ZWD: King of an Empty City

by Thomas Kroepfl

  Practice range, yeah right. It was really us marching off a few paces in the alley and aiming at the shed that blocked off the far end that kept traffic off the street from driving through. We were a good distance away when I notched my arrow to the string. I pulled back and aimed, held my breath for a moment, and let go. I waited for the eventual thwack as the arrow hit the shed, but it never came. I looked for the arrow but couldn’t find it. “Great,” I thought. “Just great, I really can’t even hit the broadside of a barn.” On the second shot, the string slapped my forearm and stung like hell. The arrow flew off to the side and hit another shed that backed up to the alley.

  “Maybe if you moved a little closer there, Butch.” She gave extra emphasis to the “ch” sound at the end of the word.

  “You know, start small and work your way up.” She popped the “p.”

  “Oh Sundance, I didn’t know you were such an expert archer. Why don’t you show me how it’s done.” She stepped up to the mark we’d set and took aim. Notched the arrow and pulled back. The arrow went straight and true, just a bit to the right and a little high of the bull’s-eye we’d set. She turned to me on her toes and smiling said glibly, “Two semesters of archery in college. Want me to teach you how to shoot there, Robin Hood?”

  We practiced for four hours and I didn’t hit anything. The streetlamps had been on for an hour and I was getting tired and frustrated. She suggested we gather up what arrows we could find; we’d used six over and over, but we could only find four. Then, we headed back to the Safeway. Over a dinner of canned peaches and peach syrup with honey-roasted peanuts, we talked about my shooting. She said that because I was an intellectual and I needed to know the principles behind shooting, I should probably read up on it first before we started the next lesson.

  Going through the notes and books we took from the library, I couldn’t find anything on archery. I did find the notes on small game traps and made a mental note to start setting them. But without anything on archery that meant only one thing, back to the library. We weren’t going to stay this time. It was going to be in and out.

  ZWD: King of an Empty City Chapter 12

  ZWD: Dec. 1 2 .

  Hordes of zombies outside the library. Set a car tire on fire down the street to pull them away. I miss web videos, this is too much.

  For the second day in a row it sleeted. Instead of waking to the pitter-patter of rain on the tent’s walls, we woke to the sound of the tic, tic, tic of ice tapping down on everything. I pulled on the coveralls I’d found earlier and set a ball cap down low around my ears and stepped out into the elements. I went to the back of the building and peed off the roof, then walked around the edges of the roof checking everything out. There were one or two lights I could see on in houses and in one I saw a shadow move in front of a window. When she finished her toiletries she joined me at the roof’s edge.

  “We need to stop by the cemetery before we go to the library,” she said.

  “Do we have to go to the library?”

  “Do you want to keep practicing and not understanding what you’re doing with the bows? We practiced for four hours yesterday and you weren’t getting any more accurate till we were ten feet away. I can’t explain the arc and trajectory to you, apparently, so you’re going to have to read about it and see diagrams and whatever else there is in the books. It’s the way your mind works; we both know that. So suck it up, Buckie, we’re going back to the library.” I noticed her shudder as she said “library.” It was a little tremor, but I saw it.

  “We’re not staying this time. We go in and grab what we need and we’re out,” I insisted. It wasn’t that I didn’t like the library, I actually felt very safe in there for the few days we were there. It was the getting there and back that I didn’t like. It was like taking a long trip to grandma’s house. Once you’re there it’s fine, but the going is what wears you out.

  “In and out,” she agreed. My stomach turned into knots.

  A half hour later found us in the alley behind the Safeway. Geared up, weapons at the ready, her with the Ice Pike, me with my trusty folding Marine shovel. We carried a bow each and a quiver of five arrows. The quivers were a little strange to get used to, but I guess it just takes time. I adjusted my Pokémon Pikachu skullcap to keep the freezing rain from going down my neck. She shouldered her Hello Kitty backpack filled with the skulls of the Page family and we started walking to the cemetery. I wished we could have taken the truck.

