HVZA (Book 1): Hudson Valley Zombie Apocalypse

by Zimmermann, Linda

  The fall and the cold water were a shock to my system, but not nearly as shocking as the line of zombies I saw waiting for me at the edge of the pool, just before my waterlogged flashlight winked out.

  What could I do? I couldn’t risk climbing out of the pool if I couldn’t see who was there, but I couldn’t tread water all night, either. And I prayed that my early observations of a zombie’s reluctance to go in water were accurate. I slowly inched my way around in the murky, leaf-filled water until my toe touched the bottom. A few more feet and I was at least able to stand.

  But there was no way I could relax, as a sudden loud splash in the deep end meant I had company. Had a zombie jumped in to get me, or had it fallen in the water by accident? The seconds ticked by in sheer terror, waiting for an attack. Would it come from above or below the water? I couldn’t have been more scared out of my mind if I had jumped into a shark tank at feeding time. With a pistol in each hand, I kept spinning in a circle with my arms extended, hoping to be able to get off a shot before the zombie was close enough to bite me.

  Ten seconds passed. Then at least twenty or thirty seconds. I tried to control my rapid breathing so I could hear if anyone was approaching me in the water. There were only the sounds of bubbles from the deep end, and after a couple of minutes I stopped spinning, and prayed that the zombie had drowned.

  There was suddenly movement close behind me and something swiped through my hair. I realized that as I was now only in waist-deep water, I was probably close to the end of the pool, which meant being within arms-reach of the several zombies I could hear grunting and shuffling about. I couldn’t see, but I could tell their arms were flailing around, trying to grab me. As much as I hated to go back into deeper water, I moved forward until I was just able to keep standing.

  I knew shouting for help was useless, and the sound might just attract more zombies. I could have used my sat phone to try to call for help, except I had left it in the Humvee. I had 17 rounds in my Glock, and 5 left in the Magnum, but I couldn’t see where I was shooting, and if all the zombies I saw were drawn to my location, 22 bullets would not be nearly enough. Although hypothermia would quickly become a concern, being bitten to death was the greater threat, so I had no choice but to stay put and wait until daylight.

  After an hour or so, I was shaking uncontrollably and beginning to get drowsy—classic signs of the early stages of hypothermia. I moved around as much as I could to stay alert, but I knew I couldn’t take seven or eight more hours in this cold water. Damn my memory, but I recalled the charts of survival rates of people in cold water. On the negative side, I estimated the water temperature to be in the upper 50s. On the plus side, my arms and head were out of the water, and I wasn’t expending energy by treading water. Still, another hour or so and I would be completely exhausted with serious loss of motor skills. Not long after that I would slip into unconsciousness and then slip under the water—if the zombies didn’t grab me first.

  I had to do something. I hadn’t heard the sounds of shuffling feet for a while, so I decided to try a test shot and hoped that the muzzle flash would let me know if my path was clear. I aimed for what I thought was a corner of the shallow end and squeezed off a round at approximately chest height, in case any zombies were standing there.

  The bullet did in fact strike a zombie in the chest, and passed through her body to the zombie standing behind her, but I don’t think it made it through to the zombie behind him. To my absolute horror, in that brief flash of light I saw that zombies were bunched at least three deep around the perimeter of the pool!

  I didn’t bother praying. I was almost certain I was going to die. But I wouldn’t let the zombies get me. One of the remaining 21 bullets would be for my own brain.

  My fingers were stiff and almost completely numb, but I held on tight to those pistols and tried to think of any way out of this nightmare—alive. If I could blow the brains out of one or two of them, that might cause a feeding frenzy and distract enough of them to create a gap in the wall of zombies that surrounded the pool. Of course, in the darkness it would be tough to ensure head shots. And if I did create a gap, would I judge it correctly, or would I hoist myself out of the pool and right into the grasp of thirty or forty ravenous zombies? I needed a better plan; my life depended on it.

