After a couple of blocks the businesses gave way to a mixture of small apartment buildings and houses, before the street curved back to the main road heading west. As the light of the bonfire faded behind her, the population of zombies increased. For another half a mile, though, there weren’t any packs she couldn’t avoid, but very quickly they became thicker. She still managed another quarter mile by driving over lawns and detouring back and forth along side streets, but after nearly getting cornered in a yard by a line of ten rather large and energetic zombies, Becks had to admit it was becoming too dangerous.
Barreling through a park and a playground, she came back out on the main road and decided to look for shelter. But just half a block ahead, she encountered another of those neighborhood barricades of furniture, garden statues, cars, and tree limbs, only this one was huge. Veering to the right, she could see a big herd ahead of her, so she turned into the first driveway and went around to the back of the house.
Turning off the ATV, she sat quietly for several minutes, hoping the herd wouldn’t follow her. When it appeared as if the brief noise of her vehicle wasn’t enough to rouse them from their twilight states, Becks tiptoed to the back door of the modest ranch house. The door was locked, but before she broke a window to get in, she tapped on the door for about fifteen seconds. She waited a couple of minutes, and then repeated the cycle of tapping and waiting two more times.
Hoping she had found a safe place for the night, she raised the butt of her rifle and knocked out a pane of glass from the door. But as the shattered glass fell to the floor, she thought she detected movement at the end of the hallway. Then there was the sound of something being knocked over inside, which made her freeze in place.
Footsteps and creaking floorboards throughout the house made it obvious that she almost walked into a very dangerous situation. Then as three, then six, then at least eight zombies squeezed down the hall toward the back door, Becks realized it would most certainly have been a deathtrap. Retreating from the back porch, she spotted a small wooden tool shed in the neighboring yard. Running over to it, she unlatched the door with one hand, as she grasped a pistol in the other. Jumping backward while yanking the door open, she was relieved to see nothing but gardening implements, some boxes, and a lawn mower.
Wheeling out the lawn mower, and removing a few other things to make some space, Becks threw down a dirty chaise lounge cushion for a bed. But before settling down with an MRE, she used some clothesline cord to secure the doors just in case any curious zombies came upon her hiding place. Thinking while she ate, she wasn’t sure how she was going to get around the barricade or the herds, but a roll of landscape fabric and couple of containers of stump remover in the shed gave her an idea.
Chapter 16
Shortly after dawn, Becks was already hard at work. Rather than a diversion, this time she needed a deterrent to keep the main herd away from the barricade while she tried to climb it. Some group of people had obviously worked long and hard constructing it, so there may be something of value inside. If the barricaded area was completely secure, it could also serve as a base of operations while she did some recon to find ways around the herds and obstacles. If she was really lucky, there might actually be people in there willing to help.
Between her knowledge of chemistry, Cam’s crazy ex-military survivalist friends, and way too many hours watching YouTube videos on how to blow up stuff using household products, Becks had a pretty good idea how to make an effective deterrent. Stump remover is made from potassium nitrate, which more than one YouTube video illustrated that, when mixed with sugar and wax, can produce a very serviceable smoke bomb. Mixed with sulphur and charcoal, it also makes gun powder.
There wasn’t any readily available source of sulphur, but there was a bag of charcoal briquettes in the shed, and a couple of citronella candles. And she had the sugar packets from the MREs, as well as the hard candies from the fallout shelter rations. Using a sledgehammer and a piece of slate, she spent about an hour grinding up candy, sugar, and charcoal to fine powders, and breaking up the candles into tiny pieces. The top of a birdbath acted as a mixing bowl for the powders, candle wax, and the stump remover.
Next, she unrolled all of the landscape fabric and set it aside, because what she really needed was the long cardboard tube inside. At one end of the tube, she wadded in a pair of old rubber-tipped gardening gloves. Then with a trowel she added some of the chemical mixture. On top of that she added her own special touch—a can of pepper spray with its cap and nozzle removed. Then she added more of the mixture, dropped in another can of pepper spray, and then the rest of the mixture. After packing in several pieces of the landscape fabric in the open end, she carefully cut a couple of holes in the tube, squirted in half a can of lighter fluid for good measure, and inserted the wicks from the candles.
