He proceeded to mix a batch of chemicals, using three different products and pouring the foul-smelling goop into plastic baggies. "Okay, you need to attach these to the covers." Four large sections of PVC pipe lay on the counter-top.
"This chemical baggie suspends in the liquor, right?" Joey carefully tied a length of monofilament to the knotted plastic. "The wick burns into the liquor, melts the plastic, and the chemicals spill into the burning alcohol."
"Exactly," said Roger, giving Joey a thumbs-up. "You catch on fast."
"I did make some grenades with gunpowder." Joey carefully poured the liquor into the hollow tube, filling it a third of the way. "Roger, can we add some frag material to this sucker?"
"Hm. I wouldn't recommend it, because the pieces might tear the bag."
Joey grinned. "What about on the outside of the canister? We could use wax or tape to fasten it to the outside."
Roger snapped his fingers. "If you can't fix it with duct tape—"
"It ain't worth fixin'!" Joey bounced off the stool and started searching through the room.
Allison and Carey returned from exploring the roof.
"What's it lookin' like out there?" Matty asked.
"There's a lot more of them," Allison replied; she glanced at Carey. "And we might have heard gunshots, but I'm not sure. It sounded far away."
"The flare probably attracted the zombies." Matty wondered about the shots, though. Could there be anyone from Hatchet following us? He didn't think they'd have persisted in the pursuit, but if munchers had overrun their hideout...
"We got a pretty good idea of where to go," Carey said; "there are two cars, a van, and a pick-up in one area, and they all look to be in good shape."
"That sounds like a good idea. At least we'll have multiple possibilities. After the bombs clear out the zombies, we'll have to split up and check all the vehicles at once." Matty took another swig of whiskey, forcing the gag reflex to back down a hair.
Joey tore a strip of duct tape and hung it on the edge of the counter; he repeated the process, laying out a dozen lengths.
"Now to find some frag." He rummaged around behind the bar and scavenged a handful of eating utensils. "This'll do some serious damage."
Matty slid a bundle of steel forks and knives across the counter and started fastening them to the bombs with tape. When he finished, the PVC pipe bristled with prongs and serrated edges. Joey had already finished the other three.
"Nice work, Joe—as usual."
Roger inspected the bombs, nodding and humming as he prodded the caps, wicks, and dining fragmentation. "This is possibly the most ingenious improvised device I've ever seen. Between the concussive wave, the fire, and the bits of flaming steel, the zombies are in for a nasty surprise."
"Thanks, Roger!" Joey's eyes gleamed. Matty had seen that look a hundred times before; whenever Joey messed around with weapons of any kind, he looked like a kid with a new toy.
"What do you think the blast radius is on these things, Roger?" Matty eyed the bombs. "We don't wanna get a spoon in the eye, ya know?"
Roger chuckled. "Let's just say we should be at least twenty yards away—hopefully more than that—and we should be behind cover. The fireball and shockwave is going to be deadly within 10 yards, I would think; beyond that, the danger comes from fragmentation."
"Seriously, Roger, where did you learn all this stuff? I'm grateful, but it's not something your average jarhead is going to learn in boot camp."
"A little here and a little there," Roger said evasively. "Some of it comes from… specialized training, shall we say."
"You're not going to give us anything else, are you?" Matty smirked.
Roger let a mischievous smile cross his face and then shook his head.
"We need to start packing up food, water, and whatever else we might need." Joey ticked off various items on his fingers. "Start looking for bags, tablecloths, or whatever else we can use to carry stuff."
They scurried about the bar area, collecting every useable item within reach. A pair of bins and three knotted tablecloths lay in a heap, bristling with supplies.
"What—HO!" Geoff leapt from the chair and held the empty bottle of liquor above his head; his eyes bulged with a mingling of surprise and madness.
"We're off to see the wizard, good chap," Roger said, patting Geoff on the back. "Are you ready?"
Geoff blinked and leaned in close, trying to focus on Roger's nose. "After I piss, we'll go find the wonderful wizard!" He staggered behind the bar, dropped his pants, and hosed down the stool.
"It's like watching a dog at a fire hydrant," Allison said.
