One of the boat’s engines started, and diesel exhaust filled the air. A moment later the second engine turned over, just as more zombies appeared on the mooring jetty. They lurched toward the boat, arms outstretched, as Darien grabbed a small joystick and pulled it toward her. The engines picked up, and the boat backed out of the slip, pushing swirling, turbulent water before its transom. Wallace knelt on the couch at the rear of the cockpit, looking into the water as the boat reversed. He glimpsed another zombie whirling about in the grainy water for a moment before it disappeared beneath the boat’s stern.
“Hey, what happens if we hit one of those things with the props?” he shouted to Darien.
“We’ll find out when it happens,” she shouted back. She was looking toward the rear of the boat, working the joystick as she pulled the boat out of the slip. When they were several dozen yards out, she twisted the stick and coaxed the boat into a bobbing spin.
“Okay, we’re out of here!” she shouted, turning forward. Wallace watched her advance the throttles a bit, and the boat began accelerating forward. Once they were underway, he left the cockpit and joined her on the helm deck, grabbing at various handholds as he walked to keep his balance against the boat’s swaying.
Leaving the silence of the city behind them, they headed off toward the dog-leg turn of the main canal, toward the great, long stone breaker that guarded the entrance to the marina. It was a wide birth and, even in this big boat, Wallace saw no problem—especially at a registered speed of five knots—getting out and turning right toward Venice and their escape.
It seemed too good to be true. While his mother’s place wasn’t very close to the Malibu pier, they could have this thing over there in an hour. This was the gift they’d earned in their long, tiresome quest across the city.
Finally going to make it, he thought. He turned and looked over at Darien. She stood behind the wheel, leaning against the bolster of the helm chair as she piloted the boat down the channel. There was an aura of peace about her, and he could see that she truly loved being aboard the vessel. Wallace took a moment to look around the helm deck. He could get into the boat, too.
The fresh, cool air of the nearby Pacific Ocean swam against their faces as they met the long jetty. Darien took the turn perfectly, exactly as any boater was supposed to, close to the middle of the channel. Her fingers danced across one of the displays, and Wallace watched as she combined the radar and chart displays on the same screen. He was impressed with the fidelity of the exhibit—looking up through the enclosed windscreen, he could see the displayed results matched what he saw in real time perfectly.
The boat suddenly lurched as it hit something, and Wallace bounced off the chart holder before him. The rifle clattered along the deck, and he yelped as the boat rocked from side to side.
“What did we hit?” he asked.
“I don’t know!” Dare shouted, pushing forward on the throttles a bit. “We’re in the middle of the boat channel. We’ve got fifteen feet of water beneath us. I’ve been through here three dozen times and never had a problem!”
She turned the wheel one way, then the other. Water swirled around the rear of the boat as it wallowed from side to side. She killed the power, then pulled the throttles to the rear, putting the boat in reverse. It lurched and shuddered, backing up in hitches and starts.
“Depth meter is fluctuating,” she said. “Look.”
She pointed to one of the displays, and Wallace could see the depth of the water beneath the boat was at three feet, then at one, then fifteen. Then twelve, three, eight…
“I don’t get it,” he said. He picked up the rifle and left the helm deck, hurrying out to the cockpit where he looked over the side. The green water showed just the shadows of the depths, but there were dark rocks visible beneath them, off to the sides, none close enough for the boat to have encountered. Murky shadows shimmered with the sunlight and ripples of the water. They almost seemed to move.
Then all at once there were bodies, dozens of them, livid green. Some of them were partially eaten away from the salt water. Others were all the more grotesque for the strands of slime and seaweed and muck that clung to them. All at once they were climbing on board from every side of the boat’s transom.
One by one the living dead flopped onto the deck with a splash of water. One by one they moaned, calling out their hunger.