  As I stood chest deep in the water, shivering, and teeth chattering, my thoughts drifted to the costume I wore for Halloween when I was in the second grade. Or was it the first? I was a pirate before it was cool to be a pirate. And although I didn’t appreciate it at the time, I was the most authentic little pirate in the neighborhood, thanks to my antique-dealer parents. I actually went trick-or-treating with a real 18th century flintlock pistol strapped to my chest!

  Then I started thinking about the candy that the Andersons down the street gave out. I was a pure chocolate girl—Three Musketeers, Hershey’s, Baby Ruth, Snickers, Nestle Crunch; you name it, I would eat it. I wouldn’t even mind if some lollipops and gum were dropped into my pillow case—excuse me, pirate loot sack. But damn, the Andersons always handed out those awful Mary Jane taffy squares, and by the handfuls. Yuck! I always wondered, did they actually think they were doing something nice, or did they just hate kids? I would have to stop by later and ask them, but I hoped they wouldn’t be handing out those awful Mary Janes.

  When my face hit the water the cold shock brought me back to my senses. My mind had been wandering and I had fallen asleep. I couldn’t last much longer. I was so tired. I was so very, very cold. Next time I might not wake up when my head slipped under the water. It would either have to be a bullet to my brain right now, or try to fight my way through the horde of zombies and try to make a run for it—but my legs were so numb and heavy, could I even run?

  I moved the muzzle of the Magnum back and forth across my skull, pondering the pros and cons. Yes, I would be dead, but I wouldn’t have to face one more moment of terror and savagery of the zombie apocalypse. Still, if I could fight my way out I would be able to help people who needed a doctor. And I felt bad for Cam, as he would never know what happened to me. But I was so, so tired, I just wanted to close my eyes and make the whole world go away with a simple press of the trigger. It seemed to make the most sense.

  As my index finger flirted with the trigger, I thought I saw a fleeting spot of light. Was it a shooting star? A hallucination? Then another spot of light cut through the darkness. I eased the pistol away from my head as my eyes and ears strained to detect the source of the flicker of light.

  Then three glistening beams zigzagged through the air above the zombies, and settled as bright red spots on the foreheads of three of them. Instantly, high-powered rifle shots shattered the silence, just a moment before the roar of automatic weapons seemed to make the very air explode. Zombies and chunks of zombie flesh splashed down into the water, and I rushed to the back wall of the pool to avoid the inhuman debris.

  Suddenly, blinding flashlight beams from three directions turned the darkness to daylight, and I closed my eyes to the intolerable brightness. Then I heard my name being shouted. Someone was calling to my left, urging me to swim. An unbelievable amount of gunfire continued to thunder all around me, and I tried to swim around the putrid-smelling bodies, and through warm, gooey pieces of god knows what. I was completely disoriented and didn’t even know if I was going the right way, when a huge hand grabbed my collar and yanked me right out of the water. I thought it was a zombie so I started to kick and punch. Then two powerful arms wrapped around me so tightly I could barely breathe, and a familiar voice shouted in my ear, “It’s PayRay, god damn it! Stop fighting and let me save your stupid ass.”

  I was unceremoniously hoisted over his shoulder as he ran toward the street, and I just caught glimpse of at least a dozen heavily armed men and women who were mowing down the zombie horde which had to have numbered over a hundred! Stacks and stacks of bloody, mangled bodies were falling into the pool—the pool where moments ago I was about to blow out my own brains.

&n
bsp; My mind was swirling as I struggled against the hypothermia-induced fog, and I think I was fading in and out of consciousness. I can’t say exactly what happened from that point, but I vaguely recall someone driving me home in the Humvee, then being carried into my house. It was at least an hour or two later that I realized I was wrapped in blankets in front of a blazing fire in my woodstove. At that moment, I had no recollection of the evening’s events, so when I saw someone moving toward me in the living room, I sat bolt upright and started screaming.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Calm the fuck down, bitch,” came a familiar voice as the figure put up his hands to show he wasn’t armed. “You’re safe, now, Doctor. Thanks to Cooljon!”