It took Geoff a good half-hour to navigate the narrow ladder to the roof, but he managed it without falling or throwing up.
The parking lot was a wasteland; wrecked cars, bloody lumps, and smoking debris littered the area—and mobs of groaning undead patrolled the narrow gaps, sliding between and over cars, searching for something to chew on.
"There's a lot more of them now," Dana said.
"Yeah. That flare must've drawn in every zombie for twenty miles." Matty spotted the two sedans, mini-van, and beat-up truck that Allison and Carey had reported. Given the condition of the parking lot, all of the vehicles were in great shape.
"We don't have much in the way of guns," Joey said. He checked the ammo on both pistols, passing one to Matty. "Forty-two rounds by my count. I swore I'd never be in this situation with less than a thousand rounds."
"With the explosives, we should be able to get out of here and head right for the base," Roger said. "If that goes as planned—"
"Nothing goes as planned," Joey interrupted. "In fact, I'd be willing to bet my ass that the more you plan, the more your plans get screwed up."
"What are we waiting for?" Geoff pointed to the zombies, firing his finger-pistol with pinpoint accuracy. "Sally forth!" He stepped to the edge of the roof before multiple hands pulled him back.
"Unless you can fly," Allison pointed to the ground, "we need to use the ladders. Do you remember the ladders?"
"Woman!" Geoff put both hands on his hips. "I'm drunk, not retarded! Lead the way!"
The yelling had attracted nearby zombies; Matty watched clumps of rotting undead shamble to the base of the building, clutching at empty air and pleading for a meal.
"Let's descend the other wall." Roger pointed away from the clustering bodies. "Joey, I think you or Matty should head down first."
"I'd planned on it," Joey replied; he marched to the edge, attached the rope ladder, and started down it.
"He doesn't waste any time, does he?" Roger tied a bundle of supplies to a length of paracord and lowered it down next to the ladder. "Passion like that is a double-edged sword."
Matty grinned; Roger had noted Joey's signature trait in such a short time. "Yup, it's proven to be the blessed curse many times over."
Joey touched down and untied the supply bundle, piling it against the wall; Roger hoisted the empty cord back up and secured another package. Geoff started down the ladder.
"It seems there's some… angst between you two." Roger raised an eyebrow at Matty.
"Nothing gets by you, huh?" Matty shrugged. "On some level, he blames me for his plan getting fucked up… and his parents dying in the process."
"Was it your idea to head for the base?"
Matty pushed his hair back and sighed. "Yes and no. I escaped Yankee Heights and made it to Wooneyville with the news of a half-million zombies looking for food. Joey had heard a broadcast from the base, and I suggested we head there."
"Something happened along the way, though." Roger glanced at Matty while lowering another bundle of supplies.
"A little village called Hatchet happened." Matty scowled. "Filled with a bunch of fuckin' psychos—they spiked the road for shit's sake. Joey's truck flipped and we were prisoners for a little while. There's more to the story, of course, but that's the jist of it."
Roger seemed to think for a moment. "Everyone would have been c
omfortable at home, of course, but comfort won't change the inevitable."
"You know, the fucked-up thing is… I don't even care." Matty heard his voice and knew it was true; from toenail to hair, every fiber echoed agreement. "About my life, I mean. Joey thinks there's still something to live for, but I don't see a point in surviving simply to exist. He's my friend… my brother… so if he wants to live, wants to fight, then I'll help him find a way."
Geoff finally touched the bottom, landing on his back and staring up at the sky; a fit of giggling took over and he rolled side to side on the pavement, flailing his arms. Allison and Carey climbed down, followed closely by Dana.
"Don't count us out just yet," said Roger; "People, I mean. Humans are resilient and resourceful." He nodded at the group below. "There's proof right in front of you."
"There was proof at Hatchet, too." Matty shook his head. "Even if we outlast the dead, the wolves will come."
Roger nodded and descended the ladder.
"Everyone grab a pack," Joey said, hoisting a tablecloth over one shoulder. "Single file behind me to the vehicles and then we'll break up and check each one at the same time."
