“You mean since all the zombies outside haven't so much as glanced at this place, let alone started pounding on the walls? Nah. I figure there's no reason to stress over it. Just so long as we don't do anything dumb. Or loud.” Kat clasped her palms together and wiggled her shoulders, loosening the muscles in her lower back. “Why freak about something you don't have any control over? It's bad for you. Excessive worry will give you ulcers and it's terrible for your digestion. And your skin. Causes break outs. People don't take the time to think about how stress can affect their health in negative ways.”
While it was a near thing, he managed to resist the urge to leap through the room, grab Kat by the shoulders, and shake her until she came across with the specifics of her plan. Primarily because he didn't want to cause any noise, which would alert aforementioned zombies to their presence inside Old Hall. Also, Jake had some rather strong opinions about men who put their hands on women in anger. He had some scars on his knuckles (and one from a knife stabbed into his lower back) from fighting some of these types of men, too. Lastly, Kat was well versed in many deadly styles of martial arts. Ninjutsu, Ta-Kwan-Do, Jujitsu, and at least one style of Kung-Fu. It would be a very, very sorry man who attempted to put his hands on the pretty, blue-haired young woman without her consent.
“Kat,” Jake began slowly, taking a seat on the hardwood coffee table in front of her ugly couch. He lit himself a cigarette with the Zippo from his tac-vest's breast pocket. “Just to put my mind at ease? How, pray tell, are we going to get out of here, past the hundreds of zombies currently dragging their dead, smelly asses all around our little hideaway? Please note the profusely sweating brow and shaky hands I'm displaying.”
She laughed. “Come on. Don't you have any faith in me?”
“You? Sure. Whether or not what you've got in mind is something that will either give me palpitations, an intense feeling of panic, or just send me into a mild state of fear-induced regression back to my unpleasant childhood? That's something else altogether.” Jake blew some wonderful, nicotine-infused smoke towards the ceiling. “Spill it.”
“What was so bad about your childhood?” Kat frowned and leaded up to one elbow on her couch. Certain female-exclusive assets pressed firmly against the fabric of her shirt as she half-rose, which would've caused Jake's pulse rate to accelerate up towards Prestissimo speed if he hadn't been watching the way smoke from his cigarette wafted toward the ceiling.
“Let's just say I had a problem with authority,” Jake told her as he took a deep drag from his American Spirit.
She stifled a laugh behind her hands. “Wow! I never would've guessed.”
“Smart ass. And don't change the subject.”
Kat flopped to her back on the couch again and cradled her head with both hands. As she gazed at Jake thoughtfully, it wasn't difficult for her to gauge his mood. Worry with a healthy side of apprehension. That was a volatile mix, especially when it came to making good an escape sans attracting unwanted attention from hostile opponents nearby. There was no way they'd be able to pull off what she had in mind unless a boat-load of nervous energy on Jake's part went the way of the Raphus Cucullatus. Kat briefly wondered if the poor Dodo-bird had died out, much like the human race was in serious danger of doing, due to their current situation.
Zombie Dodos? She thought, as Jake finished his smoke. Nah. That idea's about as possible as Bigfoot.
Remembering she actually believed Bigfoot was not only possible but likely, Kat sighed.
The Discovery Channel and Eric S. Brown had a lot to answer for.
“Alright, alright. Don't get your boxers in a bunch. Oh, since we're on the subject, boxers or briefs?” She grinned.
Jake lowered his face into his palm and counted to ten. Out loud.
Kat rolled to lie on her left side and watched him, one eyebrow raised archly. “I'll give you a hint.”
“Go ahead.” Jake's face remained obscured in his hand.
“Well, one of the first things mom taught me, along with how to throw a good crescent kick, was that people only really see what's pretty much at eye level. With me so far?”
He nodded and Kat went on.
“The reason for that is because humans are omnivores, you know? We eat meat and don't just chew up the shrubbery. That's been the case ever since prehistoric times. Our eyes are set in the front of our heads, not the sides. That's an attribute of a predator. Something that kills and eats other animals to survive.”
