“Here you go.” Barbara says in a cheery voice every time she gives Dan a rifle.
The van is at a standstill now. Lindsey didn’t know which way to go around the wreck in front of them. Both paths are narrow and she fears not being able to get clearance. Dan can hear Bill yelling instructions to her, but can’t make out his words. His focus is on the dead surrounding him.
The zombies are now able to grab a hold of the luggage racks that run the length of the vehicle. Dan is having trouble getting a clear shot on them now. The rifles are so long and the dead are so close it is nearly impossible. The soldier has to settle for striking at them with the gun he held, but without leverage his blows are weak and ineffective. The zombies just keep coming, more and more start to latch on to the racks. Their emotionless faces getting closer as they pull themselves towards their food.
This is futile, Dan realizes. He is about to drop down with the others below. He figures he can just close the hatch and wait it out. As soon as we’re moving again, the dead should fall away.
He starts to lower himself, but his collar is seized and yanked to the side. He is being pulled towards the gaping maw of one of the zombies. Dan tries to wrench free, the ghoul has a vise like grip on his flak.
Dan has to push away with his legs to get a little distance from the corpse. He feels fingers brushing his ear as the dead behind him try to get a piece of him as well. Frantically, the soldier starts to unfasten his flak jacket.
He thinks if he can just slip out of it he will be home free. His hand slides down the front of the vest, separating the thick band of Velcro that holds the jacket together. A hand takes hold of his head, palming it. He feels something odd on his garment that shouldn’t be there. He has discovered the hammer that snagged him back at Bill’s. He had chastised himself for his clumsiness earlier. He now grips the rubberized handle tightly in his fist.
“Clumsy like a fox!” He yells, twisting out of the hand that has him by his head. He bludgeons the corpse who ensnared his collar. Relief washes over him as the van begins to move again. The zombies remain on the sides, they hold on, still trying to reach him.
The white van is maneuvering through the metal blockade as Dan proceeds to play a macabre game of whack-a-mole. He brings the hammer down on the tightly gripped fingers of the dead, decimating bone with every blow. They feel no pain so he must completely destroy their digits before the flesh-starved cadavers drop off.
The van is up on the curb. Its left fender scrapes against one of the wrecked cars, hedges batter the other side.
“See.” Bill says. “Plenty of room.”
They are able to build up speed again; the horde is being left behind. Dan smiles at this. The sight of the swarm of zombies getting smaller does his heart good. There is something odd about it though. He watches the dead that pursue; something behind them is diverting their attention. Within a gap he can see some of the dead are tracking something along the ground. From the horde an object emerges. It appears out of the heart of the mass traveling low and speeding towards them.
“I’ve always wanted one of those.” Dan says to himself, observing a small go-cart complete with roll cage in desperate pursuit.
“Slow down.” Dan tells the occupants below. He hates the idea of slowing since it leaves them more vulnerable, but he also considers the vulnerability of the driver of that tiny car.
Lindsey can see the small machine in her rearview and lets off the gas pedal. The van slows enough to allow the cart to play catch up.
The nimble vehicle darts around the walking dead, closing the distance. The zombies lean and lunge trying to grab the improbable food source. Inside the nearing toy Dan can see the driver is a scared young woman. Her head is in constant motion as her wide and frightened eyes scan the road for the ravenous obstacles.
Dan wants to keep her path as clear as he can. He takes aim on an eviscerated man in pajamas who may pose a threat to her. The zombie stands in front of the incoming go-cart, the girl behind the wheel is steering around a few of her other obstacles. She is on a collision course. The soldier is about to pull the trigger, but is too late. The sleepwalker trips on his own entrails and falls just as the small car attempts to swerve around him. The zombie lands on top of the roll cage and clings to the black bars.
The go-cart is close enough for Dan to hear the girl scream out in terror, the undead hitchhiker is trying to reach for her. Luckily, for the moment the safety apparatus that encompasses the driver’s seat limits its range of motion. The cage prevents him for getting full arm extension. All he can manage is to flail his arms wildly in the girl’s direction. She ducks down to stay out of his reach.
