Keep Your Crowbar Handy

by SP Durnin

  Minutes later, he turned east again, having left the creatures blocks behind. Feeling winded, he slowed to a brisk walk to catch his breath and checked his route again. A lone zombie lay in the middle of the street a few hundred feet further but, since it was missing one arm along with everything from its pelvis down, the writer discounted it as a threat and simply moved around it. The thing moaned feebly as he passed, but he didn't want to become distracted by taking the time to deal with it. The only thing that one would be eating in the foreseeable future would maybe be the odd, slow moving insect.

  Jake moved east at an easy, distance-eating trot, conserving his strength. He was barely halfway back, less if you took into account the detour he'd taken. He could still hear the dead moaning out, far behind to the north, and their awful cries gave his legs new purpose. With effort, he fought down a moment of panic and concentrated on his surroundings again. A trio of infected were on his right, so he dodged left, leaving them to move slowly around an empty COTA bus he'd circled for cover. There was quartet a hundred yards farther on. Jake avoided them by climbing atop the flatbed of a semi and then quickly off the other side again. A pair of zombies shuffled from the door of a burned out, noodle shop. The writer shoved one into the other and jogged on as the dead duo struggled to rise, tangled up in the small doorway by each other's limbs. It seemed as if his plan had worked, due to the lack of too many large groups, which was a relief. It there had been more of the creatures, eventually they would wear a single person down and consume them. That was why his plan had been so dangerous, but also necessary. The risk was his to take, even though the others—Laurel especially—had been against it. That, and he was damned if he'd ask someone else to do something he wouldn't dare do himself.

  Three hours later, after having to cut farther north (and doubling back on his route a few times) to avoid two more packs of the dead, Jake finally neared the cross street he needed to cut south. He felt good. Pretty scared and really sweaty, but good. Right up until he turned the corner, that is.

  There were dozens of zombies in the street, but he had no other way to reach the gated lot at the back of George's building and no time to circle the block. Not with large groups of the dead to the east. Also, a few on the street had already noticed him and were moving slowly in his direction.

  "Aw, shit." Jake pulled away the tape on his thigh that secured the Glock Foster had given him and, tossing the remnants on the street, he chambered a round. He shifted his crowbar to his left hand, took the pistol in his right, and sped to the far side of the street. The dead oriented on him and began moaning. That caused more of the creatures to take notice, and he took a few deep breaths, steeling himself for a fight.

  Using the cars as obstacles as best he could, the writer moved steadily down the block. He managed to get three-quarters of the way to the alley before he had no choice but to open fire.

  A pair of zombies got close enough to smell. Not a pleasant experience. One had been a large man in a hat that read Get her done! and had a silhouette of a topless woman on the front. He was a full head taller than Jake's six-foot frame and had been quite a bit beefier. The other was what remained of a Greenpeace member presumably, considering she had Save the Whales emblazoned on the front of her now gore-smeared t-shirt. He stroked the Glock's trigger once, blowing the larger creature's brain out the back of its head, kicked the other in the chest, sending her skidding backwards across pavement, and he started running.

  Jake slipped on the first creature's stinking brain matter as he entered the alley, but rolled to his feet and was off again in a moment. There were a few roaming the fifty-yard stretch of alley to the gate, but he took them out at close range, executioner style. He double tapped each one, making sure the miserable sacks of shit didn't get back up to come after him as he passed. Reaching the massive gate he yelled for the others to open up, but got no reply. He pounded against the thick steel with the flat of his hand and then the crowbar. Nothing. The dead began to filter into the alley, moaning thickly and heading for where he stood beating on the gate.

  "Shit!" He knelt, dropped the crowbar next to his knee, then pulled the Hammer pistol from its thigh holster. He placed it beside the slim tool, along with the gun's two, extra magazines just to the left of his leg. If he could hold out for a few minutes, maybe...

  Who was he kidding?

  He was fucked.

  The others weren't there.

  Thanks to the broken glass Foster had cemented into the top of the wall when he'd had it built, there was no getting over it.

