Grundy glanced down and inhaled sharply, quickly stomping his black combat boot down onto the head of a small boy missing both legs and crawling closer. The head crunched beneath the heavy boot like an ostrich egg, squirting sticky goo in all directions.
Rob’s .38 special began dry-firing in Rachel’s sweaty hand. “I’m out!”
The gunshots puncturing the morning light began to wane as Hooper, Rory and Grundy began picking their targets more carefully, unable to afford a single errant shot. The sun finally found the flesh-eaters, illuminating every jagged gash and festering sore in dazzling color. They looked even more hideous in the sunlight, which Rory didn’t think was possible.
“Get tighter, people!” Grundy ordered.
The six survivors filed together, like straws in an old-fashioned soda-jerk dispenser, as the bloated cadavers stumbled from the water and trees, their numbers predictably refusing to die. Alex put his hands to his ears again as the chilling groans grew ever louder.
Rachel snatched her arm back from a man in a gray suit with a withered carnation still pinned to his left lapel. Rory blew a hole through the man’s forehead with one shot and quickly took aim on a North Dakota State Patrolman but Hooper reached out and yanked the cop to the ground before Rory could pull the trigger. Alex screamed and backed into a little girl wearing a springtime lavender dress and in desperate need of a new playmate. She latched onto Alex’s arm and pulled. Rory brought his gun around and removed her right eye, freeing Alex to scramble back to his mom’s side.
Rachel watched Hooper through terror filled eyes. “What’re you doing?”
The state trooper grunted and tried getting to his feet. Hooper pushed him back to the ground and stomped on his head several times, spraying their shoes and legs with more slime. When it was clear the thing was dead, Hooper reached down and grabbed the cop’s nine-millimeter from its holster and popped the clip. “It’s full!”
Major Grundy unloaded on the row of corpses climbing the hill from the side with the boat at the bottom. Most of the slugs didn’t get back up. With the cop’s gun in his left hand, Hooper addressed the macabre concerns on the other side of the hill. Gunshots peppered the air around them, startling a flock of crows into flight from a group of nearby Oaks.
Rory’s gun went dry first, soon followed by Grundy’s and Hooper’s.
Hooper threw the trooper’s gun into the horde and pulled out his station issued weapon. “Well, that was fun while it lasted,” he said, taking deliberate aim and firing headshots one at a time until his gun clicked dry.
“Now what?” Kourtney cried.
Grundy swung his heavy boot around with a high leg kick that found the head of an old lady wearing a beige dress with white tassels adorning the pockets. The boot connected with a loud crack that sent the old bag of bones hurtling sideways, her skirt flying up over head. “Start kicking!” he yelled, gasping for air and cocking another leg kick.
Rachel grabbed Rory’s arms and turned him to face her. “I just want you to know that…I never stopped...”
“Oh no, you’re not saying any last words!” he said, cutting her off and staring into her eyes that were so much bluer with the daylight. “We are going to get out of…”
Her lips pressed against his, smothering his retort and catching him by surprise. She threw her arms around his neck and pulled tighter as he kept his eyes on the surrounding carnage, his heart pounding in his chest. The dead things had taken a heavy toll, one he was tired of paying so he shut his eyes and hugged Rachel back, kissing her like a last visit before the long walk to an electric chair. Their lips mingled in the early morning light, the chorus of the dead all around them. Grudgingly, they parted and both inhaled deep breaths of rancid air.
Rory wiped dried blood from her ashen face and stared into her puffy eyes.
A smile slid across her wet cheeks. “I just want to make sure you know that I...”
“Big Bird 217 to Omega Delta-One, copy?”
Grundy snatched his radio. “Bout damn time!”
“Copy that, Delta-One. Three klicks out, over.”
Hooper grunted loudly, kicking a short man in his protruding beer belly, driving the man backwards and knocking loose the man’s brown toupee. Grundy yelled out when a fat lady grabbed his shoulder. He spun around and landed a superman punch right in her chops. She stumbled and regained her footing, spitting broken teeth to the roadway before shuffling closer.
“Shit!” Grundy bellowed, shaking his hand through the air like it was on fire. “I think I just broke my hand!”
Rory pushed Rachel aside and drove his fist into the nose of a skinny man about to grab Alex. The man’s face crumpled around Rory’s hand, which pulled back wet and smelly. He wrinkled his face and shook the goo from his hand as a silver haired man bear hugged him from behind. The Silver Fox opened his mouth wide and dropped both rows of decaying chompers onto Rory’s neck. Just before they punctured his skin, Alex shot the man in the eye, spinning him to ground where he slowly got to his knees. Rory kicked him in the head, shattering the man’s skull. Rory turned to Alex, who was still pointing his BB gun. “Nice shot, A-man!”
The moans grew louder. Closer. More of the cannibals hobbled from the floodwater and surrounding woods, moving in with a slow, yet determined, pace. Grundy elbowed a middle-aged soccer mom in the face, knocking her jaw to the ground. “This could be lights out London,” he panted.
