by Mark Tufo
My brain had no true higher function. I was on the lowest plain of thought, SURVIVAL. I whipped that towel out in front of me, ready to deliver one hell of a bullwhip crack. I braced for an impact that never came. Bear had jumped up and put his large fore paws on the counter by the kitchen sink. His gaze riveted to the kitchen window. I was praising any deity that would listen for sparing my life. Help was bounding down the stairs. I looked to my hands and my ineffectual weapon and dropped it lest I got caught with it. Justin was first around the corner, .357 waving wildly, his fever-racked body barely able to hold the weapon.
“Hold on!” I said, putting my hands up as I stood up and stepped in front of Bear.
I was as much in danger from that wildly swinging muzzle as Bear was. Justin looked confused. He had been sleeping soundly when the call for help had come. He wasn’t even clear about where the help was to be directed. He was moving quickly from the sleeping world into the waking one but not at a speed quick enough to avert a potential disaster.
“Justin!” I yelled, “It’s all right, put the gun down!” He wasn’t convinced. “You sure?”
“No,” I answered. “I mean, in the immediate…yes, but something is going on.”
I moved slowly away from my blocking position of Bear’s back. He still had not moved, his gaze fixated on the window, his muzzle pulled back in a wicked snarl. I knew what I had to do. I just didn’t want to look through that window. It was an omen of bad things to come, a window into the unfathomable, a gaping wound in the fabric of humanity. Use whatever adjectives you want, it was all of those things.
I climbed onto the kitchen counter. Bear managed a sidelong glance at me as I brushed past his enormously large teeth. The big bad wolf had nothing on this dog. I took a deep breath as I began to move closer to the gap caused by the bad tape job. I became enraged for a moment at who had put this bag up and their shoddy workmanship. I wanted to get down off this counter and ‘give it’ to whoever had not been able to tape a bag up correctly, as if this was the cause of all our ills, as if this small hole had manifested whatever demons were lying in wait outside. But I knew that was ridiculous, it was just a stalling tactic. I didn’t want to see what had to be out there. It was Fritzy, and he was going to exact his own revenge. I moved closer to the triangular shaped opening, convinced that a cold flat black eye would be staring back at me.
Or it could be even worse than Fritzy. The zombie girl was standing alone in my back yard signaling me to open the back door, and she wanted me to one by one send out my family and friends. She wanted me to watch as each person I loved and cherished in this world was torn asunder. She would laugh as she tore each of their throats open, drinking greedily of their lives. I shook, and Bear whined.
“What is it, Mike?” Tracy asked as she came up to the counter and began absently stroking Bear’s raised mane.
I shook my head trying to clear away the malignant thoughts. “Uh, I don’t know.” I didn’t want to tell her what I imagined was out there or that I hadn’t built up enough courage to look.
And in her typical pragmatic way she said. “Well don’t you think you should find out?”
I wanted to yell, ‘Why don’t you fuckin’ climb up here and find out for yourself! Because I think it’s either the fuckin’ crazy guy I murdered yesterday coming back to take me with him into the seventh circle of hell, or it’s my zombie girlfriend come to give everyone I love the kiss of death!’ But instead of the histrionics I merely answered with “Yes, dear.” It seemed more appropriate.
For the fourth, fifth…tenth time I took a calming deep breath. Whoever tells you that works wonders is full of crap. It did nothing but more fully oxygenate my overactive imagination, like putting gasoline on a tire fire. By now, the entire population of the house was in the kitchen, armed to the gills, and all eyes were on me. I put my right eye to the hole. What I saw perplexed the hell out of me. I saw…nothing. Well I mean not exactly nothing, there was the grill, the bench swing, Henry’s sunbathing couch, a snow shovel leaning up against the garage. I guess what I meant to say was there was nothing out of the ordinary. I pulled more of the bag down so I could survey the ground. The snow was as fresh as when it had fallen. There were no foreboding footsteps leading up to the backdoor, no drops of blood from a vengeful specter.
