“I mean, there may not be,” he added, trying to improve her mood. “Don’t worry—it’s all gonna work out just fine.”
Ally nodded slowly. “So how do we do it?”
Over the next hour they devised their plan. Bicycles seemed like a practical way to travel, especially if there were areas taken up by tremendous traffic jams. With bicycles, they could get around the stalled traffic, and faster than if they struck out on foot. They took time to pack some supplies into knapsacks—mainly what little food remained, but also a grill lighter and a sizeable hunting knife Matthew decided could be definitely useful. And the powerful flashlight he had in his room, something he’d latched onto a year or so ago when he had a bout of night terrors. The memory that made him feel stupid. Now, instead of night terrors, he had life terrors all around him.
Throughout the afternoon, as they kept a quiet watch, peering around the shades and curtains. There was definitely a presence of walking corpses in the neighborhood, drifting around the houses and along the street like shambling phantasms. One of them actually walked right up to the door of Matthew’s house and pushed on it, moaning almost delicately. It was a forlorn sound that both Matthew and Ally found haunting.
“What’s it doing?” Ally whispered.
“I don’t know, maybe it heard something,” Matthew whispered back. He suddenly missed his bat, lying in the entry hall of Ally’s house.
Eventually, the zombie drifted off, shuffling and shambling across the yard and into the street.
The afternoon wore on with no clear chance of escape presenting itself. The creatures seemed to be everywhere. With infinite care to be as silent as possible, the two made themselves up another meal in the late afternoon hours. They decided to eat huddled on the floor of the kitchen, fearing that even the movement of chairs at the table could invite an intruder.
“Can I use your bathroom again?” Ally asked after a time.
“Sure, yeah.”
Ally slipped away to go about her business, while Matthew continued trying to formulate a plan. The shock of that morning’s encounter at her house was still on line to be processed, along with his nightmare at the school. Without consciously thinking about it, he was very glad to have the relative peace of his home so he could begin untangling this wild string of events. He only wished he could get some extended time without having to fret over what may happen next.
Ally was still numb, he could see. She approached things almost mechanically, as if she was in some kind of torpor. Matthew understood that. It took a sizeable investment of psychic energy to contemplate what the future held.
Down the hall, glass shattered, and Ally screamed.
“Ally!” Matthew launched himself down the hallway, running to the bathroom. He grabbed the knob, but it was locked. “Ally, open the door!”
He heard her grappling with the lock, and then the doorknob twisted freely beneath his hand. Matthew sprung through with a burst, knocking the door into Ally, who fell back to the floor.
The reek of the zombie assaulted Matthew’s nose as he thrust in. A gray and green arm poked into the bathroom from the shattered window, and Matthew realized then that he had neglected to fully close the curtains here—a major oversight on his part. The zombie at the window wrenched the curtains free and yanked them to the floor. The small, tiled room was full of the ghoul’s dry cries.
“Get out!” Matthew barked at Ally, trying to drag her to her feet. The girl was dead weight, overcome by the horror of the moment.
The zombie moaned louder. Now it had two flailing arms fighting their way into the room. It whacked at the wood and glass like Frankenstein’s monster—flat, stupid hands that jammed themselves on the broken glass and sharp splinters. It paid no mind to the damage it inflicted on itself. It raged with excitement and bloodlust over the chance to feed.
Matthew simply dragged Ally out into the hall and pulled her to her feet. She staggered away down the hall toward the kitchen.
Matthew searched the bathroom for something—anything that could be used as a weapon. His choices were a shower mat and a plastic hair dryer. Then, his eyes happened across the lid of the toilet tank. The creature thrust its head into the room now with a growl, its hands sweeping across the room. Matthew darted forward and lifted the heavy porcelain lid off the toilet tank as the beast grabbed at his clothes. Before it could snatch a hold of his shirt, he stepped back, moving just out of its range. Raising the lid over his head, he brought it down right on the ghoul’s skull. Porcelain and bone exploded and mixed together into a pulpy, gray-black gruel that exploded all over the walls and floor. The zombie jerked spasmodically, like a grasshopper might twitch after losing its head, then sank in the window frame. It hung there by its arms, the ledge of the window jammed into its armpits. Matthew almost retched at the smell. While the zombies never smelled good to begin with, the rot that was inside of them was a dozen times more sickening than what was on the outside.
