It just seemed so stupid to go out like this. To have such a simple thing, a door locked by a couple of frightened kids, be their downfall.
The mattress below was slowly being shredded. The screaming horde would tear it apart inch by inch until they got to the stacks of tumbled furniture and start tearing it apart one piece at a time.
By then, the boys would be taking careful aim at heads and stacking up corpses for the rest of them to have to tear their way through but they would. Slowly but inevitably, they would make it through all barriers placed in their way.
There was no running water, but the fresh water tank on the back of the toilet had a good four gallons in it and they all took turns, drinking thirstily from the toothbrush cup.
Mary had finished her sign printed in simple words on the backs of animal posters that had been hanging on the wall. The kids were out of sight and hiding, waiting for rescue.
They had all circled around the upstairs rooms more than once, looking for a way out. The closest house was too far away to jump. Wishing for a helicopter didn’t seem to be doing any good.
Mary had apologized so often and with such heartfelt sorrow, they all felt bad about blaming her and kept telling her it wasn’t her fault, each one trying to come up with some way the whole fiasco was all their doing and the responsibility should be placed squarely on their shoulders.
The boys kept trying to outdo one another to take the blame and some of the reasons were bordering on ridiculous. Especially Stabby’s. He had declared he was completely at fault because he had been distracted by the three Indians in silver tennis shoes teaching him sign language. As they quietly laughed at his antics, he suddenly stopped.
“Attic,” he said.
“I looked. There isn’t one.” Lars said, realigning his magazines for the hundredth time on a night stand.
“Course there’s one,” Stabby said. “This roof ain’t flat now is it?”
“He’s right,” Gunny said and sprang up from sharpening his Gerber.
Chapter 29
Gunny jumped up on the narrow banister at the head of the stairwell and balanced himself with one hand on the decorative newel post going up to the ceiling. He poked his Gerber through the drywall over his head. He smiled down at them then started tearing out chunks of it, making a hole wide enough to fit through the two by sixes it was nailed to. It really wasn’t an attic, just an insulated crawl space only about four feet tall in the center. It would be hot and itchy with all the open batted insulation but it was better than being dinner for a party of two hundred.
“It’s good.” He called down over the snarls and howls of the zombies. “Hurry and get up here before they break through. Maybe they’ll give up if they don’t find us.”
One by one, they scrambled up the narrow opening with helping hands from above and below until the last man was up and they covered the hole the best they could with strips of insulation.
The zombies were still battling each other and the stacked furniture, trying to get through but they were packed so tightly, forward progress had nearly ground to a halt. With the ninety degree turn in the landing, the crush of bodies from below couldn’t force through the improvised barrier. They were pushing against the support wall of the house, not the flimsy wall of cheap wood from heaped furniture.
“Maybe should have stayed down there a bit longer.” Scratch grumbled. “It’ll take them days to get through. And I’m allergic to fiberglass.”
“Nah, Mate,” Stabby said. “It’ll go like a dam bursting. Once they get a hand hold of a chair leg or sumpin’, it’ll all come crashing down.”
Gunny hunchbacked his way over to the end of the roof and tried to see out of the aluminum gable vent. It was futile, all he could do was look down at the ground the way the slats were. He pulled his knife out again and started working it around the edges, bending the soft aluminum frame away from the screws that had been shot into it years ago. It was slow work if he didn’t want to make a lot of noise but there was nothing else to do. One more avenue of escape, another chance to live five more minutes if they got out on the roof.
They hadn’t been up there for more than half an hour or so and Scratch announced he had to take a dump.
“You couldn’t have gone before?” Lars asked, working on the other gable end of the house.
“Please tell me you can hold it,” Stabby said. “I don’t want to be smelling Martha’s cooking coming out your backside.”
“I’m going back down.” Scratch said. “I ain’t planning on squatting up here with you clowns.”
They pulled the insulation back from the hole in the ceiling but what they saw stopped them. Hands had finally pulled the mattress apart enough to reach through, and they were scrabbling for anything to grab. The first of them was halfway through the pile, pulling and fighting its way to the top of the stairs.
“Crap.” Scratch said and quietly put the insulation back. Stabby snickered at his choice of words and got the bird flipped at him for his troubles. “I really gotta go, Man.” Scratch whispered, cutting a glance towards Mary who was sitting next to her husband a few feet away. Calm now, talking quietly with Firecracker.
Gunny hunchbacked his way back over to the group. “Plan B.” he announced
“I thought retreating to the house was plan B.” Scratch said.
“Okay, Plan C then.” Gunny started but was interrupted by Stabby
“Wasn’t Plan C barricading ourselves upstairs?”
“Fine.” Gunny tried again, getting exasperated “Plan D.”
“Thought that was climbing up here.” Lars chimed in, the three boys grinning.
“Would you friggin morons shut the hell up?” Gunny growled. “Next time I’m bringing Bastille and Bunny with me! Better than you useless tits.”
That got them chuckling and Scratch finally got serious. “What’s up, Boss?”
