"Guess that leaves me!" Dana raised a hand.
Joey growled. "Not a snowball's chance in hell, babe. I'll push it open and stick my head in… if nothing bites, then we close it up and move on."
"Can you two handle the attic?" Matty said. "I wanna get downstairs and start barricading every window and door I can find."
Joey nodded. "Yeah, we got this."
Matty rounded the post and trotted downstairs. After a quick walk-about, he rummaged for materials. Using a heavy plush sofa, Matty barricaded the front door; he slid an oak side table against the back door. Both entrances had standard knob locks and a sliding chain, which did little to assuage his fears of zombie hordes crashing through the less than sturdy wood.
All the windows were single-paned and counter-weighted, bearing slatted shutters and thick curtains caked with dust. Without a hammer or nails, Matty was at a loss how to secure them. He settled on closing the shutters, locking the windows, and closing the curtains.
I need to find tools. After a thorough ransacking, he found a bottle of bleach and three cans of green beans—some generic brand a few months past expiration.
Joey and Dana made their way to the ground floor.
"All is quiet in the attic," he said. In his arms, Joey clutched a box of musty blankets. "Not that we'll need these, but it was the only thing within reach."
"Any tools up there?" Matty asked. "The windows are vulnerable, but we don't have hammers, nails, saws—nothing useable at all."
Joey chewed his lip and then shrugged. "We'll just have to sleep on the second floor and post a sentinel at the top of the stairs."
"I found some expired green beans." Matty tossed a can to Joey. "How hungry are you?"
"Not that hungry." Joey tossed it back. "I do have to take a shit, though."
"I think there's a bucket in the bedroom." Dana pointed upstairs.
Joey made his way there, his stomach gurgling and growling.
"Are you okay? Any damage from the crash?"
Dana shook her head. "Nah, I'm good. You?"
"Fucking swell, thanks for asking." Matty sat on one of the dining chairs and rubbed his temples. "Nothing a strong coffee and a few smokes couldn't fix."
"What kind of smoke?" Dana teased. "Because I don't think we're gonna find any special stuff lying around here."
He groaned. "Yeah, please don't remind me. No more getting stoned and playing video games… add it to the list of little things."
A creaking board silenced them, drawing their attention to the covered window in the parlor. After a few seconds of silence, the sound repeated.
"It's on the porch," Dana whispered.
Matty nodded and slowly got off the chair; he slid the gun from his belt and waited. Over the course of five minutes, the creaking boards traced a route across the front of the cabin and then started back in the direction it had begun.
"Ohhh yeah," Joey's voice echoed from upstairs. "That's what I'm talking about."
Matty closed his eyes. Tell me that didn't carry outside, please… a little fucking luck would be nice.
A low, throaty growling replaced the creaking boards.
"Fuck me." Matty raised the gun, aiming at the window closest to the sound. "Dana, get up there and tell him to shit in silence."
She dashed off, trying to get up the stairs quickly and quietly but failing at both; every stair seemed to emit a bone-jarring squeal that rebounded off the walls and magnified.
Thump…
It beat on the shutters, hammering steadily and moaning. For the moment, there seemed to be only one, but Matty knew the vocalization served as a siren call for munchers: soon there would be more.
Joey appeared on the stairs carrying his boots in one hand and gun in the other.
"What the fuck is going on?"
Matty pointed at the window and held up a finger. On cue, the zombie beat against the shutter and gurgled.
Joey tiptoed to the window and pressed his body against the wall; using the gun barrel, he nudged the curtain open, grimaced, and backed away.
"There are more of 'em climbing the hill," he said. "If it were just the one, I'd say let's go shut it up before it attracts attention, but that ain't happenin'."
"The window seems to be holding up," said Dana. "Maybe if we go upstairs—"
"Pieces of the shutter are cracking, babe," Joey interrupted. "These things don't stop once they sense food."
Dana took a deep breath and kept a straight face, but her eyes betrayed a rising level of panic. "Do we make a run for it?"
"Running through the woods at night is insane," Matty said. "We need to wait for first light."