Matthew wobbled on his feet and grabbed at the vanity top. He was afraid he was about to hurl his last meal into the sink, but the zombie in the window shifted suddenly. Another moving corpse walked up behind it and was fighting to get past the dead body that blocked the entry into the house.
Time to go. Matthew pushed off the vanity and jumped back into the hallway. He ran back into the kitchen and snatched his pack off the table. “Ally?” He strapped on his pack, then grabbed hers as well. “Ally!” As he called for her, he heard a ruckus coming from the bathroom. Something hit the floor, hard, and seemed to thrash about. He heard a hollow, almost echoing moan that suddenly became a wet gargle.
Gosh, did one of those things land in the toilet? he asked himself.
The toilet flushed then, and he heard another hacking moan. Matthew wished he’d had the presence of mind to close the bathroom door behind him, but that opportunity was long gone now.
He ran into the living room and found Ally sitting on the floor next to the couch. Her eyes were wide and staring, but seemingly seeing nothing. Matthew ran over to her and put a hand on her shoulder.
“Ally, we have to go! They’re in the house!”
The girl was numb and wouldn’t react. She looked almost calm as she slumped there, her eyes wide and transfixed on nothing. Sweat beaded on her brow. Matthew yanked on one of her arms, holding it out so he could thread one of the backpack straps over it, then repeated the process with her other arm. Something stumbled into the hallway and hit the wall.
“Come on! We’ve gotta go!” Matthew said. “Ally, please! Please!”
The girl heard him. Somehow, though the terror and madness of what was happening had her frozen in mind and spirit, somehow she managed to hear his call.
She nodded. She fought to find her feet, relying on his help to arise as she came out of her stupor and finally saw the urgency of the situation. Matthew pulled her along behind him as he walked quickly to the door.
CHAPTER 13
WALLACE AND DARIEN
After fleeing the hotel, Darien urged Wallace to go to Marina del Rey. She reminded him of the boat that she’d mentioned earlier. Of course, he agreed—they were running out of options. It was another hot, dry day in LA and the sun worked as much into their fatigue as the endless march through empty city streets.
After their narrow escape from the hotel—and the intense run that followed—it wasn’t long before they were in sight of Marina del Rey. Just like pretty much everything else they’d seen, it appeared deserted. The silence of Route 1, which they had followed to the harbor city, did not seem as acute now, as the wind and distant waves offered some counter to the mood of death that permeated the City of Angels.
Soon, they approached the marina entrance. Wallace kept his rifle in a low ready position as he slowed and scanned the area. There were still plenty of boats in the marina, though more than half the slips were empty. Nothing seemed to move along the piers and docks except for seagulls drifting overhead. If the zombie apocalypse meant anything to them, they di
d not show it.
“All right, let’s get to your boat. It’s this way, I take it?” Wallace nodded toward the marina.
“Yes,” Darien said.
“Good. Stay behind me.”
They’d felt exposed enough in the regular streets, but here by the shore it was more open. In a way it was good because they could see things coming from a distance, but it also made them vulnerable. As they passed into the entrance, Wallace began hurrying, hoping to get lost in the more complex visual environment of the moored boats that still floated in the marina. Darien followed close behind.
“Do you know how to operate a boat?” Darien asked. “I mean, do you know anything about them?”
“Ah—” Wallace had to pause. “Well, I went out on a fishing skiff a few times with my dad and uncle as a kid. So not really, I guess. But it can’t be hard. I mean, if we have a motor, an engine, that kind of stuff—”
“Don’t sweat it. I know boats,” Darien said, almost proudly.
Okay, and it’s about time you actually knew what the hell you were doing, anyway. Wallace contemplated saying that aloud, but managed to contain himself. If the girl could finally be of some use, he was all for it.