  He only had three left in the Glock, twenty-eight for the Hammer, his crowbar and a...

  He snatched the secure radio out of his pocket to find it had been smashed during his fall while entering the alley. Jake cursed loudly, hurled it to the pavement and took aim at the crowd of stinking creatures. He dropped the first one with a double tap, and then traded pistols. There was one left in the Glock and he was saving it for himself. He wouldn't let the zombies consume him. He took careful aim with each squeeze of the trigger, dropping creature after creature to the grimy pavement. After nine shots and eight kills, he changed magazines, dropped the slide and continued firing. He only killed seven this time, but the dead were having problems making it over the bodies of their fellows that littered the ground thanks to his careful shooting. He yelled for the others again as he slapped his last clip into the pistol.

  I'm going to die here in this stinking alley, he thought, firing into the ghouls again.

  He killed one with each round this time before the gun clicked empty. Jake looked at the Hammer and slid it back in its holster. He unscrewed the silencer on the Glock, tossed it to the ground and shoved the pistol into the waistband of his pants. Taking his crowbar in a two-handed grip, he watched the approaching dead. If he was going down, he was taking some of them along.

  Some of the infected had moved past the fallen bodies and began to come for him.

  "Goddamnit… I hate you," he said. "You took away everything. Everything but Laurel. So now you're gonna take me, but I'll make you pay for it."

  Jake waited for death as it stalked towards him hungrily.

  * * *

  There were still pockets of resistance.

  Some people, the ones who had prepared for a disaster, those with wilderness training, even the odd lucky schmuck in a bunker or nuclear launch facility still held out. They were few and far between, but they managed to survive. And not by drinking their own piss either.

  Well, some did...

  Many who had been the "undesirables" in the deep south; bayou trappers, gator hunters, even shrimp fishermen along the coast, managed to not only keep their families safe by vanishing into the Everglades, but also formed small, well-defended communities. It was nigh impossible for the dead to navigate the swamps, let alone find survivor colonies among the endless tributaries, waterways, and bogs.

  Those who took up occupancy in the hidden refuges managed to live not only in relative safety, but also a fair level of comfort.

  They did miss real toilet paper after a few weeks though...

  Chapter Fourteen

  Kat blew through the tenement's door and into the lot.

  She ran as though Jikininki—evil demons her mother told her stories about when she was little—snapped at her heels.

  The blue-haired pharmacy tech had been watching the building's exterior cameras, feeling surly and bored. She'd had to stay behind again, while the others had gone out to look for Jake. He was hours overdue and hadn't contacted them via the secure radio Laurel had provided him. So, out the four went—even though Foster thought it was a bad idea—to search for their missing writer. Or his corpse. Kat wouldn't believe Jake was dead, however. She wasn't even going to consider that idea, unless she actually saw his ravaged body...

  Damn it, she thought, angrily. Pushing said line of thought firmly from her mind, Kat went back to looking at the screen.

  She'd been watching a pack of the dead move slowly by
when Jake streaked into view, running hard for the rear gate. She'd all but jumped down the flight of stairs, her Grandfather's katana in hand, calling out instructions to Karen as she dashed through the machine shop. Kat sent her after Leo, yelling for them to stay inside the safe-house to protect Heather and Gertrude. The hidden hatch in Foster's office cycled open and she was through in an instant. It took her forty-one seconds to get from the second floor, through the apartment building to the lot door, then another nine getting to the gate.

  Too long! Too long! she thought frantically. No time!

  She jumped up towards where the twelve foot wall met the building's edge. Bouncing back and forth between their surfaces—like a ninja out of a Jackie Chan movie—in four quick hops, Kat sailed over the broken glass embedded on its top edge and into the alley. Literally on the fly, she saw Jake fighting for his life against the remnants of a zombie crowd. A baker's dozen remained, but he was spending all his time and effort staying out of their reach in the narrow confines.

