The Good, the Dead, and the Lawless: The Undoing
Page 17
Houston wrinkled his nose at the sight of his torso, entrails snaking out from the base like ropey sausages. He scanned the rest of the store, surprised to come across a foot and sneaker near the ice cream freezer. He guessed it also belonged to the attendant.
He sighed and began gathering what he could. He returned a few minutes later to the car, arms full of bottled water, beef jerky, trail mix, potato chips, dry and wet dog food, rawhide treats, and a couple of bags of M&Ms.
He loaded the items in the back seat and slid into the car.
“I’m trying to think of a name for you, buddy.” The dog looked at him with the most endearing expression on its face. Why did dogs always seem like they were smiling?
He looked around, trying to come up with something creative, but not demeaningly girly or cutesy either.
His eyes rested on the faded Texaco sign, the star insignia still shining brightly.
“Well, that’s settled then. Nice to meet you, Texaco.” He held out his hand. Texaco extended its paw.
From there on out, Houston was smitten.
***
Haven tucked her ponytail into her jacket so it wouldn’t become a problem when she tried to get past the undead. She had watched too many football games with Houston to appreciate that having long hair could be a liability. Houston had explained to her “The Ricky Rule,” named after dreadlocks-sporting extraordinaire, Ricky Williams, which stipulated that hair falling past the helmet could be considered part of the uniform and was thus fair game to make a tackle.
Her heart skipped a beat as she sprinted towards the school, the full moon above her illuminating her path. Gripping the revolver tightly, her palms sweaty and her stomach in knots, she realized that she hadn’t felt this anxious since her first interview with the FBI. And this made that seem like small potatoes in comparison.
Thankfully, no zombies were in sight. She didn’t know the first thing about how to deal with them. Her only contact with anything unsavory these last few days had been Cade Foster and the degenerate bastards who had tried to rape her in the parking lot. Haven would aim for the head just like the movies had taught her and hope that worked.
It was kill or be killed. And she didn’t need time to contemplate which one she would chose. The world had turned upside down, and with it so had the laws of survival.
After running a short distance, she reached a set of gates and grabbed the bars, wincing as her fingers slipped across the thick grime coating left over by the zombies. Haven climbed over the top and jumped to the ground quietly, landing in a crouch.
She held still for a moment, holding her breath as she listened, and then ran towards the dormitories. Unfortunately, Bauer Hall, her brother’s dorm, was at the furthest end of the school. That meant traversing a substantial distance through a dark campus lurking with unknown dangers at every turn.
Haven was running so quickly, her eyes constantly searching for danger, that she didn’t see the prone form in front of her. Her foot caught on something soft, and she tumbled forward, landing roughly on the gravel. She winced as she rose to her feet, bits of gravel embedded in her palms and fresh tears in her jeans.
She turned to see what had caused her to fall. Her eyes widened, and her hand flew to her mouth to stifle a gasp, the other hand shakily holding the revolver in front of her.
A young man lay before her. A backpack and some books were scattered at his side. At first glance, he looked perfectly normal, nothing missing. However, as Haven inched towards him, she could see that half of his head had been bashed in with some kind of object. His skull had caved in on the left side of his face, eyes, nose, and mouth completely mashed into one gooey, lumpy substance.
She noticed more bodies littered around the campus, unmoving and silent, most of them either too emaciated, stripped of their flesh and organs, or the unfortunate victims of lethal blows to the head. But they were no longer moving, no longer a threat, and she didn’t have time to worry about them.
Haven increased her pace as she ran up to Bauer, taking two steps at a time as she climbed the stairs leading up to the entrance. She looked through the small windows on the doors. Chairs, tables, desks, bookshelves, and mattresses had been piled up against them. There was no way she was getting in that way.
Chewing her lip in frustration, she looked around, trying to find an alternate route to get into the building. Her eyes rested on a nearby oak tree with massive branches stretching to the third story windows. Jogging over to the tree, she tucked the gun in the back of her jeans, and leapt up to the nearest branch. Hooking her legs around the tree limb, she shifted her body until she was upright then continued to climb higher until she reached a sturdy branch near the third floor. Crouching down, she straddled the branch, scooting out until she was almost to the wall, but then realized with dismay that in order to get to the window, she would need to jump out onto the windowsill.
“Joy,” she muttered. Bracing herself against a branch above her, she swallowed hard and sprang forward.
She hit the window with a loud boom, the glass rattling upon impact, creating more commotion than she would have preferred.
Her fingernails clawed at the ledge above the window in desperation as she tried to regain her footing. In her attempt, the extra magazine she had in her back pocket fell to the ground below. Breathless, she flattened herself against the glass.
She took a deep breath and tried to push the window up, but found it locked. She reached behind her and pulled out the revolver. Clutching the ledge, she raised her hand and swung the gun forward. The glass shattered loudly. She breathed a sigh of relief when she stepped through the window onto solid ground. Climbing trees wasn’t as fun as it used to be.
