by Gibb, Lew
The door was heavy and unused, so she had to use her legs to generate enough force to lift the stubborn slab of metal. Once on the roof, Rachel moved to the edge of the building, knelt at the low wall surrounding the roof, and peered down at the street below. The sight made her knees go weak, and she ducked back behind the wall. She tried again to slow her breathing, but it wasn’t going to be easy. A surging sea of screaming bodies filled the area between the buildings, and more were flowing in from both ends of the street.
Hoping none of them had seen her—although she wasn’t sure how things could be any worse—she made her way to the building’s rear and found the scene was much the same. Rachel leaned her back against the low wall and tried to quell the panic rising in her chest. Her gunshots must have drawn every zombie, and then some, within hearing distance.
Three additional access hatches sprouted from the roof at regular intervals. After a moment of pessimism where she imagined herself trapped on the roof until hunger drove her to try fighting her way through the zombies, she decided to investigate the hatches.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Jerry wrapped a rubber band around a bag of rice and stuffed it in their food duffel. “That kid is a piece of work,” he said to no one in particular. “He’s got everything figured out and doesn’t need anyone but himself.”
Alberto and Maria seemed to think the statement about Justin was rhetorical. Or maybe they agreed with him but didn’t want to say anything. They were probably right. There was enough negativity in the world as it was. The three of them were in the kitchen cleaning up and portioning the leftovers into gallon bags so they would have food for the road. Holly was in the living room keeping the Vigil kids occupied and fending off Justin’s awkward advances.
The kid with the hyperactive hormones had followed Holly around like a puppy while she’d helped Maria and Jerry chop and sauté what was left in the refrigerator for a stir fry that they ate with a massive pot of rice and lukewarm bottled water from the pantry. Justin had a beer and maintained a sullen silence when he wasn’t talking to Holly. His entire conversation consisted of cheesy pickup lines he seemed to have lifted from seventies-era sitcoms. His infatuation did make it easy for her to extract his story with just a few smiles and one or two basic questions. He seemed to think Holly would be impressed with his independence and what he called his “bidness skillz,” and the way he and his mom had gotten along on their own after “baby daddy skipped” two weeks after his second younger sister was born.
“That’s when shit started gettin’ a little too real for old pops,” Justin had said, making his trademark disgusted face. “He bailed, an’ I had to step up, yo.”
Justin proudly explained how he’d started working for a gang of older boys who paid him what he thought was a fortune to run drugs for them and then to sell weed at his school. Since his mother worked, he came and went as he pleased. More often than not, he crashed with friends, and he’d stopped actually attending school except to sell drugs. Justin’s pride in his wealth and ability to control his own life was obvious. He said he was “livin’ large” and thought owning two X-Boxes, a PlayStation, and any video game he wanted was the epitome of coolness. Jerry had gotten tired of hearing the kid boast and asked Holly to take him out so he could talk with Alberto and Maria about what to do with the kid.
Jerry turned from looking at the teens and started stuffing the other prepared bags into the duffel.
“He is just angry and confused,” Maria said. “He needs some time with people who care about him and hold him responsible for his actions.”
“That sounds like a great idea,” Jerry said, smiling and giving Alberto a wink. “Do you know anyone like that?”
Alberto gave him a small shake of the head just before Maria crossed her arms and gave him a fierce look.
Jerry flinched and held his hands up. “Just kidding. I’m okay with bringing him along.” Maria nodded but didn’t look convinced. “Seriously.” Jerry tried to look sincere. He was glad there wasn’t a frying pan handy. “He’s probably a great kid at heart.”
Maria still looked skeptical, but she let it go. She nodded, uncrossed her arms, and went back to filling Ziploc bags with the haul from the pantry.
Alberto slapped him on the back. “Good decision, my friend. I told you Maria feels strongly about children. If you were not agreeable to helping the boy, we may have had to leave you behind.”
Jerry grimaced and looked out into the blackness beyond the kitchen window. “I just hope he doesn’t cause too many problems before he comes around.”
