“Ben, hurry they’re coming in!”
Looking back down, he saw Ben sprint out of the bedroom, leaping onto the ladder rungs. Shotgun in one hand, he speed-climbed the ladder. Turning, he pulled the ladder back up into the attic space.
The attic was musty and hot.
“Over there is the roof access.” Ben said while pointing.
Danny flipped open the hatch and climbed up onto the roof.
“Grab the shotgun.” Ben hollered to his brother.
Danny reached back and grabbed the shotgun. Ben climbed up next to his brother, closing the hatch behind him. Both of them sat down on top of the only flat space on the roof.
“Now what?” Danny asked, his voice trembling in fear.
Looking at the shotgun Ben asked, “How many bullets you have left?”
“I dunno…maybe six or seven.”
“Went through all my 357, Mossburg has five.”
They both sat in silence, knowing this was not nearly enough to get them to safety.
******
Hank stood up next to the windows, staring through a set of binoculars he had pulled from his pack. “Looks like they’re still sittin on their rumps.”
Looking over at Rachael, Tom said, “You don’t have to do this.”
“I know.”
“Just go slow and keep your eyes open."
Hank set down the binoculars and shouldered his rifle. “I’m headed up. I’ll use the roof so I can cover both streets. Just keep your asses tucked in, I only got so many rounds left.”
Tom nodded and grabbed his M4. “Let’s do this.” He handed Rachael one of his pistols. “Try not to use it. It will only draw more, but don’t hesitate if you have to. Hank’s got you covered from above and know that I will be coming.”
“Thanks.” She took the pistol and looked it over.
Realizing she was probably not familiar with the weapon, he gave her a quick crash course. Tucking the weapon into the back of her pants, she gave a “let’s go” nod.
After being holed up in the dust filled building it felt good to step out into the cool, fresh air. Their eyes were adjusted to the dark and with the faint moonlight they were able to see without the aid of flashlights.
Tom quickly scanned the area in front to be sure there were no immediate threats. Not seeing any, he pointed two fingers toward the end of the building to let Rachael know she could begin working that way. He watched as she tucked in close to the building, sneaking along its wall, impressing Tom when her low crouch and stealthy movements made her blend right into the shadows.
Seeing she was comfortable in the darkness, he made for the opposite end of the building, also working his way through the shadows as quietly as possible. Stepping away from the building as he neared the end, he “sliced the pie” to work the corner.
No threats.
Easing around the back corner, he could see the surrounded house at the far end of the street. Both men still sat on top of the roof, surely contemplating their fate, and the best way to end it.
The next step is the one Tom feared the most. He had to get across the street, work his way past the houses, and get near the two men.
Stepping out of the shadows, he began slowly walking toward the street, directly across the gravel. Trying to stay calm and resist the urge to run, he carefully took one gentle step at a time. Not knowing how aware of movement the demented and undead were, he tried to keep sudden movements to a minimum, and walk as if he was stepping between sleeping snakes.
After what felt like hours, he reached the far side of the street and slipped in behind the row of houses. Finding no threats in back, he began working his way through the dark shadows.
Still several houses away, he could hear soft moaning and guttural growls from those surrounding the men.
Reaching the grey house that sat one house away from the horde, Tom worked his way near the front so that Hank could see him from the roof. There he squatted down and waited, listening for any threats that might be wandering.
A few minutes later he saw the rapid flicker of Hank’s flashlight. The beam was directed at the two on the roof, hoping to get their attention. They must have noticed the light, because a few seconds later Hank gave Tom two quick flashes from the light.
Tom gave a quick wave near the top of his head, signaling the go ahead.
Hank’s dark form slipped away from the edge of the roof. Tom knew he was moving across the roof to give Rachael the go ahead signal.
Every fiber in his body tensed, his muscles ready to burst into action. His body instinctively knew to prepare. Breathing rate increased, lungs tightened, and his heart rate increased in preparation to send a surge of oxygen and adrenaline through his veins. It felt good.
A car horn blared in the distance beyond the brick building, the sound carrying in the night like a bugle in the early morning.
Tom heard shrieks and shuffling noises, followed by the sound of shoes pounding on pavement. He eased his head around the front of the house to get a better view, and saw that the horde was surging across the street in search of the noise. Continuing to watch, he saw several of the slow moving undead leaving the house in the wake of their much faster, living counterparts. It was like watching the little kids that could never keep up with their older siblings.
In a half crouch, Tom worked his way toward the stranded men, keeping an eye out for stragglers. He saw that the men on the roof were already working their way down the slope. M4 held tight to his shoulder, he scanned the interior of the house, seeing movement in the darkness, he quickly waved for the two men to jump down.
With two soft thuds they both landed in the lawn.
Making eye contact with each of them, thanks was not required, they were clearly grateful to be off that roof.
More movement in the house.
Tom began to back step away from the house, keeping his rifle trained on the open doorway. To his right the men were gaining their feet. He slung his rifle and waved the men toward the brick building, hoping to avoid any gunfire.
Just as they all started their run, the blaring car horn stopped abruptly. The sudden silence seemed to fill the night, making Tom hyperaware of the gravel under his feet as they reached the far side of the pavement.