The gate had not been opened or it would have left the telltale signs in the snow. There was no valid reason as to why Bear had behaved the way he had. I was about to re-adhere the bag when I noticed a bit of snow falling. That doesn’t mean too much in the middle of winter in Colorado, but the day was sunny, with not a cloud in the sky. The snow had fallen off the fence that separated my yard from Techno Neighbor’s. Something had bumped up against it and in turn had knocked off some of the snow that had accumulated on the pickets and supports. I still had no reason to be overly alarmed, but Bear had already set the precedent. No sooner had the unsettled snow landed softly in my yard than the fence came crashing down into my grill, knocking it over. The noise was phenomenally loud. I hopped off the counter, not taking my eyes off the developing scene in the back yard.
“Mike, what the hell is going on?” Tracy asked. She couldn’t see what was happening from her vantage point.
“Uh, zombies,” I said flatly.
Zombies were pouring into my yard through the busted fence. I was half tempted to go out there and yell at them for messing up my grill. I loved that thing, the Char-Broil Master Smoker. I had paid good money for that when I was still earning a decent paycheck and to see it just get trampled like that pissed me off.
“Uh, Mike, are the back doors locked?” Paul asked.
My eyes went to the back door. That was the weak link in all of this. I swore at myself for having not gotten around to fixing that. I just always assumed the gate would hold, and technically it did. It was the freaken fence that had let me down.
“Mike?” Paul asked again.
“Yeah they’re locked, but they wouldn’t hold back a determined woodchuck if he wanted to get in,” I answered. It was time for action, not reflection. “All right, everybody, grab whatever you can out of the fridge and under the cupboards and head upstairs.”
Luckily not everyone gets as lost in their thoughts like I do. The kitchen was bustling with activity. Nobody stopped for more than a second or two to realize just how close the zombies were. Bear and I went into the living area to keep an eye on the back door and to also get out of the way while the kitchen was quickly emptied of food. Everyone stopped when the first body impacted with the door, their heads jerking up, their backs ramrod stiff. It looked like a pack of meercats when a threat is detected. I flipped off my safety; Bear got into his pouncing pose that I had just recently learned. “No, Bear,” I admonished him. “You go with the boys.” I was happy when he didn’t abandon his post, but I still didn’t want him here.
“Tommy!” I yelled without pulling my eyes away from the creaking door.
“Yeaf?” he asked, standing up from under the cupboards. I had to look, his arms were full of boxes of Pop-Tarts and to lighten his load he was halfway through one.
“Take Bear and yourself and go upstairs,” I told him.
His face fell a little as he began to put down the Pop-Tart boxes.
“And the Pop-Tarts, too,” I told him.
His strawberry-laced teeth smiled brightly. “Come onf, Bearf,” he said.
Bear looked once at me, back at the door and headed upstairs with Tommy.
The whole doorframe shook from the next hit.
“Tracy, how much longer?” I asked, backing a step or two away from the doors.
“Couple of minutes at the most, I’m boxing up the rest of it and waiting for some help to get it upstairs.”
“Don’t have a couple of minutes, carry what you can now and get going.”
“But...” she started.
“Hon, we won’t live or die if the ramen doesn’t make it up. On the other hand...” I motioned towards the door.
I re
ceived a withering look worthy of a much larger offense. I took it in stride. Zombies at the door trumped pissed off wife. Tracy had left the kitchen and I was planning on being right behind her. I had no sooner entered the kitchen when the French doors gave, typical French, must have been the same makers as the Maginot Line, ‘strategically ineffective.’ The doors crashed into the wall with enough force to break the drywall. Honest to God, my first thought was how much drywall repair mud did I have in the basement, again with the resale value. Zombies were coming through like Holiday shoppers on Black Friday at a Best Buy with fifty-inch plasma televisions on sale. It was pandemonium. More were getting crushed than making any forward progress. I didn’t help matters as the world’s worst doorman. I opened fire. The .357 that I had snagged from Justin earlier was deafening in the crowded space. Four out of my five shots were kills. The fifth did more drywall damage, dammit. No bullets, no time, I was out of the kitchen, down the hallway and making the turn to go upstairs when I caught a glimpse of light brown. I halted in my tracks, one foot on the landing, one on the back hallway. Tracy was looking down from the top of the stairs.
