by Gibb, Lew
Rachel snuggled farther into the sleeping bag Jerry had provided, pulling it up around her neck with a shiver at the thought of her husband somehow trapped in a burning house. The danger of fire hadn’t been remotely on her radar as she’d made her way into the woods the previous night, listening to Thomas Walsh and then Linda calling her name. Rachel had kept going, stumbling into the extreme darkness beyond the circle of light cast by the truck headlights, on the alert for wandering zombies and any humans that might want to take advantage of the zombie attack for their own gain. She only slowed when her jacket caught on a tree branch, pulling her up short. She whirled around and tried to stab the branch, thinking she was being attacked by one of the monsters. She flailed at the unseen attacker until she calmed down enough to realize it wasn’t a zombie. By then, she was so tangled up, she was forced to use her flashlight to extract herself. At that point, she was too nervous to go on and reasonably certain no one would follow her. The people in the camp had other things to worry about, so she bedded down without a thought for where she was.
Rachel took a minute to consider whether all the shooting had attracted more zombies. Would she be to blame if a new horde showed up, and the Walsh’s group was unable to fight them off without a crazy woman with a chef’s knife attacking the zombies from behind?
That kind of thinking wasn’t going to get her anywhere. She needed to get home. That was all there was to it.
The sunrise reminded her of the year Jerry had surprised her with a romantic getaway on the redneck riviera, which was what the locals called the Florida panhandle. Jerry had found them a nice little house in Destin, where the pure-white-sanded beach seemed to go on forever and the gulf was like bathwater—seventy-four degrees every day. But the famed sunrises—it seemed like every other person they talked to had told them they were not to be missed—had been less than spectacular. She and Jerry set their alarm and got up before dawn the first morning to catch the spectacle. Maybe it was the buildup, or maybe the stress—it was a pain getting up that early on vacation, and Rachel was neurotic about the dogs, calling the pet sitter twice the first day to make sure they were all right—but she was less than overwhelmed. It was very nice, and it wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate nature, as she made it a point to enjoy beauty wherever she found it. Maybe the whether pattern was wrong for a really spectacular display. It just didn’t seem to be anything special compared to what she was used to back home. On the third day, they decided to just give it up and make do with the sunsets, which were pretty good, too. The rest of the trip was pretty awesome. They woke up late and made breakfast together before heading out to the beach, or spent the day exploring the funky little stores in Destin and the other nearby towns before sampling the local seafood—which was spectacular—every night. They had even managed to make love on the beach one day at dusk when they found themselves alone. Unfortunately, as romantic experiences went, it sounded a lot better in the abstract than in the actual execution. The constant fear of discovery hadn’t worked as an aphrodisiac for Rachel like it did for some people. She couldn’t get her mind off of the possibility of being arrested for public exposure. That, and the sand that seemed to get everywhere it wasn’t wanted had made it a less-than-ideal experience.
Rachel thought about what it would be like on that beach now. The threat of a zombie attack wouldn’t have done anything to make sex on the beach any more appealing.
Rachel shivered again, then watched the sky until the clouds resolved into pillowy whiteness and thought about breakfast. Her mind was still a little groggy, and the lack of coffee wasn’t helping. She usually needed at least an hour and two cups of coffee before she could make a decision more serious than eggs or cereal. She envied Jerry’s ability to jump out of bed in the middle of the night and drive to someone’s house without knowing what he might be walking into, and then make decisions that affected someone’s life. Just getting up in the morning without her caffeine was going to be a chore from here on out. Especially now that she had morning sickness to deal with on top of everything else. The idea that she’d probably drunk her last triple-shot mocha made her a little more sad, but she realized food would probably be a bigger problem in short fucking order. Survivors of this apocalypse would be relying on what they could scrounge from now on. Coffee would be the least of her problems.
Rachel figured she could probably fake a Santiago’s burrito. The thought of her favorite breakfast food made her smile. Flour and lard never went bad, so tortillas weren’t a problem. She could dig up some onions and potatoes in a backyard somewhere. The eggs could be a problem. Would the zombies attack the chickens? Would they be too traumatized to lay eggs? What about the cows? She knew how to make butter and cheese thanks to a phase where she had been obsessed with knowing how to make everything from its most basic form, but she had no idea how to farm. The best she’d managed was a few tomato and squash plants that always died midsummer because she wasn’t home with anything like a regular-enough schedule to water them. Rachel shook her head and pushed her arms up over the top of her sleeping bag.
“That shit can wait till were a family again.”
For now, she would make do with an MRE and some delicious powdered electrolyte drink. She squirmed out of the sleeping bag and dug in her pack until she found the MRE labeled Breakfast Menu. Her eyes teared up when she discovered two Starbucks VIA Instant coffee packets taped to the outside. Thinking about the effort Jerry had put into her survival and how she had treated him made her cry harder.
