Zombie Escape_More Sirens of the Zombie Apocalypse

by E. E. Isherwood

  He now had one knife for defense, and one woman with two daughters attached to his rescue team.

  He let his forehead bang the windowpane.

  The young girl surprised him when she grasped his free hand.

  “My name is Susan. Thank you for saving us, sir.” She wore a wide smile, though her puffy cheeks and wet eyes betrayed her recent terrors.

  “You're welcome, Susan. My name is ... ”

  He was cut off by movement across the way. The large metal garage door crumpled inward because there were too many zombies pressed against it. For just a moment he thought he caught sight of a disco ball, but he had to duck.

  Gunfire erupted like a whole infantry division was hiding in that building.

  He poked his head just high enough to see survivors continue to bubble out of the hatch like their very lives depended on it.

  “We've got to hurry,” Sabella exclaimed.

  Toxic

  Victoria felt the relief of escaping the incoming horde of zombies. She practically sank into the comfortable sofa as the woman and her son got Liam situated near the front door. She craned her neck to steal a look at her boyfriend because she was so happy they were together again.

  Liam and the other two walked back toward the entryway where she'd come in. It all seemed normal until the young boy opened the front door.

  “Umm, zombies,” she mumbled to herself. There was now nothing between her and the approaching dust cloud.

  The woman spoke briefly with Liam, but then he went right out the front door. Dust swirled in through the open doorway as if it wanted to hide from the zombies, too. Russ slammed it shut as soon as Liam was gone.

  “Liam!” she screamed, but the door was already closed.

  “What are you doing?” Victoria shouted as she got back on her feet. Both guns were trained on her in moments, so there was no thought of fighting them. Even so, she took a few steps around the couch as if she might go toward the door.

  “You can stay, but he has to go,” the woman said in a vaguely southern voice.

  “Why? He's my ... husband.” She and Liam had recently begun to pretend they were married because it seemed to open more doors for them. Now she needed that to be literal.

  “Of course he is. But he can't be here.” Then, in an offhanded tone, she added, “He'll be fine.”

  “But there are a million billion zombies marching this way,” she said with real fear and a tight grip on the back edge of the love seat.

  “Look, missy, you got to understand we have a certain way of doing things here. The girls come in. The boys pack off, so we can take care of business. Get it?” She then gave Victoria a curious look. “You're lucky. You aren't showing, yet.”

  A male voice complained from the floor above. “Margaret. I'm waiting.” The woman seemed to recoil. It was brief, and she tried to hide it, but Victoria knew that look.

  The young boy, still at the front window, spoke without turning around. “There are a lot. Comin' this way, Ma.”

  The woman looked at the boy, then back to Victoria. “I'm Margaret,” she said with a thousand-yard sigh. “Let's get you over to the shop before this storm blows in.” Her free arm was out, motioning her to walk across the room.

  “Storm? This isn't a storm. These are-”

  “Of course, kid. I know what they are. I know why they're here. That's why we have to move fast.”

  You can't possibly know why they're here.

  “No way. I'd rather go outside with him.”

  Victoria went to the front window and let out a feminine gasp straight from a B-movie. She felt silly after the fact, but it was a natural reaction to the tsunami wave of zombies just beyond the front lawn.

  “Oh dear God,” Victoria exhaled.

  “Suit yourself,” Margaret said. “You're not a prisoner. You're free to go back out there if you want.”

  Victoria thought about it, but the zombies were now on the lawn. Liam wasn't on the front porch that she could see from her vantage point, so she leaned against the window to scan the far edges of the porch.

  Liam!

  His legs dangled from the edge of the porch's roof to her left. It warmed her soul to see him getting up to safety, but when a zombie clawed at his legs she almost went out there to help him.

  Liam kicked the man and then pulled his legs up and out of her sight.

  He's safe.

  “I'm sorry,” Margaret said, not sounding too remorseful. “I think we both know he wasn't your husband. He was here to offload his trouble, just like all the others. We're jus' helping him along.”

  Margaret's shotgun got closer to her. “We're going out the back door. Russ, stay close.”

  “So, I am your prisoner,” Victoria said defensively.

  “Call it what you will,” Margaret said over her shoulder as she walked away. “You see what's out there. We've got to get over to the shack with the others.”

  Russ ran by Victoria without looking at her and caught up to his mom. “What about Roger upstairs?” His concern seemed forced.

  “Don't you worry about him,” his mother replied firmly, “you're more important.”

  Without any options, Victoria followed them. They weaved through the large farmhouse until they entered a mud room at the back door and she saw what was behind the house.

  Wisps of dust blew around on the gravel parking lot between the farmhouse and the boxy metal outbuilding on the other side. Two big white garage doors faced the gravel lot, but they were closed. Someone's head peeked out from a normal-sized door to the left of the truck-sized ones. The man apparently saw Margaret because they waved to each other.

  “We're running to him. Got it?”

  Victoria said she understood, but something about the whole scene made her doubt where this was heading. “What's over there? Why can't we get up on the top floor and stay here?”

  “You are a curious kitty. Trust me. You don't want to be up on the top floor,” she said in a dark voice. “That's another side of our business that has gone ... bust.”

