ONSLAUGHT_The Zombie War Chronicles_Vol 1

by Damon Novak

  We decide certain animals can provide material for clothin’ and food, and we hunt it into extinction. We find a way to spray different things out of an aerosol can and destroy the planet’s ozone layer.

  Oopsy-daisy. Sorry ‘bout that.

  Yep. There is clearly a reaction to every action we take, and it’s usually fucked up, somehow or other.

  So, would it be so bad if man died out and somethin’ else had a chance? If that thing had instinct, but not necessarily logic and reason, you gotta figure it’d be better for this planet than we are.

  Not havin’ opposing thumbs might help limit the damage done, too.

  But I’m also of the mind that we’re supposed to be here. As cynical as I am, I believe in God. And while I’m no Jesus freak, I don’t see any other way everything came together like it did without a supreme being of some kind.

  And just like one is followed by two, and life ultimately leads to death, if you believe in God, you also have to believe that if we do go extinct, it’s part of the big ol’ Godly plan.

  I can hear him now: “Well, shit. Kinda sorry it’s over, but humans sure were interestin’. What can I make next?”

  What a cool job. Dinosaurs must’ve been a shit-ton of fun to create.

  Okay, back to the journey. I didn’t say anything about what I was thinkin’ out loud, but I’d probably talk about it with Georgie sometime. She wouldn’t laugh at me, and I’m damned sure Lilly would.

  So, I drove on, chewin’ my lip and keepin’ my eyes peeled. Nokosi had fallen asleep in the back. I couldn’t see her ‘cause she was layin’ down, but I saw Georgina and it wasn’t her snorin’. I was happy for the dog’s slumber. That police K-9 might need some energy if we had a run-in down in Key West.

  When I got about ten miles down the road, I pulled onto the shoulder. I was kinda between Keys and far enough away from restaurants and other places frequented by locals or tourists, so I had time to dump ten gallons of fuel from our cans into the Rover’s tank.

  Lilly took gun duty while I did this, and despite our somewhat isolated location, she still had to take out a couple of shamblin’ deadheads wearin’ more beach attire. These two guys actually looked more like fishermen. They both wore cargo shorts and those Columbia shirts with the weird flap on the upper back. The skin on their legs had a bunch of gouges out of it, so it kinda looked like somethin’ had been feedin’ on ‘em. Little fish or somethin’.

  Anyway, the number was manageable, and Lilly actually walked toward them and put single rounds between their eyes.

  I drained the last can into the tank and put the cap back on, re-strappin’ both empties onto the rack that sat well above the hitch. As for the gas cans, with the Rover’s appetite for fuel and the weight we carried in humans, weapons and ammo, we’d need to fill them again before we left Key West.

  Assumin’ we made it there.

  Georgie’s cell was plugged in, sittin’ in the center console. We hadn’t gone another ten miles when it gave a high-pitched beep and vibrated.

  “Roxy!” shouted the doctor, who was just a mom like any other when she heard that sound come from her phone. Her child was her life, and that sound meant she was still within reach.

  She read the text. Without sharin’ it, she frantically tapped the keys on her phone and stopped.

  “Well?” I asked.

  “She’s okay. Her friend didn’t change or anything. They’re still together. Should I enter the address now?”

  We hadn’t needed to enter the specific address in right away, because there was only one way to get to Key West.

  “Sure.” I popped the GPS off the windshield and handed it back to her. She checked her phone.

  “907 Whitehead Street, Key West.”

  Lilly turned around, her arm over the seat. “You sure about that?”

  “I think so.” Georgina punched a button on her phone again, rechecking. “Yes, that’s it. Why?” Now she looked nervous all over again.

  “Oh, don’t panic or anything,” said Lilly, with a slight smile. “It’s just that I’m 99% sure that’s the Hemingway house.”

  “Ernest Hemingway?”

  “Yes. I’ve been on the tour, but I don’t remember it from that. I remember it since I was a teenager. I did an oral book report back when I was in like ninth or tenth grade. That address stuck in my head for some reason. Probably because I associated whiteheads with zits back then.”

