Hank revved the engine in anticipation.
One of the infected, a fat man with a huge belly hanging down over his bloodied sweat pants, bent over, his grime covered face peering below the rising door. Baring his teeth, he growled in rage. He began shuffling under the door, directly in the path of the motorcycle.
Rachael raised the crossbow out in front of Hank. Aiming the best she could from such an awkward position, she pulled the trigger. With a thwok the bolt darted across the narrow gap and plunged deep into the fat man’s neck.
Fat man reached for the bolt, issuing a gurgling grunt as thick red blood oozed out onto his already stained t-shirt.
Hank clicked on the headlight, blotting out the darkness and illuminating the torsos of nearly a dozen infected. Hunching forward over the handle bars, he opened the throttle and let go of the clutch. With a lurch, the motorcycle shot forward toward Fat Man. Veering to the left, he dodged past and used his boot to shove Fat Man out of their way.
Staying low, he accelerated through the group. Rachael nearly got pulled from the motorcycle by desperate, grasping hands that clawed at them as they sped by. Their headlight cut through the night, lighting up the pavement ahead. Several more infected, likely the undead, staggered toward them. The noise was drawing them like moths to light. Their slow moving arms reached out, trying to grab their prey before it sped away. Hank easily evaded them and roared down the street.
“Nice work! What now?” Rachael shouted into Hank’s ear.
Hesitating, Hank finally turned and said, “We need to get to a gas station, see if we can get some diesel. Get back to the mog.”
“I can’t leave Tom.”
“One thing at a time. Fuel, then we look for him and the others.”
The two of them raced through the streets in search of a gas station.
Piled up cars clogged the narrow downtown streets, forcing them to use the sidewalks at times. They frequently saw movement in and around the cars; infected stumbling around in the darkness.
Rounding a corner, Hank could see the large neon signs of a gas station just on the other side of the freeway. Their current street led through a narrow cement tunnel to the other side.
Knowing hesitation is what got people killed, Hank accelerated through the tunnel, the engine roar echoing strangely in the enclosed space. Shooting out the other side, they sped over to the station, stopping right at the front door.
The bright interior lights lit several rows of shelving, filled with brightly colored candies and goodies that previously enticed the wary traveler. Light spilled out onto the surrounding pavement, an oasis in the darkness.
Leaving the engine running, they both hopped off the bike and leaned it on the kickstand. Even over the rumble of the idling engine, they could hear sporadic gunfire somewhere in the distance, followed by hate filled howls.
Hank reached out and took the crossbow back.
While he began reloading, Rachael peered out into the darkness. She thought she could make out movement in the inky blackness, but maybe it was just her mind playing tricks. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw it again. Just barely. A shadow shifting through darkness. “We better hurry.” She said.
Raising the crossbow up in front of his face, Hank said, “I’m going to flip on the diesel pump, you grab a gas can and some bungees if you can.” With that, he turned and pushed through the glass doors.
Rachael followed in his wake. Seeing some quarts of engine oil sitting on a shelf, she turned down the aisle scanning for gas cans. Halfway down, she found a pack of assorted bungee cords and at the far end were several red, plastic gas cans. They were the smaller, one gallon variety, but would have to do. Grabbing two of them, she turned and headed for the front door, where she saw Hank looking out toward the front parking lot.
“They are out there…coming this way.” He said.
Both of them stood staring out into the shifting darkness across the parking lot.
Pushing through the door, he added, “Pump one is on. Fill those and I will distract them.” Hopping back on the bike, he sped away, toward the infected that were just now visible in the light of the station.
With a can in each hand and the bungees tucked under one arm, she sprinted for the pump, trying not to think about what surrounded her. Laying the cans on the cement pad and dropping the bungees, she grabbed the large green handle and began filling the first one.
Hank’s motorcycle could be heard from the other side of the pumps. Shrieks and growls trailed the roar of his engine. Too stressed to even look, she focused on the gas cans.
