Floodwater Zombies

by Sean Thomas Fisher

Chapter Eighteen

  Hooper leaned against the wall with his arm wrapped around Kourtney, his wet t-shirt clinging to his body. It was hard to tell if she was still crying with the rain running down her cheeks but she had finally grown quiet. Alex buried himself into her side and brazenly refused to shed another tear. Rory glanced at the large vents in the center of the roof where he and Hooper had dragged Doc’s body so Alex and Kourtney wouldn’t have to look at it. The clawing limbs at the shaking door, however, were still in perfect view, a constant reminder of how much things had changed in such a short span of time. Hooper refused to let the door out of his sight. If the chair collapsed he wanted to be the first to know about it.

  Rory stuffed his cell phone back in his pocket and sighed.

  “I don’t know why you keep checking that thing,” Rachel said, leaning against the wall next to him. “Even if it did pick up a signal, no one is going to be able to reach us.”

  He leaned his head against the wall and let the rainfall cascade down his face. The feeling of taking a breather when death was literally knocking at the door was surreal. They needed a plan and needed it fast, but right now everything seemed like it was moving in slow motion. Even the gnarled hands, scraping at the air, moved with grace in Rory’s mind. His adrenaline had fled, leaving him feeling sluggish and hopeless.

  “Not without a helicopter anyway,” Rachel continued, staring blankly at her outstretched shoes she had borrowed from Rory’s mom. “Even then, there’s nowhere to land it.”

  Rory let his eyes travel down the wall to Hooper, Kourtney and Alex. He never imagined this is how it would end. A car accident, yes. Attacked by zombies on Doc’s rooftop, no. The worst part about it was having too much time to think. At least a fatal car accident would, most likely, be quick and painless. This was torture. Ultimately, he preferred the idea of meeting his maker at the wrinkled hands of old age, not his dead best friend. The only thing he knew for sure was he wasn’t going out like Mick. If this was his time to die then so be it, but he was going to fight it tooth and nail until the bitter end.

  Rachel took his hand and squeezed. Her skin was cold and gray. “Are you okay?”

  Rory’s eyes came back into focus. He nodded and carefully poked his head up over the edge of the wall again and squinted through the rain. The boat was still idling with a throaty grumble in the rising floodwater below, clear of the swimming dead for now. Most of the ghouls were either already inside the bar or had moved on to deeper pastures. A fat man swam out of the trees and smacked into the back of the boat with a dull thud. He stumbled to his feet, struggling to maintain his balance in the murky water rushing just beneath his leather belt. His black suit and tie made him look like something out of an old black and white comedy. Rory watched him stagger around the boat and stop. His soulless eyes studied the broken window, seeming to debate the best spot to squeeze his wide frame into the bar.

  “Where do they keep coming from?” Rachel whispered, peeking over the edge and blinking water from her eyelashes.

  “The lake, I guess.”

  “But why are they in the lake in the first place?”

  Rory shook his head, the snarling grunts behind them making it difficult to think. “Someone had to of dumped the bodies in the lake.”

  “But who would…” She trailed off and met his serendipitous gaze.

  “The funeral home,” they said at the same time.

  “That would explain the soggy formal wear,” Rory said.

  “But why?”

  His gaze wandered to the door, the rain chilling his core while his mind finally found some traction. “They never buried the bodies.”

  Rachel followed his gaze to the reaching arms. “Why wouldn’t they bury the bodies?” she asked softly.

  He shook his head and peered back over the wall. “Maybe someone wants to build a housing development on Rosehill Memorial.”

  Her face soured. “The cemetery?”

  “At this point, anything’s possible.”

  She looked back to the boat, peeking over the wall with him. “Can we get to it?”

  Rory’s eyes darted to the cherry-colored ski boat. It was rapidly filling with rain and if they waited much longer it would be as useless as Hooper’s Dodge Charger. “If we jam it in reverse it should free itself from the window.”

  Rachel licked rainwater from her red lips. “What if it doesn’t?”