“Wait!” Kourtney screamed. “Listen!”
Everyone pressed together, putting less than three feet of space between them and the extending fingertips of the reaching ghouls. The buzzing in the air grew louder. Closer.
“It’s the bird!” Grundy said, stretching a smile across his drawn face. His hand reached into a breast pocket and pulled out a mirror, which he used to reflect the eastern sun.
Rory turned back to the things, which were running out of steam just in the nick of time. Less than five more feet and most of the corpses would have hit pay dirt. The ones in the front turned back for the water, choking and grunting and puking along the way.
Hooper planted a boot in the face of a fat guy managing to get closer than the other shamblers.
“Hurry, T-Bird!” Grundy screamed into his radio.
Static flashed and then went silent. “Copy that, Delta-One. Big Bird is ten-ten on your side. Over.”
The Air Force helicopter lowered above them, its steel blades fanning the trees and their hair and clothes. Two men, dressed in dark green jumpsuits and holding machine guns, crouched in the open doorway and began picking off stiffs like it was just another day. One by one, the rotting corpses jerked to the ground and water without getting back up. The soldiers nailed headshots with pinpoint accuracy while the sunglass clad pilot kept the HH-60 rescue chopper hovering fifteen feet off the ground.
The pilot steadied the yoke, examining the sickening scene with a solemn expression gripping his face. “I tried to come earlier, Jack, but that was a negative,” he said thickly over Grundy’s radio.
“Just get us the hell outta here!” Grundy barked into the radio.
“That’s a big ten-four, over.”
The six survivors exhaled a collective breath as the dead fell around them. Their tight huddle loosened while a fresh breeze swept through the trees, briefly taking the smell of death with it.
“We made it, baby,” Kourtney muttered over and over, hugging Alex with everything she had.
Grundy chuckled as they made room for the chopper to touch down. “That’s some ankle bracelet.”
Rory followed the Major’s gaze to Powder Blue’s hand. “Souvenir.”
Grundy tilted his head back and released a booming laugh. “Let’s hope that’s the only thing you take back with you.”
Chapter Twenty-One
The helicopter’s deafening drone filled the small cabin as everyone sat quietly, trying to catch their breath and staring out the side windows. Just outside of Lake Darling, the flooding wasn’t near as bad. The swollen Mouse R
iver ran over its banks but didn’t get far. Grundy lit up another nasty smelling clove cigarette as Hooper wrapped his good arm around Kourtney and Alex.
“The lake feeds into the river,” a young black soldier yelled over the whirling blades. “That’s how they came into town!”
“How bad is it?” Rory shouted.
The soldier leaned forward, bouncing in his seat with some turbulence. “Not as bad as around the lake, but anytime you got dead people walking around…it’s bad!”
“Is it happening anywhere else?”
“That’s a negative.”
“Why here?” Woody asked.
The soldier shrugged like Woody had just asked him why the Cubs haven’t won a World Series in over a hundred years.
Rory grimaced and leaned his head against the headrest.
Rachel squeezed his hand and brushed her dry lips against his ear. “It’s going to be okay! I’m sure everyone is fine.”
He smiled thinly and squeezed her hand before turning back to the window. The lake slowly disappeared behind them, looking smaller than he had ever remembered it looking before. A few minutes later, he could see Minot sitting off in the distance, looking more like home than he had ever remembered it looking before. The spattering of houses encircled the downtown’s small cluster of tall buildings. An image of Woody - blood trickling from his ears - suddenly flashed through Rory’s mind. He tried to shake it from his head, but it stuck like glue, forever etched into his memory banks.
Grundy ashed his smoke onto the helicopter’s metal floor. “How many’d we lose, Wheeler?”
The soldier swallowed hard. “Nineteen, sir! Including those in your company. But all in all, it could’ve been a lot worse!”
Grundy took a long drag and turned back to the window with glassy eyes. “Could’ve been a lot better, too,” he said, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke into the cabin
Wheeler leaned in to Rory again and nodded. “Who’s your friend?”
Rory followed his gaze to the bony claw wrapped around his ankle and shook his head. “That’s a stage-five clinger.”
Wheeler laughed and sat back in his skinny seat. “I got one of them back home!” he shouted over the propellers. “Her name’s Lisa!” The soldier shifted in his harness and pulled a long knife from the front of his vest. He reached down and carefully inserted the blade between Rory’s leg and the dead hand. With a slight grunt, he twisted the blade. The hand’s thumb snapped off and dangled from a flap of clammy skin, releasing the pressure around Rory’s ankle. Wheeler jabbed the knife and brought it back up with the hand stuck to its tip like a scorpion in an Indiana Jones movie. He arched an eyebrow at Rory. “You want it?” he asked, shoving the blade towards him.
Rory held up a hand and leaned back into his bumpy seat.
Wheeler slid the large side door open, letting the wind blast through the cabin and making their ears pop. He steadied himself with a nylon loop hanging by the door and flicked Powder Blue’s hand from the blade, sending it hurtling back to Earth.
