The dead moved slowly, rarely looked upward, their gazes generally focused straight ahead of them unless something caught their attention. Even then, most of them barely managed to hit a brisk walking pace. They moved along steadily and evenly. They seemed either unable to climb or unaware that they could attempt to do so.
Max kept his foot on the gas as he passed the reaching arms of the dead. He dodged wrecked cars and an overturned city bus. How the fuck did that happen? He wondered. There were cars stopped with doors ajar, void of any people inside. A six car pileup took up the right three lanes. Inside were zombies still strapped in by their seatbelts in what had become their final tombs.
An ambulance with its lights barely flickering as its battery slowly died sat parked in the middle of the six lanes. The rear doors were open exposing one of the dead strapped to a gurney. It lifted its head and gnashed its teeth while its arms and legs struggled to break free of the restraints. Next to the gurney was a dead paramedic manically fumbling about trying to leave the ambulance to reach them in their SUV, but he couldn’t figure out how to disentangle his legs from some straps and supplies that had dumped to the floor.
The right three lanes were impassable with the dead shuffling between and around the wrecked cars spanning across all three lanes, so Max pushed through the crowd to the left of the ambulance. Most of the vehicles in all six lanes had been headed for the onramp of the interstate. A few head-on collisions sat where incoming traffic had hit cars going the wrong way. He was finding it more and more difficult to weave a path through the wrecks and stalled vehicles. Fortunately, it was just as difficult for the dead to make their way through. Instead of a mass of zombies in front of them, they faced small pockets of them weaving between the stalled traffic.
“If you have to, take the next left,” Jesse yelled as the open space on the roadway narrowed.
“If I do that, we’re going to be right back where we started,” Max yelled back. A left turn would take them nearly in a U-turn and within a block of the parking garage they had spent the night on.
“I’m not backtracking. Not here, not yet,” Max said determinedly. He pushed a little harder on the gas, desperate to push through the crowds. He winced each time a body was pulled under the vehicle worried that a tire would get punctured.
Max slowed slightly as he approached the last possible left turn before the large upcoming intersection. The smaller street was packed with zombies. There were black charred bodies burned so badly that Max couldn’t tell whether they had been male or female, yet they continued to shuffle down the street. The building on the corner burned brightly with smoke pouring from windows on nearly every floor. The dead slowly stumbled from the building, many of them on fire. Windows were popping and glass was raining down on the dead below, but they didn’t notice.
Max sped up and kept moving forward toward the upcoming major intersection. A dead mailman still holding his mailbag glanced off the front corner of the SUV then slammed through the passenger side mirror, taking it with him as he fell just past the rear tire.
Max squeezed between a short line of wrecked and stalled vehicles to his right and a bus lane to his left. The bus lane was filled with a long row of parked buses. He had less than a full lane with which to maneuver but he had far fewer of the dead in front of him. They must have been caught up trying to get between and around the buses. It was as if a narrow thousand foot long pathway had opened up to him with the sides of the SUV lightly scratching against the cars to his right and the buses to his left. He drove carefully through the opening to make sure their vehicle didn’t get caught up on any of those surrounding them. He winced as the driver’s side scraped against the side of a city bus. He felt his door push slightly inward toward him and heard his side mirror snap off.
“We can’t take many more hits,” Jesse said. With Max so focused on driving, Jesse pointed out the heavily sunken dent in the front part of the hood. If they’d been driving a lessor vehicle, they would have been forced to abandon it already.
Even though they were in the far left of six lanes, they needed to make a right turn at the next light. The intersection was huge with three of the four adjoining streets as wide as the one they’d been driving on. As they finally passed by the building engulfed in flames on their left, Max saw his opening to veer right just ahead. He pulled straight forward until he was near the middle of the intersection, weaving around wrecked and abandoned vehicles and the dead that stepped out from behind them. A ten car pileup blocked a large area to his left and part of the street directly in front of him. An overturned bus had cut off traffic from the right side creating an opening, so he started his wide gradual turn toward the right.
“Look out,” Jesse hollered while pointing at a group of at least fifty zombies that had been in a blind spot on the other side of the bus and were now directly in front of them.
There was nothing Max could do but continue forward and he cringed as he plowed into body after body. There were too many to keep track of as bodies were flung to the left and right, under and over the SUV, some splattering the underside of the bus to their right. He heard an incredibly loud pop as the driver’s side tire ran over one too many skulls. Out of the corner of his eye he saw warning lights on the dashboard but didn’t have a spare second to look at them. Three of the dead landed on the hood as one, their momentum just enough to cause a crack to form in the middle of the windshield.
“Holy shit,” Max yelled trying to steer and hold the glass back at the same time. Jesse was leaning into the windshield using his entire upper body to push against the glass so it wouldn’t break away from the frame.
“Keep moving, we can’t stop,” Jesse said as he struggled. All three of the dead seemed to have gotten some sort of grip on the hood and caused the glass on the windshield to form a growing spider web. Max didn’t have enough room to maneuver to try to swerve to knock them off. Driving nearly blind he sped up fast, and then depressed the brakes halfway down. He was afraid to bring them to a complete stop lest they become completely surrounded. The maneuver knocked one of the zombies off of the hood.