Wallace stepped away from the helm station, shouldering his rifle. “Get us the fuck going!” he shouted, then turned and began shooting at the monstrosities falling into the cockpit. Darien pushed the throttles forward, but the boat simply wallowed. The Tiara bumped and pitched, but it went nowhere. Over the crack of his rifle, Wallace thought he heard something strike the bottom of the boat, hard. The vessel started making a series of gyrations, from left to right, almost like it was dancing.
And then, it was free.
Wallace lost his balance as the boat lurched forward, and he dropped the rifle to grab one of the stainless steel handholds that had been attached to the molded fiberglass overhead. Several zombies went over the stern and bounced off the swim platform before splashing into the water. Those that didn’t hit the drink sprawled across the deck, coalescing into a pile of bodies in one corner. Wallace hauled himself upright and cast about with one hand, trying to find the rifle. It was on the deck, next to the sliding door that led into the cabin below. He pulled it toward him and fired it one-handed at the first zombie that managed to get back to its feet, dropping right at the stairs that led to the helm deck. But the boat was vibrating madly, ruining his aim, and he missed his next several shots. The motion of the boat wasn’t helpful for the zombies, either; even on dry, motionless land, their uncoordinated method of locomotion made them relatively easy to avoid. On a pitching boat, they had no chance at all.
“There’s something wrong!” Darien shouted. “I think we lost one of the pod drives!”
“Can you restart it?”
“Wallace, it’s gone. They’re designed to break off if they hit something. And the other one’s so beat up, we’re barely making any headway—I think part of the prop is sheared off!”
Wallace managed to line up a shot and drilled a ghoul through the head. The bullet tumbled right through the rear of the transom when it exited the monster’s skull.
“So what are you telling me?” He fired at another zombie, missed, and the bolt locked back. He had gone through the entire magazine, and there were still seven or eight zombies left. He ejected the spent mag and reached for another, pausing to use the rifle as a pike and push a zombies back as it lurched up onto the helm deck.
“We have to get off this boat,” Darien said, panic returning to her voice. “That’s what I’m telling you.”
“What, here?”
“We can’t take it out of the harbor like this, and if we lose the rest of the prop, we’re dead in the water,” Dare said. She cranked the wheel over, and the vessel wallowed as it slowly turned toward Venice Beach. Wallace swore and went back to trying to kill zombies as he recharged the rifle.
“Hold on!” Darien shouted.
Wallace had hardly a moment to grab the railing with his left hand when the boat jammed into the sand and rock on the edge of the jetty. The collision thrust him forward, but more importantly it shook a large number of the zombies off their feet. Several fell overboard without elegance, splashing into the water with gigantic belly flops.
“Now! Go!” Dare pushed away from the helm console as Wallace stepped forward, popping a round into each zombie’s head as they thrashed about on the deck, blasting holes through skulls and fiberglass.
“What, are we just jumping in the water?” he yelled.
“Get to the side rail and go to the bow—we’ll jump from there!”
Wallace killed all the zombies in the cockpit, then opened up on those that arose from the water as they waded toward the boat. Darien pushed past him and climbed up onto the side rail and sidestepped along the side of the boat’s house, heading for the
bow. Wallace slung his rifle and followed her, scraping the weapon along the fiberglass house as he grabbed onto the stainless steel handhold mounted along its top. The open array radar was still spinning, and he wondered dimly if his head was being thoroughly irradiated. Looking ahead, he saw Darien was standing on the bow, regarding the jetty several feet below.
“Jump!” he screamed.
Darien did as he instructed and leaped from the bobbing bow of the boat and onto the jetty. She must have landed wrong, for Wallace heard her cry out. Bodies hit the water behind him as he worked his way toward the bow, and he glanced back to see more zombies creeping into the boat. Those that tried to follow him along the side invariably lost their balance and fell into the water. Wallace ignored them and hurried to the bow of the Tiara. With a scraping noise, it began to drift away from the jetty. He saw Darien crawling up the slippery rocks of its face, grimacing. With no time to waste, he stepped over the rail and lowered himself into the cold, shallow water at the jetty’s foot and lurched after her.