  After crossing the fence, we arrived at the monument where she’d placed Tommy and John’s skulls. To our surprise, they weren’t alone. Four more skulls were placed there next to them. Not all of them were as clean as ours, but they were there lined up in a row next to Tommy and John. Ignoring the bits of hair and flesh on some of them, we picked up those morbid vestiges and looked them over, and an astonishing thing became apparent to us. Like our skulls, someone had taken the time to write the person’s name on the skull and a date. I could only assume it was the date they died. One skull, the last one, which looked like it had simply been separated from the body and placed here, was that of an older woman who had a flowered brooch in her hair and a green-painted stone in her mouth with the pink letters “Mamma Wilson” and a date.

  “What’s happening here?” I asked her as we looked around the cemetery.

  “I don’t know,” she whispered as our eyes darted from one tombstone to the next. I glanced at the stone angel across from us and she said nothing. Looking back at the added skulls, then at each other, we could only shrug. She pulled the Page family out of the Hello Kitty backpack and lined them up next to the new skulls. I felt like we needed to have some sort of ceremony, but I didn’t know what to say. She bowed her head and said a silent prayer.

  A few minutes later we were at the edge of the cemetery on Broadway looking at the bridge that crossed I-630. The last few days of sleet and ice had dropped the fog from the ground up here, but there was still some fog lingering around the car tires and trucks down in that highway canal. It didn’t make it look any more inviting. A shudder ran down my spine as I thought about a few of the zombies coming up those off-ramps and wandering into the neighborhood. We were going to have to find a way to close those off. God, there was so much to do. The knot in my stomach tightened. I hated going across I-630 or anywhere downtown now. I took a firmer grip on my military folding shovel and let out a slow breath and stepped off the curb. The only way to get through this was to go one step at a time.

  We moved to the center of the bridge and walked across. No point in letting any zombies spot us from below. We were about a third of the way across when we distinctly heard leaves rustling behind us, and wheeling on our heels, we faced the corner of the cemetery where the sound came from. A small bundle of clothing and leaves moved like a rabbit across the graveyard and disappeared behind the first little hill. Another child was hiding, watching us.

  “You think they put the skulls there?” I asked.

  “Who else could it be? The writing wasn’t that skilled, it was sloppy like a child’s handwriting or yours, and I know you didn’t put them there.”

  “You’re probably right. We need to catch one of those kids and talk to them.” We turned back to the road because there was nothing else to do. “There’s NOTHING wrong with my handwriting, by the way.”

  “Doctors write more clearly than that scrawl you do.” She laughed. I like it when she laughs. She doesn’t laugh enough these days. We talked like that as we walked across the bridge. For a time we held hands as we walked, then I pulled her close and wrapped an arm around her waist. Funny, as we moved up the street with its bloodstained spatters, weaving between abandoned cars and empty shops, except for the surroundings being so desolate, for a brief moment the world seemed normal again as she matched her steps with mine and rested her head against my shoulder. The Ice Pike was draped over her other shoulder and I had my war shovel resting gently in my other hand. Yep, normal, just a normal couple in love, armed to the teeth.r />
  Just past the Holiday Inn near the intersection of Broadway and Capitol sat an abandoned fire truck. It was parked caddy-corner in the street blocking all traffic. I guess it was what caused the traffic jam here when all the chaos broke out. There were hoses dragged to the old TCBY building or whatever they were calling it now. The hoses were still charged, fat with pressurized water. There were puddles of water all over from where it had been leaking for months. The truck was off; it had run out of fuel long ago. All the doors were open and equipment was scattered or thrown everywhere. It looked like looters had already gotten to the truck. We looked around a little but found nothing of use. Shame, I wanted to get one of those Halligan tools, you know those things firefighters use to open doors with. Someone else had beaten me to it.

  We heard a hard thump and from the top of the truck in the cab where she was going through things I heard her yell, “Oh my God!” I came around from the back to see what was going on. She was pointing to the lobby door of the TCBY. As I looked there came a distinct thump, hard and crisp. The lobby of the building was filled with zombies. Several were trapped in the revolving doors that weren’t rotating. A lot of zombies were now starting to pound on the glass wall of the lobby and I could see more in the shadows behind them. My first thought was can they get out and my second thought was where could we go.