  He was about to answer when a gray haired man in a blue kayak came paddling down the flooded highway, happily whistling Camptown Races with half a dozen ghouls hot on his tail. The stiffs swam face down, arms at their sides, wiggling their ragged bodies back and forth through the water like hungry bull sharks. Their slick speed was gut-wrenching. Rory grabbed Rachel’s arm as she stood up to flag the man down. The fat stiff behind the boat snapped his eyes up to them, causing Rory’s heart to jump into his throat. He pulled her back down behind the wall as the kayaker’s cheery tune faded off into the distance. Hooper cast a sideways look their direction and Rory let out a long breath. “Okay, that was weird.”

  She stared blankly at the decaying hands reaching through the cracked rooftop door. The corpses’ incessant moaning blended with the rain, producing the perfect Halloween soundtrack. “He looked like he didn’t even know those things were right behind him,” she said faintly.

  “Or care.” Rory met her glassy eyes before poking his head up over the wall again. The fat man in the suit was gone, the boat still rumbling.

  “I say we go for it,” Rachel whispered, peering over the edge with him.

  Rory ducked back down and leaned against the wall. “The trick is going to be getting five people into the boat, one at a time, before those things realize we’re in it,” he whispered.

  “I just don’t get why this is happening. Why here?” they heard Kourtney moan.

  Rachel shivered in the rain and leaned in closer to Rory. “How far of a drop is it?”

  “Not that far. Maybe ten feet,” he said, staring at the dead hand clamped around his ankle.

  Hooper snorted. “You’re gonna need a crowbar for that thing!”

  Alex leaned forward, his eyes wrapped in wonder. “Can I touch it?”

  “No!” Kourtney said, pulling his arm back.

  A thunderous crack startled them. They turned to see Woody spill out onto the rooftop, the door swinging wide open and the chair lying on its back with bent legs. Woody stopped on wobbly legs that were so long it looked like he was on stilts. He stared off into the nearby Elms and Maples as the dead poured from the cramped stairwell behind him. Slowly, Woody rotated his head around until his gaunt eyes found Rory and the others.

  “Oh great,” Hooper mumbled, his jaw dropping at the gashes covering Woody’s face and bare chest. Blood mixed with the rain and ran into the waistband of Woody’s board shorts, turning them a crimson brown. He grunted and began shuffling closer, his arms reaching for them as the other rotting corpses followed his lead.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Hooper shot Woody in the face, dropping him like a fly against a window. Rory grimaced and climbed over the wall, putting what little plan they had into action. He took one last look at his childhood friend’s lifeless body and let go, landing in the ski boat with a violent splash. He shook water from his face and looked up to see Rachel climbing over the wall. Rory got to his feet and was about to yell for her to jump when he heard a shrill cry from inside the bar. He ducked down and peered over the driver’s seat. Things looked much worse from this level, making him doubt the plan altogether.

  The floodwater had risen to the windows of Hooper’s patrol car, rendering anything that wasn’t a boat useless. If the ski boat wouldn’t come free, it was game over. The throaty exhaust continued its low rumble, which had fortunately been enough noise – combined with the heavy rain - to mask his splashing fall. Rory felt the heady horsepower running through the narrow floorboard, tickling his feet as more gunshots rang out on the rooftop above. He looked up just in time to see Rach
el’s plummeting body. She fell into his arms and drove him hard into a red and white striped seat. The gun tucked into the small of her back gouged his stomach and drew blood. He didn’t have time to notice. Hooper was already leaning over the wall with Alex ready to drop next.

  Rachel and Rory sprang to their feet, nearly knee deep in water, and heard Kourtney shooting her dad’s gun. Rory gestured with both hands for the sheriff to let go. Hooper said something only Alex could hear and released him. They caught him in their outstretched arms and quickly deposited him into the back of the boat, where he immediately drew his BB gun and began keeping an enthusiastic lookout.