  Russ shifted on his feet with a nervous energy, but she couldn't see his face.

  Margaret looked at her with sadness. “I know this is scary. You came here because you had nowhere else to turn. The world is ending, and you didn't know how to cope. I feel for you, dear. I do. But I-”

  “No, that's not-”

  She shushed her. “You're scared. Every girl who comes through my door feels the same way. Trust me when I say we're gonna make it alright again. Zombies or no zombies. Sound good?” Her smile was strained, and her eyes had liar written all over them, but Victoria had two shotguns within five feet of her. Something was going on, but her only course of action was to do as she was told. Whatever threat they presented, the zombies were real. Once they arrived, she needed to be in the strongest position she could find. The metal structure appeared the better choice over the old wooden farmhouse.

  “All right,” she said slowly. “But if we're going outside anyway, can we bring my husband along? The zombies will get him if we don't.”

  It seemed reasonably stated. Surely, they didn't want him to die.

  “I promise, if we see him out there we'll get him to safety. Deal?” Margaret motioned with her shotgun toward the door and Russ opened it. Dry dust came in with the hot air and it smelled of manure and death.

  She hopped down the back steps of the patio and looked straight up for Liam. There was no porch on the back side of the house, so the roof was high above the second level windows. If Liam was up there, he'd have no way of getting back down in time to run with her.

  The horde of zombies came around the sides of the house, and they'd arrive in moments. Nonetheless, she slowed to a trot while in the middle of the parking area and looked for anything Liam could use to get off the roof.

  Two green tractors remained parked on the far side of the gravel drive, and other cars were wedged in some trees behind the outbuilding. Shrubs surrounded the small patio where she'd come out
, and a plot of grass behind the house had a big blue tarp over it. None of it would help get Liam down.

  “Liam!” Victoria shouted. “We're going over there!”

  She didn't see him anywhere on the back side of the roof.

  Victoria felt a shove. “Go on. Run!” Margaret shouted. “I said go,” she added with an angry bark.

  Russ never slowed down. His cowboy boots clunked on the ground as he ran and he held his hat on his head with his free hand. Margaret was dressed in a light blue skirt and a flowery top, like a cowgirl. She assumed they were mother and son, though they didn't really look that similar.

  She ran as slowly as she could. Liam had to be up there. Despite the tummy-rumbling drone of all the moaning zombies and the growing smell of death on the air, she slowed almost to a stop just short of the man in the door.

  “Move it!” A strong poke of the gun hit her back.

  “I have to wait for Liam. He's on your roof. You said-”

  “Roof? No way. Forget it, sweetheart. He's gone.”

  “No, he's not.”

  Margaret pushed the gun, and it really hurt.

  A zombie stepped from around the corner of the metal building, underscoring how serious the situation had become. Margaret pulled the barrel off her back, raised the gun to her shoulder, then let one go. Victoria jumped at the concussion, then recoiled at the damage done to the old man's head.

  Margaret didn't turn to her, but kept the gun focused on the nearby corner.

  “This is it, girl. You want to live, get in that door. If not, die out here. I don't care as long as me and my boy are safe.” She had to yell because the horde was in a frenzy now that the zombies saw living people.

  When Margaret ran in the door, Victoria felt the weight of the moment. She could stay outside, dodge the arriving legion of walking dead, and possibly get back over to Liam. Or, she could step through the portal to safety.

  One last look around. Liam still wasn't up on the roof. She desperately wanted to see him waving to her from his safe perch, but it wasn't to be.

  “Show me you're alive,” she said while nudging toward the opening. “I'll run to you.” Her heart tried to tear through her shirt to keep her there for one last chance to see Liam, but there was nothing but zombies as far as she could see.

  A firm hand grabbed her arm and she let herself be pulled through the door.

  “Run, Liam!” she screamed.

  The door cut her off.

  2

  It took her a moment to catch her breath, but when she calmed herself enough to think about it, the noise inside the structure was louder than the approaching storm of infected.

  I guess Liam did hear music.

  It was as if a rock concert had been moved into the shed with men and women yelling and screaming-happily-and having the time of their lives.

  Victoria recognized the song because she hated the female artist.

  “I'll say this place is Toxic!” She said it aloud, but no one could possibly hear her over the song.

  The outbuilding might once have been used to store heavy machinery to work the farm, but now it was hollowed out so that the giant bay could be used as a makeshift dance floor. By her estimation there were fifty people bouncing and jumping under some colored lights in a space about the size of half a tennis court.

  A ladder went up to a small loft, though she couldn't see what was stored up there.

  “Come on,” Margaret shouted as she pulled her along the edge of the revelers. Victoria let herself be led again, because her brain was unable to square the difference between the threat outside and the apparent ignorance of the people inside. She couldn't help but think back to her own first zombie encounter at a nightclub with an atmosphere very much like the current one. Surely the people here knew what awaited them outside?

  An old bearded man wearing potato chip crumbs around his mouth came stumbling up to Victoria as if she had a sign on her that said, “I'm new here.” The music was too loud to hear him talk, but she knew what he wanted.

