The Infected Box Set, Vol. 1 [Books 1-3]

by Zuko, Joseph

  Frank quickly reloaded his Berettas and rolled down his window. Shooting at moving targets while traveling at this speed was new for him. His accuracy went, well, out the window, but he did pulverize any beast that climbed up onto the hood and tried to smash their way through the windshield.

  Ahead of Jim’s convoy a dump truck laid across the street and blocked their route. He turned north and zipped across an empty parking lot. He started to head back east when an infected woman raced out in front of them. Jim didn’t have time to swerve and miss her. The passenger side tires were about to travel directly over her. The car’s headlights caught a reflection off of a giant Bowie knife that jutted five inches out of her stomach. Someone had stuck her in the back and skewered her like a kebab with the ridiculously long blade. Her light frame crunched against the fiberglass bumper and she was sucked under the front wheel. Her bones snapped under the weight and the front of the car jumped a little into the air.

  “Did you see that?” Frank asked in a panic.

  “What?” Jim blurted out as he dodged another zombie.

  “She had a knife stuck in her!”

  “So?”

  It didn’t take long for Jim to hear and feel what Frank was worried about. The front tires felt sluggish and the car began to pull to the right.

  “Damn it! We have a flat!” Jim backed off the gas.

  “What are we going to do?” Sara let go of Devon’s leg and began to reload her shotgun.

  “Keep rolling!” Frank urged. “Who gives a shit if you wreck the wheel?”

  As the tire fully deflated Jim slowed to under twenty.

  “If we grind it to the rims we’ll have no traction. I have to slow down or I’m gonna burn up the tire.” Jim let up even more on the gas and now the convoy was only going ten miles an hour.

  Cliff tapped the brakes and slowed to match Jim’s speed.

  “Mama, where are we going?” Eve rubbed a tear from her cheek.

  “We’re going to a safe place.” Tina did not sound very convincing. “What’s going on?” she asked Cliff as she fished a handful of shells from her pocket to reload the .38 special.

  “I don’t know maybe he sees something we can’t.” Cliff thumbed beads of sweat from his forehead. The anxiety of the whole situation was crushing down on the couple. They felt like they were truly driving out into the unknown. No safety net. No guarantees. No way of knowing if this was the right move. It seemed like the only choice. Safety in numbers. If Jim and his people made it out of Portland alive then maybe he could get this group across Vancouver.

  “Maybe he’s lost?” Morgan patted at her son’s shoulder.

  “Maybe, he said it was his mother-in-law’s house. He’s gotta know how to get there.”

  They were heading down a clear and infected free section of street. Cliff put his foot into the gas and pulled alongside Jim.

  He powered down his window. “What’s going on?!” Cliff called out over the grinding tire.

  “We got a flat!” Frank hollered.

  Cliff mouthed fuck and then asked, “How much farther?”

  “Three miles, at least!” Jim pulled the steering wheel to the left to compensate.

  Three miles on a flat? Cliff was sure they wouldn’t make it. He remembered ten years ago when Tina tried to drive home on a flat. She was young and didn’t think it was going to be a big deal. She also had no desire to figure out how to change out the spare. She didn’t make it two miles. A passing car, honked and pointed at her. The passenger yelled the word “FIRE” at her. She pulled to the side of the road, got out and when she looked at the tire it was flickering and definitely on fire. They almost lost the whole car because of that burning tire. An idea came to Cliff.

  “Follow me!” Cliff stepped on it and pulled ahead of Jim.

  “Where you headed?” Tina loaded the last shell into the gun.

  “Rich’s garage.” Cliff turned south. Cliff had spent a full summer after high school graduation working at a local garage. Rich was the owner and the main mechanic for almost forty years. One summer of changing oil and busting his knuckles under hot cars was enough for Cliff, but he had remained friends with Rich and still went to him for oil changes and car repairs. The guy was in his late sixties and had been talking about retirement for the last five years, but had not hung up his wrenches yet. Cliff just hoped the spare key was still in its normal place.

