by Mark Tufo
With the gun on safe, he called Ike and Leo over. Holding it up so they could see, he pointed out the safety, where the spent shells were ejected and how you loaded the ammunition. He also stressed, “You never point a gun at someone unless you are willing to use it on them.” Keeping his finger to the side of the trigger guard he demonstrated how to carry the gun properly, barrel pointing towards the ground. Cade handed the gun to Leo with the safety on, being careful to practice what he preached.
“Point it towards the tree and show us what you’ve got!”
With some apparent trepidation Leo put the gun to his shoulder. Rawley called out, “Hold it firm against your shoulder and gently squeeze the trigger. Remember they do tend to kick.”
The shotgun boomed. The recoil knocked the 5-foot-5 teen on his butt. Shredded leaves fluttered down from the tall oak tree.
“Alriiggghhhttt!!” yelled Leo.
“Kicks a little more than your PlayStation,” Rawley said, bugging his eyes out and mugging at the boys.
“Yeah, hurt my shoulder too,” Leo said as he rubbed the tender spot.
Standing in the eddy of the falls, the group of undead had been mesmerized by the small fish swimming there. They clumsily stumbled and splashed around in the water pursuing the fingerling trout. A few of the little undead preschoolers had actually caught some of the fish, consuming them hungrily.
Barely audible over the noise of the rushing water, the gunfire caught the attention of the twelve undead preschoolers and their two undead chaperones. In unison they all started moving toward the sound of the shooting. Somehow instinctually they knew there was a connection between the noises in the distance and the possibility of food.
Following the little ghouls, the obese woman trudged up the trail towards the commotion. The wet sweat pants the undead woman wore sloshed with each plodding step. Literally on Norma’s heels, the legless Stu pulled himself out of the water, through gravel and mud and slowly trailed after. His shattered femurs carved wet bloody furrows in the dusty path.
The day before, during their short hike to the bottom of Wahkeena Falls, Norma had been moving a little slower than usual, and Lord knows Stu regularly got after her to pick up the pace.
In addition to her preschool job, Norma worked on the night shift at Providence Hospital in Portland. At the end of her shift the previous evening, a severely dehydrated patient had bitten her on the finger. She had been swabbing water in the man’s mouth and he lunged forward with a wild look in his eyes and nicked her finger. The bite barely broke the skin. They cleaned the wound and gave her a tetanus shot. Norma had been feeling sick ever since.
Norma was sitting on the bench by the water’s edge when she passed out and stopped breathing. Stu struggled but couldn’t find a pulse through her fat. He tried, but he couldn’t summon the strength to move her three hundred pound body from the bench.
Not sure of what to do, Stu rounded up the kids and was preparing to go get help. While his back was turned Norma slowly stood up, her eyes glassy and staring; she started a low guttural moaning. Stu was so startled he nearly had a heart attack. When he touched her skin just a minute ago it was cold and lifeless, now she was standing before his eyes. Stu blinked not once, but multiple times. He went so far as to shake his head vigorously, but none of these actions changed reality. He tried to protect the kids from Norma and herd them up the path to safety. In the process he slipped on a moss covered rock and sprained his knee.
Norma went after the nearest kid, focusing on a four-year-old named Becky. The tots couldn’t comprehend what had happened to their teacher. They didn’t know what to do, but instinctively followed Stu’s earlier instructions and stayed close to him. They became easy prey.
Teacher Norma killed Becky first, and fed on her little corpse until it reanimated. By now the kids were really confused and terrified at the same time. They huddled together beneath one of the many towering Douglas fir trees.
The undead woman and the recently reanimated Becky ruthlessly attacked the cowering four- and five-year-olds. In no time they were all dying or dead. Norma and Becky resumed chasing fish while the rest eventually turned.