“Cam would be very proud of me!” she stated, admiring her own handiwork. “Now, if it will only work…”
The plan was to take the ATV as close to the herd as she dared, light the fuses, drop her homemade bomb, and then go right over to the barricade. She walked through every step she would take, over and over, trying to imagine what could go wrong—which was just about anything—and how she would react and where she would go for safety. She would need to travel light to be able to climb and run, so she would just carry some survival crackers and the couple of bottles of water she taped to her stomach. And she would take her usual weapons, of course.
When she finally felt as prepared as she was ever going to be, she slowly opened the shed door a crack and peered out. No one was in the yard, but she glimpsed something moving by the house she had almost entered the night before. Opening the door a little wider, Becks saw that two arms were sticking out of the broken back door window. The flailing arms—obviously from two different zombies—either indicated they were desperately trying to get out, or they were stuck. Becks didn’t care which it was, just as long as they didn’t figure out how to unlock the door.
Getting on the ATV, she took a deep breath and said, “Okay, let’s do this!”
The engine started to turn over, sputtered for a few moments, and then cut out. Trying again, it sounded like it was going to be okay, until there was this awful, grinding noise and it cut out for good. Becks was no mechanic, but she knew the sound of a catastrophic engine failure when she heard one.
“God damn it!” she growled under her breath, getting off the ATV and kicking it. Three times. “Okay, what’s Plan B?”
Before she decided on a course of action, she crept along the side of the house until she had a clear view up the street toward the herd. They were still there, and numbered somewhere between 150 and 200—way too many to take on alone.
“Where’s my Humvee and .50 cal when I need it?” she sighed.
Retreating back to the shed, she envisioned any number of scenarios, none of which ended well. She couldn’t go right because of the herd. The barricade was straight ahead. And she didn’t want to give up any ground and go back the way she came. Somehow, she needed to safely deliver her special smoke bomb. Opening the shed door again, she looked around for anything she could use, but there was only that lawnmower.
Too bad it’s not a ride-on mower, she thought, but then had an idea.
It wasn’t a ride-on lawn mower, but it did have power assist.
“Eureka!” Becks exclaimed, as Plan B was now in sight—if she could get the lawnmower working.
Fortunately, it was a Honda, and even in the midst of a zombie apocalypse it started on the first pull. Quickly shutting it off, she went back into the shed for an hour, just to make sure no one got all stirred up. She also needed that time to shift supplies from the big duffle bag strapped to the ATV to two backpacks she could carry. She knew the time would probably come when she would have to go on foot—and had trained relentlessly for such an event—but it still sucked that she had to leave anything behind.
Space in the two packs and her pockets was at a premium, and food, water, and am
munition were obviously the top priorities. Twice she tossed aside Little Eddie’s chemistry book, but twice she picked it up again. It was sentimental nonsense, and there was absolutely no room in her packs, but she simply couldn’t leave it behind. Removing her silverware-covered jacket, she duct-taped the book to the inside lining on the left front. It was impractical and uncomfortable, but she did it anyway.
She then placed one pack on her back and the other on her chest. Her rifle went over one shoulder, and the improvised quiver of broom-handled spears went over the other. Sadly, the flail was just too heavy and would have to stay. Surprisingly though, even with all the weight she was carrying, she could still run. But if she had to squeeze through any tight spaces, she would have to drop the quiver and front pack, at the very least.
As often happened these past few months, duct tape was the final step in her plan. Taping her bomb to the front of the lawn mower, she walked it up to the edge of the street. Giving it a pull, the engine roared to life. Wrapping duct tape around the power assist lever, she steered it into the street and aimed it toward the herd, which was only about 75 feet away. The herd was now well aware of her presence and moving toward her. Staying with the mower another 25 feet, Becks then let go and ran alongside for a few yards to light the fuses. Once they were both lit, she took off in a sprint away from the herd.