  As I was still getting my bearings, Cooljon went into the kitchen and returned with some hot tea. He handed me the mug, then a tablet of Eradazole.

  “Now all you need is one of these here pills. Remember, that’s all you need to prevent infection,” he said, obviously relishing having the tables turned.

  After I swallowed the pill, I realized I was naked under the blankets and wondered what else he had been relishing.

  Cooljon explained that although he had volunteered to remove my wet, zombie blood-soaked clothes, one of the women had done it. But he may just have peeked, just a little.

  I wondered how many people had been in my home, and if they had taken any or all of my food, weapons, and medical supplies. Cooljon must have read the concern in my expression.

  “Don’t go panicking, doctor. We didn’t take nothin’. We don’t need your measly supplies.”

  I couldn’t tell if he was lying or not, but even if my house had been picked bare, there wasn’t anything I could do about it. Not that I would have had the strength at the moment to even try.

  “I’m still a bit hazy on everything that happened tonight. And can you tell me how the hell you found me?” I asked, taking another sip of tea and wriggling a bit closer to the fire.

  “Well, some of the boys saw you driving around town feeding the zombies, then they heard a shot. We had someone check your house and when PayRay found out you was missing, he figured you was in trouble, so he sent out his best man—namely me—and I found your Humvee. When I heard a shot from behind the houses there I called in the cavalry. We did bring down a world of hurt on them zombie mothafuckas!

  “Now you tell me somethin’. What the fuck were you doing feeding zombies? And how the fuck does a smart-ass doctor find her way into a swimming pool wearing a witch hat? For someone with so much education, you are one weird, fucked up, dumb-ass bitch.”

  How could I argue? Instead, I explained about the poisoned meat, and how it was infecting the zombies, which absolutely delighted Cooljon. Then I made some lame attempts at describing the series of unfortunate circumstances that led to my near-fatal predicament, such as dropping the jar of meat, my tangled shoelace, leaving the phone in the car, etc., but I finally had to conclude, “I was a complete dumb-ass. And thank you for saving my life.”

  He actually came over and shook my hand after I said that, but I think it might have been to get a better angle to look under the blanket. He then offered to stay and help me warm up, but I assured him I would be fine and that he could leave. On wobbly legs, I went to the porch to make sure he got back to his car all right. Then I went back to the floor in front of the fire and curled up in a fetal position.

  I immediately fell asleep, but ten minutes later I woke up screaming and kicking, thinking I was still in the water. After a while I drifted back to sleep again, only to dream of hungry, terrifying faces staring at me, and filthy, grasping hands pulling me down.

  “I can’t deal with this!” I yelled after the fourth nightmare woke me up in a cold sweat.

  With the blankets wrapped around me, I shuffled into my parents’ bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. There was another bottle of the same sleeping pills they had used to commit suicide. I don’t know why I didn’t throw them out, but I was glad that I hadn’t, because I needed them. When I turned the bottle over to get one, the entire contents spilled into my hand. I admit, for a fleeting second I was tempted.

  “I will live to fight another day,” I said, swallowing one pill, and pouring the rest back in the bottle. “But let’s make that the day after tomorrow. I need sleep.”

  The pill acted quickly and made all the faces in my dreams go away. I would live to fight another day—only next time I wouldn’t be such a dumb-ass about it.

  Chapter 11

  Phase 11: Fort Ace: In the time before zombies started eating people and the world went to shit, a phone call in the middle of the night meant one of two things: I was being called into work at the hospital or one of my many elderly relatives had kicked the bucket.

  In the days since zombies started eating people and the world went to shit, the sound of a phone ringing was a rare occurrence at any time of day. So when my sat phone started ringing at about 3am on the morning of November 3, my initial half-asleep thought was that the hospital was calling to see if I could work an extra shift. By the third ring I was fully awake, and fully concerned that something was wrong with Cam or Yvonne, as I couldn’t imagine who else would be calling me at that number.

  I raced into the living room—where I had left the phone on the couch after a long talk with Cam—and breathlessly answered it.