Once both were full, she screwed on their lids and grabbed the bungee pack. She tore at the package, cursing whoever designed plastic theft proof packaging. The plastic finally split apart, slicing her finger in the process.
Looking up, she could hear Hank in the distance and see his headlight bouncing through the night.
An ear piercing shriek sounded from directly behind her. Spinning around, she saw one of the demented racing out of the darkness, coming directly for her. He was tall and muscular, with short cropped hair. Looking strangely out of place, he still wore a wetsuit from his last windsurfing outing.
Without warning the station’s lights went out, shrouding the parking area in inky blackness. The power had gone out.
Terrified, Rachael panicked, unable to move. She could hear the slap of wetsuit’s feet on the pavement, bearing down on her. Do something. Move. Her body would not respond, muscles locked.
Light splashed across the pumps and shined on Wetsuit’s angry face. Nearly on top of her, he opened his mouth in a growl.
Rachael realized what was happening just as a bolt whooshed past her head, slamming into wetsuit’s open mouth. With a final step, he collapsed face first to the pavement at her feet. Hank squealed to a stop next to her.
Hopping off the bike he said, “Hurry, strap those on…more are coming.”
He stepped over to the body and kicked him over to his back. Placing one foot on Wetsuit’s chest, he grasped the bolt and with a sickening sucking sound, pulled it free. Wiping some of the blood off on the wetsuit, he then rearmed the crossbow, and turned to Rachael.
She still stood, staring into the night.
Grasping her arm, he shook her and shouted, “Take this!” He shoved the crossbow into her hand. She looked down at it and nodded rapidly, the cool metal pulling her out of her stupor.
Grabbing both gas cans, he strapped them to the front and rear cargo racks with a couple of bungees. The two of them hopped on the bike and roared away from the station.
“I’m sorry.” She shouted into his ear. “I…I couldn’t…”
“No worries. We’re not out of this yet.” He shouted back while opening up the throttle and speeding toward the tunnel.
Ripping around the corner, he squeezed the brake when their headlight illuminated dozens of undead slogging through the tunnel. The slow moving mass of bodies filled both lanes. Skidding nearly to a stop, Hank turned the handlebars and gunned the throttle. They would have to find a different way.
******
In the pitch black, Tom’s instincts took over. He side stepped out of the doorway just as something large brushed past him. The large body must have felt Tom’s shoulder, causing it to slow. Not wanting to waste an opportunity, Tom lunged forward, knife out in front. The blade plunged into something soft. He repeatedly pulled it out and jammed it in, not wanting to give any reprieve.
Something crashed into his legs from behind and began clawing at his waist. Using one leg, Tom kicked at it, sending the attacker back toward the open doorway. Several angry moans issued from the same direction.
The large body spun and howled out in rage, his giant arm catching Tom in the side of the head, sending him crashing up against the wall. He instinctively ducked down the wall just before there was a loud crash as a fist slammed into the wall where his head used to be.
More moans. Loud.
He slashed out with the knife, catch
ing something…flesh.
The big man continued to pound at the wall and then screamed when he was unable to locate his prey.
Turning back toward the big man, Tom reached out with both hands, grabbed onto one of the trunk sized legs, and yanked with all of his might. The large man was thrown off balance and came crashing to the floor with a loud boom. Not wasting any time, Tom leapt on top of him and began repeatedly slamming the knife down with both hands. Over the nearly overwhelming stench that filled the hallway, Tom detected the metallic smell of blood.
A loud grunt reminded him that something else was in the hallway with him. Before he was able to spin around, somebody slammed into his back, pressing him up against the bloody mess of Big Man. Clawing hands raked at his back and shoulders. With all his might, Tom twisted around, leading with his elbow. With a crack that sent sharp pain all the way up his arm and through his spine, he caught someone square in the head. The body went limp and flopped off to the side as Tom worked to gain his feet.
More moaning, low and soft. The sound emanated from just a couple feet off the floor.