  I started looking around for a safe haven. There wasn’t one. The Arvest bank was filled with zombies who were now pressed against their door. The Regions bank across from TCBY was blocked by a car that had been driven into it. The federal courthouse on the corner was probably the best bet since it had a large lawn. I knew somewhere inside was a tornado shelter that people probably flocked to early on. My guess was that it was filled with the dead and they were probably hungry. But the lawn was raised up, held back by a retaining wall, and since the outbreak of zombies concrete barricades and National Guard vehicles surrounded it. Behind us from the Arvest bank I heard a ding and looked back. Then I saw the door wasn’t locked and a zombie had just walked out. The glass cracked at one of the lobby windows in the TCBY building and then it shattered, leaving an exit big enough for an elephant to walk through. More zombies were coming out of the Arvest and we were faced with at least fifty from TCBY, all with eyes on us.

  I grabbed her by the waist and helped her down from the truck. She grabbed her Ice Pike and readied herself for a fight. I took her by the arm and pulled her away from the truck. “Run,” I commanded. “I’ll catch up.” A look of confusion on her face. I pulled her past me and shoved her up the street, north on Broadway, deeper into the heart of zombie central. “GO! RUN!” I shouted and I ran over to one of the charged water hoses that lay draped over the little retaining wall that formed the sunken courtyard of TCBY. Picking it up, I pulled open the lever that discharged the water and started spraying the dead that were coming out of the building’s broken window. It was making them fall and driving them back like non-resistant protesters. “Run,” I shouted again at her as she stood there hesitantly looking at me.

  “Behind you!” she replied as she turned to go. I wheeled around with the hose in hand, which was not easy, by the way, and closer than I liked, a dozen zombies were moving in, already halfway across the street. I sprayed them and as they fell I turned back to the courtyard of TCBY. They’d regrouped and were coming again.

  I looked around to see that she’d taken a position across the street up on a barrier that surrounded the federal courthouse grounds, watching. My girl wasn’t going to give up on me. That was when I did the most foolish thing I think I’ve ever done. I let go of the charged hose and ran for the other one that was lying a few yards away.

  An unmanned charged hose is one of the most dangerous things in the world, and I knew this from watching television and Internet videos of these things. With thousands of pounds of pressure pouring out, an uncontrolled hose is like a giant bolo flailing about. It doesn’t care who or what it hits. I got to the other hose and opened the lever on it and let it go too. There were two unmanned hoses thrashing around like Hydra’s tentacles and I was in the middle of them with zombies getting closer and closer. I ducked low and ran out of there; well, I tried to at least.

  Several thousand pounds of uncontrolled water flying around out of a five-pound brass nozzle hurts like hell when it hits you. Both hoses had been flying around hitting zombies and the water spray kept knocking them back. The nozzle hit those that got past, and some were hit hard. I was probably between the two when the nozzle from one of the hoses slammed into my back.

  Pain shot from my ribs down my right leg to my toes, knocking me to the ground. I never stopped moving, I’m proud to say. Flat on my belly I started crawling. I dug my fingers into the pavement and any other handholds I could find to pull me out of there. I was on top of a section of the first hose when something splashed on the ground near me. One of the dead had been knocked off his feet and thrown not three feet away from me. He was on his back, his head pointed at me, but he didn’t see me so I redoubled my efforts to get out of there. I was almost past him when he rolled over on his belly to get up. I could almost bend my right leg again, although it felt like a thousand little needles were sticking me and it tingled like nothing I’d ever felt before. I heard him groan and I took a moment to look back and check his position compared to mine. I was happy that I was safe from him; the distance was enough that he couldn’t just reach out and grab me. That was when one of the nozzles clipped me in the head. I saw stars right before total blackness. The last thing I remember seeing was a shallow puddle of water hitting my face and a dead hand reaching for my foot.

