“AND HERE WE GO…BACK TO THE FUTURE!”
The riders cheered. A couple of them were staring at the crowd of dead pouring over the flimsy fence and stumbling towards them.
Clarissa looked up from her texting and pressed a button, and the ride lurched backwards. The music grew even louder, the thumping bass matching the pulse in Dharma’s ears. Riders began to scream, some from the sensation of going backwards, others from the zombies crawling up the side of the ride, reaching their hands out for the riders. A few managed to grab onto a car, snapping their jaws at the poor riders.
Clarissa finally looked up from her cell phone, but it was too late. She was quickly overwhelmed, tackled to the hard metal platform as teeth and fingers tore into her flesh. Her screams of terror and pain were drowned out by the music as muscle was torn from bone. She choked as she drowned in her own blood.
As the ride picked up speed, the zombies clinging on to a couple of cars were thrown. One hit the DJ booth.
“WHAT THE FUCK?”
The riders were now racing backwards at full speed. Dharma and Alessandra screamed, and dead hands reached out for them as they whirled around. Some of the dead even threw themselves at the ride, only to be flung away by the force of the ride’s motion.
DJ Chris cut the music abruptly. “CLARISSA, STOP THE RIDE.”
It was a strange feeling, hurtling through space backwards to no music while being attacked by the dead. Dharma leaned inward, crushing Alessandra against the other side of the car, as dead hands swept past her. One zombie threw herself at their car, holding on for a moment before being thrown.
Dharma saw that DJ Chris’ booth was surrounded by zombies, screeching at the hot lunch hiding inside and pressing bloody hands up against the Plexiglas.
“HELP! SOMEBODY, HELP! OH, SHIT!”
* * *
Max Doogan leaned on the green carpeting of his booth’s counter, lazily watching a couple of kids take pot shots at the stationary zombie targets with the paintball guns. It was still off season, so the live target (his buddy Carl dressed in a padded zombie suit) wouldn’t be utilized until after July 4th.
It was a slow night, but the two brats popping off paintballs were having a grand ol’ time. They were two brothers, and the older had made it a competition. Neither was a good shot, not that one could really be a good shot with paintball guns anyway.
Max straightened up as he saw two more rubes approaching his booth. “Shoot the zombie, here! Five dollars for twenty shots!”
From the looks of them, they looked drunk the way they stumbled over. Both reached out for the boys, so Max figured they were the boys’ parents. However, one grabbed the older boy, leaned forward, and sunk his teeth right into his neck.
At first, Max thought the guy was making a joke, being that this was the Shoot the Zombie booth and all. But when the kid screamed and the guy pulled away with a chunk of the kid’s flesh in his mouth, blood spurting everywhere, he realized that this wasn’t the kid’s parent, and it wasn’t a joke.
Of course, it took the second zombie, a woman, tearing into the younger brother for this realization to fully sink in.
“Oh, shit!”
Max grabbed a paintball gun and began shooting at the zombies as they feasted on the poor brats. “Hey! Get the fuck off them!”
He saw another one approach from the left, another woman. Her clothes were torn, and her breasts were exposed. Her skin was green, and her right breast looked as if it had been gnawed on by a wild animal. Terrified, he raised a paintball gun and started shooting at its head.
It shrieked at him and projectile vomited blood, splattering Max’s face. He cried out, wiping the blood out of his eyes with his right hand, still holding the gun in his left.
The woman was at his booth now. She reached out, gripped the inner edge of the counter, and pulled herself over.
Max stumbled backwards, dropping the paintball gun, and he began to make his way through the small, paint-covered wooden set to the back door.
Behind him, the dead woman fell to the floor with a thud. She slowly pushed herself up. He went to unlock the back door to the street, but he made the error of taking a glance at his pursuer.
She screamed again and gore hit his face, blinding him. It felt hot and sticky. He gagged, letting go of the doorknob, and fell against the door. The knob dug into his back. He let out a yelp that was a combination of pain and revulsion as he screwed his fingers into his eyes.
As he wiped the bodily fluids away, he felt probing fingers sink into his abdomen with unnatural strength, his skin yielding like butter to a hot knife. He felt his insides being pulled out of his body, and he looked down and saw the woman shoving them inside her mouth, his digestive fluids dripping down her face.
He slid against the door, down to the ground. Terror became disbelief, disbelief yielded to resignation, and the world rushed away from Max Doogan to the sounds of wet, ravenous chomping.
Chapter 8
Holbrook saw Pacelli burst into the jail area, thankfully without Lena. The man’s face was white as a sheet.
Pacelli saw Chief Holbrook standing against the bars, clutching them with his hands, a desperate look on his face. He turned his head to the right and saw Martinez slumped against the wall, watching Tim O’Leary, who was shrieking at him like a caged animal. “Jesus tap-dancing Christ.”
Holbrook reached out through the bars. “Pacelli, get me out of here.”
Pacelli looked hesitant.
“For shit’s sake, I’m okay! But O’Leary’s seen better days, and Martinez needs to take my place.”
Pacelli looked at Martinez, who nodded in agreement. He fished out his keys and opened Holbrook’s cell.
Holbrook stepped out and grabbed Pacelli’s gun from its holster. “Where’s Lena?”
Pacelli looked surprised, but he let Holbrook take his weapon. “Upstairs. Listen, Chief, all hell’s breaking loose on the beach and boardwalk. Dozens of dead. It’s a real mess.”
Holbrook nodded, walked over to O’Leary’s cell, stepped over Martinez, and took aim at the creature howling at him.