“Then let’s get one and get the hell out of here,” he said, instead.
“Follow me.”
With that, Darien took the lead, padding toward one of the streets that led to a parking lot. Wallace glanced at the sign. Bali Way. He couldn’t have cared if it had been a one-way road called Walk the Plank Way, if there was a boat they could use, he was all for it.
Zombies were there. Not many—only a few. They hissed when they saw them, and began shuffling forward. Darien didn’t slow. In fact, she began to jog.
“Come on, I see it!”
“What? What do you see?” Wallace asked. He held the rifle in his hands, continuing to keep the barrel down in a low ready position. He considered engaging the zombies before they got too close.
“The boat! Come on!”
She broke into an all-out run, and Wallace hurried after her, his feet pounding across the pavement as he mounted the sidewalk and followed her down one of the boat piers. There was a closed metal door there and she stopped in front of it. Wallace hurried up behind her.
“Okay, so is this locked, or what?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said.
“So are we climbing over?” Wallace looked at the pier, considering just jumping in the water and going for it that way. Then he saw heads bobbing along in the dark harbor. Zombies were in the water, too.
“No, we don’t have to climb over.” Darien reached into one of her pockets. At the same time, a chorus of moans drifted toward them on the fresh-smelling sea breeze. Wallace looked to his right and saw dozens of zombies emerging from the Marina del Rey Hotel, which towered over them a few hundred feet away. Several tourists and hospitality workers crept toward them, their eyes lifeless, their jaws spread wide. To them, lunch had just been served.
“Yeah, well, listen. Things aren’t exactly breaking our way right now—”
With a metallic squeak, Darien pushed the door open. “Come on, let’s go.” She had a key in her hand. Wallace stepped through after her and let the metal door clang shut behind him, then followed Darien as she scurried down the catwalk to the mooring pier. Bodies hit the water as a group of zombies tumbled into the harbor, making for them even as they slowly walked into deeper water. Wallace watched as several of them disappeared beneath the water’s surface, becoming only vague, ghostly outlines as they trudged across the harbor’s mucky bottom.
He ran right into Darien at the bottom of the gangway. She had stopped when three zombies appeared on the mooring, walking toward her. Two were dry, one was wet. That meant there were infected on the boats, and those in the water were likely able to climb onto the mooring jetty.
“Which boat are we headed for?”
“Third one on the right,” Dare said.
Wallace looked. All the boats kind of looked the same to him, like white Clorox bottles floating in the harbor.
“Tell me it’s not a sailboat,” he said.
“No, it’s next to one. Listen, are you—”
“Cover your ears.” Wallace leaned to one side and shouldered the rifle. As soon as Dare put her hands over her ears, he lined up the sights on the zombies and fired, sending expended cartridges over the railing and into the brackish water. Three shots, three kills. Seagulls appeared almost instantly, screeching as they orbited overhead.
“Fuck!” Darien said. “I’m deaf!”
Wallace pushed her forward. “Get to your boat.” Something banged behind him, and he glanced back to see zombies were piling up on the other side of the gangway security door. “Come on!”
Darien hurried forward and picked her way over the three bodies, wrinkling her nose at the smell. Wallace followed as she led him toward a boat that looked to be over forty feet long. It was moored bow-in, so she hurried down the slip to the right of the boat, heading for the stern. Wallace heard something thrashing in the water, and he looked down to see a zombie trying to clamber out of the harbor at his feet. He raised his rifle to kill it, then settled for kicking it in the head instead. It lost its grip and slipped beneath the water.
Darien hopped into the back of the boat and worked at unzipping a plastic and canvas shroud that covered the rear of the vessel’s bridge like a kind of camper. As Wallace hopped into the stern, he noticed the manufacturer’s name on the side of the house: TIARA. There was a wraparound couch at the stern, and what looked like a mounting bracket for a table in the deck. A few feet away, another settee sat in the mezzanine, facing the stern. So far, the boat looked like a real gold plater.
“So is this boat any good?” he asked, as Darien unzipped the back of the bridge and stepped inside.