Fortunately, the mower went relatively straight, and the bulk of the herd’s attention was now drawn to it. The “older” zombies—those who switched in the early days of infection—shied away from the loud noise and turned around, which was something she had observed previously with both loud sounds and bright lights. However, more than enough of the “younger generation” surged forward. When the front line of zombies was only about ten feet away from the mower, the two wicks ignited the lighter fluid. At first, Becks was afraid the whole thing would fizzle out, but then there were two bright flashes in rapid succession, followed by an ominous phhhht sound.
Thick, black smoke started billowing out of the two holes, just as the lawn mower rammed into a couple of zombies, causing it to stop moving, which was just what she wanted to have happen. The fact that numerous feet were caught underneath the mower and sliced to shreds was just an unexpected bonus. The herd stopped moving forward, but it wasn’t sure which way to go as the smoke prevented them from seeing more than a few feet. But the best part was yet to come.
As the heat built up inside the burning tube, the two cans of pepper spray exploded, adding their fiery contents to the smoke. Becks actually laughed and clapped her hands as scores of blinded, choking zombies stumbled backward, trying to escape the irritating smoke, but each time the herd moved back, the lawn mower moved back with them.
Once she was certain the herd was well on their way down the street and away from her, she jogged over to the barricade and looked for the best way over. Taking a minute to examine the haphazard structure, she realized there was some method to the madness. Starting with the washer and dryer combo, she could then step up to the sectional sofa. From there the garbage cans filled with dirt were steps to the mattress and box spring at the top. Reaching the box spring, she slowly peered over the mattress, and almost fell over backwards at what she saw.
Peering back from the other side of the mattress was a little girl—maybe six or seven, possibly older, but probably stunted by malnutrition. She had dirty blond hair, emphasis on dirty, with numerous scars and sores on her face and arms, and she was wobbling back and forth on an old wooden ladder that was used as a lookout.
“Who are you? Are you here to help us?” she whispered.
“Yes. Yes, I can help you, honey. I’m a doctor,” Becks responded, regaining her composure. “How many of you are there? Are your parents here?”
“Some parents are still here. Most are gone…” she said with a thousand-yard stare as her voice trailed away.
“I’m so sorry, dear,” Becks replied, as she inched up a little higher to sit on the mattress and see over the barricade. There was another large barricade straight ahead, about two blocks down. The neighborhood looked like hell, but she couldn’t see any other people. “Could you go tell one of the parents that I’m here, and I that would like to come in?”
“If you leave all of your weapons on the mattress, you can come in and we will give you something to eat. No one will hurt you,” the little girl said as if speaking rehearsed lines.
None of her original innocence was now evident in her words or demeanor, as her eyes darted to the right as if she was looking for someone. Becks had heard enough kids lying in the emergency room over the years to know that this girl was not being honest. Some of the most memorable lies had been from a boy who swore that, “I didn’t push my sister off the roof of the garage,” and the five-year-old girl who definitely “didn’t light a pack of fire crackers in my sister’s bed.” The list went on and on, but the bottom line was that Becks knew something was fishy.
“Don’t be afraid, sweetie” Becks said in her most soothing tone. “I don’t want anything from you. I just want to cross your barricades and go home. Why don’t you tell your friends to come on out so we can talk? I know someone is watching us.”
The girl got a strange look on her face—kind of a wild look—and then shouted at the top of her lungs, “She’s on to us!”
Just as the girl’s head ducked down, a shot whistled past Becks’ left ear. Flattening on the mattress, Becks pulled out a pistol with one hand, and with the other she reached over and grabbed the girl by her collar. Yanking her up onto the mattress, Becks sat up and put the girl in her lap to use as a pretend shield. She had no intention of hurting a hair on this girl’s filthy, lice-infested head.
