Zomb-Pocalypse 2

by Megan Berry

  “I’d go for pizza too,” Ryan says, rubbing his flat belly. “All meat, loaded up with stuffed crust, and bread sticks,” he finishes, and my insides quiver at the thought of eating a hot slice of pizza again.

  All this talk about food makes me wonder what kind of food Ryan was eating in prison, before the zombies and his subsequent break out. You always hear horror stories…, but it doesn’t seem like the time to ask with Sunny and Silas around. I doubt it’s something he wants to share. Besides, I like him the way he is right now—smiling and happy.

  “It’s funny, I’m even craving macaroni and cheese,” I tell them and watch as they both make a face. “I know,” I agree, not sure why I’m thinking about the cheesy junk I couldn’t stand before…

  “You know, a box of macaroni isn’t beyond our culinary reach…” Silas says, and I realize with a start that he’s right. All we need to do is find a box and boil some water!

  “We’ll keep an eye out for you,” Ryan promises, and I smile at them both.

  It feels a little weird that we are all smiles this morning, but it’s just so nice to have a bit of a break from constantly running for our lives, fighting off the dead, someone stealing our truck, getting attacked by a pack of dogs... Not that we are completely safe now, but for once, things aren’t going completely sideways. We’re almost to the cabin, and I feel in my gut that Abby survived. This is the first moment since the beginning of all this mess that I’ve actually felt able to draw a breath.

  We don’t see much zombie activity as we drive, keeping to the country roads to put distance between us and the small towns that randomly dot the area. We pass the occasional group of zombies in the ditch, but they are way too slow to catch up. After a couple hours, my heart eventually stops leaping out of my chest every time we pass the ugly bastards.

  I get so good at tuning out the gruesome corpses outside my window that I don’t give the group on the road up ahead more than a cursory glance—until Silas slams on the brakes.

  “What are you doing?” I yelp, looking back over my shoulder to see how close the zombies are getting. They aren’t that far away!

  “There was something weird about that first zombie,” he says, intently staring out his window at the pack leader as it races up to the truck. The first zombie is dressed oddly. He’s dressed all in black, and he even has a little white clerical collar at his throat.

  “That front one’s a preacher,” Ryan says, looking a bit stunned. The zombie raises his arms and waves them around like crazy in the direction of the truck, making us all lean forward in surprise.

  On closer inspection, the guy is sweating like a pig in the heat of the noon sun, and the group behind him aren’t his pals, they’re chasing him. The preacher slips on some long grass and falls down.

  “He’s still alive,” Silas exclaims. The man struggles back up to his feet just as the closest zombie gets a little too close.

  Silas hits the door locks and jumps out, laying down some cover fire. The preacher ducks his head but doesn’t slow his pace as he makes his way for the truck. I watch the zombie right behind his shoulder go down with an exact bullet between the eyes. I think about getting out to help, but Silas has it covered, and I’d be no help anyway. The preacher opens the back door and flings himself inside when Ryan moves over to make room. Silas ducks back inside and quickly tucks his gun back into his belt.

  “Praise the Lord,” the sweaty preacher manages to get out, after a few moments spent huffing and puffing to catch his breath. “Thank you so much,” he pants, and none of us are quite sure what we should say. We stare at him like the oddity he is—a preacher roaming the countryside in the middle of a zombie outbreak. It’s kind of like seeing a fish walking around on legs!

  The first zombie reaches the truck and beats against the window, making Sunny wake up with a shriek. She looks blearily around. Her eyes land on the preacher, and she screams again.

  “It’s okay,” Ryan soothes her as Silas slams the truck into gear.

  We peel away, leaving behind a cloud of dust and a spray of loose gravel, and Sunny finally starts to calm down. I glance into the back and see the preacher eying Sunny as she sniffles and burrows her face into Ryan’s side.

  “You from around here?” Silas asks, obviously not feeling tongue-tied in the presence of a man of the cloth.

  “Yes, sir. Born and raised,” the preach replies, seeming weirdly chipper for a guy that was almost a zombies lunch. “Would you good folks mind giving me a lift back to my church?” he asks, and I’m surprised.