Joey nodded agreement. "We need melee weapons. If we post up on the second floor, right at the top of the stairs, we can deal with them and avoid attracting more with gunshots."
"I don't think they're getting in through the doors. The windows should keep them from swarming." Matty looked around the cabin. "We need some good bludgeoning weapons and maybe a polearm or something to shove them down the stairs."
"A spear!" Dana exclaimed. "I can stand at the rail and jab the fuckers in the skull while you guys bash their fuckin' brains in!"
Matty gave her a wide-eyed stare. "You've gone barbarian on us."
"Hell yeah!" She clenched her fists.
"We need to work fast." Joey tucked the gun in his waistband. "Dana, go upstairs and scavenge anything you can find to use as a club or spear. Matty and me will scour down here."
She dashed away and Joey took off toward the parlor.
An idea flashed in Matty's mind and he headed for the kitchen. Retrieving his last pocketknife, Matty popped off the refrigerator and freezer door; he carried them up and leaned both against the wall near the staircase.
Joey hauled three chairs and the legs from a dining table to the second floor.
"What's with the fridge doors?"
Matty raised his arm, imitating a shield. "We can brace the large door across the top and use the smaller one as a ram, if needed."
"Nice. I say we drag the fridge to the foot of the stairs, too, and create an obstacle to slow the fuckers down."
They positioned the fridge and started working on weapons; the sound of cracking glass lent urgency to the work. Dana sharpened one end of a thin dowel she had found in a closet; it was barely long enough to use as a spear.
Using strips cut from the curtains, Joey wrapped handles on the dining table legs and Matty secured a can of green beans at the top. After fifteen minutes, they had three can-headed table-leg maces and two dowel spears, along with the fridge shields and barricade.
At least one window was broken, but they hadn't seen any zombies in the cabin yet.
Dana held onto the railing with her left hand and balanced a spear in the right.
"You look like a Spartan sentinel, D," said Matty.
"What?" She furrowed her brow.
Their attention turned to the base of the stairs: torn and ragged, a gray-skinned zombie staggered into view. It spotted Joey and Matty and uttered a hollow wail, attracting three more from different parts of the house.
"Here we go." Joey gripped a table mace with both hands. "How long until dawn?"
"Too fucking long, bro," said Matty. "Way too fucking long."
CHAPTER 9
Joey's boot crashed into the zombie's face, sending it flying down the stairs. Dana leaned over the railing and thrust the spear into another mangled face.
Matty heard the wood crack; he saw Dana dangle awkwardly, clutching at the snapping beams. There was no room to maneuver; Joey stood to his left, blocking a clear path around to the edge where Dana hung on to the buckling rails. "Joe!" He yelled and pushed, trying to direct his friend's attention.
"Shit! Dana!" Joey spotted her and leapt up the stairs, leaving Matty alone against the encroaching zombie mob. "Hang on, baby!"
"Joe-ee-ey!" She screamed as the wood splintered and her grip slipped from the supports. She fell and slammed onto the stairs five
feet below Matty, wailing in pain and clutching her left arm.
Matty swung the table-leg mace overhead, mashing a zombie's melon; he stepped over her prostrate body and faced the tangled mass of undead jostling in the confined space. "Joey, get her out of here!"
He was there in a flash, lifting Dana from the ground and carrying her into the upstairs bedroom. "Hold them off!"
They surged forwarded. Matty spotted a streak of blood on the broken railing and the stairs.
Shit! That's gonna stir up a feeding frenzy. Matty backpedaled, jamming the mace into a rotten filth-covered face. "Joe, there's blood on the stairs. These fuckers are getting wound up!"
"Dana's pretty messed up," Joey called; "I need to get her patched up first."
"We need to deal with the fucking zombies first!" A set of moldy teeth tore a shred from Matty's sleeve. "In about five seconds, you're gonna be playing doctor while a dozen undead are chewing on my fucking bones!"
"Sonnabitch!" Joey hurtled out of the bedroom and bounded down the stairs. He mashed a pair of zombies with one brutal swing, crushing both heads into the wall.
