Hearing the telltale shuffle of zombies, he looked up to see that he’d drawn the attention of a handful of the dead, so he put the truck in drive and hit the gas. He was surprised the truck was still running after taking such hard hits. With no windshield and with blood splatter all over everything, he decided to try to find another vehicle.
Max turned down the next side street with his headlights off and let the truck coast along slowly. He was looking for a house with a damaged front door or busted bay window with a car in the driveway. He figured he’d have easy access to a house, car keys, and a vehicle if he went for a house that the dead had already been through. About halfway down the street, he found what he was looking for. A newer oversized black truck was parked in the driveway of a house with an open front door and a broken living room window. He put the truck in park and quietly walked up the driveway. The front door was wide open and was smeared with dark, dried blood. He stood there for a moment listening for any sound coming from inside. Hearing nothing, he slowly stepped inside the house and paused again to make sure there was no noise coming from within. He was about to walk through the little foyer to start the search for keys when he noticed hooks hanging just inside the door. The keys for the truck hung from one of them. He sighed with relief at finally catching such a lucky break. Grabbing the keys, he walked back outside, unlocked the truck, and turned the key in the ignition. He wanted to make sure it ran before he transferred his supplies. It started right up and showed an almost full tank of gas. He walked back over to the mess that remained of Vince’s truck. He unloaded the three heavy backpacks and the two spare gas cans. He checked his surroundings then made two trips to load everything into the truck in the driveway. A few zombies were starting to stumble out of nearby houses and backyards, so he put the truck in gear and went on his way.
It was nearing four in the morning, and his eyes were tired. Damon hadn’t radioed, which meant that no one had come home. He had to keep going. There was a gas station coming up at the next main intersection. If the place looked clear, he was going to make a quick trip inside for some energy drinks. He turned off his headlights as he approached and saw that the gas station was surrounded by zombies. He immediately perked up and forgot how tired he was. About a hundred of the dead mindlessly circled and pushed against the building, which could only mean one thing. Someone was alive inside. He thought through his options quickly. He had more than enough ammo to kill a hundred of them, but they would reach his truck before he could take them all out. He could fire one of his guns, turn on his headlights and try to lead them off, but he wasn’t sure whether or not it would work. He figured he had one go at this. Then he had another idea. He glanced at the two full gas cans behind the passenger seat. He would draw the zombies out then start a fire to keep them occupied. If everything went according to plan, he could sneak back to the door of the gas station to check on whoever was trapped inside. It wasn’t a very detailed plan, and there was no guarantee that it would work, but he figured it was his best option.
Max pulled spare guns and ammo from one of the backpacks and laid everything out on the passenger seat within easy reach. He turned his headlights on, turned the CD player on full volume, and hit his horn. He fired a few shots in the general direction of the zombies, not concerning himself with headshots. Right now, he just wanted to get their attention. He pulled around the corner near the back of the gas station and quickly poured most of the contents of one of the gas cans on a couple of the trees that lined the rear of the parking lot. He poured the rest of the gas on the concrete leading away from the trees. He lit a cigarette, watched, and waited as the entire crowd slowly turned and headed toward him. The closest zombies would be on him in less than a minute. He reversed a few feet as more of them came around the sides from the front of the gas station. He killed the music, and the headlights, then tossed his zippo on the ground near the trees. The gasoline on the ground immediately caught fire, and he watched as the fire moved across the ground and through the parking lot in a line, then quickly spread to the trees. The zombies were all so focused on the bright fire dancing in the inky black sky that they forgot about Max as he slowly and quietly reversed into the street.
Max saw the fire spread to some surrounding trees, and although he hadn’t intended to set the neighborhood on fire, he watched as a garage just behind the trees went up in flames. Most of the dead were drawn to the fire. He turned the corner and slowly made his way to the front of the gas station, where only a half dozen of the dead remained. He pulled up close to the front door of the building before getting out. With his gun within easy reach in his holster, he held his Gerber knife in his right hand and rushed the first zombie. He thrust his knife through its ear before it even realized he was there. He made quick work of the second and third, but the last three were so close together they were nearly touching. He kicked the middle zombie in the knee to knock it to the ground and shoved the one on his left, causing it to stumble backward a couple of feet and giving him the time he needed to take out the one on the right. He grabbed it by its hair and stabbed his knife through its eye. As he pulled his knife back, the zombie on the left was nearly upon him, so he grabbed one of its reaching arms and jerked it sideways so he could thrust his knife into its ear. The last zombie was still trying to make its way back to its feet, so Max knelt down and quickly took it out.