The last thing she had said to him wasn’t I love you, or I hope you have a great day. No, she’d been bitchy, nagged him about trying to protect and take care of her, and accused him of being passive aggressive when he’d agreed to take the carload of MREs back because she was pretty sure he had no intention of doing it. She had even ordered him to take them back like she was his fucking boss or something. Now she was sitting here, safe and sound, eating one of those same MREs. God, she hoped she got the chance to apologize to him
She smiled and chuckled. He was going to be insufferable when—or if—she ever made it home. He’d probably tell this story to their kids. The thought made her eyes well up again, and she folded her hands across her stomach and stared at the smoke coming from the smoldering remains of what used to be their hometown. After a few minutes, Rachel blew her nose on her sleeve and decided she would take all the gloating he could dish out if he would only be there waiting for her when she and their child arrived.
Chapter Forty-One
After an hour of driving, the temperature needle was pegged at the top of its arc. Alberto jerked the wheel to avoid another zombie that ran into their path. The ambulance lurched up onto the residential street’s narrow sidewalk, but the dreadlocked zombie corrected his trajectory at the last second. The zombie’s head was just above the level of the hood when his body hit the grill, and The head pounded the crater on the hood left by previous collisions a little deeper.
Jerry winced when the body thumped beneath the chassis and looked at Alberto, whose look of disgust was a mirror of his own feelings. “How much longer do you think we have before it quits?”
“I have no idea,” Alberto shrugged. “This has never happened to me.”
“I guess we should check it out.”
“Yes. Do you know a good mechanic around here?” Alberto’s voice was deadpan as he swiveled his head both ways with a blank look on his face. “And how do we get them to wait while we look under the hood?”
Jerry grimaced and took in the ten or fifteen zombies that seemed to always be following the ambulance. The number had remained more or less constant since they’d started. As soon as one fell behind, another appeared and took up the chase.
“If we turn the engine off and coast downhill for a while, the zombies won’t be attracted to the engine noise. Then we pull over and wait for anyone still following to lose interest in us. Then we get out and look.”
Alberto nodded and wrenched the ambulance through
a hard left turn into an alley. He made a right at the first intersection and carried enough speed to continue downhill to the next street before making a final turn and shutting down the overheated engine.
As they coasted to a stop, Jerry twisted around to look behind them. They had managed to lose a lot of the trailing horde. A few of the neighborhood zombies started toward the ambulance as he and Alberto crawled through to the rear compartment. Holly and Maria had already covered the windows with sheets. They stretched another one across the opening into the cab.
Jerry held his breath, waiting for the zombies to arrive and sound the dinner bell that would draw every zombie within earshot. Isabella and Marco sat on the bench seat, wide-eyed and clutching the arm Maria had wrapped around each of their shoulders. Holly sat on the far side of Marco, holding his free hand and resting her head against the back wall so she could see through a small crack between the sheet and the wall. The kids’ eyes were huge and shiny, but they kept quiet.
Everyone jumped when one of the zombies started pounding on the side door. Jerry looked at Alberto, who had taken a seat in the airway chair facing the rear, from which the occupant would be positioned to intubate a patient lying on the stretcher. The older man shrugged but otherwise gave the impression he was only mildly discomforted. Jerry tried to project a similar degree of calm. Throughout his career as a paramedic, people had remarked on his easy-going attitude even when things seemed to be out of control. His secret was to maintain an exterior calm even if he was freaking out inside.
The zombies were more persistent than Jerry would have expected, but after about a half hour of futile banging, during which they were joined by several others, they seemed to decide they wouldn’t find anything to eat and moved on. What fascinated Jerry was that they didn’t go their separate ways but stayed together. He watched with interest through a small gap as the ones that gave up last moved off in a loose group. That might have been how the larger groups were forming.
Ten minutes after the pounding stopped, Alberto looked at him with raised eyebrows. Jerry looked at Maria and Holly. Both shrugged.
“Okay then,” Jerry whispered, “let’s take a look.” He moved to the side door and pulled the sheet to one side.
A sixtyish woman in a flowered dress ambled in a circle about twenty feet from the ambulance. One bare foot flapped at the end of a mangled calf, and a large handbag hung from the crook of one elbow.
Maria edged her head over to take a look. She spoke in a whisper with her shoulders hunched as if she expected a zombie attack at any moment. “How do we get out to check the radiator without that zombie seeing us and alerting the others with that cry?”
Alberto spoke in a low murmur. “What if we attract it to the side with a small noise? When it gets close, we sneak out the back and kill it before it sees us.”
“Don’t you think the noise might attract a bunch of other zombies, too?” Holly said, peering out the side window.
Alberto shrugged. “I think we can start soft and make it louder a little at a time till she hears it.”
Jerry nodded. “It might work. If we attract a bunch of them, though, we’ll have to drive out of here in a hurry.” He volunteered to do the killing.
“No way, Jerry,” Holly whispered. “I should do it.”
Jerry still believed he should be the one to protect her. “I’m doing it,” he said. He lifted his claymore, moved to the rear doors with the sword resting on his shoulder, and grabbed the door latch. The flat of the blade rested against his cheek, cool and impersonal. He looked back and nodded at Holly. She shook her head but turned back to the window, slid her hand up under the sheet, and tapped lightly with a quarter. After a few seconds, she shook her head and tapped again, louder.