Matty hopped off the ladder and picked up a crate of water bottles, carrying it on his left shoulder. He followed Roger through the parking lot; zombies homed in on the group.
"All right," Joey called out, "let's check these vehicles, pronto!"
Matty opened the door to a beige sedan and sat in the driver seat; the keys were missing and the interior reeked of vomit. "No keys in the beige two-door," he announced.
"Nothing in the red coupe," Allison said, waving through the moon roof of a scratched and dented fire-red sports car.
"The pick-up has keys, but it won't start," said Roger. "I'll check the engine. Carey, give me a hand over here."
An engine started up; it was the mini-van, with Dana at the wheel.
"Looks we have a winner!" She laughed. "At least there's room for everyone, right?"
Allison walked around the front of the van, heading to the sliding side door. Everyone heard the gunshot and watched Allison slide down the hood of the van, smearing blood across the baby blue paint. For a second, nobody moved; a black SUV weaved through the parking lot, heading for the mini-van.
"Allison!" Carey screamed and ran over, trying to lift Allison's body off the ground.
Matty saw the muzzle flash erupt from the passenger side of the approaching vehicle; Carey uttered a short sob before the round tore off the right side of her face. She fell in a heap on top of Allison, arms twitching and blood spreading in a dark pool.
"Get in the fuckin' van!" Dana screamed.
Joey jumped in the front as Matty wrenched open the side door and tugged at Geoff's sleeve.
"You want a piece of me!" Geoff yelled at the attackers. "I'm right here! Come get some!" Geoff grabbed his crotch and lifted the middle finger high overhead.
Roger shoved him toward the van. "Get inside before you get shot!" They both climbed in and Matty slammed the door shut. Another shot ripped through the door and exited the opposite side, missing Roger's arm by a hand-width.
"I think they're pissed," Matty said.
"Who?" Roger asked.
"I saw that SUV parked in the lot at Hatchet." Matty glanced at Joey.
Dana looked in the rear-view mirror. "Yeah, I remember that truck. Well this really sucks."
CHAPTER 6
They threw two PVC bombs, one in front and one behind, blasting an exit from the parking lot and creating a barrier of burning cars and flaming bodies.
Something struck the windshield with a metallic ping, creating a spiderweb crack.
"Wow, the silverware shrapnel get some distance!" Matty held onto the seat as the van swerved around a mound of scorched corpses.
"We need to put some distance between us and them." Joey traced one finger over a map. "There's like fifty different ways to get to the base!"
"Fifty bottles of beer on the wall," Geoff sang, slurring every syllable and giggling as the van hit a bump and sent him sprawling to the floor. "Knock one down!"
"How are you holding up, Roger?" Matty asked.
The older man shrugged; his face was an expressionless mask. "Allison and Carey were nice girls. It's a shame they died."
"That's on me, Roger. I drew those maniacs here. The girls had bright colors on and that's all those assholes saw—they didn't care who it was." He didn't know what to say; Roger clearly had a soft spot for those girls, but Matty didn't understand why. "How did you know them?"
Roger shook his head, as if emerging from a dream, and smiled weakly. "Just met them at Double Brook yesterday, but we had a lot of fun playing games and watching shows. They reminded me of…"
Matty didn't want to know; if it was a daughter, wife, or someone close, Roger might come unglued. With a drunk rolling on the van floor, a depressed guy with explosives training could complicate matters.
"How about him?" Matty nodded toward Geoff.
Roger grinned. "He buried whatever grief he had in a bottle, but at least he's not a mean drunk. We played some cards and just talked a bit."
Joey leaned back from the front seat and passed the map to Roger. "I marked a couple of routes on there. Do you have any other suggestions?"
"I would say let's take the route that avoids heavy traffic areas, but I don't know if that matters anymore." Roger adjusted his glasses and studied the map. "The zombies are spreading out in search of food… pretty soon they'll be everywhere."
"Wooneyville, Yankee Heights, Garden Harbor… we're talking a million-plus munchers wandering in all directions." Matty ran a hand through his hair. "We've already seen them getting weaker from hunger, but how long until they actually die off?"