One of the dead was heavily burned, its skin blackened and flaking off in large pieces. It was burned so badly that there was no indication of whether it had been a man or a woman. It had skeletal hands exposing stark white bones gripping one of the windshield wipers. What little remained of its face was looking directly at Max. Bright white teeth glistened as it snapped its jaw open and shut. The rest of the head was losing charred pieces every second, falling off and floating away like bits of burned paper. It pushed one hand against the weakening glass of the windshield trying to reach the meal within while the other still held tight to the wiper. Max glanced down at the controls in front of him and turned the wipers on. The zombie’s balance was completely lost, and its grip so suddenly moved that its body fell off in a somersault, almost comically, when the wiper moved to the side. It was a vision that would never leave Max’s mind, forever burned into his memory.
The remaining zombie had a firm grip on the edge of the hood by what remained of the windshield. He had been a twenty-something man wearing jeans and a t-shirt with clearly defined muscles helping him to hold his grip. There was a tennis ball sized chunk of flesh torn from his neck where it met his shoulder. Several large bite wounds covered his forearm, and his right hand was missing its smallest finger. Sinewy strings of flesh stretched across the open space between his neck and shoulder. His bloodied face was pressed flat against the cracking glass and he was pushing his head into it causing the glass to give a little more.
The windshield finally broke from its frame and imploded inward. The dead man’s entire upper body fell into the car face first settling partially on the dashboard and partially in Jesse’s lap. Jesse struggled to hold the dead man’s face away from him as it grabbed hold of his left arm. He pushed upward with his left arm fighting against the man’s grip and pushing the man’s own arm back toward its throat. Jesse tried to hit it with his
hammer but didn’t have enough momentum to cause fatal damage. His hammer struck the dead man’s temple which went unnoticed. He struck again shattering the man’s nose with no result other than the dead man’s brackish blood spraying about. The dead man’s strength was greater than Jesse’s own. Jesse was a beast, but the zombie was a steroid poster boy. He brought up his right arm hammer in hand and pushed the guy’s face back far enough to buy himself a few more precious seconds. The guy’s head slumped unexpectedly as Max thrust a screwdriver through his ear as deep as it would go and gave it a hard twist.
“Fucking hell,” Jesse gasped with a quick glance at Max. He hadn’t thought he was going to survive that one. He pushed the zombie off of his lap and mostly onto the dashboard but didn’t have the strength to push the dead weight off the hood.
The SUV protested as Max finished his right turn and veered all the way around the overturned bus and into the far right lane. Eight lanes across to his left sat the basketball arena. Just beyond that was the baseball stadium. Both were surrounded by zombies.
Straight ahead past both, five hundred yards away and within view on the far right side of the street was the turn onto the onramp to the interstate that would take them toward home. The front driver’s side tire was gone, having shredded before they had fully rounded the overturned bus. They were driving on three tires and one rim. Max tried to push the SUV forward, but two more of the dead appeared in front of them causing the final fatal damage to the vehicle. Smoke billowed from beneath the smashed up hood and the SUV sputtered to a stop.
Chapter 13
Day 2
Anna woke early having slept little during the night. She felt sure they had done everything they could yesterday to secure their home, but she kept playing various what if scenarios in her head and that kept her awake. Knowing that Max was safe was keeping her sane. But he was in a precarious situation and anything could happen at any time. She wouldn’t feel whole until he made it home safely.
She had felt the need to patrol their property during the night. She needed to know what was out there. There were a couple dozen zombies shuffling around her street. She didn’t see any neighbors that she recognized among them, but it appeared that her neighbor directly across the street had turned. The front door hung open, the automatic porch light was on and there was a dark handprint stain streaked across the side of the doorframe.
The dead hadn’t seemed to discover their house yet and she hoped to keep it that way. Once daylight hit, she decided not to do another full perimeter check until after her kids were up. She stretched and grabbed her phone to check for new messages. Max had sent one at dawn just to let her know that they were okay and were moving out. The thought of him trying to make his way through thousands of dead downtown made her blood run cold so she forced herself to think of other things.
She was surprised and relieved to get a message from Michelle this morning. She had felt certain they would have shown up yesterday and was worried when they hadn’t. Knowing that they were only a few minutes away gave her hope. If things weren’t too crazy on the back roads Michelle and the kids would be here soon.
Damon and Camille still slept, and Anna didn’t want to wake them. Damon had worked himself beyond the point of exhaustion securing their house yesterday. She was proud of him. He’d done more than she would have ever thought possible. He was so much like his father, hardworking and a fierce protector.
Anna knew that Camille had been exhausted too. She’d spent most of the day hauling wood and metal bars. That girl was not used to doing any manual labor of any kind, so she was bound to be tired and sore today.
Anna never turned the TV off last night but had muted the volume. She made a pot of coffee then sat down on the couch to watch the latest headlines. Much to her surprise, the news reports were outdated. Reels from yesterday played over and over. There were plenty of news reports from around the country that she hadn’t seen yet, but there was no live news. No news anchors reporting from any studios. The entire country had fallen in little more than a day.
