Zombie Overload (Book 4): Determined To Live

by C. M. Wright

  Ok.

  Right.

  So...how?

  An idea comes to me, and since I can't think of anything better, I go with it. Crossing over to the front door, I open it, walk out on the deck, and turn to my right. I stand beside the window - not in front of it - and lean the crutches on the wall next to me. I've decided the only option I really have is to shoot him through the window. Maybe I can find some way to board it up or block it later.

  I hop in front of the window, knock, then hop back a few times. Just as I get my balance, the zombie is at the window, ripping the thin, white lace curtain to shreds. When his fists bust the window, he pushes his head through the glass shards still attached to the frame. I badly want to look away as the glass easily sinks into his zombified face, and then emerges from deep in his skin as he continues to push forward.

  But I keep my eyes on him, and as soon as I get a clear shot of his forehead, I pull the trigger...and miss! His body heavily drops out of the window and onto the porch only a few feet from me. I move as fast as a person can hopping backwards, and aim at his head again. I fire...and frikken miss again!

  I'm beyond panic now as he starts crawling toward me. I hop to my left, and just as I get to where the railing ends and the stairs begin, he makes a lunge for me. I jump back - and feel nothing but air beneath me.

  I don't even have time to think, "Oh shit!" before I'm banging and bouncing down the stairs. When I finally reach the ground, I suck in great gulps of air as I try to get the air that was slammed out of me back in. I look frantically around for my gun, shocked to see it still in my hand.

  I can't believe it didn't go off during my very bad imitation of a Slinky.

  I see the man at the edge of the stairs and my eyes widen. I throw myself to the side, and manage to just roll out of the way, when the man's body slams to the ground. He's right next to me, and I'm on my side facing him. I put the gun up to his temple and fire, making damn sure I wasn't going to miss this time.

  His head jerks and his body goes limp. Mine does too, with relief, but that's soon replaced by fear that others may have heard the gunshots and are on their way to investigate.

  While I move my body in a crawl to the stairs, I'm unable to stop sobbing in pain. I do manage to keep the sobs pretty quiet however, so that's something. Finally reaching the stairs, I do the butt bump back up them. At the top, I take a few moments to breathe and regain some strength. Then I grab my crutches and get my ass inside.

  I go to the bedroom door and open it wide. It gives a light bang when it hits the wall, and then I step inside. The room is pretty big and has its own bathroom, which is also pretty big. The bedroom is done in all whites like the living room, but the bathroom is a kaleidoscope of pastel colors. It's actually very pretty. I see a tall armoire about five feet from the front bedroom window and wonder if I can manage to get it moved to cover the gaping hole.

  Guess I'll never know if I don't try.

  I go to the far side of it and push. It moves a little...a very little. I can't really put much strength behind it with only one foot, so like before, I sit on my ass and push with my good foot. It takes a very long time, but I finally get it there. I look around the room as I sit and rest a few minutes. I need something to alert me in case the armoire is moved.

  I see a couple fragile-looking vases and crawl over to grab them. Taking them back to the armoire, I place them on the floor in front of it, then look around some more. Finally spotting what I need, I crawl over and sweep everything off the dead woman's vanity table. Then I remove the glass tabletop from its frame and lay it on the carpet, shoving it in front of me as I move back to the armoire.

  The top drawer, just under the swinging cabinet doors, is about four feet from the ground. I pull the drawer out just an inch, and then balance the vases on the drawer opening. Finally, I slide the glass underneath the armoire. If this piece of furniture moves, the noise of the vases smashing into the glass should be more than enough to warn me.

  I look around the room for anything else I might need, and see a pile of folded blankets and a couple pillows in the open closet door. I crawl over and lift a few of the blankets in my arms, throw both pillows on top, then "walk" across the room on my knees. When I get to the door, I toss the bedding into the hall, then go back for my crutches and push them ahead of me. Once I'm back out in the hall, I close the bedroom door and lean against the wall.

  Holy crap! That shit wore me out.