  Georgie began punchin’ keys again.

  “What’d you type?”

  “I asked her if she was at Hemingway’s place.”

  The phone buzzed and chimed again.

  “She is,” said Georgie.

  There was a pretty long delay before the phone buzzed and beeped again. Georgie read it.

  “She was on a tour at the time. One of the changed things came stumbling out of one of the upstairs bedrooms and everyone freaked out and ran out of there.”

  She stopped reading, and Lilly said, “Yeah?”

  There was another buzz-chime, and Georgina went on: “Staff, too. The thing staggered out the door, ran right into the second-floor railing and flipped over.”

  As she was reading it, the phone buzzed again. She took a moment, then asked, “She wants to know how far out we are.”

  “Says we’re just over an hour away. Right under 60 miles. We’ll still have plenty of daylight to get her out of there.”

  “Ask her how it is below. Have they looked?” asked Lilly.

  I looked in the rearview mirror at Georgie, and I swear, I’d never seen her look prettier. She was absolutely glowin’ at the steady communication with her little girl.

  Buzz-Beep.

  The happy mama said, “Roxy says that when everyone ran out and that thing flipped the railing, she and Terry ran out on the patio and people were clawing people to the ground down below and biting them. Terry had the presence of mind to run down and slam all the doors.”

  She hesitated for a second, then added, “Terry says they’re zombies. They’re eating the uninfected.”

  “No argument here,” said Lilly. “Is there a horde of them outside? You don’t have to ask, if you’re tired of texting back and forth.”

  Georgina relayed the question, then looked at Lilly like she was crazy. “You’re kidding, right? I’ll keep texting her until we walk up the sidewalk to Hemingway’s place.”

  “I want a six-toed cat,” said Lilly. “Nokosi might like a friend.”

  “You’re not goddamned serious, Lil,” I said. “You know I can’t stand cats, and I’ll bet Nokosi can’t either.”

  Nokosi snorted, and I became pretty sure she was on alert all the time, even with her eyes closed.

  Buzz-chime again. I glanced up at the mirror and saw Georgie’s pretty face change to a pale, worried mask.

  “To answer your question, yes,” she said. “She puts the number at around forty. And that’s just what she can see.”

  We all fell silent.

  Except Nokosi. She snored.

  Ω

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The Rover performed flawlessly as we rolled along Highway 1 toward Mile 0.

  If you’ve never been to the Florida Keys, and particularly Key West, you might not understand it’s more than just a set of small islands connected by bridges. The southernmost city in the United States is a world of its own, and a place where fear just doesn’t usually come into play.

  This was home to Fantasy Fest, where naked women are painted up in such elaborate body paints that they appear dressed.

  I personally like the ladies’ boobs they paint up to look like big ol’ eyes. Usually puttin’ the Budweiser Frogs on a trio of women, which always makes me laugh. But you should see the painted dudes! It’s uncomfortable, but hilarious. My opinion, of course. I lean a particular way, so you’ll understand if I don’t look the men over with as much scrutiny.

  Anyway, Fantasy Fest wasn’t on, which depressed me some. Still, even with the regular dress of Key Westers, or Key
Westians, or whatever the hell they called themselves, I was pretty sure I’d be laughin’ at some of the zombies we ran into there. No matter how scared I was. I was preparin’ to see scary but funny things that could literally cause me to die laughin’.

  “God, that water is breathtaking,” said Georgina. “Turquoise, emerald green, all blended together. I’d forgotten.”

  “Don’t get down here much, huh?” I asked.

  “It’s been years. Since I booted Richard. We used to drive down a couple times a year, at least. We brought Roxy when she was younger.”

  “I’ve always hated that term, when he or she was younger, or when I was younger,” said Lilly, her eyes scanning the road ahead.

  “I’m sorry?” said Georgie, her apology ending in a question. “Why?” There was an honest look of confusion on her face. On mine, too. I mean, she was just makin’ conversation. Who gave a rat’s ass how much younger?

  “Because you were younger just a second ago. It really says nothing. It could mean five seconds or five years.”

  “She was much younger,” said Georgina. “Better?”