  Her sword leapt free as she landed silently behind the creatures, just as he finally managed to crush a nearby skull. It blurred out and three more zombies dropped to the pavement, missing their heads. Jake would've been seriously impressed if he hadn't been busy stabbing another with the crowbar's chisel tip through the eye. Kat saw that his face was the picture of unchecked rage, and had his eyes changed color somehow? No matter. She didn't have time to look right then.

  Two more infected turned in her direction and lost their heads to a flashing, horizontal slice. One of their disgusting craniums caused a third zombie to fall after it bounced under its feet, providing a gap for Jake to squeeze through, and he took a defensive stance beside her. The remaining five (and the one who'd tripped over the rolling head) followed them as they backed towards the gate.

  "Tell me you have a gun," he panted.

  "No chance to grab one," Kat replied. "I only have my sword because I'd been practicing, before I got roped into monitor duty."

  "I can't make it over the wall, Kat. My legs feel like Jell-O." He looked at her and motioned at the gate. "Go! I'll keep them busy while you climb over."

  "Forget it! I'm not leaving you out here with those bastards! We kill them all!" She took both arms off one that got close, and then kicked it back into the pack. "Use their numbers against them. Keep them off their feet!"

  He smashed the nearest zombie's face in and stiff-armed it back into the others. It fell into two more and all three went down, allowing Kat to cut one in half from crown to clavicle, roll under another's grasping hands, then finish off the one missing its arms with a thrust through its temple. She pirouetted quickly to slice the grabby ghoul's head just above its eyes, sending the entire dome of its skull to the ground along with most of its brain. The things body hit the pavement and the rest of its brain matter (which resembled a repulsive-smelling, grayish-brown mass of mushy cauliflower) tumbled wetly from its skull.

  The writer yanked the pistol from his waistband and put his last bullet between the eyes of one of the surviving trio. Dropping the Glock, he crouched, spun, and swept the legs out from beneath another, sending it rolling to the far side of the alley. The third was near enough to grasp his combat vest when it lunged at him, attempting to reach his neck. He was forced to grab it by the throat one-handed, just under its jaw and backpedal to avoid its snapping teeth. Kat jumped towards them, sword held blade-back in a reverse fighting grip, but she needn't have bothered.

  Jake was pissed.

  Dropping his crowbar, he caught the thing's hand with his own, and set himself. Then stepping close—too close, Kat thought—he extended his arm that gripped the struggling horror's throat, kicked its legs forward, and rode it skull-first into the concrete. The zombie's head pulped like a rotten melon, sending chunks of bone into its brains and said brains across the pavement.

  She wasn't surprised by Jake's ability, but at the vicious grimace on his face as he killed the putrid thing. He was excellent when practicing self-defense, nearly a match for her—and Kat had been studying martial arts since she was a child. He'd never shown rage before, though. He was normally pretty controlled, if not calm, but now? The look on his face as he'd smashed the things skull in and fumbled for his crowbar was one of primal hatred. The last creature was just rising to its feet, when he spiked it through the nose. Rancid fluids exploded from its eyes and sinuses as the weapon penetrated, then it stiffened as the steel rammed onward into its brain.

  "Chew on that, you miserable fuck." Jake put the sole of his combat boot against its chest, shoving the thing away. He yanked his crowbar free and allowed the body to fall back to the gritty pavement.

  That was when the massive gate behind them cycled opened. Leo stood wide-eyed beside the inner control panel, awkwardly holding an assault rifle as the pair started towards him. It looked as if he'd been in the shower, because the cargo shorts the teen wore were nearly soaked and water was still beaded on his thin torso. The two blood-speckled fighters entered and he punched in the activation code again. The steel barrier slid shut, sealing off the gory scene in the alley and Jake almost went to his knees in relief.

  "Holy crap! You guys kicked ass!" Leo said, seeing the massacred dead outside as the gate closed. "Jake, we were really worried! The others went out looking for you almost an hour ago!"

  The exhausted man leaned heavily against the cinder block wall of the tenement, soaked in sweat and pale as a ghost. Kat glanced at him and said, "Leo, can you go radio the others and let them know Jake made it back? Tell George to expect some obstacles in the alley, too. We kind of made a mess."