Crinkling glass, followed by a shriek of rage broke the silence. They all turned to see one of the demented climbing through a broken front window, his eyes locked on them. Danny spun around, raising his pistol.
“No.” Tom whisper-yelled as loud as he dared, hoping to make it to the building without announcing themselves to the entire town.
Pop…pop…pop…
Too late.
One of the shots hit the demented’s shoulder, spinning him to the left, but he quickly recovered, howling in pain.
Knowing it was only a matter of time before others began arriving, Tom raised his M4, and fired two rapid shots. His second was a direct shot to the head, crumpling the demented to the ground.
“Hurry, let’s get inside.” Tom shouted as he turned to run for the corner of the building. The footsteps of the two men could be heard crunching through the gravel behind him. Rounding the side of the building, they could hear shrieks and screams of rage echoing through the night. The shots had aroused the horde; hopefully they would have a difficult time pinpointing the origin.
Sprinting across the front sidewalk, he was glad to see Rachael waiting in front of the entrance. In the distance behind her, he could see several infected rushing their way.
Getting closer, he noticed she was breathing hard and held her pistol by her side. “At least one didn’t take the bait.” Tom said, while waving her back into the building’s entrance. She turned and raced back in, the three men following her in a rush. Tom slammed the large door closed and flipped the deadbolt into place.
In the darkness Hank was making his way down the central stairway, rifle slung over his shoulder. He looked at the two new comers and said with a grin, “Out of the pot and into the fire
, hey boys.”
Neither of them smiled, the younger one looking absolutely terrified.
“Several are already…” Tom started to say as one of the demented slammed into the large steel door, everyone jumping at the noise. The pounding continued, reverberating throughout the hall. “The noise is going to draw more of them.”
The sound of shattering glass could be heard from one of the adjacent rooms. Low, animal like growls echoed through the open doorway.
Tom rushed over to the side room, rifle ready. A monster of a man, wearing a lime green vest over a pair of white coveralls, was climbing through one of the open windows, his pants catching on the glass shards. Likely a utility man, he still wore his white safety helmet. Catching sight of his prey, he howled with rage. He ripped his pants free of the glass, leaving wet blood trickling down the aged windowsill. Placing his reticle on the large man’s dirt smeared forehead, Tom pulled the trigger and watched as Utility Man collapsed backwards through the open window. The body remained grotesquely hanging half in and half out of the building.
In the faint orange glow of predawn, more arms and heads filled the open space above utility guy’s large belly. They began clawing to climb over him, and get through the narrow opening. Tom continued to pull the trigger on his M4, aiming carefully, knowing his ammo was very limited.
More shattering glass, followed by shouts from behind him.
Trusting his companions, Tom continued to focus on the assault in front of him. The infected continued to attempt to climb through the narrow space between the fat belly and the top of the window, making them easy pickings for his M4.
With shocking quickness the utility guy’s body was suddenly ripped out through the opening, leaving only a boot that caught on the sill.
The pop of pistol fire could be heard from out in the hall, followed by more shouting.
“Some are coming in the back!” Someone shouted.
The unmistakable boom of Hank’s .308 filled the hallway and was immediately followed by more pistol fire.
The void left by Utility Man being dragged out, was filled by a mass of arms and legs trying to scramble into the room. The next closest window suddenly shattered inwards as several infected burst through it onto the floor. Swinging his rifle's muzzle around, Tom unleashed several quick shots before they could gain their feet. More continued to climb and squeeze their way through the new opening. Tom was firing rapidly now, barely taking time to aim.
Chaos erupted in the hall behind him. Loud, continuous gunfire and shouting caused Tom to glance back. Both the men they had “rescued” were rushing up the stairs. Hank and Rachael were standing in the center of the hallway firing in multiple directions, their smoking shell casings rattling to the floor. The acrid stench of cordite filled the air.
Tom turned back to see several demented rushing him. Wildly firing as quickly as possible, he dropped them to the floor in front of him. More were still pouring in through the windows, like an endless tide. Holding the trigger down in a panicked attempt to keep from being overrun, he ran the magazine dry. He dropped the M4 to the ground, knowing he would never make a reload, and drew his pistol, immediately firing into the oncoming rush.
There was a tap on his shoulder and he heard Hank yell into his ear, “Fall back!”
Not needing any additional encouragement, Tom began back peddling out of the room, continuing to fire.
From somewhere up the stairs, Hank yelled, "Covering!"
Now in the hall, Tom could see more infected swarming the next room, as well as the back hall past the stairway. He emptied his magazine into the nearest threats and then made a break for the stairs. Hank’s rifle boomed from above. Tom slammed a fresh magazine into his pistol while taking the stairs three at a time.
As he neared the top of the stairs, Hank hollered, “I’m out” while dropping his rifle and going for his sidearm.
Tom cleared the last step and spun around, finding dozens of infected swallowing up the base of the stairs. Bone chilling shrieks of rage emanated from the surging mass. Raising his pistol, Tom began rapidly firing into the churning sea of arms and barred teeth, the falling bodies only slowing the rising tide momentarily.
