The creatures continued to close in from all directions.
Matthew’s bike was really too big for him as well, so when he tried to turn and ride back with his hands and legs shaking as much as they were, he couldn’t get going. He jumped off and ran over to Ally, letting the bike tumble to the street.
“Come on, Ally! Get up!”
He helped her to her feet, but it wasn’t even clear where they should run. There wasn’t a safe direction. The zombies were everywhere—fifteen of the things now, each making a beeline toward them.
Matthew was looking right at the closest ones, some twenty feet away, trying to judge an angle of escape between them. Suddenly, its head exploded as brains and dark fluids burst out like a puddle that had been hit with a hammer.
Matthew jumped back in disbelief, as well as a staggering worry that the goo might splash right on him.
Ally turned to look, too, and then the next nearest monster half disappeared. It was a tall, lanky critter with a frightening, morose grin permanently burned on its face, for its very lips and the skin on its jaw had been eaten away to the very bone beneath. Its whole jaw was shot to pieces in an instant. The shot sent bits of bone and teeth flying in all directions. The next shot went right to the top half of its head and, after an explosive moment, the lanky body—still upright and moving forward—was without a head. A short stream of brackish ichor spat out of its raw, meaty neck. A moment later it collapsed on the ground.
“Someone’s shooting at them!” Matthew said, and for a moment he had a vision of his father, sniping away at the ghouls as they closed on him and Ally. He held onto her, holding her in place.
More shots rang out. Other nearby zombies were soundly obliterated by powerful discharges to their heads. One after another the heads were basically shot right off in violent explosions.
“Hey, you kids! This way!” a distant voice called.
The children turned to see a mysterious figure up in a second-floor window about a block away. He was clothed in a sort of gray scarf that hid his face entirely, a pair of thick goggles and a hat, so that no part of him was really visible. He was wearing a gray-blue shirt that blended almost perfectly with the façade of the building.
They left their bikes and hurried toward the building, dodging around one zombie in their path. Shots continued firing as, one by one, the monsters were extinguished. Despite the ringing in his ears, Matthew heard the bodies hit the street like sacks of potatoes.
To the left a gangly creature with one hollowed out eye socket reached to grab at them as they dashed by. Almost before the gun cracked, its remaining eye disgorged itself as the bullet exploded into its head. Its arms flew into the air in a parody of a Sunday preacher reaching toward the heavens. It lowered onto its buckling knees and toppled over onto its back.
As Matthew and Ally reached the building, they were surprised to see another figure dressed similarly to the man in the window waiting at the entrance. Rifle in hand, he directed them mechanically in toward the door like a traffic cop. The children scurried in, grateful to have found others still alive.
“Hurry,” the guard said, keeping his goggled eyes on the street, where several of the creatures were now moving toward the door.
“Thank you,” Matthew gasped, catching his breath in the shadowy hall. It was some sort of small office building and he noticed several doors marked with different companies.
If the guard heard his thanks, it was ignored. “Upstairs.”
Matthew did as he was told, falling back into the supplicant role of the underage. He led Ally up the stairs and to the second floor, where they found an open office area cluttered with military equipment—numerous guns and crates of ammunition, radio equipment, boots and clothing, tents and accessories, and even several large crates of Meals Ready to Eat, which Matthew had sampled on a few occasions with his father.
Ally and Matthew spent a moment taking it all in before they became aware of a young man standing off to one side. He wore jeans and a jacket, and there was the scrub of a wispy beard on his face. A black, cigarette-shaped object jutted from his mouth, and its tip glowed a sudden blue. The man exhaled a cloud of odorless smoke. Matthew recognized the device as an e-cigarette.
“Got us some new meat, eh? That’s fantastic,” the man said.
The kids stood silent for a moment. Matthew looked around the room again, then said, “So you guys are Army guys?”
The young man exhaled a cloud of smoke as he laughed. The laugh trailed off into a cough. “Well, kind of. The new army, actually.” The man scratched at his bushy head of blond hair with the butt of his handgun. He had a pink, cherubic face and big blue eyes. He also seemed a bit nervous and out of sorts. His eyes seemed to want to look everywhere.
“What’s a new army?” Ally asked.
“Oh, y’know. An army for the people. Or maybe, an army for us, since there aren’t that many people left around. At least here, in Hell A.”
“We’ve got to get to Malibu,” Matthew said. “My father’s there now, I’m pretty sure, and we gotta get up there.”
The man pursed his lips and shrugged. “I wouldn’t be too sure of anything,” he said.
The last lone crack of a gun sounded. Both Matthew and Ally stirred uneasily.
“Just taking care of the rest of the stenches out there,” the man told them.
“Stenches?” Matthew asked.
“Yeah. It’s what the military guys call the zombies. Not that there’s any real military guys left around, any longer. They were all overrun. They were flying helicopters out of Griffith Park. You’d think that after the Bowl got taken down, they would’ve started moving their shit a little farther away, but no. They stayed, and got taken down by zed.” The man paused to pull on his e-cig again. “Zed’s another name for the zombies. Don’t know why.”