Dan has noted, though powerful, the bullets travel slowly out of these guns. At a distance they seem to drop dramatically. He must take careful aim for fear of hitting the black haired girl. The sights are lined up slightly over the zombie’s head as he squeezes the trigger.
The rifle clicks impudently. It doesn’t fire.
“This one is fucked.” Dan tells Bill as he snatches a fresh one from Barbara.
“Here you go.” Barbara says cheerfully.
The cart is closer now; the dead man onboard has managed to squeeze his torso into the cockpit. He has wiggled and crammed his shoulders tightly between the bars of the cage, his dangerous end getting dreadfully close to the girl.
Dan is fearful he will hit her, he has to risk it. His bullet flies a mere foot over the girl and plants itself into the zombie’s throat, not a killing shot. He played it too safe.
The hungry ghoul is slowly making progress towards her. The girl is hunkered down as far as the car’s frame will allow. Dan is amazed she has been able to keep the vehicle as steady as she has up until now.
A third rifle is fired. The round enters the zombie’s cheekbone and exits the other side. His head lolls limply inside the cage, his legs are now being dragged along the asphalt. The driver swerves on purpose trying to rid herself of the unwanted passenger. The go-cart is absently bumping pedestrians off their feet.
The cart is within ten feet of the van’s bumper. The dead jaywalk converging on both vehicles.
“Stop.” Dan tells Lindsey, dropping into the van. He slides the door open once the cart coasts alongside them. The pretty young lady struggles to get free of the lifesaving toy while trying to avoid any contact with the deceased man in sleepwear whose remains are still entangled.
Dan has to open fire on a zombie who is getting awful close to the survivor, and then reaches back to take up a fresh rifle. He holds coverage on the girl who finally drags her leg out of the confining car and scrambles towards the larger vehicle.
The new recruit lunges into the van, climbing over the steel crates to make her way to the seat behind Bill. The door slides home and they start to move again.
The living are heading towards the city. Dan stands up so he can watch the dead fruitlessly try to catch them. He is glad to be leaving west 8th, he gasps when he sees a family of four rush out of a white house many homes back.
They run from their dwelling, the Dad is waving his arms to be noticed by the retreating van. Even if they turn back, they won’t get to them in time. The dead fall upon the family. The soldier must look away. Although he is happy to be off the dead end street, he knows the worse is yet to come. The city will be hell on earth.
20
The van turns right onto a road that connects all the residential streets to one another, each is over populated by the dead. Some loiter about while some travel in small unorganized groups. Probably chasing a meal, Dan speculates. Bill is offering their latest addition a sandwich and making introductions. The soldier remains standing looking ahead.
“And, this asshole is Corporal Dan.” The man in question hears Bill say. He would take offense, but he realizes that his ass is all the girl can see of him at the moment. The old man is trying to lighten the mood. Dan drops into the vehicle.
“Dan, this is Becka.” Bill tells him in a slow and deliberate manne
r.
“Hey.” The soldier responds simply. His focus is on the park that is coming up on their left. He remembers running through it that very morning. He looks out the side windows as they turn onto Park Boulevard. He and his wife, Heather, liked to picnic here. Now there are zombies scattered around the lush greenery.
One female zombie wears sweats and must have been bit and died that morning while walking her dog. The small mongrel is still tethered to her wrist by a leash. The animal is irate, trying to yank free from its bondage. Its body pulls the corpse in its attempt to get away. It yips and nips at the woman’s ankles. The dog just doesn’t seem to like her anymore, Dan thinks. He is so transfixed with the scene he misses what Bill says to him the first time.
“I said: ‘Would you like a sandwich?’” Bill reiterates.
“Yes, please.” The soldier is feeling hungry.
“Pop?”
“Sure.” Dan replies with a slight laugh. “Thanks.”