During the murderous assault, Stu concealed himself as deep as he could in the green ferns beside the trail. He was unable to fit his whole body beneath the foliage but he waited, still and silent, hoping the zombie troop would leave the area. A dull throbbing in his knee was his undoing. Stu tried to straighten his leg ever so slowly to afford his tweaked knee some relief. I hope Norma leads those little monsters somewhere soon, he thought as he worked the kinks out of his muscles. Stu wondered why the creatures out there had seemingly forgotten all about him.
It started in the toes of his injured leg, a slight tingling that radiated up his Achilles tendon to his hamstring; it felt like the muscle was being twisted by a four hundred pound gorilla. White hot pain shot to his brain as his leg seized up on its own. It was the mother of all charley horses and Stu instinctively forced his leg to straighten. A rock the size of a golf ball squirted from under the waffled sole of his boot and rolled across the trail in the direction of the monsters, a handful of pebbles followed and skittered onto the path piquing their attention. Soon he was set upon by the undead kids; they started to eat him feet first. The little creatures looked like piglets lined up on the momma sow’s teats as they worked their heads back and forth removing the flesh from Stu’s legs. No one heard his screams echoing through the gorge as he bled to death in the underbrush. Stu reanimated minutes later.
Ike declined to shoot the Mossberg after the ass kicking it gave his brother. Cade went over the important aspects of safe shooting with the boy. Ike was in the process of aiming the Glock pistol at the water bottles Rawley had lined up, when in his peripheral vision he saw the first of the little walkers emerge from the trees near the bathrooms. It was a barefoot, towheaded boy, clothed in a blood drenched Thomas the Train shirt and muddy blue jeans.
Ike instantly forgot everything he had just been told, the gun in his hand automatically following his turning head.
Cade and Rawley backpedaled to get away from the moving muzzle.
By the time everyone was aware of the little zombies, they had all emerged from around both sides of the white bus. When they saw Ike and the others they started to moan and shamble directly for them.
As fast as his finger could pull the trigger, Ike emptied the seventeen bullets from the magazine. The reports echoed loudly, but unfortunately not one bullet found a target.
Leo and Ike each leapt on top of the nearest picnic table. Ike stared at the useless Glock with its slide locked open. The first of the ambling kids reached the table that Leo was on top of, moaning and hissing, its arms flailing, struggling to grab ahold of him. The little ghouls were much faster than the other walkers the group had encountered so far.
Rawley had a clear path to his truck; he sprinted to the passenger side door, jerked it open and lunged across the bench seat for his rifle. Cold little hands clutched onto his leg. Turning onto his back, he saw someone’s little undead angel about to bite him. Fortunately he was able to wedge the tip of his boot into her open mouth. He pressed the SKS barrel to the top of her head and watched the thing gnaw on his boot. Careful to aim up and away from his toes, he pulled the trigger once. The little forehead absorbed the bullet and the rear of its skull blew off, depositing chunks of brain on the ground. He used the smoking barrel of the SKS to pry the ghoul’s jaws open and extricate her teeth from his boot. A noticeable wet bite mark was left behind. Thank God for steel toed boots.
Cade methodically fired his M4 across the hood of his truck; precise headshots dropped two of the undead tots next to their preschool bus; three more fell at the trailhead.
Ike and Leo had each attracted two of the undead kids and were anxiously playing keep away from them atop the picnic tables.
Rawley painted the red laser beam on the two nearest to Ike. Careful to avoid friendly fire he shot one round at each of their little sk
ulls. One after the other they dropped to the grass. Blood leaked from the fatal head wounds and pooled around their bodies.
Ike leapt over another little walker; she turned a clumsy pirouette while groping at thin air. A short sprint and Ike was in the Sequoia unscathed.
Doing his best Walter Peyton impersonation, Leo hurdled over the zombies converging on him. He joined his brother in the Sequoia and slammed the door behind him.
“Where the eff did those things come from?”
“I don’t know, Ike, but even though Mom and Dad aren’t here you still have to watch your mouth.”
“I said eff, not the actual word.”
“You know what I mean little bro. I can’t believe we are arguing about some cursing when there are dead little kids walking around outside.” Leo continued on, making it clear he was the boss now. “Just don’t forget what they would expect from us now. If you do I will help you remember.”