The scent of blood had reached every zombie on the ground floor and they howled frantically, drawing in more and more from outside. Rotting fingers reached between the staircase rails, tugging at Matty and Joey's legs.
"Fuck me!" Matty swung, hammering the arms and mashing fingers. "We gotta fall back, Joe! There's too many down here and it's getting way too crowded."
Joey bashed in a few more heads and then bounded to the top landing. "Start tearing up the floor boards! Open up the whole floor right here!" Joey swung the mace overhead, smashing a fist-sized hole in the boards at his feet.
Matty joined in and they had torn open a sizeable pit when the first zombie ascended; it stepped forward and plunged through the hole, crashing back down to the first floor.
"Let's open up this whole section." Joey pointed to the boards running from the landing to just before the first bedroom entrance. "Make sure they can't step across the gap."
They smashed the floor to pieces, tossing the loose wood onto the stairs. Zombies staggered and shambled forward, toppling through the jagged holes and flattening their undead comrades below.
Matty mopped sweat from his brow and watched the munchers march like lemmings—climbing, falling, climbing, falling…
How different are we from them? He chuckled aloud.
Joey gave him a perplexed look. "What so funny?"
Matty shook his head. "Just a touch of madness, dude."
"All right." Joey shrugged. "We're out of reach for now. Keep an eye on this clusterfuck so I can patch up Dana."
"Sure."
Joey walked off, disappearing into the large bedroom; Matty heard Dana gasping and uttering short, shrill cries of pain.
Now what? Matty thought. We're stuck on the second floor, trapped by a zombie conveyer belt, and we have no means of transportation. He suppressed a giggle. There's so much to live for!
His eyes happened upon the box of blankets taken from the attic. Well, I guess we can fashion a rope and climb down. A sharp yell from the other room reminded him of Dana's injuries. That's if she's capable of holding onto a rope.
There seemed no end to the supply of zombies; they rose and fell in grisly procession.
"Matty," Joey called.
Dana perched on the edge of the bed; all color had drained from her face and she breathed heavily, eyes closed.
"What's the story, D?" Matty touched her shoulder.
"My arm is busted." She pointed to a spot just below the elbow on her forearm. "And there's at least two, maybe three, ribs bruised. I need you guys to help me set the break."
Joey nodded. "You'll have to walk us through it, babe."
She gave instructions, biting down on her lips as the arm was flexed and straightened.
"Son of a bitch-motherfucker!" She punched the mattress with her opposite fist. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!"
"Dana." Joey licked his lips; sweat beaded on his forehead. "Are you ready?"
Her eyes bulged and nostrils flared. "No! You don't fuckin' ask if someone's ready to have a bone set without painkillers! What the fuck is wrong with you? Would you—"
SNAP! It was quick; she froze stiff for a brief moment before her eyes rolled back. Joey caught her before she toppled off the bed and laid her down, arm cradled across her stomach.
"Thanks," Joey said.
"Of course." Matty slapped him on the shoulder. "We need to consider an escape, Joe. Those blankets you found might serve as a rope."
Joey nodded. "Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. There's a small overhang outside the bedroom window." He sat down on the hardwood floor. "What do we do, run to the guard base? We have no idea how many are outside and as for ammo," he tapped the gun at his belt, "we're pretty well fucked."
"We were pretty well fucked as soon as the zombies appeared, Joe. 'Fucked' is the de facto state of being now."
Joey lay back on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. "I can't believe they're dead, Matty. Of all the people I've seen die—shit, all the zombies that were once people—my parents were the last ones I thought I would lose."
"Yeah, Hank seemed immortal and Gigi… well, I thought death might be afraid of her."
Joey let a faint smile creep up his cheeks. "For real."
They sat without talking, hearing only the groaning and crashing of the zombified lemmings down the hall. The first faint rays of dawn crept through the windows, stabbing orange blades through the dusted air.
"Uhhh." Dana stirred, rolling and gingerly pushing herself into a sitting position. "Whoa, my head is spinnin'."
"How's the arm?" Matty asked.