“The electric and phone lines run right over the top of the truck,” he said “All I have to do is shimmy out there on them, drop down on the roof, get in on the driver’s side and lead this pack off. If you stay quiet, they should all chase the truck. I’ll get turned around up the road, do the zombie snowplow thing and pull up next to the porch. You guys just hop over and climb in. Can of corn.”
“A what?” Stabby asked
“Hillbilly Vernacular for easy as pie.” Scratch said
They were looking at him like he’d lost his mind. “You got a better idea? Wanna stay up here and smell what Scratch is planning on leaving for us over in the corner?”
That got them falling all over themselves agreeing that it was a genius plan, best one ever, it should have been Plan A all along, and they started duck walking their way over to the end of the house.
They climbed out onto the roof as quietly as they could, the milling crowd around the house never looking up. Now that he was out here and looking at it, Gunny was having second thoughts about his idea. He wondered how long the horde would stay gathered around the house before they wandered off. Basing what he knew about them from the three days at the truck stop, probably never unless they were drawn away by something. He wasn’t going to stay cooped up in an attic for days with no water in the hopes they would wander off on their own.
If they didn’t, they would be doing this same thing in a few days but weak from thirst and hunger. Best to do it now, they were all fresh.
He tested the wires going into the storm head, putting as much weight as he could on them without fully committing. They seemed to be solid.
He handed his rifle up to Stabby then turned to Scratch. “If I fall, clear me a path. If I don’t make it, don’t let me become one of them.” He looked directly into his eyes. He held his gaze until he saw the man nod, all jokes aside for the moment.
“No guts, no glory.” He thought then triple checked his Glock, making sure it wasn’t going to slide out of his holster. He eased out onto the wires, hooking his feet over the cable just like basic training and started to slowly move
his way towards the truck.
He made careful movements, trying not to make any sudden jerks that might alert the horde to dangling meat just over their heads. The wire was starting to sag lower and lower the farther away from the house he got and the boys had all taken a knee on the porch, steadying their rifles and ready to start blasting if anything went south.
Gunny didn’t look down, just ahead, hand over hand, sliding his feet, cutting down the distance with each pull. It had been a bunch of years since he had done anything like this and holding onto a steering wheel all day long didn’t do much for building muscles. His arms were already aching and he wasn’t even halfway. The cable was dipping lower and he was still on the easy part of the crawl. Once he started going uphill, it was going to get a whole lot harder. He started the uphill part with the mass below him still trying to get into the house. From this vantage point he could see through the broken windows and it was already nearly full. The pull was getting harder, he really had to grip the cable and his arms were starting to get tremors. He lowered his head and looked.
Getting close, another twenty feet. Another twenty feet uphill, he corrected himself. The truck looked like a lot further drop from here than it did from the roof of the house. Maybe twelve feet from the wire to the top of the sleeper. No biggie. By the time he dropped his feet and stretched out, only about four feet. His hands were cramping. He couldn’t stop, he knew from experience. If you take a break, it’s that much harder to get started again.
He forced the pain out of his head, concentrating on his next move, his next grip, the next slide of his foot. He inched the feet away and when he looked again, he was where he needed to be. He unhooked his boots and tried to hang on with just his hands but his fingers didn’t comply with his brain’s commands and he slipped to the roof of the sleeper with a loud thud instead of a soft bump. He heard the kids inside scream and he cursed as he rolled over the edge, grabbing the rebar webbing welded over the window of the driver door.
It wasn’t quite a controlled fall and he landed hard on top of the battery box, lost his grip on the mesh and fell off the truck backward, his foot seeking the lower step that he never had Tommy weld back on. He managed to get his head tucked so he didn’t bash his brains out on the pavement but he landed solidly on his back, his air rushing out in a whoosh. The milling horde was no longer milling, they had seen him land and disappear from their view and the screaming started up again as they surged towards the truck. His crew on the roof of the house were helpless, they couldn’t see what happened from their vantage point, let alone try to send lead downrange.
Gunny jumped up instantly, ignoring the pain and his narrowing vision, his lungs trying to suck in air but unable to wheeze in more than tiny sips of it. He grabbed the door handle and it swung open with ease as he leapt back up on the battery box and into the cab, slamming it behind him before any of the undead could get their fingers in the gap. He sat on the seat, trying to say something to calm the crying kids but it was all he could do to pull in enough air to keep from passing out. He had forgotten how much that hurt, getting the wind knocked out of you.
He hadn’t felt this since grade school and the monkey bar incident which left him in much the same condition. Except the recess teacher had come running over. And there weren’t any flesh eating monsters trying to sink their teeth into him. It took him a minute but when he was finally able to take a normal breath, he reassured the kids in his clumsy way and fired up the truck.
The horde outside redoubled their efforts to get to him, clamoring up the blade and climbing on the sides, hanging from the mesh protecting the windows. Gunny dropped it in third and mashed the pedal. The mass of zombies at least five or six deep in front of the truck didn’t even cause the Cat to hesitate in the slightest. Gunny grabbed another gear, blew the air horn and started playing the role of the Pied Piper.