He stood up and looked at the front door of the gas station. Most of the building was constructed of thick cinderblocks and cement, with the only windows being the doors themselves. Luckily for whoever was hidden inside, the zombies had been spread out around the entire building. If they had been focused on the doors, the sheer weight of so many bodies would have caused the glass to break. The door had to be pulled open from the outside, so the zombies hadn’t been able to open it. If it had been a push door, they would have been inside long before Max had ever stumbled upon them. He pulled the door, and it opened easily. Whoever was inside either hadn’t thought to lock it or hadn’t been able to. He quickly scanned the immediate area and saw a dead cashier on the ground behind the counter. Looking up and down the few center aisles, he didn’t see anyone alive or dead but saw smears of dried blood on the floor. He quietly walked along the outer wall to make sure he hadn’t missed anything, then turned toward the office, restrooms, and storage room. He cleared the restrooms first, finding two dead bodies in the men’s room. Both wore uniform shirts bearing the name of the gas station. One of the bodies was so badly mangled and had so much damage to its head that it hadn’t been able to reanimate. The other had a few bite marks on its arm, and a fatal bullet wound had nearly split its skull in half.
Moving on to the small storage room, Max quickly ascertained that it was empty of both the living and the dead. That left the office. Whoever was holed up in the building must still be barricaded inside of the office. He put his ear against the door but heard nothing.
“Camille?” Max said softly. He slowly turned the doorknob and pushed the door open, holding out hope that his daughter might be hidden inside. His eyes were immediately drawn to a body slumped over the desk. One arm hung limply over the side of the chair, and a gun lay on the floor less than a foot away. It was an older man who had probably been in his late fifties before he took his own life. His manner of dress suggested he was the owner of the gas station. A safe next to the desk stood open with easily visible cash, receipts, files of paperwork, and additional ammo meant for the handgun on the floor. Splattered blood on the desk and wall looked fresh. Max touched the man’s neck and found it to be slightly warm. Max’s shoulders slumped in disappointment. The man had been surrounded and must have given up hope only hours ago. It had all been a waste. The fuel for the fire, the burning distraction for the zombies outside, the risk Max had taken to try to help whoever had been trapped in the building. There was no sign of his daughter. He bent down to pick up the handgun off the floor and pocketed the extra ammo from the safe.
He needed to make a quick escape before th
e zombies lost interest in the fire he had set, or else he would find himself trapped inside the gas station. Max left the office and went back to the side of the store behind the cashier’s counter. He grabbed a few packs of cigarettes and quickly threw a half dozen energy drinks into a plastic bag.
A quick look outside showed a handful of zombies in the parking lot, but none anywhere near his truck. He pushed the door open, went outside, and got back into the truck.
Max turned out of the gas station and saw that the flames behind it had spread from the trees and garage to several houses during the time he’d been inside. Most of the zombies were still enthralled by the flames, allowing him an easy exit as he turned the corner to continue his search for his daughter.
Chapter 4
Night 3
Late into the evening, when it was fully dark outside, Michelle and Lucia had both fallen asleep after they’d sobbed endlessly over the loss of Jesse. Joey had shed a lot of tears with them and had tried his best to comfort them. He was the man of the family now, and he would do everything he could to protect his mom and his sister. He was relieved when they had fallen asleep, hoping that they would find an escape from the pain in their dreams, but he was still wide awake, so he quietly left the room.
Joey walked into the kitchen to find Damon comfortably and quietly talking to two strange men. A tall, muscular black man sat at the counter, and a much shorter and younger Hispanic guy stood near the sink. Both wore fire rescue t-shirts. Joey’s eyes met Damon’s, and his friend stopped talking, jumped up, and walked over to hug him. “I’m so sorry, Joey,” Damon said quietly as he held him in a tight grip. Joey nodded and let go.
“This is Frank and Junior,” Damon said as he made introductions. “They were trapped in their firetruck, and our dads saved them.”
“We’re so sorry about your dad, son,” Frank said as he shook Joey’s hand. “We wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for him.”
Joey wasn’t sure what to say to that, but he wasn’t surprised that his dad and Max saved some people on their way home.
“It’s good to meet you, Joey,” Junior said. “If there’s anything you need, you let me know.”
“Thank you,” Joey could see that both men were sincere, and he knew that his dad must have trusted them.
“There’s another guy, Vince. He’s out with my dad right now looking for Camille, my mom, and Emily,” Damon told Joey. He could tell that Joey wasn’t ready to mingle with new people. “You want to go do a perimeter check?”
“Yeah, let’s get going,” Joey said. He appreciated that there were more people there, presumably good people since Max had brought them home, and he knew there was safety in numbers. But talking to them was the last thing he felt like doing at that moment.
Frank and Junior could tell that the boys needed some space, so they excused themselves and said they were going to try to get some rest on the couches in the living room.
Damon and Joey kept their knives on them all the time, so they were ready to head out. They moved the duct tape and strip of curtain off the top corner of one of the windows near the front door to make sure the area was clear before they opened the door. Seeing nothing in the darkness, they removed the lift bar, opened the door, and climbed through the three iron bars installed across the doorway. They repeated the process on the screen door of the enclosed front porch then quietly closed it behind them.
