dangling gracelessly from the roof, then dropped to the deck.
“Glad Master Kong didn't see that,” I thought, fondly remembering my grouchy old martial arts teacher. I picked up a chair from the deck and was about the throw it into the glass doors, when I thought, “What the heck?” I walked up to the doors and knocked. A shadow formed inside the house and I put my hand on my baton.
Chapter 25
Joe : San Diego, California
“What's going on up there?” I called. Erin was unseen up on the patio, but I thought I heard voices over the moaning of the creatures behind me. I turned and sighted on the ones about to get over the fence, lining up their heads with the circle inside the peephole sight. They practically flew backwards from the heavy round, falling on their comrades below. The fence temporarily clear, I turned and shouted again.
“Erin! Where are you?”
The door in front of me opened and Erin gestured for me to come in. “Go upstairs and stay out of sight of the zombies. Get on the deck and drop every one that can see what's happening.” I pondered these strange instructions but did as I was told. When I walked in, an old woman greeted me.
“Hello Joe,” she said. “Just set your pack down over there and go on up the stairs around the corner.” My mind went blank as tried to make sense of this SNAFU. I just did as I was told and went up the stairs. The door to the patio deck was open, so I crawled out to the edge of the deck. I started to aim through the slats when I saw Erin come around from the side of the house, grab a lawn chair, and run to the other side. She came back after a few seconds and grabbed her pack. I didn't see her guns, so maybe the crazy old lady had them.
I figured Rod Serling would be stepping out at any moment, holding a cigarette.
“A former Army Ranger past his prime, surrounded by zombies and crazy women, both of which are just figments of his damaged psyche.”
I raised the rifle and began firing at any heads I could see. When they were all down, I stopped, just as instructed.
“Good,” said a low voice beside him. His heart went THUMP and he looked over at Erin who had apparently crawled up beside him.
“What? How? I...” I stopped stuttering when Erin put her finger to her lips. She nodded toward the back yard. I saw more zombie heads and started to raise my rifle, but she put her hand on the stock and pushed it down, shaking her head slowl
y. I lowered it and watched the zombies. They were still pushing into the other backyard, climbing on top of the fallen ones. They finally made it to the fence and climbed up. I looked a question at Erin, but she shook her head.
The creature flopped over the fence and staggered to its feet. It looked around, then walked to the side of the house and disappeared.
Another one dropped over the fence and did the same thing: walked to the side of the house and disappeared. We watched as at least a hundred creatures went over the fence, through the backyard, and disappeared around the side of the house.
On the other side, a zombie shambled to the broken gate. It looked into the backyard and started to come in, when a loud explosion sounded a few blocks away.
Fire must've hit a propane tank or something.
The creature turned and headed toward the fire. Erin tapped my back and we crawled back into the house and shut the door. She ran downstairs and out the back while I sat down on the top of the stairs. She came back a few minutes later and motioned for me to come down and join her. I rose reluctantly – sitting felt really good – and walked down the stairs.
Erin sat at a kitchen table with the old lady. Her hair was as white as her face, and glasses hung on a cord in front of her. She wore a dress with some sort of crochet on the shoulders. “This is Miss Ima Jean,” said Erin. “Ima Jean? Meet Camo Joe.”
Her eyes twinkled behind her glasses. “Please to meet you, Mr. Joe,” she said, “or should I just call you Camo?”
I smiled despite my fatigue. “Just Joe is fine, ma'am. Or should I call you Miss Jean?”
She grinned back and turned to Erin. “I like him,” she said. “Is he spoken for?”
Erin smiled as I felt my face turn a darker shade of black. “Well I only got him yesterday,” she said, “but I'll put in a good word for you.”
The old woman laughed and stood up. “Let me make you two a glass of tea,” she said. “He looks like he's about to burst if you don't answer his questions.” She smiled back at us. “And I don't fancy cleaning up the mess.”
“Whew!” I said, turning back to Erin. “So what was...” I began, waving my hands in the air, “...all that?” I finished with a dramatic gesture intended to convey, well, everything.
“No need to go on an old fashioned freak out, Camo Joe,” said Erin, still smiling.
I didn't know whether to thank God for interesting women or yell at Him for exasperating ones.
Erin put her hand on mine and my thoughts instantly cleared. It was almost a painful transition from adrenaline-fueled hysteria to Prozac-induced calmness. I put my other hand on hers, smothering her tiny hand in mine.
She's touching me.
I looked the question.
“Yes, I know you're touching me. It's okay, it isn't freaking me out.” She leaned over and kissed my forehead, then leaned back, taking away the warm touch of the girl I loved like my own daughter. I caught a glimpse of the old woman as she smiled and turned back to making the tea.
“So, what happened?” I asked.
“After you practically threw me over the house, I just decided to try knocking before breaking down the doors. Ima Jean opened the patio door and we made quick introductions. I tried to explain what I was doing but she just told me I'd better hurry and pointed the way to the stairs. You know the rest. I let you in and opened the gates. Once all the ones who saw us were shot, the rest just wandered out through the open gates. I closed them a few minutes ago.”
I sat for a moment, trying to remember the events. “Your guns?” I asked.
“Ima Jean got them. They're over there,” said Erin, pointing toward what must be a living room.
“Here you go Joe,” said Ima Jean, setting a giant mug of iced tea in front of me. I drained half of it before it hit me.
“Ice?”