  A few minutes later Cliff had led the convoy into the parking lot. A giant red sign above the building read:

  Rich’s Garage.

  The building had four metal bay doors connected to the main office. Rich’s business had suffered from some theft over the years and he had mounted steel bars on every window. The place was not completely impossible to break into, but it would be very difficult. Rich had been a creature of habit so Cliff crossed all of his fingers and toes that the key to get in would be where he last saw it.

  A bakers dozen of infected zombies creeped out of the shadows. Cliff parked the van and Jim pulled in next to him. Their headlights reflected off the metal doors and lit up the garage’s parking lot. Cliff quickly hopped out of the van with his saw blade in hand, “Stay with the girls.” Tina nodded at him.

  Jim climbed out of his car with his spear. Frank finished reloading another round of magazines for his Berettas and he clicked the last one into the butt of the gun as he popped open his door. Sara cocked the shotgun and joined them outside of the PT Cruiser. Sara and Frank opened fire on the scrambling pack of monsters. Cliff and Jim chopped and stabbed at the beasts.

  Cliff’s saw cleaved chunks out of the infected as they approached. It was a ripper and a shredder. On one strike it got stuck for a second. Thank God he had put the lanyard at the end of the handle. The blade came to a stop five inches into the skull of an infected teen. As the body dropped, the paracord pulled tight around Cliff’s wrist and he was able to get another grip on its handle before the dead body took it away from him.

  Jim’s spear was more surgical and precise. After a day of stabbing fools in the face Jim could hit the exact target he aimed for.

  Left eye! Check.

  Right eye! Nailed it.

  Dead center of the nose! No problem.

  Shave and a haircut before he delivers the kill strike? Maybe, if he had to do this for another year he might have that kind of skill. He was not sure what Cliff’s plan was, but he prayed it was more than just killing zombies in front of this garage.

  A big mama of a zombie lumbered toward Sara. It wore a ratty blood soaked t-shirt that claimed she was “With Stupid” and an arrow below indicating who stupid was. The arrow pointed to a bean pole of an infected man and judging by the look on its face, he was stupid. Deep down Sara wished she wasn’t so tired. If she could have gotten her full eight hours of beauty sleep, she could have come up with a clever line to say at their expense, but at this early hour all she could fabricate was, “Stupid is as stupid dies!” and then she cut the two of them down with a double blast of twelve gauge pellets. After she said the line she looked around to make sure no one heard her. The late hour had made her feel a little loopy. She hoped that’s what caused the lapse in judgement.

  Between shots, Frank had heard Sara’s one liner. He thought it was funny, but he was too tired. He had always been an early riser but this was crazy. Especially after the day they had. He took out six of the closest freaks and then watched everyone’s backs as they dispatched the rest of the zombies. They were all clustered a little close for comfort and Frank didn’t want to shoot one of them by accident.

  Jim finished off the last creep. He extracted the spear’s blade from its skull and turned to Cliff, “How do we get in?”

  Cliff was already jogging over to a small tree that was growing in a brown ceramic pot next to one of the bay doors. He tipped it over on its side and searched for the spare key. Cliff had called Rich late one night after the garage was closed. Cliff’s alternator had gone bad and he needed to replace it and the battery that night, b
ut didn’t have the tools to do it himself. After five minutes of begging Rich finally told him where the spare key was so he could let himself in and fix his truck. The old man had sworn Cliff to secrecy and that he would take the keys location to the grave. Cliff’s fingers searched and searched, but there was no key.

  Maybe Rich hid it under the other tree around the corner of the building? Cliff thought as he leveled the pot back out. He was just about to go search under the next tree when the office door opened.

  A husky voice whispered across the lot, “Cliff, is that you?”

  Cliff recognized the man, it was Rich. “It’s me,” said Cliff. “Hey, we got a flat tire can you let us in?”

  “Goddamn it! Hold on,” Rich shut and locked the office door and disappeared into the building. Two bay doors began to rise and Cliff and Jim were back into their cars. They quickly pulled into the garage. Frank zapped a few more zombie stragglers as the metal doors descended. He ducked under the closing door at the last second and entered the garage.