  Lilly shrugged.

  “You alright, sis?” I asked. “Hey, look!”

  Lilly didn’t answer me, but everyone looked, and I saw smiles erupt on their faces.

  The Welcome to Key West, Florida sign appeared in all its multi-colored glory, and to me, it felt like we’d driven a thousand miles.

  I say that, knowin’ what’s ahead of me. I checked my watch. “It’s only 3:30,” I said.

  “That took a long time,” said Lilly.

  “Maybe so, but there’s plenty of daylight left,” I said. “Man, I need to –”

  My words caught in my throat. As I stared at the many small storefronts beyond where the road split into the A-1-A and Highway 1, the zombies were everywhere. Without looking at Georgie, I said, “Text Roxy again. We’re about ten minutes away. If we’re lucky.”

  “If we’re lucky?” she repeated, her eyes seeing what I had. I guess she’d been lookin’ at her phone when they made their rotten appearance.

  There were several congregated around some buildings, which I assumed held live people. A whole lot of ‘em were trapped inside cars they no longer knew how to drive, crashed into shit. One guy’s windshield was broken, and he’d clearly been thrown through the glass, now trapped there, his head and chest layin’ on the hood, just bakin’ in the sub-tropical sun.

  Other cars were parked along the roadside or in parkin’ lots. I guess some of the occupants might’ve just run to ‘em and jumped inside, eventually dyin’ of the intense heat inside.

  “Cole,” said Lilly, her voice monotone.

  She didn’t need to say any more. She only called me Cole when we were in some shit. I’d heard it out on the swamp on way more than one occasion.

  “I’ll be careful,” I said, anglin’ the car away from a barefoot beachgoer with one arm torn away, and somehow missin’ both ears. I guessed he got caught and turned into one of the freaks from the attack.

  Let me just say they didn’t finish him.

  “Those half-eaten ones,” I said, keepin’ my voice low. Not sure why. My window was up, and my A/C was loud as hell, strugglin’ to blow cold. That guy couldn’t have heard me even if he still had both ears.

  “I think they turned while those other fuckers were eatin’ ‘em. Once they went un-dead, it was just like Mr. Noodle back at Gator Park.”

  “Not a food source anymore,” said Georgie.

  “Now, a family member, in a sense,” said Lilly.

  A moment later, the buzz-chime sounded. Georgie said, “Okay, good. They’ll be watching for us.” She sat up in her seat and brushed at her wrinkled, blood-spattered top and ran her fingers through her hair.

  Both looked the same when she was done.

  “Watch out, Cole!” said Lilly, and I turned my attention back to the road while my sister gripped the handle above her head and leaned to the left like she was steerin’ the Rover by leanin’.

  As I cranked the wheel, my bumper just caught the knee of a gray-faced woman with her entire beach cover-up smeared in dark, red stains. I heard her leg snap and I cringed.

  Her body jerked sharply toward the break in her right leg and she went down like a rag doll. I’m pretty sure the next bump we felt was her head under my tire.

  I felt nauseous at the thought. You’d think I’d experience some detachment rollin’ over a human body with a big vehicle, especially since I’d done it a time or three already, but that ain’t how it is. I might as well have stabbed a knife into her eyeball and twisted it for how disgusted I was.

  When the Rover spit the lady’s body out behind us, I increased my speed, watchin’ far up the street for anything else movin’. I glanced to my left and that’s when I saw what really made me sick.

  Bodies. Floatin’ in the water, face-down and face-up, but arms and legs still movin’. Their swimmin’ dead bodies were buoyant because of the salt content of the water, and I guess it wouldn’t let ‘em sink. Or maybe it was just that the deadheads had air left in their lungs.

  I was pretty sure they didn’t breathe by that time.

  “Two miles!” I said, tryin’ to sound more optimistic than I was. My fuel gauge was close to empty now. I didn’t mention it, but I was with Dr. Georgina Lake and college grad Lilly Baxter, fuckin’ self-proclaimed observer of all things.

  They both knew. We needed gas. It would wait until we had Roxanne Lake in the Rover. And her friend Terry.