Heather calls soft drinks that, most of the people in this region call it pop. Dan always says soda, quite adamantly in fact. He is from the East coast and refuses to conform.
“Let’s slow it down a little.” Bill suggests. “Rest up before we hit the city.”
Their current rate of speed is around 40 miles per hour. Dan hates the idea of delaying his reunion with his wife even further, but won’t argue. Zombies aside, the park seems so tranquil after what he has been through already that day. He also figures they could all use the time to gather their strength for what’s to come.
“Is that a turtle?” Lindsey swerves to avoid something in the road. Bill and Barbara both try to catch sight of the alleged reptile.
“Kevlar.” Dan identifies the object without much more than a glance. He had ditched his helmet while running through the park. The old brain bucket was battering his skull with every stride.
Dan now turns his attention to the girl sitting in the way back of the van. She absently fiddles with something he can’t see. Around her neck is a slingshot, hung by its yellow rubber band.
“Becka? Are you hungry? Would you like a sandwich?” He asks the girl who ignores him. She appears lost within herself.
“I tried that already. All she’s said so far is her name.” Bill explains.
Dan turns his attention away from the girl and back to the shrubs of the park. A question springs into his head. “What the hell was up with that one gun?”
“Misfire.” Bill speaks through a mouthful of food. “It happens. Probably a bad primer, or something.”
Dan can see he isn’t too concerned about it.
“If it happens again just be careful when handing it back to me.” Bill goes on. “Aim it into the air.”
“Why?” Dan asks then feels stupid. Why else?
“It could go off. Slow burn.”
The soldier just nods and resumes looking out the window. In the distance he spots the ex-dog walker. The mutt is dragging her along the ground by the leash. It only stops long enough to run to the woman and nip at her face.
Dan takes in the development and draws conclusions. The zombie doesn’t pay any attention to the dog. They must only eat humans. The dog seems to hate its former master with a passion. It bites at her and wants to get away. Curiouser and curiouser, he ponders making a thoughtful hmm sound. Bill makes a thoughtful sound of his own.
“It’s odd.” He says looking at the sky.
“What’s odd?” Dan looks up through the sunroof trying to see what he’s referring to.
“We’re right under final approach for two airports, but there isn’t a plane in the sky.”
“Maybe this isn’t a localized occurrence.” Dan theorizes.
“Or, maybe it is.” Bill says. “Perhaps we’ve been quarantined.”
The possibility frightened Dan. Although his current aim is merely to get home to his wife and stay there, he doesn’t like the idea of never getting out of the city. He hates the proposition of not having it as an option to leave, to be trapped inside an urban jail overrun with the undead.
Dan looks up to the sky again and misses seeing the steel birds flying overhead. Any other day you’d see at least one every ten minutes, not today. It reminds him of the days following the terrorist’s attacks in New York. The planes weren’t flying then either.
“We’re nearing the city.” Lindsey tells them. “Dan, where do you live?”
“187 Saint Lawrence Street, the Verde apartments. Do you know the area?”
“Oh, sure.” Lindsey assures. “We have lived here all our lives.”
Park Blvd. opens onto Revolution Road. The van takes a right. Just a few blocks down and they will intersect with St. Lawrence. In theory it shouldn’t be that bad of a journey. That’s only in theory, Dan tries to be realistic. He kneels below the sunroof at the ready.
At first the city looks like a ghost town, no cars move along the streets, no bustling people rushing to get to their destinations on foot. The autos are stalled in the middle of the street like the world is on pause. The new citizens don’t so much bustle as lumber sleepily along.
The dead moan while shambling aimlessly as if compelled to keep moving. There isn’t a food source to chase, they walk around anyway. Their pointless wandering stops when the survivors roll into view. The sound of the motor draws their attention, all eyes track the van. They all follow it with the same purpose, to eat.
The standstill traffic impedes the van’s movement. Lindsey has a tough time negotiating around the cars. Some of the vehicles sit with their doors wide open as if the passengers evacuated in a hurry. They know that is exactly what happened. She drives into the doors, traveling down the centerline on its way to St. Lawrence.