He drove slow enough and blasted his horn a few more times, trying to draw away as many as he could. He headed back out of town, in the opposite direction of the overlook where the rest of the trucks were parked. He followed the same game plan they had before. Lead them for a few miles then hurry up and get turned around. On the way back in, crush and destroy as many as possible, chopping off legs and tossing them aside like empty beer cans at a NASCAR race.
When he got back to the house about twenty minutes later, they all came running out of the front door before he could bounce up to the porch. It seems he had led nearly all of them out of the house, too. The boys had made quick work of the stragglers, Stabby still wiping gore off of his claws. Within minutes the family was reunited, they had Firecracker’s truck and were heading back to the Overlook.
I hope my family reunion story goes as good as theirs, Gunny thought, as he wound his way back up the mountain. Just a few more days and I’ll be there.
When they got back and Gunny was hooked up to his wagon, he looked at his watch. The day was nearly gone, the sun getting ready to sink over the horizon. A quick rescue run had turned into an all-day affair with them nearly losing both trucks, being trapped in a house, getting separated…the list went on of all the mistakes they had made.
Even with all they knew, they had nearly died just taking a trip into town. They were lucky all of them made it back. These things could not be underestimated again. They needed to set up some protocols for refueling, for any stops they made. This enemy was worse than the ones they all had faced in the Middle East. They had numbers and near invincibility, superior speed and strength and were undeterred by anything.
They had zig-zagged their way back up the mountain, taking meandering routes to try to throw the followers off the trail. Maybe it worked. He understood why the ones on the freeway had kept coming mile after mile, they just followed the straight path of the big road. Maybe with all the turns they had made, there wouldn’t be a huge horde coming at them from Salt Lake tonight. He got with Cobb and Griz when the ‘glad you made it’ and ‘welcome backs’ had been said. They had made one run with Scratch’s truck back down the freeway but the stragglers coming in from that way were just trickling in now, all of them broken in one way or another, crawling along on severed or shattered limbs.
They had set up sniper positions and had been brushing up on rusty skills, training those who had never fired long distance about windage and bullet drop. Kim was still the best shot, reaching out and touching them in the head at over a half mile with an off the shelf pawn shop .308 and an inexpensive scope mounted to it. There wasn’t even a discussion about leaving, they needed fuel and they didn’t want to do that in the dark. They would roll at first light.
They doubled the guard to the front of the Overlook and expected the worst but by the time night fell, they still hadn’t seen a mass of them coming up the freeway. The twisting, turning and backtracking had worked. After dinner, as Griz had everyone tearing down and cleaning their weapons, the boys had regaled them with their overblown tales of harrowing escapes and death defying near misses around the campfire.
Stabby was hilarious at times, setting the mood with dark tension at others. He was a natural storyteller and Scratch and Lars were natural clowns, knowing the right moments to add their bits to the stories. It was hugely entertaining watching them and when they had finished, Griz asked Gunny how much of it was true.
“All of it,” he said, “Except for the part where everyone passed out from the smell of Scratch copping a squat in the attic.”
“Even the high wire act over the horde?”
“Not quite the way he told it, I didn’t try to walk over it with a pink umbrella for balance, but yeah. Even that.”
Stacy was standing near him and after the laughter and the quiet applause died away with their triumphant return to the camp she said “What he did was good for those kids. They can see now that maybe it wasn’t as bad as they thought. Especially when he made the little boy into a hero, protecting his sister. Hell, they’ll probably even remember it like that now.”
“Yeah.” Gunny ag
reed. “He’s ate up, but in a good way.”
Epilogue
Daniel didn’t make eye contact as he rigidly stood at attention on one side of the oak door leading into the conference room. He’d been warned never to look her in the eye. She would interpret it as an act of defiance. There was some kind of emergency meeting, and from the looks of the people who had come in as he was standing guard, it was something serious.
He didn’t know what was happening in the world and neither did anyone else in the barracks. He had just finished his first rotation with two years of training in his platoon with the Force Recon Marines. They’d been rushed here a week ago with rumors of an imminent terrorist attack. He was in an expansive underground city somewhere in the Catskill Mountains as near as any of them were able to determine.
They had no communication with the outside world and had been sequestered to a small area the whole time they were here. Even though there were plenty of enlisted men, the officers were told they would be standing guard for the meeting even though it was demeaning to them. That is what the president wanted. Times had changed. They were some of the lucky, the chosen few, who had been handpicked to serve as defenders for the survivors of the disaster, or so they were told.
No one had said exactly what the disaster was, but it must be severe. He recognized many of the people attending the meeting from seeing them on the news. Highly placed politicians and corporate heads of business.
She started screaming at them as she stormed through the door.
“How did this happen? How did they get control of the nukes? You guaranteed me it would be impossible!”
The door slammed behind her, and the rest of her tirade was muffled and indistinct. Daniel chanced a glance over to the other Lieutenant who was standing guard. He read the same look on his face. “What the hell is going on?”
He didn’t know. He just knew this was a far cry from any kind of stories his grandpa Cobb or his dad had told him about the Marines.
Zombie Road: Convoy of Carnage Page 31