“I think she left her hearing aid at home,” Alberto said in a soft voice.
Maria gave him a sharp look. “Not all times are suitable for your jokes, Alberto.”
“Yes, mi amor.” Alberto caught Jerry’s eye and winked.
Jerry liked Alberto’s ability to joke in stressful situations. It was one of his own favorite coping mechanisms.
Holly switched to tapping the window with the barrel of her pistol, increasing the strength of the tapping until Jerry was actually wincing with each strike. He didn’t know how the woman didn’t hear.
Finally, when Jerry was starting to worry the window might break, Holly let out a long sigh and whispered, “Finally. Here she comes.” Then, in a louder voice, “Omg! You are not going to believe this.” Every eye in the cabin was focused on her. “She does have a hearing aid. It’s just dangling from her head.”
“I told you.” Alberto smiled and winked at Maria.
Maria frowned and held up her fist with an index finger extended upward.
Alberto didn’t say anything else, but he continued to smirk.
“Okay.” Holly put her eye against the crack again. “Get ready.”
Jerry wiped one hand at a time on his pants. It seemed like all the moisture in his mouth had shifted to his hands. When Holly signaled Go with a thumbs-up, Jerry popped the rear door and slipped out, dropping to the ground softly and moving to the back corner while raising the sword. This time he would be ready to act. The rear door clicked shut behind him as he moved around the corner, and the woman came into view. A massive handbag dangled from one elbow, and he wondered how she had managed to hang onto it for so long. Jerry shuffled up behind her and swung the sword with everything he had. The woman was just turning his way when the big blade took her head off. Jerry hopped back to avoid the arterial spray of blood from the falling zombie’s neck, feeling good about how he had reacted. Maybe he should name the sword like they did in the old days. Zombie Nightmare? Too long. Maybe Death Stick? Totally cliché, as Holly would say. Actually, that would have been good for the mop-handle spear that had nearly killed him.
Inside the ambulance, Maria lifted the sheet on the back window and peered out. “Dios mio!” she breathed.
“What?” Alberto said, turning away from the side window.
“Zombies! Behind us!” Now she was nearly screaming.
Alberto moved to the back window and looked out. “Mierda!” he said and popped the door latch.
Thoughts of cheesy sword names evaporated when Jerry heard the back door bang against its stop. He turned to see at least fifty zombies cantering down the street toward him. He was trying to decide if he could get to the side door when Alberto appeared, sprinting toward the zombies with the axe held above his head. Holly appeared only a second behind him and moved to Alberto’s left while drawing her rapier. Jerry followed, passing Maria, who had just dropped to the ground. The fear in her eyes made him pause.
“We won’t let them get near your kids,” he said over his shoulder.
Jerry swerved to Alberto’s left. As they ran toward the now screaming pack, the three of them spread farther apart, drawing the approaching zombies into a ragged line. It seemed like the three of them were working as a team. Alberto reached the pack first and buried the axe blade in the center of the first zombie’s head with a thunk. He wrenched the blade free as the wiry old guy dropped. He shuffled to one side and brought his axe down on top of the next one’s head. The way Alberto had killed two zombies in a matter of seconds was impressive, but what Holly did to the flesh eaters in her path almost made Jerry stop to watch.
She sprinted at the pack with her rapier held low across her body. Jerry was just wondering what she had in mind when she dodged to her right and brought the rapier up in a backhand slash that barely slowed as it passed across the nearest zombie’s neck. A gout of blood arced out as the zombie collapsed. The sword’s follow-through reached its apex and retraced the path of her first slash. A second zombie dropped with blood spurting from his severed neck. A third one managed to get in too close for a slash, so Holly smashed the elaborate hand guard into his face, and the blow knocked the zombie back into the one behind him. Holly stabbed him through the mouth, pulled the blade free, and slashe
d the next attacker. She was dancing to her right to take on a fifth zombie when a guy in a dirty ball cap appeared in front of Jerry.
He was ready, and his blade cut through the man’s shoulder to the middle of his chest. Jerry jerked the blade free just in time to slash another attacker across the stomach with a backhand swing. After that, it was a confusion of dodging and hacking at whatever was in front of him. Many of the zombies had locked onto Holly or Alberto and didn’t even see him coming. Each swing of the massive sword left a gaping wound and a zombie that wasn’t getting back up.
Jerry barely registered Alberto chopping away on his left and Holly whirling through the horde beyond. She reminded him of the hero in one of those martial arts movies where their spins and chops would take out attackers like wheat in front of a combine. She was incredible, killing two or even three for every one he and Alberto took out.
Also like in a martial arts movie, the zombies weren’t coordinating their attacks. They simply moved forward without regard for what the others were doing. And just like the bad guys in the movies, they died individually.
Jerry decapitated a hefty female zombie and stopped to flex his fingers during a lull in the attack. His forearms felt huge and stiff like they were filled with concrete. His breathing was coming in ragged gasps.