“What does this have to do with your plan?” Jake wearily took another drag from his cigarette.
Kat wagged a finger at him. “Don't interrupt. It's rude. Where was I? Oh, yeah. Humans are predators, and a predator tends to hunt prey animals that it can easily acquire. That's what becomes its 'preferred food source', I think it’s called.”
Jake frowned. “Okay, that makes sense. How do you know that?”
“I thought I wanted to be an animal behaviorist when I was younger. Or a zoo keeper.” Kat shrugged and laid her arm across her hip, “But that was before I realized they both mostly spent their whole day cleaning up different kinds of poop.”
“Poop?” Jake struggled to keep a straight face.
“They have to clean all the zoo cages every day.” Kat shuddered. “That's a whole lot of poop-scoopin'. Imagine having to do the rhino habitat? Yuck-tastic, for sure.”
“You're unbelievable.” Jake shook his head.
Kat beamed. “Now you notice. But pay attention. And don't make me lose my train of thought— we're getting to the important part of the story. Anyway. Predators hunt prey they can actually reach or catch, so they become accustomed to running certain things down, right? Or jumping on them from above?”
“So?”
“So, how many animals do you know of that look up while searching for prey?”
Jake considered that for a minute. “Sharks?”
“They hunt mainly by scent.” Kat crossed her legs and settled deeper into the couch. “Let me ask another question. Do human beings look towards the sky or the ground to find food? When's the last time you remember looking up, thinking you'd find a chimichanga conveniently floating in the air above your head to have for dinner?”
“Alright. While that's a somewhat ridiculous image, I get your point.”
“Good. I'd hate to begin questioning your intelligence.” Kat went on. “Now, zombies were once human beings, right? So it would stand to reason that they wouldn't look up to search for a meal to fly by?”
Jake grasped the concept, but he didn't understand where she was going with the subject. “There's no reason to believe the world's suddenly been glutted with superheroes, so I'd have to agree. Come to think of it, I've never seen one of those things so much as glance at a bird flying overhead.”
Kat waved one hand at him vaguely. “There you go.”
“But how does that help us?” Jake ground his cigarette out on the hardwood floor under his heel. “I'm fresh out of jet-packs, and unless you're secretly from Krypton or something…”
She laughed and patted his hand with her own. “I left my cape at home. My hair's the wrong color for it anyway. But I appreciate the complement. My point is, we don't go through the horde outside. You'll have to leave your rifle though. It'll be too ungainly for what I have in mind.”
Jake began to get a pronounced sinking feeling in his guts. While not really attached to his M-4, the weapon (and the five, full, twenty-nine round magazines he had for it) would be missed if they ran into a tight spot.
“What do you have in mind?”
Kat grinned like her Cheshire namesake.
-Chapter Two-
“This is a bad idea,” Jake mumbled.
“We've been through this,” Kat whispered from where she knelt and glanced down at the dim figures of the zombies still milling about their hiding place.
“Have I ever mentioned the fact that I'm really uncomfortable with heights?”
“Didn't you jump out of airplanes as a combat journalis
t?”
“Yes. And it sucked. Scratch that. It sucked a yard of dick.” Jake looked decidedly freaked. “Notice that while Al did it for fun back in Columbus, I sure as hell never did.”
Kat looked at him quizzically. “This isn't anywhere near as high as that was. Heck, we're technically not even off the ground.”
“It makes me nervous, alright?” Jake scowled at her. “Are you sure this will work?”
“Abso-tively, posi-lutely. I did it all the time in Columbus.” Kat began quietly rooting through her EDC Bag. “Never caught. Not once. Nobody even came close. I should've been an international jewel thief or something. Remember that old Hitchcock film To Catch A Thief with Cary Grant and Grace Kelly? Oh my god, the white dress she wore in that movie was so—”
“Will you focus for a minute?” Jake was sweating.
“Fine! Jeez. Like I can't multitask...” Kat pulled the hundred-foot coil of climbing rope from her small bag. “You have those lengths of duct tape ready?”
“Right there.” Jake motioned at the four black strips beside her knees. Little known fact, prior to the zombie apocalypse? Duct tape actually did come in black, not just silver. “What are you going to use them for?”