  They killed the engines as Rich flipped on four rows of florescent lighting.

  Rich still had on a gray work shirt with a patch above the left breast pocket that spelled out “Rich” in cursive. His thick silver hair had black streaks in it. Reminiscent of the color it once was. He wore it slicked back into a pompadour. They could tell he had been sleeping because the back of his hair was a mess. As soon as the lights came on fully he had whipped out a comb from his back pocket and fixed the disaster. He replaced his comb and walked over to Cliff as he was stepping out of the van.

  Rich reached for a hug, “Jesus Christ you’re alive and kicking!” The two men embraced.

  “What are you still doing here?” Cliff asked as he patted Rich on the back as they finished their hug.

  “I was working on Mrs. Elis’s radiator over there,” Rich pointed to an old Buick in the first bay. “And out of nowhere those things started showing up. So I locked down the place and was waiting for the goddamn army to show up and take care of these…things. Sick people whatever. Fuck me in the ass, it looks like it is total anarchy out there, you know what I mean?” Rich noticed the kids in the back of the van. “Ah shit. I’m sorry. Pardon my French kids. You got the whole family safe, good. Tina, you’re looking beautiful as always.”

  “Thank you, Rich,” Tina said as she climbed out of the van.

  “When are you going to leave this bum and run away with me?” Rich took off into his normal routine with Tina.

  “Any day now.” Was always her answer.

  “We need your help,” Cliff pointed to the flat.

  Rich spoke with a jesting tone as he teased Cliff, “You always want something from me. You cheap bastard.” Rich quickly scanned the bloody PT Cruiser and then he looked over its heavily armed driver and crew.

  “You guys look like a pack of fucking mercenaries. Pardon my French kids.” Rich stepped over to Sara first and reached out for her hand. “Hello Red, my God you’re beautiful. What are you doing with these killers?” Sara shook his hand and before she could answer he started up again. “What am I saying? You’re probably the leader of this killer crew. You got a boyfriend? You want one? I’m kidding, of course.” Rich let go of her hand and then proceeded to shake Frank and Jim’s hands. “Hey fellas I’m Rich. This is my place. I see you got a problem there. You’re driving a fucking Chrysler.” Rich laughed hard at that one. Then he noticed how serious everyone was. “Goddamn, tough crowd. You guys must have been through some heavy shit today. I’m sorry.”

  “You think you might have a tire in stock that will fit?” Cliff asked as he opened the van’s side door to let the kids out.

  “Yeah, I should have one, but you need more than just a tire,” Rich said as he circled the Cruiser.

  “What do you mean?” Jim stepped back to look at the wheel and check it for damage.

  “Where are you all heading to, Clifford?” Rich popped open a back door of the Cruiser to examine it. Devon was pale white and still in the backseat. “You look like shit, kid.”

  “Thanks,” Devon grunted.

  “We’re heading across town to get to his family.” Cliff pointed at Jim.

  “Across town? You didn’t even make it half a mile before you broke down and you want to go across town in these fucking things?” Rich pointed at the family style cars. “Pardon my French. I’m not leaving in these deathtraps.”

  “Leaving?” Cliff raised his eyebrow at Rich.

  “Yes, Your highness. I’m coming with you. I got half a roast beef sandwich in the fridge. How long do you think that little snack will last me? There ain’t no one coming to save sweet old Rich so I’m coming with you, but not until we crank up the security here.”

  “What are you thinking?” Cliff looked over his van.

  “Steel bars on the windows, cow catcher on the front and maybe a few spikes to keep those things off of us. It would only take a couple hours and then we could smash our fucking way across town. Pardon my French. Alright, Cliff roll up them sleeves and let’s get started. Let’s use whatever we can find here in the shop and help me bolt them to the vehicles.”

  It sounded like a waste of time to Jim, but the look on everyone else’s face told him that was what they all wanted. A more secure ride. If Rich could do it and it only took a few hours then it might be worth it.

  “I’m going to go reload everything,” Frank picked up his duffle bag.