  And my body is aching like a mother-frikker!

  First things first...painkillers.

  Honestly, all I really want to do is just crawl to the sofa and pass out, but...no rest for the wicked. Isn't that what everyone says?

  Sighing, I use the wall to stand and get the crutches situated, then I head through the dining room and back to the kitchen. I look at the two unexplored doors and try to guess which one might be the bathroom. Choosing the door on the right, I swing my way over, wincing each time I move because my underarms are a little sore from the damn crutches.

  That's another thing to add to my list, padding these sons-of-bitches!

  Not thinking straight from being exhausted, heartbroken, and in pain - I carelessly throw the door open and something rushes straight toward me.

  Chapter Nine

  I scream, jerking my body back. Already being unstable on only one foot, I crash to the floor, whip out my gun and point it...at a little girl!

  She's got a toilet brush raised high above her head and starts bringing it down on my body, over and over. I drop my gun and cover my face with my arms, screaming as the hard shit-smelling bristles slam into my head, face, and body. I'm finally able to grab hold of the brush, and I jerk it out of her hands. She's crying and screaming, but still fights hard, determined to live.

  I throw the brush across the room and grab her, holding her against me in a tight hug.

  "Shh, baby. It's alright, I won't hurt you. I'm not one of those things," I repeat that until her sobs lessen in intensity and her body relaxes against my chest. She had wrapped her arms tightly around my neck, but now they finally loosen enough so that I can breathe normally again.

  I let her hold onto me as long as she needs to, even though I've got to pee so bad my eyes are watering. After a few more minutes, she leans back so that she can see my face and I can look down into hers. She studies me as I study her.

  She has long naturally curly black hair, beautiful big blue eyes, and her face is gorgeous - at least, I'm sure it is, when it's not all red and blotchy from crying and snot isn't hanging from her nose. I resist the urge to check if I have snot all over me, and ask her what her name is.

  I quickly fix my eyes on her own when I see the snot jump around when she sniffs. Spying a hand towel on the back of the chair next to us, I pull it down and wipe her nose.

  Oh, thank god! Much better.

  "Thank you," she tells me, softly. "My name's Ginger now."

  Ginger?

  What the hell!

  Shouldn't that name be for a red-head?

  Was she bald when she was born or were her parents frikken color-blind?

  Wait―

  "Honey, I don't understand. What do you mean your name is Ginger now?" I ask her.

  "That's what they told me my name is now. But it was sumthin else before," she tells me.

  "What was it before?" I ask her.

  And just what the hell is going on!

  "Before they bringed me here, I was Melody."

  "Before they― What do you mean before they bring― brought you here? Weren't those people your mom and dad?"

  "They din't use to be. They says my mommy and daddy don't want me no more. I gotta call them Mother and Father, and I gots to live with them forever. I don't wanna live with them no more!" Her eyes shine with new tears and I pull her close to me again.

  Was she adopted?

  Turning her around so her back is against my chest, I wrap my arms around her and lay my cheek on the top of her head. "I'm sure it's not
true that your real parents don't want you. I'm sure they love you very much. Tell me what happened. How did you come to live with these people?"

  She sniffs a few more times and begins, "Mommy and Daddy took me to Kid Plant" - I smile at her mispronunciation of the popular and kid-friendly pizza place, Kid Planet - "for my birthday. I had twelve whole friends there!" - Better than twelve half friends, I'm sure! - "We played lots of games, and eated lots of pizza. Then Mommy and Daddy went outside to our car to get my presents and my big pink princess cake. I had to go potty, but the baffroom was in a really dark hallway and I was scared. None of my friends would go with me, 'cuz they wanted to play the games. But I had to go potty real bad!"

  I know exactly what you mean, kid.