  I woke up a moment later choking and spitting water. It took me a moment to figure out where I was. I pulled myself up on my elbows and let my forehead touch the pavement. The cold puddle of water I was lying in felt good to my face. I had to blink water out of my eyes several times. As my vision cleared I looked at the water below me and saw blood mixed in with it. Suddenly I remembered where I was and fear shot through my body. I could feel my entire body get warm like someone put a flame on high from the inside. The adrenaline rushed through me and gave me the strength to move. I didn’t take time to look around, just started crawling out of there. A hand clamped down on my boot. I looked back then and saw the zombie that had been knocked off his feet pulling himself to me with determination. I tried to jerk my foot free, but it was still numb from moments ago. “To hell with it,” I thought and with my good leg I started crawling away from there as hard as I could, dragging him with me. A few feet away lay my folding Marine shovel. If I could get to that, I’d be rid of him. I took a brief moment to look around and see just how close the rest of the zombies were. The hoses were keeping them at bay. Some lay on the ground and were crawling to me, but they were some distance away.

  Because I was moving away from him, this zombie in the gray suit wasn’t getting a better grip, but he was hanging on with one hand very well and slowing me down. I tried to roll over on my back and kick him off, but realized he was only able to move closer. The kicking wasn’t doing much good. I kept crawling on my elbows till I reached the shovel.

  The moment my hand touched that shovel, it was a game-changer. I knew how Thor felt when he got his hammer in his hand. I gripped the handle and spun over on my back, sitting up, and brought the shovel down on his wrist with everything I had. I heard and felt a definite crunch. That was the first time I think I ever heard a zombie scream. It sounded like dried leaves mixed with something unnatural, I don’t know what. Fortunately for me, the nozzle of one hose slammed down onto his back and he let go of me to thrash about on the ground.

  Meanwhile, other dead had gotten closer than I liked. Then one of the hoses flying around slammed into one’s back and threw him on the ground at my feet. All I could do was crab-walk on my three limbs out of there.

  Once clear of the hoses and their wild flailing I took a moment to look at the chaos I’d caused. The hoses had hit several zombies in the head and they lay on
the ground deader than dead. That still left dozens and dozens all focused on me, the little wet morsel of food that was down to three legs. I rolled back over to my stomach and stood up as quickly as I could. I looked around, but I didn’t see her anywhere. I just started moving for the barricades of the federal buildings. I was moving in a hop, drag, run kind of motion since my right leg was still feeling like a gazillion needles were sticking in me. Even so, I was outdistancing them. Unfortunately, I didn’t know where she’d gone or how long I could keep this up. My leg hurt like hell, my back wasn’t much better, and I knew once I stopped my headache was going to split my skull in two.

  She stepped out from one of the National Guard trucks with a plus-shaped tire iron in her hand, and like a Frisbee she threw it at the zombies closest behind me. It took out one’s legs, giving me a few extra yards. She started pulling anything she could from behind this truck and throwing it to slow them down, wrenches, monkey wrenches, sections of pipe. I idly wondered why the National Guard would need a monkey wrench. When I got to her, a quick glance in the toolbox she was so quickly throwing things from told me everything. Someone here had been a plumber. There was an acetylene canister that felt mostly full, and that sparkie thing you use to light gas. I’m no plumber, I don’t know what it’s called, but I could see the possibilities. I grabbed them both and lit the gas, adjusting it till I got a short blue flame, and shoved it under the truck beneath the gas tank. We ran as hard as I could go. Some of the zombies got past the truck, following us, but when that gas tank blew many of them went down with its destruction.

  We were thrown to the ground by the force of the blast on the other side of Fourth Street and Broadway. There was a big parking lot behind the federal building. It was full of cars, the owners probably in the building’s shelters. She went from car to car trying to find one that was open while I lay on the ground under a Hummer. Her quick recon found everything locked. We got me to my feet and decided we had to keep moving. That explosion was going to draw every zombie for blocks, if not miles. And if it didn’t draw them, it was certainly calling any marauders and scavengers nearby. Our only other choice was to hole up for a while in the parking garage that led into TCBY. From the lion’s den into the lion’s mouth, but that was where we went. We made for the stairwell and hoped there was nothing nasty waiting for us inside. As she pulled the door closed and jammed the handle of my shovel into the door handle so no zombie could show its intelligence and open the door on us, I collapsed to the floor.