“I have solar power,” said Ima Jean. “At least during the day.”
“But the EMP,” I began, standing up. I walked into the kitchen and looked her refrigerator. It was stainless steel and looked brand new. “How old is this fridge?”
“I bought it a few years ago. My old one went out and I wanted stainless appliances anyway,” she said.
“EMP, can't be,” I muttered. Erin and Ima Jean looked at me. “The EMP,” I said, “that fridge is practically brand new!”
Erin snapped her fingers. “Computer chips,” she said. “And probably part of the solar cells, too.”
“Oh the solar cells stopped working yesterday,” said Ima Jean. “But the installer said lightning or static electricity could damage it, so I paid for the backup system. I switched it yesterday and it came right back on, just like he said it would.”
“Doesn't explain the fridge, though. Do you have a cell phone?” asked Erin.
“Oh yes, but it doesn't work. The EMP must've fried it too,” said Ima Jean.
I looked at Erin. “You know about EMPs?” I asked.
“Oh yes, she said, pushing off the chair to her feet. She walked into the living room and Erin and I followed. She stopped in front of a bookshelf and pulled out a book. “One of my favorites,” she said. “The Perseid Collapse.” I took the book and checked the blurb on the back. Science fiction post-apocalyptic stuff.
I handed the book back to her. “So you read that kind of thing?”
“My late husband did. These books are his. After he passed, I was going to give them away, but I just couldn't. So I read them instead, and I found them quite interesting. Between you and me, I admit I like them better than my romance novels.” She winked at me then gestured across the room to another shelf. On it were dozens and dozens of books featuring men on boats, men next to horses, men holding women, men with long hair, and all of them shirtless, tan and sporting six packs.
“So what do you think of all this?” I asked. Ima Jean sat down and I joined her.
Erin turned and went to the stairs. “I'm going the check the neighborhood. I'll be right back.” She bounded up two steps at a time and I could only marvel at her energy.
“An EMP,” said Ima Jean, “though why my fridge still works I don't know.”
“And the zombies?” I prompted.
“Some sort of airborne agent that only affected a certain percentage, at least that's what these books always say.”
“And what do you say?”
“Hogwash,” she said. “Zombies are impossible.”
“And yet here we are.”
“Yes indeed young man, here we are. So I just don't know.”
“Joe,” called Erin from the stairwell, “Get our gear ready. You too Jeans, you’re coming with us.”
“Lordy, that girl sure takes control of a situation, doesn't she?”
I shook my head. “Miss Ima Jean, you don't the half of it.” I stepped into the living room and lifted my pack and Erin's, then carried them up the stairs behind Ima Jean.
Whatever she'd seen up there couldn't be good.
Chapter 26
Interlude : Boreling Empire : Team Zeke
“Come on, wake up!” A Boreling wearing what looked almost like a hoodie was shaking another one lying on a couch. “We got a new Play category!” The Boreling on the couch leaned up and looked at the monitors and the highlighted category.
Pay to Play Drones: Destroy the Bio-Creatures – Destroy six million creatures and earn one million credits!
“We could earn a million credits!” said the hoodie Boreling. The one on the couch sat up and rubbed his eyes. He reached for an end table and grabbed a stim stick, looked at it, then threw it across the room.
“Who cares about killing bio-creatures?” he asked. “Get me another building full of young humans, that’s what’s fun!”
“Well, nothing says we can’t kill the humans at the same time.”
The second Boreling rubbed the short crest on his head. “Alright,” he said. “Pull up those images of farming we scanned yesterday. I remember something with blades all over the front. That should mow them down pretty good.” He
grabbed another stim stick, checked it, then popped it and sucked it down. “But find a spot with ten million bio-creatures and a couple million humans, would ya?” He leaned back and closed his eyes again as the first Boreling started tapping on a keyboard.
Chapter 27
The Professor : Cambridge, Massachusetts
The rifle action locked open and the Professor dropped the AR-15 with its big 90 round magazine, then picked up an AK-47 he’d leaned against the wall, and continued firing at the horde of creatures breaking through his stairwell barricade. He figured he'd destroyed maybe ten of the creatures – not a great ratio, but maybe doable if there were less than a hundred of them. Two of the zombies fell off the barricade, managing to finally reach the other side, and made their way through the debris before standing up. He dropped them with good head shots, only about fifteen feet away – closer than on the gun range. The rifle he was using had open sights, which made it easy to center the creature's head and fire.
As the zombies cleared the barricade and stood up, he found it easier to hit them cleanly. He dropped the magazine and replaced it with a fresh one from his vest, charged the gun and continued firing. All but five of the shots from that magazine found their marks – twenty-five fewer zombies. He backed up the stairwell slowly and stood on the next landing, halfway to his second bunker. The creatures were already past the door to his medical lab. He fired and fired, choking the stairwell.
“At least they're slow,” he thought.
He switched magazines again, and another twenty creatures went down. Their bodies filled the stairs, and he only shot when he saw a head struggling through the mass of bodies – down to just one shot every thirty seconds or so. His mind began to turn to securing this stairwell.
“There's the handrails where I could tie something, maybe rope. I could drop a tool chest down, like in Home Alone 2.” He'd already filled the stairwell one level down with loose and heavy pieces of furniture – there wasn't a lot more he could toss down. “Maybe a bunch of snares?” He imagined hanging zombie-sized snare wires. They'd get caught, but wouldn't really block the way.