Moments later two other men strolled into the room. Each held a hot military-style rifle, which Matthew surmised they had used to flatten an unknown number of zombies. Despite their weapons, they didn’t look like military men. One of them was a skinny black guy who wore a lot of red, and the other was a broad-shouldered white man with razor stubble, dark hair, olive skin, and intense eyes. He reminded Matthew of his father to a degree, except his eyes were far too cold. When this man looked at Matthew and Ally, there was no human warmth in his gaze. He seemed to be as dead as the zombies.
“These them?” he asked.
“Yeah. Told me their names. They think they’re on their way to Malibu.”
The tall man stared down at them. “What’s in Malibu,” he asked.
“Kid’s father,” said the man with the e-cig.
“Was I fucking asking you, shit face?” the big man said, keeping his eyes on Matthew and Ally.
“No,” the man with the e-cig said quietly. He looked around nervously once again.
“Thank you for helping us,” Matthew said to the big man.
The big man stared at him for a long moment with those dead, shark-like eyes, then smiled. The gesture looked incredibly fake on his face. “Well, you’re very, very welcome, young man.” The smile disappeared. “Now what the fuck’s in Malibu?”
Matthew’s heart began to beat a little faster. He didn’t know what to say. The truth? A lie? He’d already told the other man that his father was there. If he lied, how far could he go, and where would it get them?
“Uh...”
The big man raised his rifle and pointed it Ally. “Tell me, or I’ll shoot your friend’s leg off and throw her outside. Plenty of stenches still around, they’ll be happy to have something to nosh on while we talk.”
“Matthew,” Ally said, and there was a pleading quaver in her voice.
They were spared for the moment by another person entering the room, this one wearing a scarf around the head and dark sunglasses. When the scarf came off, Matthew saw it was a young woman. She had several piercings through her nose and lips and ears, and the top of her dirty white shirt dipped low enough to reveal an
intricate tattoo on her chest. She looked Latin, and she examined the kids with a gaze that held nothing even remotely approaching maternal sympathy.
“New meat, jefe?” she asked, and her words were thickly accented.
“New meat,” the big man replied. He kept his eyes on Matthew. “Kid, you and your friend came at just the right time. Those stenches out there were about to mass on us, but then you distracted them long enough for us to get in position and take them down. My turn to say thanks for that.”
“You’re... you’re welcome,” Matthew said slowly.
The man’s eyes did not warm one iota. “Tell me what’s in Malibu, and tell me right now. Presuming you don’t want your girlfriend to need crutches and a wheelchair for the rest of her life.”
“My father,” Matthew said.
“Okay. Why is your father in Malibu?”
“We have a house there.”
“Oh, really. One of those oceanside fuck castles? Your father a rich guy, kid? Takes seventeen year old models to Malibu and fucks them bloody?”
Matthew suddenly found himself growing very angry. “No,” he spat. “Not at all!”
The big man stepped toward him and slapped Matthew to the ground with so much force that he felt he had blacked out. When he came to his senses, he saw the big man standing over him, favoring him with a small smile. This time, the smile seemed genuine. Matthew slowly sat up, and the side of his face felt hot and tingly.
“I like your spirit,” the big man said, “but don’t talk back to me again. Show respect, or I’ll fucking kill you. Which I might do, anyway. Now get the fuck off the floor.”
Ally began to weep quietly. The big man turned his eyes toward her, the smile evaporating from his face.
“Stop that shit right now,” he intoned.
Ally quickly got herself under control. She sniffled every now and then, but that was it. Matthew picked himself up off the floor, feeling a bit lightheaded. The big man turned toward him again.
“You with me, kid?”
“Yes,” Matthew said, blinking back tears of his own.
“What’s your name?”
“Matthew. What’s yours?” The response was automatic, and Matthew wondered if it would earn him another slap.
“Marco Hernandez,” the big man said. “You can call me Marco. Mister Hernandez sounds a bit too, ah, pretentious to me.”
“Okay,” Matthew said.
“What’s the girl’s name?”
“Ally,” said the young man with the e-cig.
Marco turned toward him slowly. “Dude. Listen. You need to get your tweaker ass pulled together, because you’re clearly not in this conversation.”
The young man looked away. “Sorry,” he said, his voice soft. His hands shook as he stuffed his black e-cig back in his mouth and took another pull. Blue light flared at its tip.
Marco turned back to Ally. “That your name?”
“Yes,” Ally said, still struggling not to cry.
“Short for Allison?”
“Yes.”
Marco grunted and turned back to Matthew. “And you’re Matthew?”
“Yeah. Matthew Wallace.”
“Cool. Go by Matt?”
“No. Matthew,” he responded. “Only my parents, they call me Matty,” he added a moment later, immediately feeling stupid after blurting it out.
“Matthew’s more dignified,” Marco said. “Means ‘gift of God.’ You know that?”
“Yes,” Matthew said.
“Okay then, Gift of God. Tell me why your father, who apparently does not fuck seventeen year old models, is in Malibu and you’re all the way down here.”
“We have a house there,” Matthew said quietly.
“A house on the water’s no good, boy,” Marco told him. “Easy access. Dead will be all over that.”
Matthew said nothing further.