Kat smiled and reached into the top of her left boot. She produced two, six-inch, slightly C-shaped metal rods, then pulled another straight, eight-inch bar with a one-inch diameter eye loop from her right boot. As Jake watched, she removed a bolt from one end of the longer bar, slid the two curved rods over its top perpendicular to one another, screwed the bolt back in securely, and threaded one end of her climbing rope through its eye. O'Connor knelt open mouthed, stunned past the capacity for speech at the sight of what was now a small grappling hook in her hand, as she began carefully wrapping the non-reflective duct tape around the tool's arms.
After securing the last strip, Kat weighed the hook in her hand for a moment. “Why are you looking at me like I just grew a second head?” she asked quietly.
“What in-?!” Jake hissed. “How long have you been carrying that thing??”
“Oh, since we met the Barbie Duo.” Kat loved calling Gwen and Donna by the moniker Elle had saddled them with in jest during their party's return trip to Rae's junkyard cache prior to its destruction. “The pieces fit inside the tops of my boots perfectly and don't shift around at all. Besides, it was either there, or try to squeeze them into my pants somewhere. And then I'd get to hear a bunch of 'Is that a grappling hook in your pocket?' jokes. Especially from George.”
“You're just full of surprises, aren't you?”
A broad smile, bright enough for Jake to see even in the darkness, blossomed on Kat's face. “Oh my, yes. Really. You have no idea. Especially on Tuesdays.”
“Never mind, I don't want to know.” Jake shook his head and quickly changed the subject. “Are you sure you can get the hook over?”
The pretty ninja-girl looked offended. “Please. I've been doing this since I was ten.”
Kat stood, spun the hook above her head a few times to bring it up to speed, and let fly with a smooth cast. Her grapple arced out, trailing the slim climbing rope she'd attached as it disappeared into the gloom, and Jake's eyes lost sight of it in the darkness.
“It's good.” Looking satisfied, Cho began taking up the slack and gave the line several forceful tugs before tying it off to one of the Old Hall's chimneys. Using a tape knot to secure the line, Kat undid a pair of nylon straps she wore around her left thigh and with a small carabineer, combined them into a brief climbing rig. She donned the harness and knelt to murmur quietly as she insured her weapons were secure.
“Okay. We're going to do this a little bit differently than most recommend, seeing as how we only have the one harness.” Kat produced another carabineer from somewhere. “Attach your tac-vest to my back. That way, you can use your arms to hold on for extra support as we zip-line over.”
Jake looked uncomfortable. “Are you sure this will work? What if our weight gets us stuck in the middle somewhere?”
“That's why I went for the two story building across the street and not the one next to us. From the roof here we're basically five floors up. With our line taunt, the downward angle should provide us with enough momentum to cross the gap.” Kat pressed a metal loop into his palm. “Now, landing might be a bit dicey. The hook is secure in the middle of that roof somewhere, but I can't see what it's hooked to. We don't have a brake-block or a way to slow down as we approach the other end, either. I'll have to just cut our harness once we get over that roof, so, um... you might want to be ready for that. Try to relax once we get close, you know? Just in case.”
He glared at her. “Strangely enough? That does not instill me with a lot of faith.”
“Do you have a better idea?” Kat demanded quietly. “No? Me neither. So...”
Glancing over the roof's edge, Jake considered their predicament for a moment. There were hundreds of zombies all over the grounds around Old Hall, mindlessly stumbling about in dormant roaming mode. While surely unpleasant for the writer, Kat's plan was far more feasible than trying to somehow evade the creatures at ground level. That didn't mean he had to like it, however.
“Fine, fine!” he grumbled quietly. “Just so you know, if this gets us killed? I blame you.”
“What?”
“Your plan, your fault.”
She frowned. “I don't think that's how it works.”
“It is this time.” Jake pulled on her harness and then yanked at his tac-vest. They seemed secure, but he was damn sure holding on to whatever part of Kat might be handy once they actually took the plunge. “Why don't we send the bag over first?”