“God,” Bill says. “The town is really dead today.”
Dan gives the man a courtesy chuckle. He is only trying to lighten the mood. Everyone inside is anxious; the air around them is tense, and thick with fear as they see the corpses that stalk the streets taking a keen interest in them.
The soldier’s thoughts go to his wife and how much he wants to hold her again. His heart drops when he sees something up ahead that will postpone his reunion a little longer. An ambulance is on its side at the intersection they want to take. People must have tried to go around the wreckage because the traffic is erratic. The van is now trapped in a dead end alley of cars.
Lindsey throws it into reverse and slings her arm over Barbara’s seat so she can twist around. She backtracks through the narrow passage. The zombies that had followed them now stand in their way. The dimwitted ghouls just watch as the white van comes at them. They are bumped by the back of the van and plowed along with it. Many lose their balance and are run over. At the slow speed their bodies feel like massive speed bumps. Everyone inside is jostled with every corpse.
Lindsey clears the traffic jam and proceeds on Revolution again, this time using the sidewalk on the park side of the street. They scrape hedges whenever she veers around light poles, blue mailboxes or trash receptacles. The occasional hydrant also has to be avoided in their slow progress. At least we’re moving, Dan thinks.
As they pass the unmoving cars, Bill can see most are empty. He catches sight of one occupied sedan. A dead woman is in the driver’s seat. Her arms flail and her head batters the window, her blood sticks to the glass in thick clots.
The park ends and the sidewalk becomes even harder to travel on. To their right are large apartment buildings. Stone steps jut out from the brick facades. Trees grow from the cement walkway guarded by wrought iron fences that wrap around their trunks. Lindsey sideswipes more than one parked car as she veers on and off the sidewalk. Dan is squeezed between the two front seats. He looks ahead for a place to turn.
“Up ahead,” He points to another wreck two streets down from St. Lawrence. “Mission Avenue.”
The van is able to squeeze through after pushing a station wagon aside that was left in drive. It bullies its way through the cross traffic and onto Mission Avenue. It’s a one-way street
and they are traveling against traffic keeping to the right.
“I hope we don’t get a ticket for this.” Bill says.
“If a cop stops us let me do the talking.” Dan replies.
“I don’t know if zombie holocaust is a valid excuse.”
“Think he’s heard it before?”
The joking ends a couple streets down. A building is ablaze. The flames have spread out of control to multiple floors. Black smoke billows into the sky eclipsing the sun. The building’s windows explode outward as the heat and pressures builds inside the inferno.
The travelers are stopped, their mobility thwarted by the responding emergency vehicles that sit idly while the complex burns. A large red fire truck sits across the road and police cars have the connecting streets blocked off.
The firefighters must have been attacked before they could even get started, Dan believes. A hose lies along the ground in loops by a hydrant, but it isn’t attached. A wrench is affixed to the hydrant’s nut. Zombies in yellow raincoats walk the scene. They have seen the van and are walking towards it.
Behind the survivors, the dead are coming as well. They are amassed in a horde a hundred deep. They enter Mission Ave. from every angle. From homeless corpses to decomposing joggers, all heading for them.
“Cover me.” Dan says. “I’m going out.”
“Are you fucking crazy?” Bill asks.
“We can find another way.” Lindsey suggests.
“If I can move the fire truck the road should be clear, right?” Dan explains. Before they can talk him out of it he is gone.
“Shit.” Bill says, popping up through the sunroof. “Lindsey, can you load for me?”
Armed with only one of Bill’s muzzleloaders, Dan is trying to find a way to reach the big truck. What the fuck am I doing? He asks himself. I am fucking crazy. The zombies in the plastic slickers are after him now, the primary target of their attention. They are grouped too thickly around the cab for him to rush to it.
Dan’s eyes go to the hydrant and the loops of tangled hose. The flat tube snakes around the street towards the truck. He has a plan.
Life Among The Dead Page 11