  "When I went in the baffroom, that mean lady was there and she picked me up! And then she put her stinky hand on my mouth and I couldn't scream or breathe or nothin'! The mean man was waiting for us when we leaved the baffroom and he telled her to 'Hurry up' and they runned out the door at the end of the hall. Mommy and Daddy told me I can never, ever touch that door 'cuz it was for 'mergency only and a loud bell will go off. But no bell went off. Then they throwed me in their car and droved me away from my Mommy and Daddy and all my friends!" She starts crying again, and a tear of my own trails down my face from just imagining how scared this little girl must have been. "I peed in the car and the mean lady hurted me real bad. She made my mouth bleed and I couldn't see for a long time 'cuz she broke my eye! I couldn't open it!"

  This poor baby girl!

  How can people be so damn evil?

  Of course, that's when my mind reminds me I'm one of those "evil people" now.

  I tell my mind to get bent, and turn my attention back to this sweet little girl in my arms. What did these people want her for - and please God - don't let it be that!

  "How old are you?" I ask her.

  "They telled me I'm seven."

  "Ok, but how old were you at your birthday party?"

  "Five." And then she proudly recites her birth month and day, but is embarrassed that she doesn't know the year.

  Oh holy crap!

  How long has she been here?

  Has she really been here two years, or did they change her age along with her name?

  "Do you know how long you've been here?" I asked her.

  She shakes her head no, but then tells me she put a sad face every day she was here on the calendar in her room, and points to the door across the kitchen, opposite from the bathroom.

  She stands and grabs my hand, ordering me to, "Come look!"

  I gently pull my own hand from hers and ask her to please let me go to the bathroom first. She nods and watches me as I awkwardly get to a standing position. When I move to go into the bathroom, she follows.

  "I'll be right back out. You can wait for me in one of the chairs," I tell her.

  Her eyes leak big, fat tears again. I rush to reassure her, and I give in, telling her she can come with me

  You are such an idiot! Of course she's terrified to be alone. Look at everything she's gone through, and she's only a little girl!

  I follow her into the bathroom and sit on the toilet while she sits on the edge of the tub. It takes me awhile to go, because she never takes her eyes off me. Finally my bladder wins out over my discomfort and embarrassment. But I get embarrassed all over again when it seems like my bladder is never going to empty. The little girl doesn't help when she starts to swing her legs back and forth, and hums to show her boredom.

  At last my bladder is empty. I wash my hands and face in the sink and look longingly at the shower reflected in the mirror, but it's going to have to wait.

  I leave the bathroom with the girl following me and sink down onto one of the chairs at the breakfast table. She pulls the chair that was next to me even closer, then sits down too.

  "So...what do you want to be called then?" I ask her.

  "Melody. Well, my Daddy always called me Mel. You can too. I like it. What's your name?"

  "Canada," I tell her.

  She wrinkles her nose and says, "I don't like that name." - You and me both! - "I gonna call you, hmm, what's your other name?"

  "My middle name?" She nods. "Marie."

  She nods again, "Ok. I gonna call you Marie!"

  I laugh. "Well, my mom's name is Marie."

  Her smile turns into a scowl and she gives me an accusing look, like it's my fault my mom has that name!

  "Lemme think about it," she tells me.

  I look around the kitchen as she thinks of a new name for me and make a list in my head of all the things I need to do before I can rest. The clap of her hands and her shout of, "I got it!" scares the livin' hell out of me.

  I breathe deeply until my heart rate slows to just slightly faster than normal.

  "Ok, so what's my new name gonna be?" I ask her, in control enough to grin at her now.

  "Your new name is Buffy!" she exclaims.

  What the frick!

  "Buffy? Why in the he― Why Buffy?" I ask her.

  "She kills bad people too. Like you!"

  "Um, Mel, she killed vampires. These are zombies," I explain.

  Her face falls again.

  Sure, I could have just said ok and let her call me Buffy.

  But that is so not frikken happening!

  "Look, why don't you think about it for a while and let me get some things done that I need to do, so we can get some sleep. Sound good?"

  She nods her head automatically, but I'm positive she didn't hear a damn word I said, my new name being the only thing on her mind.