Hank’s .45 roared to life next to Tom’s head, a welcome sound even though it felt like rapid punches to his ear. With both weapons firing, the horde came to a standstill, even falling back. The wall of lead was just enough to keep them at bay.
Dropping his magazine, Tom yelled, “On my last one” while reaching to his belt for his final mag. With his gun out of the fight, the infected had surged farther up the stairs, climbing over the dead. Several of the slower moving undead were shuffling into the hall from the side rooms, finally catching up. Tom joined back in on the fight, relentlessly firing into the group, trying to take steady controlled shots to conserve the last of his ammo. Next to him, Hank’s empty magazine clanked to the floor.
Jamming a fresh mag into his pistol and chambering a round, Hank shouted “Get outta here! I got one fresh one left,” his pistol roaring back to life.
Tom continued to fire into the group until his pistol ran dry. Raising it over his head, he chucked it at the nearest demented, hitting the thing squarely in the face. It slowed, stunned, but did not go down until one of Hank’s .45s punched a hole in the middle of its face.
Under the heavy barrage of gunfire, the surging mass had dwindled considerably, but now with only one gun firing, those left were nearly to the top of the stairs. Tom pulled his Kabar from its sheath and tensed, his thoughts flashing to Kelly and Sam. How had it come to this? Here he stood, gripping a knife, next to an old timer blazing away with a pistol, watching as a dozen screaming crazies rushed their way, hoping to rip them to pieces. His son, if he was still alive, would never know that his father stood his ground, hoping to give others a fighting chance.
“Last one!” Hank shouted as he dropped a magazine and reloaded.
The demented were nearly on top of them, so close that Hank began pulling the trigger as fast as he could.
One of them, a woman wearing a blood stained sun dress, rushed past Hank’s flying lead, and dove for Tom, shrieking with anger. Taking a step back, Tom rammed his knife deep into her chest, the knife twisting as it found a seam in her ribs. Gasping, she continued her forward momentum, arms reaching for him. Using his left hand, he gave her a stiff-arm to keep distance between them. Ripping the blade free, dark blood oozed out, followed by a sickening gurgling as air escaped her lungs. Oblivious to the mortal wound, she continued to reach for him, ripping at his shoulders. Using an upward motion he plunged the knife through her neck, blood and fluid gushing around the hilt, and running down his hand.
The loud booms from Hank’s pistol suddenly ceased, and were replaced by a single ominous click.
The remaining infected surged forward, their weight pushing Sun Dress into Tom, sending them all crashing to the floor. Landing with a hard crack, all the air was pushed from his lungs. Gasping, he tried to get room to pull the knife free. The weight of several infected was beginning to crush him, unable to get air his eyesight was beginning to sparkle and blur. The body of Sun Dress was the only thing keeping several gnashing mouths from reaching him. Shifting his head and neck as far to one side as possible, he was just able to slide the knife free, a torrent of blood gushing onto him. Stretching his arm around sun dress, he began wildly stabbing at anything within his reach. Surprisingly cool blood flowed down off of her body. The blood of the undead he was sure.
His vision was beginning to fade into a blurred grey. He heard muffled shouts, sounding far in the distance. He tried to take a final gasp of air, but the weight was too much. The grey faded to black and the world slipped away.
Chapter 8: Desperation
It had been a couple days since Kelly first made contact with the infected. Looking back, she now realized she should have gone straight to her bedroom, grabbed the shotgun, and blew both the Chandlers off her porch. Now their incessant pounding at the front door had
drawn at least a couple dozen more infected. The relentless booming never stopped, day or night, nearly driving her and Sam to madness. An endless cycle of country music now quietly played in an attempt to drown out the noise.
Glancing out the upper windows, any time of day she, would see several of the infected stumbling around their yard. Many looked to have been in a horrible accident, gruesome wounds and dark blood covering their bodies.
There was one girl that Kelly frequently saw staggering in the grass below the window. Only a bloody stump remained where her right arm used to be, and a portion of her face was missing. She looked to be young, maybe in her twenties, blonde hair and probably filled with happiness and a sense of indestructibility just days ago. Now she stumbled around in her daisy dukes and torn pink t-shirt with “Too Hot” written across her chest in glittery letters. Kelly had named her “Plinky” for some reason, maybe just to pass the time. Based on her wounds, Kelly could not imagine how the girl was still alive, let alone walking around.
If others stood out as they passed below she would name them as well. Even Sam got in on the action and named a few. At first she had tried to keep him away from the windows, but soon realized he had better know what was going on, at least to some extent. He had taken it better than she ever could have thought. After she was all done explaining the best she could, he simply said, “So they’re zombies.” Initially she thought to correct him, but decided it did not matter and now she was beginning to think he might just be right.
Looking down at Sam playing with cars on the floor, she was amazed at how resilient kids were. They just keep going, oblivious to the dangers around them, trusting their parents will keep them safe. Nothing worried her more than not being able to protect him. To let him down in this moment of need would be the worst fate she could imagine. With the nightmares and constant stress, she had slept very little over the past days.
The Demented Z (Book 1):The Demented Page 9