Once again, Haven listened for anything suspicious. Upon hearing nothing, she moved forward through a dark room. The walls of this particular dorm room were decorated with posters of MMA fighters Jon Jones and Rashad Evans. Clothes were everywhere, some of them even hanging from a lava lamp on a desk that had long since stopped working. She wrinkled her nose. The room smelled like dirty underwear.
Considering the alternatives though, that was better than rotting flesh.
Haven walked to the door and pressed her ear to the cold surface. Still nothing.
Opening it, she turned right then left in the red emergency lighting of the hallway, her gun clasped firmly in her hands.
Several trash cans lay on the floor, garbage spilling out across the carpet. Near the bathrooms, shower caddies and their contents were scattered about, clearly dropped in a hurry. Poster boards, fliers, and pizza advertisements had been ripped from the walls.
She could see a few makeshift weapons lying around in the hall, their lethal ends soiled with dried blood. Bloody hand prints lined the base of a baseball bat. It looked as though a few students had tried to make a stand against the zombies. The optimistic part of her wanted to believe that they had been rescued, and that was why the weapons were still there. Yet who would rescue them? Law enforcement? Military? The knowledge that these brave students were probably dead made her stomach flop because she knew that Brett was as brave as any of them.
Her ears perked at a slight noise at the end of the hall.
An odd hitch and drag.
Her heart thumped anxiously as she slipped into a doorway. Having never encountered one of them yet, she felt a terrible dread wash over her. The zombies she’d seen on the news were monsters out of her worst nightmares.
Haven stood at a crossroads. She could either be crippled by her fear, or she could pull herself together and eliminate anything that stood in her path to protect her loved ones.
In this new world, both the living and the undead threatened to rip apart those she cared about most. They had to be put down.
She exhaled slowly, focusing on turning her fear into anger-fueled adrenaline.
Rounding the corner, a girl in bloody pink pajamas appeared. The ghoul raised its head as it sensed Haven’s presence, reaching out to her with a pitifu
l moan. Its slow steps quickened ever so slightly, but its gait was unsteady. Haven looked at it closer and saw that its ankle was bent at an extremely unnatural angle, splintered bones leaving a harsh red line on the floor as it moved.
Easy, Haven thought confidently.
“Come and get it,” she whispered. Her mouth turned up at the corners as she held up the revolver. Without hesitating, she walked swiftly forward.
Once she was within a few feet of the zombie, Haven took aim at the girl’s head and pulled the trigger. The zombie fell to the dirty gray carpet with a loud thump.
Haven stepped over her and progressed stealthily down the hall until she came to the stairwell.
Brett was in room 408 on the fourth floor.
Her foot had just left the final step of the stairs when the unmistakable sound of moaning greeted her.
She stepped into the hallway of the fourth floor and froze. Red emergency lights irradiated the frightening faces of over a dozen zombies as they marched towards her.
In spite of her earlier determination to be fearless in the face of the monsters, Haven gasped and backed up. There had only been one last time. One. It was a lot easier to be calm and collected in front of one. Now there were too many to count.
She checked the revolver and cursed her bad luck.
Only five rounds left.
Chapter 15:
“Faith, get away from the window!” Rosemary shouted, jumping out of her chair.
The zombie’s lips were gone, pulled back to reveal raw gums and dirty teeth as it snarled at them hungrily. Its bloody hands thumped and slid down the window, creating deep red streaks in their wake. The thin-paned glass shook violently.
Faith stepped away very slowly, horror distorting her features as the zombie mirrored her movements, shifting away from the window to follow her. Its eyes didn’t blink. They just stared at her vacuously, tiny black pupils never leaving her. She paused, her body bound in terror. When it pressed its face to the window and began licking the surface with its slimy, decaying tongue, Faith screamed and ran to her grandmother’s side.
Rosemary had gotten ahold of her Remington 870 that had been placed near the back door in the den and aimed the shotgun at the zombie.
“It’s here,” she said, but without a trace of fear in her voice.
Faith stood there petrified, unable to speak, until she noticed movement beside the creature in the window. Three more figures joined the first. In seconds, incessant pounding could be heard throughout the house.
“Faith, these windows aren’t going to hold. More will come. Grab whatever supplies you can, and get up to the attic, girl.”
“Grandma,” she pleaded, her face streaked with tears. “I’m so scared.”
“I know, honey, but there’s no time for that right now. Do what I tell you, and do it now.” She didn’t take her eyes off of her targets.
Faith backed up slowly, still sobbing, her hands reaching for whatever survival items were easily accessible.
She had just stepped off the ladder to return to her grandmother when she heard glass shatter, followed by a loud boom from the shotgun.
“Grandma!” she yelled, running around the corner in time to see three goons stepping through the window. They stumbled over a headless zombie, the recent victim of a slug shot doled out by Rosemary.
Her grandmother took a step back and pumped the shotgun. Faith could tell that the impact of the first shot fired had taken its toll on her.
“Shoot,” she muttered. “I just rang the darned dinner bell. Faith, turn off the lights and get to the attic like I told you!”
Faith ran to the light switch, but she couldn’t stand the thought of wandering around in the dark with flesh-eating monsters so close.