  “You’re holed up in a church?” Ryan asks, obviously feeling as curious as I am, and the preacher nods.

  “We sure are. It helps us feel closer to Him. The name’s Ted Danvers,” he reaches out to shake Ryan’s hand, but Ryan notices the zombie crud on his hand and pauses awkwardly.

  “Oops, sorry about that,” Ted Danvers says with an odd little laugh, and thankfully, for Ryan, he puts his hand down without insisting on the shake.

  “Is this church close by?” Silas asks, and I hope for Danvers’s sake it is. I don’t think Silas is above making a preacher walk back to his church through a zombie wasteland, if it goes too far out of his way.

  “Just back down the road a couple miles,” Ted says pleasantly as he points out the way. Silas doesn’t say anything, but he does turn the truck around.

  “Thank you!” Ted says gratefully, reaching up to loosen his collar. “I was out trying to gather supplies for my parishioners, and that group back there started to chase me.”

  “You have parishioners?” Silas asks, eying the new-comer in the rear-view mirror. Ted nods.

  “Plenty of them, they began to seek me out when they first saw the signs of the Rapture,” Silas snorts at this, and I quickly look back to see if his cynicism has offended the holy man. The guy is examining the back of Silas’s head with curiosity.

  “So where’s your bag, if you were out looking for supplies?” Silas asks suspiciously, and I almost open my mouth to shush Silas—not that it would do any good. I close my mouth and choose to say nothing…

  “I lost it back a ways when the dead started after me,” Danvers says smoothly, and we all fall back into an uncomfortable silence.

  “You kids all alone out here?” Danvers asks, causing Silas to look back at him sharply.

  “We can handle ourselves,” Silas spits, and the Preacher holds his hands up in mock surrender.

  “Never meant to imply otherwise, you obviously must have some skills to be surviving out here this long. You’re just awfully young—it’s a real shame…” The preacher trails off, and none of us say anything. “The church is right up here,” Danvers says, pointing toward the horizon where a big white steeple is visible.

  We pull into the driveway, and I can’t help but notice all the vehicles in the parking lot. He must have a ton of people in there to take care of.

  “Thank you very much, young people,” Danvers says with a smile as he sets his hand on the door, but he doesn’t actually get out and leave. “The Lord knew I was in need, and he sent you to my aid.” He reaches up and slaps Silas on the shoulder, making Silas stiffen at his touch.

  “You’re welcome,” I say politely when nobody else opens their mouth. I frown at Silas; these boys really need to work on their social skills.

  “Say, I have an idea. Why don’t you kids come on inside and take a rest from whatever it is you’re doing?” Silas is already shaking his head. “Break bread with me,” Danvers insists.

  “Sorry, but we have somewhere to be,” Silas says bluntly, and we all watch Danvers’ face fall.

  “Oh… alright then,” he says glumly, and I’m pretty sure we are going to Hell for hurting the feelings of a preacher. “I just wanted to let my parishioner’s thank you for helping me out. I know they would want to, and the church ladies always put on a great potluck…” he trails off and just sits there.

  “You getting out?” Silas asks rudely, and I actually blush. I want to get to t
he cabin too, but being rude to a man of God just seems so….wrong.

  “Maybe we could come in for a quick bite,” Ryan says finally after the man doesn’t seem to be making any effort to leave.

  “That would be lovely, young man,” the preacher beams.

  I glance around at all the cars that are parked haphazardly around the gravel parking lot. There doesn’t seem to be any zombies visible, but I’m a little concerned that some might come stumbling out from between the cars and surprise us.

  We all bail out of the truck, but Sunny hesitates, shrinking back against the seat when I try to give her a hand down. “I don’t want to go,” she says bluntly, and once again I’m jealous of the way she can just say exactly what she’s thinking—I don’t want to go either!

  “It’s okay, Sunny,” Ryan says cheerfully, “we are just going to meet some nice people, have some lunch, and then we’ll be right back in the truck.” Sunny still looks skeptical, but she reaches out and grabs Ryan’s hand with the blind trust that only children seem to possess.