Holly scooched a little farther down the couch. Justin’s barrage of suggestive conversation, offensive compliments about Holly’s “booty,” and lack of respect for her personal space, were starting to wear thin.
Justin followed with a little move in the same direction.
Holly was starting to wonder if she could handle it twenty-four-seven—although, it wasn’t for sure Justin was going with them.
“Why I wanna hang with a bunch of old farts who just wanna boss me around,” he said, then reached out and snatched Holly’s Glock off the coffee table. She’d taken it out of the holster because the grip had begun digging into her side. “This is a nice piece. Where’d you get it?” He closed one eye and aimed at the other side of the room, holding it sideways like a TV gangster.
“It belonged to my father. Now give it back.” Holly reached for the pistol, but he pulled it back out of reach.
“Man. If I had one a these, I wouldn’t have to hide out all the time. Just pop a cap in their zombie asses and keep on going.”
“As if!” Holly reached for her gun again, but the boy moved it just in time to avoid her hand. She fixed him with a serious look. “They’re attracted to sound. Your first shot would bring every zombie in the area, and you would run out of bullets before you could shoot them all.”
“Man, you guys are just a bunch of chickens. I been makin’ all kinds a noise, and they ain’t bothered me one bit. You watch this. I’m gonna go git me a zombie.” Before Holly realized what he was doing, he was on his feet and moving toward the front door.
“Hey!” Holly yelled. She managed to grab the sleeve of his hoodie, but he shrugged her off and kept moving. “Don’t!” Holly yelled as he grabbed the doorknob. She stopped to snatch her sword off the table, then watched in what seemed like crystal-clear, super-slow-motion as Justin stepped onto the porch, still using the sideways grip. He looked around for a second and seemed disappointed there weren’t any zombies in the yard. Holly was at the threshold when his head snapped to his right and he screamed, “Motherfucker!” and started to swing the pistol to his right. A big zombie in a plaid flannel shirt and slicked-back hair crashed into him. The gun fired, and Justin disappeared beneath the mound of flesh as Holly’s sword cleared its scabbard.
“Get off!” Justin yelled, just before the zombie’s gaping mouth latched onto his neck. Justin’s screams became staccato bleats in time with the shaking of the zombie’s black ponytail.
Holly missed a thrust at the side of the zombie’s neck. His shaking was so violent he’d moved out of the line of her sword. Holly pulled back for another thrust and three gunshots hammered in her ears. The zombie jerked like he had been electrocuted. The kid had the barrel of her gun pressed against the zombie’s ribs. He fired twice more, and the head snapped back, making Holly miss again. A chunk of Justin’s skin dangled between bloody lips that were already chewing.
Holly skewered the zombie through the ear. There was a little resistance, then the blade went in four more inches and hit something solid. The zombie fell forward, burying Justin beneath his bulk.
Alberto pushed past her. He shuffled around the bodies, wide-eyed and looking around with his axe raised over his head. “What happened?”
Jerry appeared at Holly’s other side with Maria just behind him.
“He took my gun.” Holly’s voice was shaky. “And said he was going to go kill a zombie.”
&n
bsp; Alberto poked the big zombie’s plaid shoulder with the end of his axe. Holly jerked her blade free and blood oozed out of the zombie’s ear, mingling with the growing pool of Justin’s blood on the concrete porch. Alberto knelt and started to push the big guy over. Jerry moved in to help while Holly stared down at the bleeding boy’s ragged neck.
“I tried to stop him, but he was out the door so fast. It must have already been on the porch.”
Maria noticed her children were standing in the doorway and staring at the bodies. She hustled them back into the house.
“Did he hit it?” Alberto wanted to know.
Jerry and Alberto succeeded in rolling the massive zombie off the porch. The body flopped down the stairs. There was a large blackened hole in his shirt just above his belt.
“He shot it while it was biting him.”
Justin’s eyes were wide open and locked on Holly. His jaw worked up and down in slow motion like he was trying to say something. The river of blood coming from his neck had become a trickle.