“That's a good idea. Hand it up.”
While rooting through Old Hall for anything worthwhile, the pair had come across a small, Ozark Trail backpack in one of the top-most offices. Since neither had been able to carry one of Foster's packs, and Jake's Bug-Out Bag was back in the Mimi, they'd taken it to carry their meager supplies. Removing the pack, Jake passed it forward and Kat clipped yet another carabineer to one shoulder strap. Without another word, she released his pack. It slid down the line, unnoticed by the creatures. Though the huddled pair listened intently as it disappeared into the night, whatever noise the pack made upon reaching the opposite roof was covered entirely by the low moans and shuffling of corpses below. Ultimately, they were left with no idea what awaited them on the other end.
“Well. It didn't fall.” Kat continued staring into the gloom after his pack.
O'Connor's jaw clenched. “Okay. Let's get this over with, before I have a rush of uncommon sense.”
She raised one eyebrow. “You mean common sense, don't you?”
“No. Common sense is a myth. If it actually existed, everyone would have it, but not everyone does. So it's called uncommon sense.” Jake stepped close and secured himself to her back, firmly avoiding a maddening urge to look down at the five-story drop. “What we're about to do is the exact opposite. I think most normal people would term this as reckless. Or suicidally dangerous. Maybe even bug-fuck crazy.”
Kat grinned over her shoulder at him as she attached their harness tether to the line. “Yeah, but look how much fun we're having.”
“You've got a strange idea of fun.” Jake wound his arms tightly around Kat's waist and took a firm grip on her belt.
Smiling like a Tabby with a mouthful of feathers, Kat held up one hand and began counting down from five. Upon reaching zero, she and O'Connor pushed away from the roof of Old Hall and sailed out into the darkness.
The quiet rubbing sound of the carabineer along their slim lifeline sent a chill up Jake's spine. Against his better judgment he looked down to see nothing but zombies and hard, unforgiving ground speeding by far below. His arms clenched involuntarily tighter, and Cho gave a sharp exhalation of discomfort as his strength forced the breath from her lungs. Kat curled her legs backwards and wrapped them around his waist, locking Jake against her firmly as they sped along the climbing rope to freedom. It
was all the shaken writer could do to keep his eyes open as wind tugged at him. Jake was sure their line would snap at any moment, sending them tumbling to the pavement below and into the hungry arms of the wandering dead. That thought sent a cold thrill of panic through him. He was able to force it down only with the greater fear of causing Kat injury during their landing or worse, alerting the zombies beneath to their presence.
They soared over the abandoned street, now occupied solely with slowly rotting examples of what were once human beings. The breeze caused Kat's short, blue hair to flutter as she and Jake sped along their impromptu zip-line, and the pretty Asian felt like laughing aloud with exhilaration. It was moments like this when everything became more real. Betting the bank against impossible odds, thumbing your nose at the gods in the face of certain death. She understood why Allen enjoyed skydiving prior to the dead rising to consume the living, but also realized jumping out of a perfectly good airplane over and over again wasn't thrill-seeking, it was simply repeated unsuccessful suicide attempts. Far too much could go wrong with a parachute and you could end up burrowing into the ground like Wile E. Coyote from those old Loony Tunes cartoons. But risking everything on her own long-developed skills, her physical abilities?
That was part of what made life worth living.
Kat felt the shaking in Jake's arms and grinned. It was somehow comforting to know the man who'd charged a baker's dozen of hungry zombies with nothing but a crowbar had a bit of a problem with heights. It made him human, gave him a sense of fallibility and vulnerability that she found attractive.
Hey! No time for nookie-thoughts, remember? Kat brain piped at her. Focus!
They were approaching the opposite roof faster than she'd have liked, probably due to their combined weight. Usually, Kat didn't have any passengers when she practiced her ninja thing. She'd drastically underestimated the rate of their acceleration, and that was going to make their imminent landing more than a little interesting.
“Remember to go limp when your feet hit,” she reminded Jake. “That should keep you from breaking—”
Rotting to the Core (Keep Your Crowbar Handy Book 2) Page 3