Once outside, they stood still and scanned the yard in front of them. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, they moved to the side fence by the Wright’s house. Joey was grateful that Damon knew and understood that he didn’t feel like talking. Together, they hopped up onto oversized tree limbs hanging over the fence to see if things looked clear in the neighbor’s front yard. With the moonless night, visibility was incredibly limited. Seeing nothing, they moved on.
As they approached the front of the yard, the lingering smell from the horde that had passed by earlier that day was noxious. They climbed the wall near the front of the property to get a better look. Putrid blood covered the street, tree lawns, and sidewalk. Scattered rancid limbs, random shoes, and scraps of clothing were strewn about the street. The darkness was so complete that they couldn’t make out any details. They assumed bumps on the road were body parts and splotches were blood. There was a small bit of barely visible movement in the lane closest to them. It was a crawler. The zombie had no legs and was slowly pulling its torso along using only its mangled hands. Not worth bothering with, they left it and quietly moved to the other end of the brick wall.
Two zombies were stumbling around the front yard of a house two doors down across the street. Their moans were quiet but persistent.
“What do you think?” Joey asked Damon.
“I’d say take them out, but I’m betting they’re going to join the crawler. Maybe we should just let them pass,” Damon said. Normally, he would take out any nearby zombie, but these weren’t a threat, and they weren’t going to come near the house.
“They could be a problem later for your mom or dad, especially for Camille. If she’s making her way back here, you know she’s exhausted,” Joey said. He knew how to do things safely and normally wouldn’t put himself at unnecessary risk, but he wanted to kill them. He wanted to kill as many as he could because they killed his dad.
“You think so?” Damon whispered. The slow-moving crawler had moved a few feet closer up the road. He looked at Joey and knew that he needed a kill. “All right, let’s do this.”
“You take the crawler. I want the two shamblers,” Joey said firmly. Damon raised his eyebrows at that, and Joey nodded.
They hopped over the brick wall, and Damon walked quickly toward the crawler while Joey jogged toward the zombies across the street. The road was slick with blood, guts, and various detritus. Bones and bone fragments lay scattered like stones.
As Damon approached the crawler, he slid through a thick puddle of blood and nearly lost his footing. He righted himself, then bent down, grabbed the atrocity by its long hair, and plunged his knife through its eye. The putrid smell and obnoxious pop of the bloody, milky eyeball was something he would never get used to.
He looked up to see Joey slip and stumble over rotting flesh, blood, and entrails that were covering the sidewalk. He fell on his ass and let out a soft yelp. The two zombies in the front yard were now only a few feet away from the sidewalk. If the crawler hadn’t gotten their attention, the boys most definitely had. Their raspy moans grew louder as they closed in. Joey jumped to his feet and viciously thrust his knife through the eye of the closest one while throwing a high kick at the other's chest. It stumbled backward but stayed on its feet. Before Damon could do anything, Joey grabbed the second zombie by its close-cropped hair and plunged his knife through its ear.
Neither worse for wear other than Joey smelling like the dead, they huddled for a moment. “You okay, Joey?” Damon asked. “That fall looked painful.”
“I’m good. The fall just surprised me, is all,” Joey said. “Let’s get back over the wall.”
With no more zombies in sight, they carefully made their way back across the street and climbed back over the wall into Damon’s yard. They both felt a rush of adrenaline after killing the dead.
“Let’s finish the perimeter check,” Damon said. “Those neighbors are dead. My sister and my mom took them out.” He pointed to the neighbors on the other side of his house. He grew quiet for a moment, full of worry about his sister.
“Come on, let’s finish this,” Joey said. They hopped up to look over the fence now and then to make sure the neighbor's yard was clear. They passed the side of Damon’s house and started to check the rear of the yard. They were nearly at the end of the fence when they heard the telltale sound of zombies. They both quickly ducked down.
“There’s more than one, a few at least,” Damon said softly. He carefully climbed up to a tree branch so he could see. He held up six fingers to tell Joey what he saw. None of the zombies noticed him, but they were linge
ring on the backside of the fence.
“Six, we can do that,” Joey said, thinking carefully. “All bunched together?”
“Not that close, but close,” Damon said. “I think we have to. My parents and Camille think this yard is safe to cut through. If they try to come through here, they could get into trouble.”
“All right, we drop at the same time. I’ll go left, and you go right,” Joey whispered. He looked at Damon and could tell he was nervous, but they were both high on adrenaline. “Get ready.”
Damon climbed his tree, and Joey climbed the tree to the left. The zombies still hadn’t noticed them. With a quick nod, they jumped down. All six zombies immediately turned toward them. They were in a frenzy seeing two possible meals and stumbled into each other as four went after Damon and two went for Joey.
SUBURBAN JUNGLE: A Post Apocalyptic Zombie Survival Thriller (Chronicles of the Undead: Book 2) Page 3