Jerry pressed two fingers against the other side of the boy’s neck. He shook his head and rested a hand on Justin’s chest. The kid stopped moving and stared at the ceiling. “Even if we had the supplies and a hospital to take him to, I don’t know if I’d want to save him just so he could become a zombie.”
“I know I would rather have it end like this,” Alberto said, “than to wander around as a zombie.”
“We need to get inside now.” Holly jerked her chin at the street where zombies were converging on the house from all directions. There were already too many to count. The three of them turned and headed for the door as the first zombie screams tore into the night’s quiet. Maria and the kids were standing in the living room doorway.
Jerry was last through the door. “Out the back,” he yelled and slammed the door. “There’s no way they won’t get in the house.”
Alberto grabbed Isabella without stopping, hoisting her onto his hip as he ran for the back of the house. Maria yanked Marco into her arms and followed her husband. The first zombie slammed into the front door with a massive thump that shook the floorboards. The kids stared to cry.
Jerry followed Holly and the Vigils down the hall. Another body thumped into the front door. And another. The front door splintered and slammed against the wall in the entryway.
Jerry shot a look over his shoulder. Three zombies squeezed through the opening. He lifted his sword to fight them off. The leader tripped over the welcome mat and went down. The other two got tangled up and piled on top of him.
Then the big front window gave way with a crash. Jerry felt glass shards bounce off his jacket and a couple sharp twinges in his face. A clump of zombies tumbled over the couch and into the room.
Jerry turned and sprinted down the hall and out the back door. He was halfway across the deck when Holly slammed the door behind him. Maria and Alberto were at the bottom of the steps and starting across the backyard with the kids. A howl came from a pair of zombies that dropped from the fence and moved toward them. The Vigils reversed course and backed up the stairs, shielding their children with their bodies. Jerry continued past them until he hit the grass, then planted his feet and raised his sword over his head, ready to hack the first zombie that came close enough.
The zombies were ten feet away when Holly floated past him. She closed the distance in the blink of an eye. A gaping wound appeared in a dark-skinned older zombie’s neck as she passed. The other zombie, a squat man with shoulders like a Marlborough pack, took the force of her blade in the eye. His feet went out from under him and Holly jerked her blade free before he hit the ground.
Jerry looked at the dead zombies, their faces already slack in death and wondered at the fact that, except for the red-rimmed and bloodshot eyes, they looked just like a hundred other dead people he’d seen throughout his career. They could have tried to dodge around them. For sure, Holly could have avoided them. Did they really have to die?
“Jerry!” Holly yelled.
When he looked up, Maria disappeared over the fence. The kids and Alberto were nowhere to be seen and Holly was sitting on top of the fence. It felt like he’d been in a time warp. The sound of bodies hitting the back door made him flinch. What the hell was happening to him?
“Come on!” Holly yelled again just before dropped out of sight.
Jerry sprinted to the fence and clambered after her. He scraped his knees and tore another hole in his pants before he dropped to the pavement in the alley just in time to watch Holly skewer another zombie.
Across from him, Maria pulled the kids through a gate while Alberto caved in the skull of a zombie coming from the far-right end. The sound of zombie screams from the other side of the fence sent another jolt of adrenaline through Jerry. He sprinted after Holly and Maria. He and Alberto flew through the gate side by side a second before Maria slammed it behind them.
Holly led them across the yard and over a waist-high picket fence to a low-hanging willow tree at the yard’s front edge. They gathered beneath the drooping branches. Jerry’s eyes swept the street. The darkness made it impossible to see anything beyond ten or fifteen feet, but the area seemed clear. For the moment.
Alberto whispered, “There is no way we will get back to the ambulance tonight.” It was hard to hear him over the sound of the bodies banging against the fence and the zombie screams in the alley.
It didn’t seem like the zombies had seen where the group had gone. Jerry was breathing so hard he could only nod his head. His mind was preoccupied with how he had spaced out and how Holly had shown him up again. Why hadn’t he run at the zombies the way she had?
“Even if we did make it,” Alberto continued, “I doubt we would be able to go anywhere. There were very many zombies out there. And I bet there are more on the way. I think we should get to another house without being seen and hide out till morning.”