Cade was in the process of reloading his M4 when the rest of the walkers made him their target.
Rawley started his Bronco, engaged the transmission, tromped the accelerator and aimed the truck at the group headed in Cade’s direction. Three of them disappeared underneath the front bumper, tiny limbs twisted askew before being brutally ejected out the back. Rawley wheeled around and drove over the top of the little corpses once more for good measure.
Cade finished reloading and started walking toward the vehicles. The tiny bodies strewn about the parking lot made for a grotesque obstacle course to negotiate.
“Thanks Rawley, those little ones sure do scoot, don’t they?” Cade said as he stepped over a mangled four-year-old. “We’re even now right?”
“You bet, buddy. I would be still holed up in my house… or something’s dinner if it weren’t for your help this morning. I am forever grateful.”
Chapter 148
Day 2 - Carolina Shores, South Carolina
Carl threaded the Escalade through the remaining undead roaming the Albertsons parking lot and then turned northeast on US Route 17.
Fort Bragg, North Carolina was roughly 150 miles away if they went via the large main thoroughfares. He decided to circumvent the populated ocean front by staying on back roads and then cross into North Carolina on one of the rural routes that were less likely to be blocked by the Carolina National Guard.
Raven was sitting up and taking in the scenery along Frontage Road. There were still pockets of undead but their numbers diminished the farther they traveled away from Myrtle Beach.
Carl swerved the SUV around the larger groups of undead but couldn’t resist giving the lone walkers “love taps” with the Escalade. Every thump of Cadillac and zombie colliding provided Carl a little satisfaction. After seeing the little car high centered with the occupants surrounded by the undead horde, Carl did his best to avoid running over any zombies lest they befall the same fate. Even though the Cadillac was much bigger and had more ground clearance, if enough of them went underneath and got stuck he would be forced to stop and clear them out. There was also the outside chance of a big femur or tibia bone puncturing one of the tires and forcing them to stop and try to put on the spare, potentially leaving them surrounded.
In his peripheral vision Carl noticed the sun flash off of the speeding car a second before impact. The interior of the Cadillac erupted with a whirlwind of flying glass and the horrible sound of compacting sheet metal. Before they could even comprehend what had just happened, the airbags exploded, leaving all of the windows obscured. The big luxury SUV spun three full revolutions before coming to a stop in the middle of the far right lane and then it rocked back and forth on its suspension for a short duration.
Carl came to. His head throbbed , his back was killing him and he had momentarily forgotten where he was. The silence was eerie. White powder from the deployed airbags swirled around his face reminding him of feathers floating in the air after a pillow fight.
Brook had taken a blow to the head when it bounced off of the passenger side glass. She was fortunate to have suffered only a mild concussion. Most of the windows were now in thousands of tiny pieces all over the road and the inside of the SUV.
Brook’s first instinct was to look for Raven. Her little girl was curled into a ball on the floor of the third row of seats. Raven coughed and called out for her mom.
In the seconds after impact Carl shook his head and felt his extremities checking for anything broken. Satisfied there weren’t any nonworking parts, he looked out through the imploded windows for any threats. A midsized, black 6 Series BMW sat fifty feet away leaking fluids, smoke starting to billow from the engine compartment.
As the airbag powder finished settling in the SUV’s interior, Carl asked his sister and niece if they were OK. Waving the dust from in front of her face, Brook replied, “I’ve had better days. My head really hurts.” From the back of the Escalade Raven continued calling for her mom. Brook unbuckled her belt and crawled into the backseat to reassure her daughter and check her over for injuries.
Still surveying the intersection, Carl noticed a handful of the undead on the other side of the now burning BMW. He turned his attention to the occupants of the car; the passenger had just started stirring. The driver was slumped over the deflated airbag.
“Brook, get Raven out and cover me with the shotgun. I’m going to check on those people,” Carl said, pointing towards the wreck.