  I rise, adjust my crutches, and when I open the back door and step out onto the porch, I can sense her right behind me. I turn just enough that I can see her little face - looking sad, scared, and worried. I drop my head and sigh, knowing I can't allow her to be left alone and so afraid. But I'm afraid too, of not being able to protect her in my handicapped state.

  "Alright look, Mel. I want you to stay on this porch. Do not come down these stairs. Look at me!" I order her when she drops her head.

  She obeys - reluctantly - and looks into my eyes.

  "I can't protect you while I'm on these crutches. You will do what I say or you'll go back inside. Understand?"

  She nods her head, still not happy, but I really don't care. It's for her own protection because I am not letting her become a zombie snack.

  I nod back at her and move closer to the stairs. Looking around to make sure nothing is moving on the ground below, I sit and butt-bump down the stairs - slowly - always watching the shadows. I make it down to the third step and pick up the crutches I'd slid down beside me. Holding them in one hand, I use the banister to stand up, and then transfer my weight onto the wooden sticks.

  At the truck, I go to the back to see if there is anything that will fit me. I'm more than a little surprised to find a plastic bag with several pairs of black fatigues, all in my size!

  I figure Jake must have left some of the ones he got for me at one of the armories here in his truck, and I'm incredibly grateful!

  Stuffing a pair inside my jacket, I dig through Jake's duffel bag for anything else that might come in handy. As I reach the bottom of the bag, my surprise and delight from the fatigues turns into shock and horror.

  What in the hell is this!

  Chapter Ten

  I don't know how long I've stood here, my mind and body frozen in a state of numbness and confusion, but Mel's terrified little voice screaming, "Watch out!" jerks me back to my terror-filled reality.

  I turn, whipping out my gun.

  The zombie she was screaming about is at least the distance of three football fields away from me.

  Shit, little girl!

  Nothing like a frikken heart attack to ruin an evening.

  I whisper up to her as loud as I can, that she is not to scream unless they are a lot closer. When I see her face crumble, I attempt to soften the harshness of my words spoken in fear, "But thank you and great eyesight, babe."
>
  She smiles again, puffing out her chest with pride, and goes back to look-out duty. I shake my head, turn, and sit in the back of the truck. With my legs dangling from the opening, I swing the sniper-rifle around and bring the scope up to my eye. Focusing and zeroing in on what I can now clearly see is a middle-aged man, but who is definitely an undead middle-aged man, I take the shot and his body slams to the ground.

  Melody loudly claps her hands and jumps up and down...until she sees the pissed-off look I give her. Instantly her body stills, she drops her hands, and whispers, "Sorry" to me.

  I grab the duffel bag after taking another good look around with the rifle scope, and drop it on the stairs.

  "Hey Mel," I call up in a loud whisper. I see her cute little head lean over the railing of the porch and I smile up at her.

  "Yeah?"

  "How many cars are inside the garage?"

  "One."

  "Ok. Do you think my truck will fit? Is there enough room, or do they have a bunch of junk in there?"

  "Your truck will fit," Mel tells me with certainty.

  "One more thing. Do you know if there's a button inside the house that opens the garage?"

  "Yes! It's right by the door. Want me to push it? Please? I axed them nicely once if I could, but they telled me no."

  I nod to her and go back to the truck. As soon as I'm inside, the garage doors rumble up. I see the kidnappers car and the empty slot next to it. I start the truck, pull inside, and after parking, I make my way to their SUV and open the door with no problem.

  I gotta admit, I'm surprised it was unlocked. I don't know why. Maybe because they have a lot of shit to hide, such as a little girl! I guess I just assumed everything would be locked and hidden, paranoid-style. But then again, I guess they probably would want a quick getaway.

  I lean inside and rip the garage door-opener from off their sun visor, then attach it to my own in the truck. Just in case we need to go somewhere, I won't have to deal with getting in and out so much with these crutches to open the garage door when we come back. I definitely can't lift that big-ass door with only one supporting foot - and it's just not safe to leave open, since zombies don't care if they're trespassing - or pretty much anything else, except eating people.