  “Good, good,” the preacher exclaims loudly, rubbing his hands together excitedly. “It’s just right through here,” he says, motioning us toward the front steps.

  The church is quiet as we approach. Even though being quiet is a good policy whenever zombies are involved, the church almost seems too quiet for as many people as the cars in the parking lot suggest.

  “After you, dear,” Preacher Danvers motions to the door, and I realize that I’m in front of the pack. I throw the door open and step inside the dim church. Everyone follows me in, bumping into my back when I balk just inside the door.

  The smell hits us right away and we tense, all three of us going for the guns at our hips. A church full of living, breathing people should not smell like death. It’s so strong it makes me gag.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a deep voice bellows out, making my hand still just before I reach my gun, and I glance around quickly to see we are surrounded by three men, all pointing automatic weapons at us.

  “Son-of-a-bitch!” Silas spits as the men motion us to come deeper into the church and shut the door.

  Sunny lets out a whimper, and I wrap my arms around her shoulders. I want to tell her everything will be alright, but I can’t get the lie past my lips.

  We all turn to Danvers to see what he’s making of all this, but he doesn’t seem the least bit surprised, and now there’s a half-demented smile playing across his lips that definitely wasn’t there before.

  I see Silas’s hand inching towards his gun, but one of our captors sees it too and hits him hard with the butt of his rifle, right in the face. Silas goes down on his knees with a grunt of pain, blood running from his nose and trickling from a cut on his lip. Sunny starts to scream.

  One of the men looks like they’re going to hit Sunny too, but Ryan bravely steps in front of her, making the three men laugh, and I slap my hand across her mouth to try and get their attention off of her.

  A rather creepy looking individual with a bowl cut points his gun right in my face. “Don’t try being a hero,” he warns me, and I almost snicker. Me? Out of our entire group, I’m the one they pinpoint as being the badass that might mastermind some daring escape? Not likely.

  “Take off that belt,” another guy demands, making me feel the furthest thing from laughing, as all my heavy weapons are yanked roughly from my waist and tossed to another guy who starts pawing through it right away.

  I feel exposed and helpless without my belt, and the smell of rotting corpses does nothing to reassure me that this isn’t the end. I can’t help but freak out, wondering if these guys are going to feed us to some pet zombies or something equally as horrible.

  They press a wicked looking gun into Silas’s back, and he grudgingly gets to his feet and hands over his own knives and guns, then Ryan next. They even search Sunny, though she doesn’t carry a weapon.

  I want to scream in anger when they use itchy rope to tie my hands behind my back and pat me down once more, far more thoroughly than needed.

  When they are finished binding us all up tighter than a trussed up turkey on Thanksgiving, they open a door and shove us inside. It’s dark, but slowly, I begin to make out the shapes of rows of pews.

  My heart pounds so hard in my chest that I’m worried I won’t be able to hear any zombies shuffle up. My eyes search the darkness, trying to make out the shape of anything lurking in the dark. I don’t think there is anything, nothing has attacked us yet, but I can’t be sure. The smell of rot and death persists, and Silas goes and sits down heavily on one of the hard, wooden benches.

  “What are we going to do?” I ask in a whisper, trying to keep the panic from my voice, but it comes out all tight and squeaky.

  “We need to figure out a way to get out of here,” Silas says, looking around for anything he can use to escape. I’m not sure if he can see much though, because I sure can’t.

  “We should’ve let the zombies eat that son-of-a-bitch!” Silas curses, and I wish we could go back and change things too.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “What are they gonna do to us?” Sunny asks tearfully, and I don’t know how to answer—nothing, I hope.

  “They aren’t going to do anything,” Silas interrupts, surprising me that he’s taking the time to reassure the little girl. “We’re getting out of here.”

  I look around the room. There doesn’t seem to be any obvious escape routes. There are a couple stained glass windows that let a tiny bit of light filter through, but they are small and located too close to the ceiling for us to climb out.

  It’s ironic that one of the things that makes this church so secure from the dead is the same reason we won’t be able to escape.