  Rory glanced inside the bar. It was dark and quiet. Gunshots pulled his attention back to the roof where Kourtney was now hanging by her fingernails. There were more shots and Kourtney couldn’t hold on any longer. With some help from the water and the padded seats, they broke her fall as much as they could. She splashed down and quickly hopped into the back and hugged Alex tight. Suddenly, Hooper landed in the middle of the boat with a loud crack. His shooting arm snapped between the wrist and elbow when it caught the edge of the boat’s windshield. He threw his head back and screamed, clutching his right arm. “Go!” he bellowed, staring up at the things climbing over the rooftop wall.

  Chapter Twenty

  Rory jammed the throttle in reverse, praying it wouldn’t stall. The motor whined, sending plumes of white smoke coughing out the stern. The boat backfired, its loud pop blending with the gunfire going off around him, and lurched backwards but remained stuck in the window frame. Rory let up on the throttle. Several drenched heads inside the bar lethargically turned to the boat at the same time, the parking lot light glinting off their eyes. “Oh crap,” he mumbled dully, yanking the throttle backwards and sucking the stubborn wall outward. The boat thrashed from side to side like a great white after wedging itself in a shark cage while trying to eat the divers inside.

  “You gotta rock it!” Hooper yelled over the throaty inboard, aiming his gun with a shaky left hand at the things coming out of the bar.

  “Hurry!” Alex screamed, trying to melt into a vinyl bench seat in the back with his mom.

  A heavy-set lady with gray curls and a denim dress dropped out of the sky and landed on the passenger seat with a volcanic splash, making the boat dip. She got to her bare feet, studying them with ravenous eyes that were black as a snowman’s. Hooper fired the gun and missed her wide frame completely. The lady growled at him and turned back to Rory, snatching his arm with a mushy, yet firm grip. Instinctively, he elbowed her in the face, knocking her back into the passenger seat. She sneered, exposing a mouthful of blood smeared teeth, and bull rushed him. He fumbled his gun from its holster. Before its barrel was free, a gunshot exploded in his ear, sending a bullet slamming through her nose. The fat lady flipped backwards over the edge of the boat and splashed into the water like a Honolulu cliff diver.

  Rory twisted his neck around to see Rachel lower Rob’s .38, a slight grin creeping across her face. “Nice shot!” he said, punching the throttle again. The boat rocked back and forth as zombies wiggled free of the bar’s broken window.

  Kourtney shot a man - clad in a black tuxedo - climbing up the side of the boat. He splashed into the murky water and sank out of sight. Rory’s breath hitched when he saw all of the rotting corpses swimming out of the nearby woods, closing in from all sides. It was now or never. He shoved the throttle forward and gave it gas. The bar’s window frame groaned as the boat pushed back into the bar. Sets of decomposing hands began slapping down all around the boat’s edge. Rory jammed the throttle into reverse again. The boat jerked from side to side in the sticky window frame, rolling smoke making it difficult to see any of the ghouls pulling themselves aboard until it was nearly too late.

  A skinny man with a receding hairline and red bowtie clumsily flopped into the boat and got to his brown penny loafers. Hooper pulled the trigger but the bullet missed its mark, breaking out the bar’s glass front door instead, allowing the stiffs to get out that much quicker. Kourtney blew the head off a one-eyed fireman climbing up the boat’s rear ladder while Rachel shot the man with the bowtie in the head, sending him hurtling back into the water. She turned the gun on a short woman approaching the side of the boat and blew a hole through her stomach. Intestines unraveled into the water and floated around her waistline, barely slowing her progress. Surrounded by her own waste, she hobbled to the side of the boat and grabbed the edge. Hooper pulled the trigger again, this time clipping a war veteran in the left arm. The man jerked backwards and kept climbing over the front end of the boat with a sinister grin slicing through his decaying cheeks. Rachel kicked him in the face and sent him back into the rising water.