He found that running wasn’t easy. The violent impact had caused his knees to knock together and they both hurt like hell.
Arriving at the Beemer’s passenger side Carl tried to open the door. It was jammed shut by the crumpled metal around the frame. The dazed passenger pleaded, “Save my wife, please!”
Carl circled the car, taking note of about a dozen walkers half a block away. One look at the woman in the driver’s seat said it all. Her head was misshapen and her skull was visible where her scalp had been peeled back; blood trickled from her ears and nose. He was about to make another effort to extricate the man when a whooshing sound and a blast of superheated air came from under the car, followed by angry flames licking up the doors.
Carl hobbled backwards, hands up warding off the intense heat and then rejoined his sister and niece. He watched the man in the BMW cross himself as the undead walkers arrived at the car. Oblivious to the searing heat they attacked the passenger’s head and upper body, rending chunks of flesh off of him with their teeth and hands. Fully aware of his fate, the man emitted a high pitched warbling howl that turned into shrieks as they continued ripping into him.
Taking advantage of the BMW occupant’s unwitting sacrifice, the three left the ruined SUV and made for the sprawling industrial buildings on the other side of the highway. Behind them a loud secondary explosion rocked the intersection, scattering and setting a number of the zombies afire. Still, a few of the walkers took chase.
Dodging the light traffic, they safely made their way across all six lanes. Carl held Raven’s hand as Brook lugged the shotgun and her shoulder bag. Some of the dead weren’t as lucky crossing the roadway. Looking back, Brook was relieved to see half of the pursuers get mowed down by a speeding passenger car.
A sign on the first building they happened upon read “Gunderson Tile Works.” The door was locked and the metal garage door was closed. On they went deeper into the business park, the undead still hunting them, their moaning and stench carried on the wind.
Brook rounded the corner and caught a whiff of rotten flesh. There was an undead man in coveralls sitting on its butt; it was holding a human leg and gnawing on the foot. Lying near the feeding ghoul was a one-legged corpse dressed in the same type of coveralls; the logo read “Grimes Heating and Cooling.”
The open garage door beckoned to the fleeing trio. The sign above also read “Grimes Heating and Cooling,” and in small print right below it read “Specializing in Rooftop Installation.”
Noise discipline went out the window; Brook shot the zombie in the face at pointblank range before it could stand up.
Everything evaporated from the neck up. The now decapitated corpse rolled over and lay unmoving next to its deceased co-worker.
Brook followed Carl and Raven into the building. Carl grabbed the chain next to the door and pulled it hand over hand until the door kissed the ground with a metallic clang.
“Raven, come this way and stay behind me,” Brook said while she felt for the light switch. The smell of death wasn’t as bad inside the building. Interior details emerged as their eyes adjusted to the dimly lit garage. Most of the bay was occupied by a very large, bright red, industrial truck with a forty foot cherry picker basket on top. The “Grimes Heating and Cooling” logo was painted on the truck’s door. Boxes were stacked everywhere. Some of the boxes were open revealing tin pipes used for HVAC installations.
Carl felt for the door knob and intuitively groped up and to the left for the light switch. With an audible click, then a hiss followed by a faint hum, the overhead fluorescents warmed up.
More was revealed. Heavily frosted skylights were spaced in intervals on the ceiling. A glass window with closed metal mini blinds was next to the closed office door. Around the back of the small office were two vending machines, one full of snacks and candy and the other containing cold beverages. A closed door presumably led deeper into the building.
Brook opened the breech of the Ithaca and replaced the spent round with a new 12 gauge shot shell. She then opened the door and cautiously ventured into what turned out to be a large storeroom, gun barrel leading the way. Satisfied the building was walker free, Brook sat down heavily on a plastic folding chair. Raven plopped on the floor by her feet, sighing loudly and laying her cheek on her mom’s thigh.
Brook asked Carl, “How long do you think we’re going to be safe in here?” As if in response to her question a series of loud bangs made her visibly jump. Her nerves shot, she flipped the source of the banging the finger. Raven whimpered.