“Are you all right?” He didn’t wait for an answer, but began guiding her up the slippery stone toward the safety of dry land. He glanced behind him and saw the boat was now almost empty—the zombies had returned to the water. Several gray heads broke the surface as the corpses picked their way across the bottom of the harbor in pursuit, obeying their blind allegiance to find their food.
“Come on,” Wallace urged, taking her around his shoulder and encouraging a quick limping walk away from the water. “Don’t look back.”
Good that she didn’t, for each of the zombies in turn now began appearing at the jetty’s end, climbing carefully out of the water with no ill effects from the prolonged submersion. Like sodden crabs, they climbed and clawed their ways out up the rocks.
Wallace and Darien continued their slow but steady pace away, at twenty, then thirty yards and still going. Then the first creature was up on the rock and standing. Once again, the slow, steady pursuit of the zombies was on.
Wallace and Darien scurried off up the beach, choosing not to look back, praying that some safe haven lay ahead.
CHAPTER 14
MATTHEW AND ALLY
Matthew and Ally were relieved to find the backyard empty. Knowing that fearful hesitation to press on could be as lethal as a blind charge into the unknown, Matthew headed right back around to the side entrance of the garage. It was unlocked. Three bicycles were stored inside, including his own.
Ally was a bit shorter than he was, so Matthew had her ride his bike while he took his mother’s. They walked them quickly out the back door and headed directly around the side of the garage to the street. Wearing their backpacks and still numb from all the trauma they’d experienced, they went all the way to the driveway before finally getting on.
“Where are we gonna go?” Ally asked gently.
“Uh… Well, like I said, we’re going to Malibu.”
“Really, Malibu? That’s, like, twenty miles.”
“I know, but my dad is there. He can help us.”
Ally had no better suggestion. “Okay,” she said lamely.
They set off down the street and didn’t look back. At first flash it felt like an easy travel and a breeze. They whipped down their street like it was nothing they hadn’t done a hundred times, despite the new bitter memories that plagued them. Matthew turned his head like it was on a swivel, trying to look everywhere at once.
They turned down Manitowac Drive, then turned right onto Whitefox. They pedaled past silent houses with overgrown lawns and piles of garbage standing at the curb. Matthew led Ally through a left turn onto Silver Spur Road. That’s when they saw the first zombies.
There were just two of them far across someone’s lawn, toward the back of the property. On any other day they might not have even noticed them, but their attention was acute as they rolled through the streets. The two zombies were oblivious to them. They were rooting around in a small shed at the back of a house, and Matthew wondered if someone was trapped inside. It could have been him, just a couple of days ago.
“There’s two,” Matthew whispered, pointing them out.
Ally said nothing but held her breath. The two pedaled faster until they were well beyond that property.
Pedaling fast and with purpose, it wasn’t long before they reached Route 1. Matthew knew this would go straight up to Malibu. He’d made the drive enough times with his dad.
“The shortest point between two angles,” he said between panting breaths.
“What?”
“It’s geometry. The shortest point between two angles is a straight line.”
“Why should try and find a policeman,” she said.
“Ally, I’m not sure anything’s working right now. I don’t know if the police are even still alive or anything.”
“Maybe we should go to the police station?”
“No.”
“Matthew, there’s a station up ahead. There might be police there. We gotta get help.”
Matthew thought about this as they came round the bend approaching town. The station was right there. It might be stupid not to at least stop and try.
“Okay,” he said hesitantly, for somehow he knew.
The façade of the station was as much a tomb as the rest of the small commercial area they were in. Matthew didn’t feel good stopping, stepping off his bike and standing still.
For a long moment they stood there drinking in the deep silence.
CRACK!—a gunshot fired somewhere far off, making them both flinch. Holding their collective breath, they waited for another, but heard nothing further. Whoever had been shooting had either taken care of the threat, or had been overwhelmed by it.