He could barely see movement in the darkness, but inside, Tom knew it came from the lips of a child or what used to be a child. He did not know if he could do what needed to be done. This could be Sam. This was somebody’s Sam, probably the two on the floor.
Reaching out with one hand, he swung it in the darkness, feeling for flesh. Several swipes later he made contact, felt hair. With a growl, the little one clawed at his arm. Hesitating briefly, Tom swung the butt of the knife down, smashing it into the little one’s skull. The hands went still and with a soft thump, the body hit the floor.
Tears streamed down Tom’s cheeks. His throat burned and chest tightened. He tried to take a few deep breaths to avoid vomiting, but only drew in the stench of filth and death. His stomach heaved. It felt like he had gotten sucker punched in the gut. Unable to resist, he threw up to the side of the narrow hall.
Using the back of his arm, he wiped clinging spittle and vomit from his mouth. Eyes and body aching, he just wanted to lie down, even amongst the bodies. It was the thought of Kelly and Sam, the fear of what they might be going through that made him keep moving. Gathering himself, he made for the bedroom, feeling his way along the wall.
Reaching the bedroom, he quickly realized that without power, life was going to be much more difficult. Without even the faint light of distant street lamps, he could not see anything. Turning, he stepped his way back down the hallway, trying to avoid the bodies as best he could.
After making his way down the stairs and silently slipping out through the front door, he stood next to the large truck in the cool night air. Looking around, he was amazed by the level of darkness. He could just make out the outlines of houses across the street, with details lost in deep black shadows. It was a darkness he was used to out in the country, but found very disorienting when surrounded by the dangers of the city.
Listening intently, he could hear the noises of the infected from somewhere in the distance as well as possibly a motorcycle or ATV, but nothing sounded close. Hesitating for a few minutes, Tom decided the immediate area was clear and slowly opened the truck’s driver side door.
The dome light clicked on, bathing the interior in a bright glow. Reaching across the cab, he opened the glove box and rifled through its contents. Nothing. He then lay across the seat and began digging under the passenger seat. Feeling mostly papers, he was about to give up when his hand touched something metallic. Stretching to get a hold of it, something outside touched one of his legs.
His mind raced, knowing he was in a terrible position to defend himself. Arching his back, he went for the passenger door handle.
“Whoa…take it easy.” A familiar voice said from behind him.
Peering back toward his feet, Tom was relieved to see Ben’s face staring back at him. “You almost cost me a pair of underwear...maybe even did, I don't know anymore.” He sat up, holding high the flashlight he had found under the seat, like it was a glass of champagne. “I hope your night has gone better than mine.”
Looking agitated, Ben said, “Where’s Danny?”
“I haven’t seen him…or anyone since the attack...except you.”
“We have to look for him. He’s out here somewhere.”
Clicking on the flashlight to make sure it worked, Tom said, “I’m working on it, but one thing at a time.”
Ben grabbed his arm. “Right now, we can’t leave him.”
Not in the mood to argue, Tom shook away his grip and stared hard at him. “Grab me again, I’ll kill you.”
Ben stepped back out of the way.
Leading the way, Tom went back into the house and up the stairs. Part way down the hall, his flashlight beam landed on a monster of a man, maybe six-six, built like a pro linebacker. His chest and face were a bloody mess.
The flashlight beam traced its way over to a petite, dark haired woman with a crushed in cheek bone and thick, dark blood oozing out of her nostrils and eyes. She had a nickel sized hole punched through her chest, surrounded by black, dried blood. The light continued to work along the gory scene until it came across a toddler’s sneaker. One of the nifty ones that lit up each time a kid took a step.
Incapable of seeing what was attached to the shoe, Tom raised the light, instead searching ahead into the darkness of the bedroom. Stepping through the bodies and into the bedroom, he almost gagged on the unbearable stench. Raising his arm up to cover his mouth and nose, he scanned the room with his flashlight.
“Ugh.” Ben said before retching somewhere near the doorway.