“Stop shooting, for Christ’s sake!” Becks yelled. “I’m an Army doctor, I can help you. I was stranded a few months ago and I’m just trying to get back home. Please, let’s just talk about—”
Before Becks could finish, another shot rang out. The bullet tore through the girl’s body and struck Becks in the abdomen. It felt like a mule had kicked her and she gasped for air. Another shot sailed wide by just a foot, and Becks dropped the girl’s body and rolled off the mattress, dropping hard onto the garbage cans below. She was covered in blood, but who’s blood?
There was a bullet hole in the pack she had over her chest. Pulling it off, she searched for the entry wound. What she found amazed her.
“Son of a bitch…” she said under her breath.
After passing through the chest of the girl, the bullet had struck one of the spoons Becks had taped to her jacket. While it pierced the metal, the spent bullet stopped in the middle of chapter two, “Covalent and Ionic Bonds,” of Little Eddie’s chemistry book! But her joy at the discovery was quickly overshadowed by the fact that someone had murdered a child just to kill her. There was blood on Becks’ hands, But not as much as there’s going to been when I’m through, she vowed, as she slid her sniper rifle over her shoulder.
Becks assumed that whoever was firing had either lost sight of her, or presumed she was dead, as there were no more shots. Slowly repositioning herself, she was able to put the barrel of the rifle through the slats of a packing crate and see down to the ground below. Minutes ticked by, and then finally there was movement. One child emerged from a house, then another, and another, until there was a group of sixteen kids of all ages.
“What is this, Lord of the Fucking Flies?” she moaned, lowering the rifle.
“I think it’s clear,” one of the older boys shouted.
“Well, go and take a look,” a 30-ish woman in a ski cap and yoga pants shouted, as she came out from behind an SUV holding a hunting rifle.
Ahh, we have the shooter, Becks thought as she centered the crosshairs on woman’s right thigh. If this woman was the only adult taking care of all these children, she didn’t want to kill her, but she couldn’t let the woman keep shooting at her, either. Becks aim was impeccable, tearing through the meaty part of the woman’s thigh, but not touching the bone. She would bleed
a lot and have trouble walking for a couple of months, but she would live.
Shrieking in pain, the woman fell to the ground and dropped the rifle. Immediately, one of the older girls picked it up and sent two more rounds Becks’ way.
“Well, that didn’t work,” Becks said, both angry and dismayed at the turn of events. Still not wanting to harm a child, she spoke up. “Stop! No more shooting!”
The girl answered by splintering one of the slats of the packing crate with another well-placed shot.
“Please listen to me!” Becks shouted, quickly losing her patience. “I just want to get across your barricades and get the hell out of here. There are army patrols on 287, and we can all get to a safe place to live.”
“Liar! You want to kill us and take our stuff, just like everyone else,” the girl yelled as she took aim for her next shot.
“I don’t want to kill anyone!” Becks protested. “That woman just killed this poor girl.”
“She was sick anyway,” the woman on the ground bellowed like an insane person as she used both hands to press down on the wound to try to stop the bleeding. “We all have to make sacrifices to survive! She knew that. I have to keep my kids safe.”
Becks wondered if the little girl had any choice in being the sacrificial lamb, or even had any clue her life was in danger when she was sent up that ladder. She also doubted that the woman saw the irony in keeping “her kids” safe by killing other children, and she wasn’t about to waste her breath trying to talk sense into her.
“Look, no one else needs to get hurt. In fact, I can help you, I’m a doctor. Looks like everyone could use a doctor, especially you,” Becks said, hoping the woman’s self-preservation instinct would kick in, but it didn’t.
“Kill her! Kill her, kill her, kill her!” the woman shouted maniacally, over and over.
The girl with the rifle started shooting again, as did two boys with pistols. The younger children actually ran and got rocks to throw.
HVZA (Book 2): Hudson Valley Zombie Apocalypse 2 Page 24