Rory bent over and rubbed his raw ankle, feeling as free as someone who had just had an electronic ankle bracelet removed. “Thanks!”
Wheeler fanned a hand through the air at him. “I wish Lisa was that easy to get rid of.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
The pilot sinuously set the helicopter down in the middle of the deserted parking lot. “How’s that for service?” he shouted over his shoulder, flipping some switches on the ceiling console. The long whirling blades fanned the inch or so of water covering the empty lot as Rachel, Rory and Major Grundy hopped out. They kept their heads down as they jogged across the soggy lot.
Connor stepped out onto the funeral home’s large front porch, a steaming mug in one hand and a curious look gripping his face. His white lab coat fluttered in the breeze as he took a long drag from a Marlboro 100, watching them through narrow eyes. Hesitantly, he waved to them while smoke slipped from his lips.
“Asshole!” Rory barked at him, continuing his jog across the wet pavement.
“Who’s that?” Grundy asked, trying to keep up.
Rory squinted at the two-story mint julep-colored house sitting across the street without responding. Other than the helicopter, it seemed quiet. The house’s windows and doors were still intact and no billowing smoke or wrecked cars sat piled in the front yard. It looked like any other sunny day.
Grundy stared at the classic house, its wraparound front porch a symbol of the American dream that would make anyone jealous. “That it?”
“Yep,” Rory replied, not slowing his gait. “Is the power out?”
“Only in a few spots.”
“What about the phones?” Rachel asked, matching Rory stride for stride.
“Negative.”
The helicopter’s roaring blades gradually winded down behind them as they crossed a two lane residential street called Meadowlark Drive. When they hit green grass, Grundy drew his weapon, wincing with the pain that shot through his right hand. He pointed the sidearm at the ground and scanned the house and yard with shifty eyes. Rory finally slowed his roll, drawing his gun and quickly remembering he was out of bullets. He shoved the cannon Doc had given him back into the holster and stopped on the sidewalk. “Why don’t you stay here while we go check it out.”
Rachel’s face twisted in the morning sunlight, creating dark wrinkles in her puffy skin. “Have you lost your mind?” she gasped. “I’m not staying here by myself!”
Rory sighed and looked over his shoulder at the helicopter where Kourtney and Alex were watching them with sunken eyes. Hooper flashed a thumbs-up with his good hand while Wheeler carefully placed his broken arm in a makeshift sling. Rory raised a hand into the air just as the front door to his house burst open. His head snapped around to the front porch almost as quickly as Grundy’s gun.
“Don’t shoot!” Laura cried, throwing her hands into the air and freezing on the white porch.
“Mom!”
Grundy hesitantly lowered his weapon and watched Rory sprint up the front steps and rush into Laura’s open arms, driving her back a couple steps. They embraced tightly. Tears rolled down Laura’s pallid cheeks, soaking her son’s shoulder. There was a ball of white tissue in one of her hands wrapped around his neck. Laura opened her eyes, her gaze landing on the Major. Grundy turned away and slowly holstered his weapon.
“I knew you were telling the truth,” she whispered in Rory’s ear, hugging him tight. “I just knew it.”
Rory pulled back and studied her carefully. Her black v-neck t-shirt and tight fitting jeans were dry and free of blood, no visible cuts or bruises anywhere on her body. The only sign of anything wrong were the pink running shoes on her feet. His mom would never be caught dead wearing running shoes with designer jeans and it made Rory’s heart race. He looked back into her watery eyes and swallowed hard. “Are you okay?”
She nodded and cupped his face in her cold hands, looking him over from top to bottom. “Are you?” she sniffled.
Rory exhaled a tired breath. “Woody’s dead.”
Her face fell, making her look much older than she really was. She stepped back, as if taking a heavy blow, and placed a hand over her heart. “No,” she said softly, reaching out and hugging him. “I’m so sorry, honey.”
“He saved our lives.”
She pulled back and stared at him with sad eyes, unsure what to say next. “I thought I’d never see you again,” she said, brushing something black and gooey from his hair.
The screen door squeaked open as a trim man with a full head of silver hair stepped out onto the porch, looking past Rory and Laura. A smile crept across his gristly cheeks as he let the screen door bang shut behind him.
“Dad!” Rachel shrieked, bounding across the plush yard and up the porch steps. She flew into his open arms, hugging him with all her strength. He leaned back and picked her up off her feet, twirling her around the shaded porch.
“Thank God you’re okay,” he said, burying his face in he
r neck and stroking her wet hair. “Thank God.”
Rachel turned on the water works, soaking her father’s yellow Polo shirt.
Rory puckered his brow and turned back to his mom.
She took a deep breath and swallowed dryly. “Christopher came over last night to make sure we were okay.” Her smile was tight and forced.
Rachel released her dad and stepped back, wiping tears from her eyes. “Where’s mom?”
Christopher stared at her with pitiful eyes and dropped his head.
Floodwater Zombies Page 24