Her stomach knotted when she looked out the window into the backyard.
Moonlight danced across the lake, sparkling tiny diamonds on the surface. It would have been a beautiful, peaceful sight had there not been so many dark shadows between the house and the lake.
And the dark shadows were steadily moving towards their house.
***
He was exhausted and thirsty. He needed to find a place to rest.
Colin trudged through the woods, one hand wrapped loosely around the sword, the other slightly lifting the strap of the duffel bag to relieve some of the weight on his shoulder.
He had switched his pace from a light jog to a speedy walk. After a full day of hiking with only a few minutes to rest every couple of hours, his breath came in rugged pants.
In spite of his fatigue, Colin was grateful for a full moon. Otherwise, he would have been wandering the woods blindly, and that idea did not appeal to him in the slightest.
He was just about to take another break when he saw a clearing in the trees up ahead. Euphoria coursed through his body.
Water. Beautiful, glistening, crystal clear water.
A massive lake lay in front of him surrounded by tall cypress trees, the branches sprinkled with Spanish moss and the roots swollen.
It was one of most glorious sights he had ever seen.
Well... just about. The female anatomy was pretty bloody spectacular.
With a newfound energy, he headed in the direction of the lake. Once he reached it, he noticed something else of particular interest.
Off a few dozen yards to his left was a small yellow and white lake house. In the moonlight, he could see a dock that extended into the water. Based on its homely appearance, with the windows boarded up, the door heavily padlocked, and the paint peeling, it looked as though it hadn’t been inhabited in a long time. Nevertheless, an old motor boat was tethered to the dock. He made a mental note of it.
As much as he wanted to jump into the water and drink his fill, he knew that he needed to find a way to decontaminate the water first and hoped he would find something useful in the house.
Colin walked over to the simple structure and listened briefly before using the sword to pry the boards off of the closest window. They creaked noisily under the pressure so he periodically checked over his shoulder to make sure he wasn’t attracting any unwanted attention.
He finally pulled the last board free, his muscles straining and sweat dripping down his face. As it fell to the ground, Colin leaned in for a closer look. He pressed his hands against the window and peered into the darkness.
Moonlight shining in from the newly opened window allowed him to get a good look at what the house had to offer.
The entire place consisted of one large room. A dusty kitchen table with four chairs was in one corner, while a lone recliner riddled with holes sat in front of a television set that looked like it came from the seventies. A thin mattress lay on the floor without sheets.
Colin chuckled. It was the perfect hideout to allow him some reprieve while he waited for the hungry zombies pursuing him to pass. At their relatively slow pace, he expected they would reach his location by morning.
This would give him time to cook up some food, decontaminate a bit of lake water, and go for a good swim before boarding up the window again and getting some sleep without the ever-present threat of being eaten alive.
They’d never find him.
He quickly pushed open the window and climbed in. Setting his duffel bag down, he walked over to the kitchen. An old white stove stood beside a dingy yellow cooler. Both were coated in a thick layer of dust. While there wasn’t any electricity in the house, he would definitely put the gas stove to good use if he could find some matches.
To Colin’s great delight, upon opening the small cupboards, he discovered a few cans of food and a couple of metal pots. And a dusty bottle of whiskey.
“Now that’s more like it!” he exclaimed, holding up the bottle victoriously. He set it down and shuffled through the contents of a drawer until he found a rusty old can opener.
He grabbed a can of peaches and opened it eagerly. In less than a minute, he had devoured the syrupy goodness, holding the can upside down to get every last drop.
He went down to the water and scooped some into a pot.
Once he returned to the kitchen, he lit the gas stove, which surprisingly still worked, and waited while the water rose to a boil.
Colin hit the mattress repeatedly, clouds of dust puffing into the air. He pulled the mattress away from the front door and set it near a back window that overlooked the water. It would be a last-minute escape route if needed. Finding a dark green woolen blanket folded neatly in the corner, he laid it across the bed.
The water had finally started to boil. He licked his dry lips and eagerly grabbed the pot, but immediately cursed loudly as he scalded his fingers on the hot metal. Pulling off his shirt, he gingerly held the pot and poured the water into another bowl.
Ignoring the heat of the liquid and how it burned his tongue, he swallowed it in giant gulps. Colin could feel it course through his body, reviving him.
He sighed with satisfaction. Stripping off his clothes until he was naked, he walked over the window and stepped out, but not before grabbing the bottle of whiskey.
“Bloody zombies had better not come,” he mumbled, taking a long swig. He didn’t feel like fighting off any hordes. And he definitely didn’t want to fight them completely naked… too much of a risk that one would bite off something very important to him.
He shivered as his foot reached the cold water, but the prospect of being squeaky clean thrilled him. He took another swallow of whiskey, nearly emptying half the bottle before dropping it into the sand.
It was mushy under his toes, swirling around his feet, clouding the water. He dove in and surfaced a few moments later, running his hands through his hair as the water dripped down his chiseled form.
He smiled and leaned back, wading effortlessly in the water.
Swimming out a good distance from the shore, he let the water glide over his body and soothe his tired muscles.