  “I hate this song!” she yelled back while shaking her head.

  The man pressed in to ask her again, but Margaret and Russ moved her along.

  A second man came up who was a lot cleaner than the first guy, but he had no shirt on and wore a dozen thick necklaces like he was flaunting both his chest and his wealth. There was no scenario where that would have been attractive to her, but especially not in the farmhouse garage. She didn't give him a chance to ask.

  “This song really sucks, right?” She shook her head with great exaggeration as the man reached out to drag her to the dance floor. He managed to get his fingers around her wrist but she immediately got away because he was slippery with oil.

  The man wasn't taking no as her answer, however, and he pulled at her ponytail as she walked away.

  “Ouch!” she whipped back and spun around because he didn't let go.

  Margaret and Russ both had to wield their shotguns to get the guy to let her go, but he wasn't happy about it. The man leered at Russ like he was a traitor.

  “I mean I really HATE it!” she shouted back to the slippery man. It took a supreme effort not to stick her tongue out at him or give him the finger, but the man was obviously desperate, and she couldn't be sure he wasn't armed.

  They were soon away from the dancers, but her fear and confusion surged as she was forced through a door on the rear wall. She feared they were going back outside, but it instead took her into a long, thin wedge of a room. When the door was shut behind, it blocked a good degree of the music.

  “You'll want to cut that hair short, like mine,” the woman said while running her fingers through her sweaty, obviously self-cut short hair. “Not just for the jerks out there, but for lice and dirt, too.”

  Just what I need: hygiene advice.

  “What the hell is this place,” she shouted to change the subject. “Your music is terrible, by the way.”

  Her complaints about the tunes stemmed from her dislike of how she was being led around as if she were a piece of meat. It was a small way of controlling the moral high ground with these strangers.

  “That is one piece of our business. I'm afraid you came in at the very end of the party.” Margaret laughed weakly.

  “Wait a minute. Who are you people?” She raised her hands as if to push everyone back from her, so she could get a better look.

  Margaret handed her shotgun to Russ. “Here, keep watch.”

  Then, as she adjusted some equipment in the low light of the room, she addressed Victoria's concerns. “This will undoubtedly be the last one of these we do. I'm glad we could get you in, dear. But we did a lot of things here after the world went to crap. My boss ran a clinic up in Sikeston, though we had to come back here when things got bad. Started running it out of his shed,” she laughed anxiously. “But they found us. Everyone found us. Word spreads, you know?”

  Victoria nodded to keep her talking but the woman's focus was on some medical equipment.

  “First, we let them come, get their stuff done, and then leave. But everything has a cost, right? We realized pretty quick we wasn't gonna make it unless we got paid in usable currency. First it was food, but then nobody had food. Ironic, huh? We're on a farm surrounded by young corn stalks but had nothing to eat.”

  Again, Victoria nodded and smiled, happy to be distracted from the music pounding the walls, which in turn hid the sound of the zombies outside.

  “So we traded in ... services. We get the girls here and get them squared away, then they contract with us to work off the debt. It was all very hush hush at first, but soon everyone wanted to dispose of their 'little problems' when it was clear what it would mean going forward. Who can take care of a family when the dead are crashing through your living room?” She put a happy spin on her words, but she remained obviously nervous as she continued to fiddle with nobs and dials in the darkness.

  “Things spun out of control, I'm afraid. We aren't professionals at this, mind you,
so once word got around what we was doin' here, strange men showed up and began to advise us-then they sort of took over. More girls showed up and then more men showed up. Rich and powerful men. They all saw us for what we were. Even some of the cops stopped by ... to shake us down. We became, how should I say this? We became a place where goods and services traded hands enough to run an entire town. At least for a while.”

  Margaret looked directly at her. “And you're the last one, sweetie. Lucky for you there won't be any need to work this off. I'm doing one on the house for ya. Call it karma. It's going to be harder to run for a little while, but long term your odds will be better with jus' you and your husband. It's what they all say.”

  Victoria appreciated the framework of her explanation. Some kind of business arrangement had been struck. A relationship that included a dance club, apparently. And lots of clients, even now, at the end. But she'd been talking in riddles as to what was expected of her, in this room.

  “So, what do you think?” Margaret appeared sympathetic for the first time.

  “I'm, uh, glad you want to help my husband and me-”

  Victoria jumped.

  At that moment hands pounded on the exterior wall. They rattled one side of the room while music shook the other.

  Her heart rate was out of control.

  “B-but you have it all wrong about why I'm here, I think. We came from Cairo. There was a big fight between an endless wave of zombies and the whole town was destroyed. We got away and saw your house as a place to hide until the horde passes.”

  Margaret did a double take. “You aren't pregnant?”

  “No, I, uh. No!” It came together with stunning speed. Girls arrived here, desperate to erase their “little problems” as Margaret called them. But they had to pay off their debt, and men came to trade services. In a world without medical facilities and support staff, having a baby would scare a lot of women and young girls to seek this place-no matter the payment. It would become a well-traveled destination from far and wide. Margaret and her boss would be rich in a world bereft of hope.