  I didn’t need to test Georgie’s sanity any further.

  Ω

  We passed a clawin’ horde just in front of the Silver Palms Inn, and I pressed the gas pedal, despite the fact that I was runnin’ on fumes. Three of ‘em angled in on us and just managed to slam into the side of the trailered boat as we passed, gettin’ spun away by our momentum. We cleared ‘em, but other passin’ drivers clearly hadn’t. Bodies lay sprawled out all over Truman Avenue, scraped and bloodied, and in several cases, partially dismembered, but still squirmin’.

  I kept drivin’, now grittin’ my teeth at every freak who stumbled toward us as we passed. I wasn’t seein’ any other cars at all. My mind went back to a movie I saw when I was a little kid called Omega Man. The flick was old even then, but Charlton Heston was fightin’ these robed zombie types, who only came out at night.

  I sure felt like old Charlie Heston then.

  The GPS spouted, “In one mile, turn right on Whitehead Street.”

  Quite a while ago, I’d set my GPS to a woman’s voice. The men just sound fake, and I can’t stand computer voices. I also picked a British accent. She sounded kinda sexy.

  I’m not sure why, and I don’t think British people necessarily think they’re smarter than Americans, but for some reason, I attach some intelligence to a British accent.

  So if I’m gettin’ directions from a little electronic box, I sure as hell want the British chick givin’ me the info.

  But, I digress.

  I glanced in the rearview mirror, seein’ the road ahead was clear enough to risk it. Georgie had her eyes peeled ahead, with a look of such hope, I felt it was only appropriate to toss my own hope into the ring.

  I wanted so badly to see her holdin’ her daughter in her arms. I was pretty sure I’d never yet seen her as happy as she’d be at that moment.

  That was somethin’ I needed to see. Lilly and I’d had enough misery. Someone deserved some joy, and we deserved to experience it.

  We reached Whitehead Street, and the intersection was clear enough to pass with just a little jog left to get around a crashed scooter. It was hot pink and pretty mangled, but I didn’t see any blood smears on the ground, nor was there any of the staining from the black rain anywhere to be seen.

  The summer rains in Florida gave it a nice face wash. I’d prefer that nasty shit be washed into the Gulf and the Atlantic. I didn’t want to see, smell or touch it ever again.

  Ahead of the Rover, it didn’t look good. Th
e street we’d turned down was thick with residential homes and inns on both sides, and I spotted a white sedan ahead, its rear bumper stickin’ out into the middle of the road a good eight feet.

  There was a Coconuts! food cart blockin’ part of the southbound side of the street, and as I rolled up on it, I saw somethin’ else that tore me up.

  A dog chained to the cart, long dead. Its owner might’ve run away from the zombie freaks, or been turned by the black rain. In the shadow of the black-stained umbrella that somehow still stood over the cart, the dog’s body lay, covered in flies that picked at the remainin’ skin and bones.

  I shook it off and stopped.

  “This is about as far as we can go,” I said. “Looks like we can get through where that car crashed into the wall.”

  “My God, look,” Georgie practically whispered. “How many of them!”

  Through the thick palms that seemed to grow out of control in Ernest Hemingway’s former home, we saw a shiftin’ crowd of bodies in the distance. They had to be near the house.

  “How the hell are we going to get close to the place?” asked Lilly. “I think her count might’ve been a little off.”

  “It might look like more than there are,” I said.

  “I just texted her that we’re here. Let’s go,” said Georgina, pulling on the door handle.

  “Hey!” I shouted. “Close the door. Georgie, we need a plan before we run out there and get ourselves killed.”

  Lilly touched my arm. “CB, maybe a distraction. We know noise draws them. You’ve got that DP-12. How many rounds does it hold?”

  “Sixteen.”

  “Okay. Georgina can stay here.” She stopped for a moment and scanned across the street. “That Lighthouse Court Hotel has a sign that says it’s closed for renovations, and it’s fenced.”

  “So?”

  “That gate’s low! I can jump it and start blasting with the shotgun, CB! When I draw them away from Hemingway’s, you can clear a path to get them out and into the Rover.”