"It sucks," she said. "I can feel my heartbeat in the bone, but it aches like a seriously bad hangover. I need to splint it before we do anything."
They helped Dana rig a splint with a flat piece of wood and several lengths of cloth; a folded bed sheet served as a sling.
"We're gonna try and make a rope from the blankets," said Joey, "and see about getting the hell out of here. There's a shingled overhang outside the other bedroom."
"Okay. What happens when we reach the ground?" Dana looked dubious. "Are you planning on running all the way to the base?"
"If we have to, yes," said Matty. "I don't think we're more than three or four miles away."
"And if the base is surrounded by these things?" Dana gestured to the staircase. "Then what? We might have enough bullets to get there, but I don't think we can shoot our way through a thousand of them."
Joey rubbed her leg. "I'm not crazy about the idea, babe, but we don't have any supplies here… we don't have any water. We have to try."
She closed her eyes and sighed; a line of tears spilled over her cheek and splashed on Joey's arm. "Okay," she whispered. "I'm scared, Joey… like scared in every part of my body."
He sat next to her, pressing her head against his chest, and stroked her hair.
Matty quietly stood and backed out of the room, inching the door closed behind him. He took the box of blankets and started cutting strips suitable for a rope. There was plenty of fabric, and he crafted several loops for footholds and handholds.
The bedroom window was open. Matty peered outside and saw the four foot overhang; it was easily accessible from the window and the drop was only ten or twelve feet. Even without a rope, it was manageable—but a twisted ankle was a nail in the coffin with zombies close by.
He looped the rope around the bedposts and tied a thick knot; straining and grunting, Matty tugged and tore at the rope: it held fast. Satisfied with the result, he set the remaining length on the window ledge and retrieved the pair of table-leg clubs from the hallway.
Joey and Dana emerged; Dana's eyes were puffy and she sniffled, but there was a hint of iron in her expression: she was ready.
Maybe they sensed her injury or knew the food was leaving, because the zombies appeared to grow frantic; they howled louder and more frequently, clawin
g and climbing over one another in a mad dash to fall through the floor.
"Maybe we should leave them an appetizer or something." Matty wore an expression of mock pity, pulling his lower lip up and sniveling.
"Yeah, how about my ten pound log in the bucket." Joey stepped to the bannister and looked down at the dull-eyed groaning mob; they clutched at the air, reaching for the scruffy-faced food item lingering just out of reach.
"Come on, Joey." Dana tugged his shirt.
"I wish I had a couple more of those bombs… even a Molotov would do the trick." He turned away and went to the bedroom window.
"Why don't you head out first, Joe. I'll help Dana through next."
Joey hoisted himself through the window with relative ease. "The shingles are a little slick, guys. Thankfully, I don't see any of deadheads underneath us."
Matty knelt down and let Dana use his shoulder as a stepping stool. She clambered up and Joey helped her onto the overhang. After passing the weapons out, Matty climbed through and they gave the rope a final tug.
"Cover my ass," Joey said, nodding at the gun in Matty's hand.
"Don't take all day about it." Matty stepped to the edge and scanned the bushes and nearby trees for movement. "Now or never, Joe."
He shot Matty a withering look. "I hate it when you say that."
With a grunt of effort, Joey lowered himself to the ground and drew his pistol. Matty pulled up the rope and helped secure Dana to the loops. She sat down and scooted to the edge of the overhang.
"Okay," she said.
Matty leaned back and let out the slack, allowing Dana to glide slowly to the ground; Joey caught her and untied the ropes. A rustling of bushes drew their attention.
Twenty yards away, a pair of blood-smeared retrievers emerged from the undergrowth with teeth bared and milky-red eyes blazing. They snarled and leapt forward.
Joey fired first, catching one of the dogs in its chest and sending it tumbling backward; Matty fired in quick succession, both shots caught the dog in its neck and tore through the spine, leaving a gaping hole of gore. The wounded one came again, limping this time, and Joey took a breath to aim: the shot tore off the dog's face, exposing its throat and the foreparts of its brain.
Zombified (Episode 3): Garden Harbor Page 8