“What are you doing, Talbot?” she screamed.
“It’s Henry!” I shouted back up.
Tracy loved Henry, no doubt about it. She loved him like any good dog owner should, but that’s the difference between us. To her, Henry is a warm lovable, cuter than all get out, DOG. To me, though, Henry was my fourth kid, well fifth now, I’m counting Tommy, too. I couldn’t leave him behind. No bullets, check. Zombies coming down the hallway, check. Henry under the coffee table, check. Crappy checklist, all in all.
I tucked the gun in my waistband, thankful there were no more rounds in it. I’m not the smallest endowed man in the world, but I still didn’t feel like I had enough to spare. I ran to the coffee table and dove down. The first of the zombies had made it to the end of the hallway and was now turning into my living room.
I know up to this point I have labeled Henry as this big, fat mush bag. To be honest he is lazy and he does have a lot of extra skin, which makes him look fat. But he is sixty-five pounds of pure, stubborn muscle. If he doesn’t want to do something that’s pretty much the end of the discussion. I tried to pull him out from under the table. He dug his paws in. Wonderful! I had lost enough battles with him trying to trim his nails or give him a bath. It was time the home team won. I booted over the coffee table; Henry was momentarily surprised as his cover was exposed. I picked him up and threw him over my shoulder like a sack of flour. I was going to need a good chiropractor after this. Too late, three zombies were closing in; the room was only twelve-by-fifteen, and it had furniture.
There weren’t a lot of options for evasion. I’d like to say there was a ‘face off’, but the zombies take that stuff way too literally. I had to try to get out while there was still the possibility of success. I stiff-armed the first one, and was about to duck under the second one’s outstretched arms when the Benelli shotgun made its triumphant roar. It was the ‘whoomp’ and thud afterwards that had me confused. The zombie I had previously stiff-armed was crumpled in a corner. It was still moving but having a difficult time standing back up with a ruined spine, which I could see because the 12-gauge had ripped a hole through its side.
More zombies were making their way into the living room, and I was only halfway across. I was waiting for the Benelli to speak up again. I looked over to the landing and saw Nicole in the process of getting back up. The shotgun had literally put her on her ass. Really!?was all I could think. Nicole with a shotgun was akin to a six-year-old with a lighter and gasoline, no good could come from it. I watched in fascinated horror as Nicole this time propped her back up against the wall, I wanted to shout ‘don’t do it’ to her, but it was too late. The shotgun reverberated and the only noise that could possibly be louder was Nicole’s screams of pain as she dropped the shotgun with her now battered shoulder.
It was over, I had five or six zombies between me and the stairs and a few were now peeling off towards Nicole. I had barred windows to my right and a knee-high wall to my left, but that room was now home to at least twenty of the foul creatures. Henry was panting like he had walked a hundred yards, which for him was a lot of exercise. I thought at one point I was bleeding, but it was Henry’s drool running down my back. Not a pleasant sensation.
Through the crowd I saw Nicole get physically wrenched from her spot, pretty sure it was Paul or maybe Brendon, didn’t matter, the only thing that registered was that my baby girl was safe. Then, out of the gloom from the stairs came the familiar sound of the M-16, rounds were flying wildly. More than once I felt the heat of a shot pass by my head. I dropped down to a crouch, duck-walking my way towards freedom. Justin with the M-16 was almost as scary as Nicole with the shotgun. The noise did have one bonus; the zombies forgot about me and were converging on Justin. The problem, however, was that they were going exactly where I needed to be.