  I struggle against the rope that’s wrapped so tightly around my wrists. It instantly starts to rub and chafe uncomfortably, but I try to ignore the sting and keep tugging.

  “Blondie,” Silas calls quietly, coming up beside me. I look up at him in the semi-lit darkness. My eyes are finally starting to adjust, and I can see a little better. Silas looks grim.

  “Reach inside my jacket, the inside pocket on the right,” Silas tells me, and I wrinkle my nose at him.

  “Why?” I demand, hear him let out an impatient breath.

  “I have a knife in there that they didn’t find,” he whispers, and his words make my heart leap inside my chest. My hands are behind my back like everyone else’s, and I have to do some twisty maneuvers so my back is to Silas. I shake out my fingers to try and ward off the numbness that’s starting to creep up into my blood-deprived digits, so it isn’t with a lot of grace that I force my hands roughly into Silas’s pocket. He’s tall, and the angles are all wrong. My hands fumble around, and I can feel the hardness of the handle amid the fabric, but I can’t actually grab it.

  “Just relax and take your time,” Silas murmurs soothingly in my ear, which seems crazy since we’re being held captive by a bunch of lunatics, and time is of the essence! “Breathe,” he commands when I attempt my uncoordinated attack once more.

  I wipe away an angry tear, it’s so frustrating that such a simple task is so difficult for me, especially now when it matters so much.

  I stop my exploration by brute force and pause to take a deep breath like Silas suggested. I feel hot and sticky with sweat and fear, and I’m sure I don’t smell the best either. I gently move my fingers to feel the edge of his pocket and then concentrate on dipping my hand inside. My thumb brushes against the knife, and I get excited and lose contact again.

  “Almost had it,” Silas confirms as I pull back for a moment to regroup, panting, and my wrists burning like they’re on fire. I turn around and look at Silas as an idea strikes me. He’s looking back at me calmly, totally uncharacteristic for Silas—but he probably realizes that freaking out at me right now will only make me more nervous and inept.

  “I have an idea,” I whisper and feel my face flush a little. It’s weird enough that it might just work. Sunny and Ryan
are watching us now, which makes me feel even jumpier, but this is life and death, and I have to push all the other dumb teenager stuff aside.

  “Try to hold still,” I tell him as I take a step closer and use my head instead of my hands. It’s odd, and the thick jacket covering my face, makes me sweat worse as I press my forehead into Silas’s rib cage and try to locate his pocket with my mouth. I can hear the crazy beat of his heart hammering away, and now I know that as calm as Silas is acting, he’s secretly tripping balls right now too.

  I find his pocket by using my tongue to locate the opening—gross, I know—only it doesn’t seem that gross. Thankfully, his coat is new and clean of any zombie guts, and the inside of his jacket smells like Silas, fresh soap and outdoorsy. I get a good grip on the pocket with my teeth after realizing it’s too small for me to slip my whole face inside. I bite down hard and pull with everything I have.

  I feel Silas sway towards me a little, but he rights himself quickly and stands his ground, and finally I hear the most joyous sound of my life: the fabric tearing. I feel the knife about to fall, so I press my chin into Silas’s ribcage to pin it down. I hear him let out a little squeak, and his entire body shudders, and despite the seriousness of the situation, I smile a little and tuck the information away for another day. Silas is ticklish.

  I feel the knife slip, and I wipe the stupid grin off my face and slowly nudge the pocket knife along until I’ve got it clamped between my teeth. I straighten up, feeling a surge of elation, and Silas motions me towards one of the pews.

  “Set it down there on the seat,” he tells me, and I eagerly jog over to carefully drop it where he instructed.

  Silas sits down and manages to get a hold of the knife with his bound hands. Then we all sit for ten minutes, with our breath held, while he tries to cut himself loose.

  It’s very anti-climactic watching him. He’s tied so tightly that he doesn’t even look like he’s doing anything other than sitting on the bench. I hear him grunt in pain, and move in closer out of concern. I’m close enough that I can see the beads of sweat popping out on Silas’s forehead. It seems like an eternity before he stands up and pulls his hands from behind his back.