“I don’t like this,” Matthew muttered, realizing as he said it that he had to try and be the brave one, not let Ally hear him voice his negativity.
They crept up to the door of the station and stepped carefully inside.
Looking left, right—nothing—but the odor was foul. Then straight ahead, in the large, dark vestibule, they saw the reception window was splattered with dark reddish-brown.
Ally was frozen by the door. Matthew moved closer.
Bodies came into view—two, and then another farther back. The desk sergeant was still roughly mounded in his chair. Half his head was blown off and his eyes were wide open. The once-damp blood staining his head and remaining hair still sparkled in the daylight from the door. The look of shock on his face made it seem like he had had suddenly seen a picture of what he was going to look like after the shot and it had terrified him.
“Let’s go,” Matthew urged, pushing Ally out the door.
They gratefully reached fresh air only to spot three zombies up the street coming toward them.
“Shit,” Matthew said. “Come on.”
Pushing down their panic, they mounted their bikes as fast as they could and took off toward their goal.
It felt good to finally get to Route 1, though the unusual silence—quieter than even an early Sunday morning—continued to be unsettling. But seeing there were tons of options for any of the things they might need, like food and clothes, and even some motels if they needed a place to rest, helped make it feel like a safer trip.
In his young mind, to Matthew it seemed perfectly plausible that they could sustain this intense pace even without food for the duration and be in Malibu long before it got dark. He hoped it would be true, and of course, he prayed his father would actually be there.
“There’s a bike shop up the way somewhere,” Matthew reported.
“Do we need to get anything?”
“If it’s open maybe we should get some extra tubes, just in case. I brought some money. And maybe we can get the water bottles filled.”
“Do you think they’ll be open? It doesn’t look like anything’s open.”
“Well… I mean, probably closer to Redondo, I guess. I don’t know.”
“Matthew? Where is everybody?”
Matthew wondered… but he d
idn’t have an answer.
“I don’t know. Let’s just keep going.”
They continued toward Redondo Beach until they came upon the bike shop. Their attention was arrested by the smashed front window and the scene of chaos. The place had been ransacked. Stains of blood mixed with broken glass, while most of the merchandise had been taken or destroyed.
Neither said a word. The state of things was slowly starting to dawn on them.
“Let’s just keep going,” Ally urged.
“Okay.”
They continued on toward Redondo Beach. They coasted into the curve around Avenue D without any thought beyond what good progress they were making.
The creatures suddenly appeared from all sides. Ally let out a weak cry, but neither she nor Matthew slowed down.
There were over a dozen. Some were far away and had no chance to reach them if they kept moving, but up ahead—about fifty yards or so—several promised to block their way. Others emerged from the buildings along the street. One especially fleet ghoul half-trotted, half-stumbled after them from behind, its arms outstretched, dry moans emerging from its wide open maw. Ally made a small, frightened noise, and Matthew urged her to pedal faster. They pulled away from the shambling grotesqueries and increased the distance, their legs pistoning as they worked the pedals.
For a moment it looked like it would be okay, that they could race past. But as they drew closer to the next group, fear and doubt made them hesitate and slow down.
In a minute it became clear they weren’t going to make it past, that they were driving headlong into a deathtrap.
“Turn around!” Matthew yelled, halting his bike with shaky feet and nearly tumbling over.
Ally had an even harder time, as the bike was still too big for her. She hit the wrong brake on the front tire and almost upended head over heels. With a pale shriek, she struggled to keep her balance, but lost her momentum. Grounding on one foot, she tried to salvage her momentum, but failed. Panic began to set in as the corpses closed in rapidly. Matthew thought they seemed to move faster than any of the others he had seen—part of terror’s panic-driven illusion. Ally tried to turn and run while she was still on the bike. Instead she just tripped herself right over onto the ground. She rolled away from the bike, blood seeping from a cut knee. A waterfall of tears came from her eyes.
Dead in L.A. (A Gathering Dead Novel) Page 16