She watched some of the looping reels and wasn’t surprised to learn that NYC was on fire. If downtown Cleveland was burning, she imagined that most every major city was. There was a clip showing thousands of dead moving across the White House lawn. The building itself appeared darkened and abandoned. Beaches in Florida showed innumerous crowds of zombies shuffling awkwardly through the sand. They tripped and fell and made their way back to their feet again only to repeat the cycle. The news reports she saw yesterday played again showing the chaos at the Cleveland airport and the plane crash in Philly. She was about to switch to the DVR to check the live news reports they had recorded yesterday as they secured the house when she heard footsteps in the hallway.
Damon wandered in yawning and rubbing his eyes.
“Hey Mom,” he said, “any word from Dad?” as his gaze wandered to the news on the TV. Anna saw his eyes widen at the violence flashing across the screen.
“Dad messaged this morning. He’s safe,” Anna answered. “But it’s going to take him a minute to get home.”
Camille came down the hallway wincing and making exaggerated motions with each step.
“Argh, I think my muscles are broken,” she playfully whined. The grin disappeared from her face as soon as she caught a glimpse of the carnage playing out on the TV. “Dad?” she asked worry lining her face.
“He’s fine. He’s on his way home with Jesse,” Anna replied. “Michelle, Joey and Lucia are on their way. They got stuck staying in a barn last night. Hopefully, they’ll be here soon.”
Both of her kids’ faces brightened a bit at the news that their best friends were on their way. Camille picked up her phone and began messaging Lucia while Damon’s gaze stayed affixed on the TV screen.
“Go get some breakfast. Both of you,” Anna continued as Camille remained glued to her phone. “Drink some milk and only eat fresh food from the fridge because we’re going to lose it all once the power goes out.”
Camille cooked a dozen eggs and a pound of bacon while Anna drank her coffee and started watching the news from the DVR. Damon sat down next to her with an energy drink.
She pressed play on the remote at a news broadcast that had been live around 3:00 yesterday afternoon. Two news anchors sat in a studio briefly discussing and introducing each news clip before it played. At the bottom of the screen in huge letters was a breaking news banner that ran on a loop.
‘Widespread infection has been confirmed throughout the country and most of the world. Bites from the infected are fatal. There is no treatment or cure. Anyone who has been bitten will become one of the dead without exception. If you or someone you know has been bitten there is only one option: destroy the brain of the infected person. Do not try to treat bite victims. Do not hide bite wounds from your family. Every bitten person will become infected. If your loved one has been bitten, they are no longer your loved one. They are one of the infected dead. The infected do not think nor do they feel emotions. They are wired to feed on the living. All bites are fatal. Their brains must be destroyed. Gunshots to the head are highly effective however it has been reported that the dead are drawn to sound. Long, sharp implements such as ice picks or knives thrust through the ear or the eye are effective in destroying the brain. Authorities recommend staying in your homes at this time. If you live near one of the emergency FEMA centers listed below, please make your way there as quickly as possible. If there is no FEMA center listed yet in your area, please stay in your home.’
Anna read the news scroll three times as it repeated across the bottom quarter of her TV screen. Directly beneath a short list of hastily assembled FEMA centers throughout the country scrolled on a loop. She paid the list little regard. Even if a FEMA center popped up down the street there was no way she would take her family there. She knew they were safest in their home, at least for now. If they eventually did have to leave their house, it wouldn’t be for the nearest FEMA center. She felt certain that th
ey would be undermanned, underfed, unclean, uncomfortable, unsafe and eventually, overrun.
Her eyes were drawn back upward by what was about to become an excruciatingly vicious video feed. A blonde, blue-eyed, twenty-something news reporter, wearing a fitted red dress that was two inches too short, stood in front of a wealthy gated community in Los Angeles. She was reporting on scenes of carnage that even the wealthy and beautiful couldn’t escape.
“Did she really just say that?” Anna shook her head and resumed watching. There were what Anna presumed to be armed members of the National Guard standing outside the gated entrance conferring among themselves. Next to the gate was a white brick guard booth smeared with copious amounts of bright red blood. Inside the gate sat numerous Hollywood mansions, several of which were visible to the news camera.
The blonde reporter was talking about the tragic death of an A-List movie star as she pointed toward a body on the ground that was covered with a bloodied white sheet. As she spoke, the movement in the background was what caught Anna’s eye. Several children ran screaming as they tried to escape from about a dozen zombies pouring from the driveway of the second mansion. Before the National Guard could position themselves to react, one of the children stumbled and was immediately torn apart by the dead. The little boy’s screams could be briefly heard as the dead tore open his abdomen and pulled on ropes of glistening intestines. One of them ripped the little boy’s arm from his body and brought it up to his mouth like a chicken leg.
The Guardsmen immediately responded with lethal gunfire. As they shot at the dead, a little girl ran in front of them and was caught in the crossfire. Her mouth formed a surprised O before she fell to the ground, blood quickly pooling around her body. One of the soldiers looked at the fallen girl, then looked at his gun, then pulled his pistol and promptly shot himself in the head. It was over within seconds.
Chronicles of the Undead | Book 1 | Urban Gridlock Page 10