Tom’s flashlight revealed piles of feces, pools of urine, scraps of food, and an unrecognizable bloody clump of fur. He guessed it to be the family cat. Once the light landed on the small coffee table he finally found what he came into the house for. There by the tipped over lamp, sat a pair of glasses, a wallet, and a set of keys.
“You got ‘em, let’s go!” Ben said.
“Hold on, there is one more thing here we need.”
“What’s that?”
Ignoring him, Tom continued to circle the filthy room shining the light in all the dark crevices. Nearly coming full circle, he came to a reading chair and a small tipped over table lying next to it. There on the floor, up next to the wall, lay a pistol. He reached down and scooped it up, noticing two spent shell casings lying next to the table legs. He tucked the gun in the back of his pants and turned for the door.
“How’d you know that was in here?”
Knowing Ben would never let it lie, Tom answered, “I saw the bullet wound. The mom and child were undead…they were killed some time ago with shots to the chest and then came back, stuck in the room. The dad was demented. It was likely a cop out to start with. The family probably locked themselves in the bedroom when everything started, and then he ended it for his family before going crazy. My guess is he didn’t have the balls to finish himself and became demented sometime later.”
“Why don’t we just hole up somewhere with food…wait for the cavalry?”
Tom was not quite sure he wanted to go into much detail on his family, so instead he said, “Cavalry? If this thing is interacting with flu shots then the military is gone.”
Ben stood staring at him, trying to process the information.
“All the branches of the military get vaccinated…all kinds of vaccines. They were likely the first to turn demented.” Stepping past Ben, he finished, “We’re on our own.”
Stepping into the garage, Tom shined his flashlight around the large space. Unlike typical garages, this one was nearly bare. Only a tiny two person car took up any of the clean cement floor. At the back were a set of wall mounted shelves, neatly stacked with various items.
Using the flashlight, he took inventory of the items, but was unable to find the garden hose he was hoping for. “Don’t these people have any normal garage items? I think we could eat off this floor and most of the stuff on the shelves belongs in a kitchen.” M
umbling to himself, Tom added, “City rats.”
Turning to Ben, he said, “We need a hose if we’re going to transfer any diesel over to the mog. Let’s take a look around the outside of the house.”
In the rock landscaping, just off the porch, lay a coiled up hose that Ben removed from the house and tossed in the back of the truck. Both men now stood in the dark listening.
“Hear that?” Tom whispered.
"Motorcycle.”
Tom nodded. “It’s a start.”
They both climbed in the large truck and thankfully one of the keys was a fit and the engine fired right up.
“We’re in luck, tank is nearly full.” Tom said.
Tom felt a great sense of relief when he turned on the headlights, pushing away the suffocating darkness that had surrounded him for way too long. Backing out of the driveway, they drove off in the direction they heard the motorcycle.
Even after they rolled down their windows, nothing could be heard over the loud rumble of the engine. Unsure what else to do, they continued toward the freeway.
Ben kept fidgeting with the glove box and taping on the dash. He appeared on the verge of a breakdown. Hoping to keep him occupied, Tom handed over the flashlight and said, “Try this, maybe we can spot your brother…or he can spot us.”
Tom tried to work quickly through the streets, dodging the various car wrecks, sometimes having to drive through yards to get past. He figured the most important thing was to stay on the move. A stationary target was an easy target.
The headlights were great for seeing what lay ahead, but the darkness to sides was very discomforting. He felt like a horse with blinders on. The shapes of houses would scroll by, but nothing could be seen just a few feet away from the cab. Keeping the window rolled down a few inches, they could listen for noises in the night and occasionally heard angered growls of the infected. They sounded close, likely infected that saw or heard them driving by and screamed out in chase.
Tom worked to keep the image of hundreds of demented chasing in their wake out of his mind, but it kept creeping in. Inadvertently, he continued to glance at the inky blackness of the rearview mirror.
The Demented Z (Book 1):The Demented Page 13