"Don't forget about Crankshaft," Roger added. "A million or so people within a week's walk of here."
"Thanks, Roger." Matty scowled and rubbed his eyes.
"Let 'em come!" Geoff sat up and punched the side of the van. "I'll take 'em all on!"
"I'd say take Old Quarry Road, Joey." Roger handed the map over and glanced at the dashboard. "We won't make it halfway without more gas or another vehicle."
"Yeah, I figured on that," Joey said. "I wanna get away from those fuckin' lunatics first and then I'll start thinkin' about new wheels."
It took less than hour to get off the two-lane roads around Double Brook; Joey navigated the wreckage and bodies, finally connecting with a quiet rural lane bisecting the town of Abraham.
"If they managed to follow us, I'll be stupefied," Matty said. He had used these roads on many occasions, driving to and from the local community college—sometimes he had driven for hours, exploring the sleepy neighborhoods and secluded parks.
There were zombies about, but only a few appeared on the roadside or on the porches of empty houses. Wherever people had retreated to—whatever sanctuaries remained—it was likely the zombies weren't far off. That was the only part of going to Timmons that worried Matty: a horde of munchers at the gate.
"There's a coffee house two miles down on the right." Matty's mouth watered and his ever-present caffeine headache cranked up a notch. "We might find a car there or maybe some food and water. Anyone care for a slightly stale muffin?"
"Barf!" Dana gagged. "Can you imagine what's growing on that stuff right now?"
"I wonder if anyone has contracted the zombie infection from eating food." Roger creased his brow. "You guys hear of anything like that?"
Joey and Dana said no.
"When I was in the university, this med student was studying the infection. He said it piggy-backs on other viruses, masking itself from antibodies and somehow infecting the nervous system." Matty wished he written it down or had saved Mike's laptop. "I don't think he understood how it worked exactly, but he seemed to think it might be symbiotic with other germs."
Roger scratched his chin; a puzzling, thoughtful expression wrinkled his forehead.
"I saw dead bodies, corpses, coming back and moving," Joe
y said. "How the fuck does that happen with germs?"
"I dunno, dude. Maybe the zombie infection isn't really a germ." Matty shrugged. "Mike seemed to think the connection to nerve cells was important, but he didn't have time to study it further."
"That's a great preliminary work-up," said Roger, "but without knowing if it can survive apart from another pathogen, we won't know the extent of infection. As for animating corpses, I'm at a complete loss on that one."
"It infects animals," Joey added. "I had a dog almost rip my face off."
"You should've roasted it!" Geoff climbed on the seat and lay down. "Then you could have had hot dogs! Did you have buns?"
"I forgot 'em at home," Joey said.
"Shit outta luck, then. How about ketchup?"
"No dice on that one, either."
Geoff sighed. "You can't have hot dogs without buns and ketchup… not right… ice cream and chips… barbecue peanuts…" His voice trailed off in a string of nonsense and then a heavy, wood-sawing snore filled the van.
"Shit!" Joey drew the pistol from his belt. "Get the bombs!"
"What is it?" Matty climbed forward and looked out the front window.
"A whole lot of dead people," said Dana.
The slender road came to an abrupt end at a wall of crashed cars and smashed corpses. Two side streets fed into the area and undead shuffled and staggered toward the van. It looked like a few cars tried to turn onto the lane at the same time and the resulting accident became a beacon for hungry zombies.
"What are the fuckin' odds!" Dana slapped the steering wheel. "We pick a backwoods road and still manage to run into a fuckin' problem!"
"Given the number of people and vehicles, the odds aren't all that bad." Matty teased.
"Shut up," she replied, swatting him away. "What are we doing, Joey?"
Joey held up a PVC bomb and grinned. "We make boom-boom."
"Go on and do it—boom!" Matty chuckled. It was a line from a movie; another in a long string of little things that reminded him there was no coming back.
The zombies swarmed the van. Joey swung the door open, sweeping three of them to the ground; he stepped out and kicked another one in the sternum, sending it flying back into the trees. Matty hopped out behind him, brandishing a club fashioned from one of the stools at Double Brook.
Zombified (Episode 3): Garden Harbor Page 5