  “His stitches might have popped.” Sara nodded at Tina.

  “Let’s have a look.” Tina led the way to Devon’s open door.

  “You waiting for an invitation sweetheart? Get your ass over here and help us move this shit.” Rich waved Jim over.

  Chapter 17

  Troy wasted no time and began digging at the earth right away. Karen jabbed at the dirt, but digging a hole was not her forte and her wrist was still killing her. This was about solidarity. It didn’t matter how much dirt she moved. This was about gutting out this horrible task together with her brother. They worked in silence. Troy chugged away at the hole like a backhoe. He had to chop through thick roots and dig out football sized rocks. It was dreadful. Digging any size hole into the Vancouver landscape was always a tedious job. It was a river bed thousands of years ago and now it was littered with round stones. They would bring your digging to a complete stop until you cleared the rock from its earthly tomb.

  Troy worked and worked until the hole was hip deep. They didn’t have the time or energy to go a full six feet. Besides they weren’t worried about a zoning code violation or scavengers looking to rob the grave. It would work and be a good final resting spot for their Mama.

  Karen helped Troy up out of the hole. “I’m going to get a spare sheet and we can wrap her in it.” Karen said as she smacked the dirt off her jeans.

  “Okay, I’m gonna drag that asshole out of here,” Troy nodded over to the dead body of the Salesman that attacked Penny.

  Karen headed back into the house and searched the hallway closet. She found an old white sheet that would work. As she passed the clock in the kitchen it read four fifty in the morning.

  Another awful night of no sleep. Karen hoped that she would get a chance to sleep in, but the odds of that were doubtful. They still had to fill in the grave and it was going to take at least another hour. The sun would be cresting the horizon by then and a new day would start.

  “Karen!” Troy called for help.

  She raced out into the backyard. Troy was on the ground, wrestling with an infected man. He had dragged the salesman’s body halfway through the gate before he was attacked.

  Karen first reached for her gun, but stopped herself. She was afraid she might shoot Troy instead of the monster. It was dark out, she could barely see the two of them and her nerves were frayed. A shovel laid on the ground in front of her. As she sprinted forward she picked up the garden tool and raised it high in the air. Troy was pinned under the thing and he had his hands wrapped around its neck. Its ferocious mouth snapped over a
nd over again like one of those windup plastic chattering teeth toys. The shovel’s metal head came careening down onto the back of its skull. The blunt force sent its hungry mouth closer to Troy’s face. Its outstretched tongue touched the tip his nose.

  “Fuck! Shit!” Karen recoiled and then put her boot into the side of its face. Troy rolled with its momentum and was able to get himself out from under it. Now he was on top and holding it down by its throat.

  “Get it!” He begged. Karen was already planning a strike. She maneuvered close to its head and drove the blade of the shovel into the bridge of its nose. It crunched on impact, but it wasn’t enough to finish it. She tried again. This time she hit the beast in its open mouth. The shovel slit its cheeks open all the way to the back of its jaw. While the infected was pinned down Troy let go of its neck and grabbed the shovel’s handle. He pulled himself up off of the monster and took Karen’s position at its head. She let go and stepped aside. Troy hopped up and landed both of his feet onto the shoulders of the shovel. His weight drove the dull metal blade through the back of its spine. The top of its head severed and tumbled away from the rest of its body.

  Troy took a deep breath, “The thing came out of nowhere.” He puffed and tried to regain his composure.

  “Let’s get this done and get back inside before-” Karen’s words were cut off. Two more infected were on their way from across the street. The city street lamps that hung above the neighborhood cast an eerie glow over their fast moving infected bodies. Karen whipped out her gun, but it was too dark. She couldn’t see well enough to get a clear headshot.

  “Come on!” Troy pulled her into the backyard. They skipped over the dead salesman’s body that was blocking the gate from closing. The backyard had a set of floodlights above the sliding glass door. They lit up the chicken coop, the flower bed and the concrete patio. This circle of light was about to become a battle arena. Troy and Karen stood in the center of the arena and waited for their death match.