Chapter Forty-Eight
No matter how fast Rachel ran, she couldn’t put any distance between herself and the monster lumbering after her. There didn’t seem to be any end to the dark corridor. The faint cone of light thrown by the flashlight in her hand wavered along, lighting only the next ten feet. The monster’s feet pounded the floor not more than ten feet behind her.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Rachel darted a look over her shoulder. The thing seemed to be moving in slow-motion, but its bulbous legs still kept pace with her easily. The stubby arms reached out, fingers flexing, ready to crush her in their embrace. The mouth opened wide. A deep roar, like a passenger jet taking off, rattled through her body, shaking her molars and reverberating in her stomach. The mouth expanded until it blocked out the rest of its face, looming over her with its circle of shovel-sized, triangular, white shark teeth.
All of a sudden, she wasn’t moving. Why had she stopped? The cavernous abyss descended. Rachel couldn’t move. She could only watch as the monster came closer and closer. She couldn’t even raise her arms. Where were her knives? Her pistol? Why wasn’t she defending herself?
The mouth dropped lower, and the oval, saw-toothed ring of teeth descended past her head and shoulders until, with painful slowness, it reached her waist. Rachel looked up. She saw nothing but blackness and felt nothing but the hot monster breath suffocating her. She looked back down. The teeth began to move toward her waist—like a noose closing tight—to chew her in half.
Rachel flinched when the teeth, still moving with infinite slowness, met her body. Then the tongue pressed against her face, fuzzy and warm and damp. The bear rumbled again. The furry mouth was making her sweat. The tongue suffocated her. Her chin itched.
“What the fuck?” Rachel screamed, and he eyes snapped open. She couldn’t see. Something was wrapped around her head. She rocked side to side like a beached fish straining to break free. One of her arms flopped out. Pins and needles prickled her hand. She tried to lift herself out of the furry hole that had her trapped.
“Ahhhh.” Rachel freed her other arm and pushed to her k
nees. The stuffed animals that had been her bed rolled off her back and tumbled around her arms. Her arms were buried up the elbows in plush purple bears. She couldn’t even see her legs.
She remembered finding the cartons of stuffed animals on the top shelf of the next warehouse over from where she had come in. She’d dropped directly onto the shelving from the open roof hatch and decided—been forced, really, since the building was surrounded by hungry zombies—to spend the night. After cutting a few boxes apart, taping them together, and refilling them with bears, she’d had a reasonably comfortable bed. She hadn’t anticipated the way her mind would merge the plethora of bears with the zombie danger.
Rachel surveyed the space as she clambered out of the makeshift bed. The warehouse shelves were loaded with boxes. The labels indicated all kinds of electronics-related products: cell phone covers and chargers, computer mice, replacement keyboards, laptop cases, dashboard and windshield mounts for cellphones, keychain flash drives, and SD cards. And then there were the boxes of stuffed animals and plush toys that had migrated into her dreams.
The same kind of thing used to happen when she still worked in restaurants. In those days, at the end of a brutal night, the chef would buy the crew a round of shots—or a bottle if things were extra precarious, like when a nasty food critic came to eat—to congratulate them for not screwing the pooch too bad. Rachel and her coworkers would slam the freebies, then head out to whichever bar was still open or to someone’s house to decompress till two or three in the morning before heading home for a few hours’ sleep before getting up at noon to do it all again. Even when she was totally hammered and passed out as soon as she got home, scenes from the night would morph into kitchen nightmares. Piles of vegetables waiting to be chopped and diced, mounds of dirty dishes piled so high she couldn’t reach the over-stuffed ticket wheel, or monster chefs screaming for things she didn’t know how to make. An endless parade of impatience and inadequacy until she woke with a dry mouth and the-mother-of-all headaches. Jerry said it was her mind trying to assimilate the day’s activities. Rachel thought it was her mind’s way of keeping her from stabbing asshole chefs who got off on belittling their staff so they could feel like they were the only competent ones in the kitchen.