  Rory let up on the throttle. “Hang on!” he yelled over the gunshots and driving rain, hitting the throttle again. The boat responded with a series of violent spasms, the engine whining so loudly Rory was certain it would blow. The corpses surrounded the ski boat, easily outnumbering the ammunition onboard. A man in a cheap insurance salesman suit and tie reached over the side and grabbed Rory’s right wrist. Rory recoiled in surprise and grabbed the gun from his right hand and shot the man in the face with his left hand. In a heartbeat, the man back flopped into the deluge of fresh water. Rory got into the gas again, relieved to see the man’s hand hadn’t stayed clamped around his wrist.

  With one last shudder, the boat dislodged from the bar with a bone chilling screech, jumping backwards and throwing Rachel forward. She fell and hit her forehead on the boat’s steering wheel but quickly regained her balance. Rory looked over his shoulder and kept the throttle down, using the spinning prop as a deadly weapon. The engine sputtered as the blade shredded waterlogged flesh-eaters into pieces and evened out once free of their bones, turning the wake a thick red, littered with mangled arms and legs spilling out the bow. Rory let up on the gas and cranked the wheel to the right, sending the front end sliding smoothly to the left. This wasn’t his first time driving a boat but if he wasn’t careful it might be his last.

  He yanked his gun from its nylon holster and sunk a round into the neck of a teenager pulling himself over the front edge of the boat. The bullet entered right where the teen had tattooed someone’s name in cursive across his neck. His head flew off and hit a short man in the face behind him. The teen’s headless body hung limply over the edge, pouring a chunky dark liquid into the water splashing about the inside of the boat. Rory jammed the throttle forward, the gun still in his hand. Gunshots peppered the air around him as he steered towards the flooded highway, taking out bloated carcasses with the boat and his gun as they went. Dull thuds assaulted the sides of the newer ski boat but didn’t impede its momentum up the small hill to US Highway Ten. The motor revved as the boat climbed the short embankment and slipped into a stream of water rushing to their right.

  The gunshots ceased and Rory looked back to see the stiffs stop swimming and get to their feet. They stood there swaying with the water and staring longingly after the boat for a moment before languidly returning to Doc’s Bar & Grill for other prospects. “Hope you like candy bars!” Rory laughed and returned his attention to the flooded highway, the wind whipping through his hair while the reanimated corpses faded further into the background. “We made it!”

  The group of ragged survivors laughed, hugged and cried, relishing in a miraculous victory that had come at the sacrifice of so many. Rory wasn’t sure if the tears rolling down his cheeks were from the wind or because Woody wasn’t there to celebrate this second chance. Either way, Rory would never take another minute of life for granted. Never take another person for granted. Life was too short to waste living through a computer, or phony reality shows. Today, he would start living life with other people. He turned to Rachel and smiled. She hugged him again just as the bearded man exploded out of the water up ahead.

  The monster’s skinny black tie looked like it was strangling him but his cavernous eyes remained fixed on the boat. Rory dropped his smile and let up on th
e throttle while Rachel screamed. The man spread his meaty arms, readying himself to catch the boat with a pose more fitting for Superman. “Fuck this,” Rory muttered, narrowing his eyes and pressing on the throttle. The engine wound tighter as the boat picked up speed. Hooper screamed Rory’s name just before they smashed into the hulking stiff with a jolting bang that threw everyone forward in their seats. Unlike Superman, the bearded stiff quickly disappeared from view. They felt his body bounce along the underside of the hull, the motor sputtering when the prop found the man and sliced him into pieces. For a split second, Rory thought the high-performance engine would stall. And then it did.

  Silence swooped in around them, interrupted only by the cries of some nearby crows as they lazily drifted down the highway. Rory twisted the key and the engine turned over, spitting white clouds out the back end, but wouldn’t catch. He let up on the key, wary of burning out the starter and hoping it was just flooded and needed a minute to catch its breath, like the rest of them.

  “Where’d he go?” Rachel cried, her eyes nervously darting back and forth across the dark water surrounding them, the .38 in her hand.