“Tiara Forty-Three Hundred Open, over forty-three feet long, two diesel pod drives, two staterooms, full galley, and retails for about one million two. Yeah, it’s pretty good,” Darien said as she made her way to the helm station. She reached back into her pocket and pulled out a key ring, then used another key to open a compartment beneath the helm chair. She reached inside and pulled out more keys.
“So, how do you know where they keep the keys?” he asked. “You own this boat?”
“No. My ex does.” She used the new set of keys to open the door that led below the deck. “I have to go wake this thing up. Do me a favor and keep the zombies off us, okay?”
Wallace grunted, impressed with Darien despite everything. “You know how to drive this thing?”
She glanced over her shoulder at him as she slid open the hatch that led below decks. “Surprised?” she asked. She peered into the darkness of the cabin below, then pushed into it.
“Actually, yes... so he let you keep the keys?” Wallace looked down after her and caught a glimpse of deep mahogany wood, a leather sofa, and a big flat-panel TV mounted in a bulkhead that separated the galley from the salon seating area.
“He wanted me back in his life, and he knew I loved the boat,” Darien said. “I’ll need a few minutes—go stand in the cockpit and watch for zombies, Wallace.”
Wallace looked out the windows. “I thought I’m already in the cockpit.”
Darien appeared back in the doorway and looked up at him. She pointed at the back of the boat.
“This is the helm deck. That’s the cockpit,” she said, pointing to the seating area in the stern.
“Oh.” Wallace turned, walked down the couple of steps that led to the seating area—the cockpit, he reminded himself—and took a good look around. Water splashed, and he saw a zombie suddenly pull itself onto the swimming platform attached to the boat’s transom. Water poured out of its mouth and nose as it released a gurgling moan. He shot it right in the forehead, and the corpse splashed back into the water. The boat rocked slightly as another zombie appeared, this time on the pier right next to the vessel. He shot that one too, and the bullet slashed through its skull and continued on through
the fiberglass house of the sailboat in the next slip.
He heard pumps start up, and air began blasting into the helm area from several air-conditioning vents. Something beeped up there, and he caught a glimpse of the flat panel displays coming to life with the Windows logo. Darien bolted up the small gangway and slipped into the Stidd helm chair.
“How long until we can get going?” Wallace asked.
“Usually I’d want to take at least fifteen or twenty minutes to do a full inspection, but we don’t have that kind of time,” Darien replied. “As soon as the chart plotter and radar boot up, I’ll start the engines and we’re gone. Can you cast off the lines? Start with the bow.”
“Yeah,” Wallace said. “Okay. You might want to keep a watch on the rear, though—those things are in the water, and they can climb up onto this platform thing back here.” He handed her the rifle.
“Got it. Hurry,” Darien said as she left the helm and stepped down into the cockpit, slinging the rifle over her shoulder by its strap.
Wallace headed for the bow of the boat, standing on the floating dock. More zombies crept toward him and he took a minute to drop them all with his pistol, sending their lifeless corpses sprawling across the deck. The group at the metal security door was growing and more ghouls were splashing into the water. Wallace hurriedly untied the bow of the boat and tossed the rope onto it, then stepped back and did the same with the spring lines. The boat began to drift a bit, and the big rubber fenders that hung off the side of the hull squeaked as they scraped against the dock.
He hopped back into the cockpit just as another zombie heaved itself out of the water and onto the swim platform. Darien was back, and she raised the rifle and fired twice. The first round tore through its shoulder, and the second bullet hit it high up on the head, blasting a furrow through its wet hairline. The zombie released a gurgle and slowly tumbled back into the water, where it sank below the surface.
“Get the stern lines!” Darien yelled at him as she turned and ran back to the helm deck. Wallace did as she instructed, fumbling with the lines as he tried to unwrap them from the cleats. Soon the boat was floating free, and it drifted over into the boat next to it. The fenders squeaked and squealed again as they rubbed against the fiberglass hulls.
Dead in L.A. (A Gathering Dead Novel) Page 15