Justin had gone through the thirty-round magazine in as much time as it took to pull the trigger that many times. Of his thirty shots, maybe five had been kills, and that was more from blind luck…nice going, Rambo. But unlike Rambo, he didn’t have an unlimited ammo supply; he was one and done.
“Dad, I’m out,” Justin said with a whisper because of his flagging reserves.
Yeah, I figured that when the shots went from sixty to zero in faster time than a pitcher of beer lasts at a bowling tournament. I didn’t want to answer him. The zombies were fixated on him, and I saw no reason to alter that. I had made my way near the front and was only one row away from getting there. Justin had headed back upstairs. I hoped he would make it all the way before I made my try for freedom. There would be no further cavalry charges. This was on me and me alone.
I muscled my way past the lead two zombies. I don’t know if they were more pissed off that another zombie was trying to cut in front of them or surprised to see food. The two zombies head-butted each other in their excitement to get at me. No real damage was sustained, but it bought me a few valuable seconds.
I made it up the first third of the stairs and was looking at a quandary. Do I dare to attempt my zombie trap laden down with a squirming Henry on my shoulder? Nope. I pulled Henry off my shoulder, and with my adrenaline-fueled muscles, I looked up at Tracy’s anxious face and heaved him at her. She went over like a bowling pin. Any other time and I would have been howling with laughter. The gambit had cost me time; I felt first one and then two hands circle my left ankle. I figured I had about two seconds until the ensuing bite. I grabbed on to the handrail for all I was worth and was simultaneously trying to pull myself away and kicking out blindly with my right foot, occasionally being rewarded with a nose crunching connection.
“Come on, Mike!” Paul shouted urgently. He was leaning over the banister with his outstretched hand. There was a good eighteen inches of distance between our connection.
“Dad, behind you!” Nicole screamed in pure panic.
Now was not the time for sarcasm, but REALLY!? Tracy had recovered from her bowling accident and had my Ka-Bar knife out. She looked me in the eyes as she placed the sharp edge against my pinion ropes. A swift pull of the knife would send me and the zombies plunging into the basement. She was going to give me the benefit of the doubt, but only if it was soon. My foot lashed out again and suddenly I was free. I felt fingernails tear as they tried in vain to re-obtain purchase on my pants. I was one step above the trap when Tracy cut the ropes.
Vertigo, adrenaline, and fear made me sway. Paul quickly grabbed my shoulder, preventing me from joining the two zombies that had made the Nestea plunge. The zombies weren’t dead, not even seriously injured as they looked back up at the hole from where they had come, but they weren’t upstairs, and obviously that was the most important part.
“Holy crap, that was close!” I said as I regained my composure and got to the top of the stairs.
“For Christ’s sake, Mike, it’s only a dog. You risked your life and your kids for a damn dog!” s
he yelled.
My triumph was short-lived as I sat down on the top stoop and realized how close to disaster this situation had come. As any good ally should, Henry came over and licked my face. Inwardly I smiled. It had all been worth it.
Chapter 26
Journal Entry – 23
* * *
The constant ‘thudding’ of zombies falling into my trap was unnerving. We were all on edge. The only thing that broke the monotony of the ‘thud’ was the bubble wrapping ‘snap’ of the occasional limb being broken.
A guard had to be posted, but I made sure everyone was clear on the use of bullets: ‘Only when necessary.’ I had seen what the rampant discharge of bullets had done at the wall. Before we knew it, our stair hole would be filled with zombies and the dead would bridge the gap to us. As it was, the fallen zombies were having a hard enough time clearing out of the way before their brethren fell on them.
I relieved Erin after only an hour into her two hour shift just to get out of my office. The mood was not good. What I thought the zombies were going to do to change that was beyond me. Henry had come with me. He hadn’t left my side since his rescue. I’m sure he knew just how close he had been to becoming a meal. And I’m not sure, but I think that he was getting a bad feeling from Tracy. If I had saved him from the zombies then I would surely save him from the mad boss woman, little did he know.