  “Dr. Rebecca Truesdale?” a gruff and unfamiliar male voice asked.

  “Yes. Who is this?”

  “I have a message from Phil.”

  Phil! I hadn’t heard from him since the day he left ParGenTech more than three weeks ago to find his family.

  “Is he okay? Is Phil in trouble?” I asked with my heart in my throat.

  “He was put in a containment facility a few weeks ago at the prison in Napanoch, New York. We were all ordered out and he asked me to call you. I left him some food and water. He needs your help.”

  My mind raced with a million questions, but the mysterious caller hung up.

  “Think, think, think,” I said as I paced the living room floor rubbing the sides of my head. “What do I need to get him out? What do I need to treat him once I get him out?”

  The answers were simple, all the firepower and medical supplies I could stuff into the Humvee.

  After the zombie pool party, I had promised myself that I would never again needlessly put myself in danger. But this was Phil, and he needed my help. There was no question that breaking into a containment facility would be insanely dangerous, but there was also no question that I would try.

  I hit the road just about dawn, and as I raced up the Thruway I took a deep breath and called Cam.

  “You’re going where? You’re going to try to do what?” he shouted at me as if I was a rebellious child. “Rebecca Mary Truesdale, I absolutely forbid you to do this!”

  “Cam, it’s non-negotiable. I’m on my way and I could use your help.”

  “God damn it Trues, Phil was just your boss, for Christ’s sake! Most people would be happy to have their boss in a containment facility.”

  “Phil is like a father to me. I’m not losing another father.”

  I felt kind of guilty playing the emotional paternal card like that, but I would do anything to try to save Phil.

  “Shit. This isn’t fair. This isn’t fair to me, to my men, to ask them to go on this suicide mission for someone they don’t even know, and for all we know may be dead already. At the very least, he has to be terminally infected being in a place like that.”

  I had to agree with him; this was really too much to ask of anyone. But I was desperate, and not ashamed to beg for help for someone for whom I cared so deeply. Cam said he would talk to the men and meet me at the Ace Hardware store in Ellenville, just south of Napanoch. Apparently, some locals were living in the store, and using it as kind of a command post and safe haven for “survivor operations” in the area.

  Who knew? Like their slogan said, Ace really was the helpful place!

  As daylight revealed the landscape arou
nd me, I thought about all those apocalypse movies I had seen. I could never understand why all the highways were always blocked with hundreds and thousands of cars. Sure, there was the occasional abandoned car on the side of the road where an unfortunate traveler ran out of gas, but for the most part, the Thruway and Route 17 were like wide open racetracks, and I was taking full advantage. And if anyone had any ideas about trying to stop passing motorists to rob them of their supplies, they certainly weren’t going to step out in front of a speeding, armored Humvee with a .50 caliber machine gun mounted on the roof.

  As for the zombie population, that was another story. There were several packs roaming the sides of the roads along the way. One particularly large group near the Chester exit on Route 17 was big enough to warrant one of my infected meat grenades—which I tossed from the safety of my vehicle. Up near Fair Oaks, there was one particularly stupid zombie who was pushing his legs against the guardrail. He obviously couldn’t figure out how to get over the guardrail, and didn’t have the brains to turn around!

  When I turned off Route 17 to go north on Route 209, there were quite a few zombies milling about. In Wurtsboro, one male zombie was standing right in the middle of my lane—and he was wearing a Dallas Cowboys jersey.

  “Ohhh, I’m going to enjoy this,” I said as I punched the accelerator to the floor.

  I counted a full four seconds of hang time before the Cowboys fan hit the pavement.

  The rest of the journey was uneventful, and when I saw the sign for Ellenville, I slowed down and began searching for the hardware store. I quickly discovered it wouldn’t be hard to find as a sheet of plywood painted with fluorescent orange construction paint announced: “If you are not infected and in need of help, come to Ace Hardware, ahead on right.” A hundred feet further down, another sheet of plywood read, “You can work for food and shelter. Zombies need not apply.”