Marco sighed and casually pointed his rifle back at Ally. “Gift of God, do I have to remind you of something?”
“It’s not on the water,” Matthew said quickly. “It’s in the hills.”
Marco seemed interested in that. “Where in the hills?”
“Just... in the hills,” Matthew replied. “It’s not on the beach. It’s an old house, it belonged to my grandmother.”
“Close to a street? Can the dead see it?”
Matthew shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t know what they can see.”
“Your dad, what’s he do?”
“He’s...” Matthew didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what Marco and his people wanted to hear. “He’s retired Border Patrol,” he said, finally.
Marco snorted and turned to the woman. “You got your papers, Lorena?”
“I got tits and ass, don’t need no papers,” the woman said.
Marco turned back to Matthew. “Okay, Gift of God. Last question, and this is important. This house of yours, your grandmother’s house. Is it remote? Are people likely to find it?”
“I don’t think anyone’s going to be able to find it,” Matthew said slowly. He rubbed the side of his burning face.
Marco nodded slowly. “That might be exactly what the doctor ordered, kid. Because Los Angeles has gone to hell, and we need a place to hang our hats for a while until we can figure out our next move. So why don’t you think about giving me an address?”
CHAPTER 15
WALLACE AND DARIEN
Wallace had given up on the cars for the most part. So many appeared smashed or picked over, while others simply couldn’t be started, either from lack of keys or lack of fuel. Stopping to check every vehicle they came across was becoming an exercise in discouragement, not to mention wasted time. It was also keeping them from getting to Matthew, and that left Wallace feeling more and more frantic.
“Can’t you hot-wire a car?” Darien asked. Now that she no longer had a million-dollar boat to captain, she had reverted to type, looking to Wallace to do all the hard work. Like find them some operational wheels.
“You asked me that before. The answer’s still no, otherwise we’d be rolling on rubber wheels instead of rubber soles. Try and pay attention.” He could feel the hot weight of Darien’s glare, but he didn’t try and console her or apologize for his attitude. He had more important things on his mind.
So they ambled on through the tired gray dust of the empty city. Wallace cradled the rifle, keeping its butt stock tucked into his right armpit. He left the safety off and kept his finger indexed along the frame. Behind, a herd of slow moving zombies pursued them, shuffling and bumbling along, unable to catch up despite the light limp Darien had picked up. Wallace kept turning back to them every ten paces or so, verifying the herd was slowly falling behind.
“Oh, that’s a cute car,” Darien said, pointing toward a bright yellow Volkswagen Golf convertible. Wallace only glanced at it before looking through the smashed window of a Suburban that sat at the curb opposite the VW. No keys. Darien looked inside the VW, mumbled something to herself, then walked away. She stopped suddenly, eyes wide.
“What?” Wallace asked, raising the rifle as he looked around, scanning for some immediate threat that needed to be taken care of.
Dare dashed madly back to the car and pulled the door open. She jumped inside and, a moment later, the little car’s engine growled to life. Darien shrieked and slapped the steering wheel as she bounced in the driver’s seat.
“Dude, I found us a car!” she shouted.
Wallace was dumbfounded. The first fucking car she looks in has keys in it? “You’ve got to be shitting me…”
Darien looked like she couldn’t have been more excited if she’d won the lottery. “Get in!” she said.
“Do you want me to drive?”
“Wallace, just get in the fucking car!”
Wallace checked the zombies to their rear. They were stumbling closer. He sighed and hurried to the car and slid into the front passenger seat. Darien dropped the car into gear and pulled away from the curb. She slapped the steering wheel
as she checked the rear view mirror.
“And it’s even a fucking GTI!” she said, as it that meant something.
“Don’t be too happy with yourself—you destroyed a gold-plater yacht,” he said.
Moments later, Darien had them easing their way into the dead streets of Venice. Wallace leaned over and checked the fuel gauge, and to his surprise, he saw the car had more than a quarter of a tank of gas.
“Well, more than enough go-juice to get to Malibu,” he said.
“Yeah. About that,” Darien said as she weaved around stalled traffic and accelerated past a zombie that shambled toward them. “Hopefully we’ll get up there without a problem and I can drop you off.”
Wallace frowned. “And where are you gonna go?”
“I’ve told you, several times. I want to see my family. I’m going home.”
“You’re going to drive back… all that way? Alone?”
“I knew you were hot for me, Wallace. Did you know they called me a hot piece of ass back at the law firm I worked at?”
“No. And no, not interested in going to New Jersey.” Wallace waved out the window. “I’ll take my chances here. At least in a big city like this there are resources. I mean, what are you gonna do for food and gas? Fuel, that’s going to be a major pain in the ass while trying to get across the country.”
“I know. I’ll find it.”
“You’ll find it?” Wallace shook his head, watching the scenery of post-apocalypse LA whizz by. “Darien, it’s awesome that you found this car, and you impressed me on the boat for a little while, but—”
“I’ll find it,” Darien repeated, scowling.
“Okay,” Wallace said. “Okay.” He rolled down the window and stuck the rifle through it, letting it rest against the doorsill. If anything came at them from the passenger side, he’d be ready for it.
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