  "Sure thing." Nodding, he started for the door and stopped after pulling it open to smile at Jake again. "I'm really glad you're back. You gotta tell me what happened!"

  Jake gave him a tired grin and a thumbs up as Leo hurried into the building.

  "So…" Kat cleaned her sword on a rag from her back pocket, then tossed the soiled fabric into the gate-side dumpster. "How was your day, honey?"

  "Oh, it was just great, sweetie, but traffic was murder." Jake's voice was strained and his body shook. He passed a hand over his sweaty face and pushed away from the wall. "That was way too close. Those things almost had me."

  Kat sheathed the ancient katana across her back again, then set an easy hand on his shoulder and gave him a bright smile. "Are you kidding me? You did great. See? I told you having me kick the crap out of you daily would make a difference."

  He turned his head to her and that serious gaze made Kat's heart speed up. "Maybe, but you saved my ass."

  Oh man, she thought, the things I give up for my roommate...

  "Yeah, well. Be a shame to waste an ass like that." Realizing her comment was taking their conversation into dangerous territory, she turned towards the door, expecting him to laugh and follow her. Instead, he caught her wrist, stopping her forward motion and causing her to look back. He stepped forward, pulling her around to face him again and cupped her face with his free hand. Those pale blue eyes of his spiked her like a butterfly on a pin. Kat couldn't make her mouth work as he moved so close that she could feel his breath against her lips when he spoke.

  "You saved my life," he said. There wasn't any humor in his voice. "I'll never forget that. Thank you, Katherine."

  Then he kissed her.

  Kat eyes widened in surprise for a moment, then fluttered shut as she lost herself. Jake's kiss was warm with affection and very gentle. He didn't try to stick his tongue down her throat (which was a definite plus) and his hands didn't go roaming either. He broke it off after half a dozen heartbeats, and when she finally managed to open her eyes he grinned at her.

  Her face remained blank. "That's a first."

  "We did kiss twice before if you remember," he said, taking his hand from her face.

  "Not that. You've never called me by my name." she replied quietly. "It's was nice."

  "Oh. I never really... Laurel always calls you that. I just thought you preferred it."

&
nbsp; She looked away. "I know. Sorry for being all girly right after we hacked up a bunch of zombies, but I've never let anybody see me like that. I'm just afraid you'll feel weird, now that you've seen me... kill people."

  Jake looked at her worriedly. "They're not people. You know that, right?"

  Her dark blue hair covered half her face as she shook her head. "You saw what I did. You saw. I'm good at stuff like that. It makes people afraid of me. Like it did with Allen after we saved Maggie and the girls. So I don't let anybody know about what I can do. I don't let them in." She looked at him sadly. "Once they find out…"

  "What?" he demanded. "That you're brave and selfless and willing to risk your life for a friend? That you're one of the strongest people I've known since... well, for a long, damn time, and you shouldn't give a shit what people think? That you're intelligent and beautiful and funny and any idiot, including Allen, that can't handle it can go fuck themselves as far as I'm concerned?"

  "You don't understand!" she said miserably. "I've never wondered why I couldn't keep a steady boyfriend. It's because I can't be some fragile, little, lotus flower."

  Her grandmother had never forgiven Kat's mother for teaching her daughter the martial arts. She'd wanted Kat to be a proper Japanese lady, as she'd termed it. Quiet, reserved, and (like herself) concerned with nothing but pleasing her husband. The day Kat rejected that idea—her thirteenth birthday—during a visit overseas with her parents, was the last time her grandmother had ever spoken to her.

  Her grandfather had been the polar opposite. He was delighted that she knew the family's secret techniques and had tested her diligently each morning, prior to her parents rising, in the family home's courtyard. Then every day the two of them went and had cheeseburgers for breakfast at Oogata Midoriiro Tokage, literally translated as the Big Green Lizard. If they'd called the place Godzilla Burgers, it would've been sued.