O’Leary ran up to the bars, pressed his head up against them, and snapped his jaws at Holbrook. His eyes were white. Holbrook raised Pacelli’s gun, pressed the barrel up against his forehead, and pulled the trigger, blowing his brains out the back of his head. O’Leary’s body crumpled to the ground, inert.
Holbrook handed Pacelli back his gun. “I always wanted to do that.”
“Are you sure you’re okay, Chief?” asked Pacelli, thankful to have his weapon back.
“I’m fine. Help me get Martinez into this cell.”
Each man hooked a hand under Martinez’s armpit and hoisted him up. Dazed, Martinez allowed himself to be walked into the cell. Holbrook and Pacelli placed him on the cot.
Holbrook relieved Martinez of his weapon. “Get him some medical attention. We begin Protocol Z for him now.”
Pacelli gave Holbrook an apologetic look. “The medics are busy at the moment.”
“Get Martinez looked at, now, Sergeant.”
“Yes, Chief.”
Pacelli raced out of the cell area. Holbrook paused, looking at Martinez. “You gonna be all right?”
Martinez nodded. “I’m sorry, Chief.”
Holbrook looked mildly amused. “For what?”
“I let my guard down.”
“It’s not your fault. You did your best. No one expected this. Not even me.”
“Thanks, Chief.”
Holbrook nodded. “Someone’ll be down here shortly.”
He walked through the police station, up to the bullpen. He saw Lena standing in his office, pacing back and forth and chewing on her fingernails. When she saw him, she stopped pacing, but she continued to bite her nails.
As Holbrook crossed the bullpen, officers approached him about the bedlam on the boardwalk.
“Chief, the beach’s overrun.”
“Chief, the dead have taken the boardwalk.”
“We have people trapped on Blackbeard’s Pier. I just got a call from the DJ on the Raging Rapids ride.”
Holbrook stopped just outside his office. “I want roadblocks up and down Neptune Blvd. We have to contain them as much as we can. Call SWAT. What about the State Police and National Guard?”
“They’re on the boardwalk, but they’re being overrun.”
“Jesus. Get the damned Army in here, pronto. We’ve got a war zone here.”
“Yes, Chief.”
He entered his office alone, but he left the door open.
Lena crossed the room and hugged him. She kissed him softly. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, but I’ve got to get you out of here.” He unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it off and tossing it to the floor in a corner of the room.
She frowned, looking almost offended at his statement. “Where am I going to go?”
He pulled a spare uniform shirt off a hanger dangling from a coat hook on the wall and slipped it on. “You and Robbie need to get out of here.” He paused buttoning up. “Wait a minute…where’s Robbie?”
“He’s all right. He was with Mrs. Holly at the bonfire.”
“Holy shit almighty.”
“I called her. They made it out.”
Holbrook let out a deep sigh of relief. He finished buttoning up his shirt and tucking it into his pants. “Where are they now?”
“They’re at her house.”
“I’m going to go get them.”
“What about me?”
“You’re going to wait here until I get back.”
“I want to come, too.”
“It’s not safe.”
“He’s my son, too,” she snapped.
Holbrook hugged her.
“I’m sorry,” she said into his ear. “I just can’t believe it.”
He broke the embrace. “I’ll be back in a flash.” He grabbed his Kevlar vest and slipped it on. His unlocked his right drawer in his desk, pulled out his weapon, and slid it into his holster, snapping it shut.
Lena looked terrified. “Be careful.”
“I always am.”
* * *
Marie Russo ran out in front of Vinnie, dodging panicked people, garbage pails, and overwhelmed police and national guardsmen. She stopped abruptly in front of her shop and grabbed Vinnie by the collar of his shirt, pulling him to the side. She yanked him so hard, he almost lost his footing and fell.
He struggled to maintain his balance. “What are you doing?”
She pulled him alongside and back to the street. She fished for her keys and opened the back door. She threw it open and pulled Vinnie inside.
“I thought we were going to get Dharma and the kids,” he said, confused.
“Not unarmed, we are.”
She disappeared into her supply room and re-emerged with a pistol and a shotgun. She shoved the shotgun into Vinnie’s hands. He held it loosely, away from his body, as if she just handed him a live grenade. “What’s this?”
“What’s it look like?” She shoved ammo clips into her purse.
“I don’t know how to shoot this!” That wasn’t exactly true. He had been to the range once or twice with Mike Brunello, who owned a shotgun. Mike had taught him how to shoot it. He wasn’t very experienced with shooting it, but he basically knew how to.
Marie disappeared back into the office and reappeared moments later with her hands cupped together, holding shotgun shells. She practically threw them at Vinnie. Some landed in his arms, and some of the red cartridges spilled onto the floor.
“Scattershot?”
Marie gave him a wry grin. “Don’t know how to use it, huh? My ass.”
Vinnie shoved the cartridges into his shorts’ pockets. Then he stooped down on his haunches and picked the rest up. When he stood up, Marie holstered her pistol and snatched a couple of red cartridges out of his hand. She grabbed the shotgun, loaded them, and cocked it. “Now you just have to point and shoot.”
“Scattershot won’t do anything but slow them down,” insisted Vinnie.
“They’re right here, on the boardwalk. Point it at their rotten teeth and squeeze the trigger. You’ll take their whole head off.”
Vinnie’s skin went white. He hadn’t fully appreciated that they were about to be dashing straight into the heat of battle, amongst the dead.
“Let’s go.” Marie dashed outside.
Vinnie followed. As she locked up, police cars were pulling up and parking oblong, creating a roadblock between the boardwalk and the town.
“Come on.” Marie unholstered her weapon and grabbed Vinnie by the arm, pulling him back to the boardwalk.
The boardwalk was complete bedlam. People were running to and fro, shoving past each other, dashing towards the ramps leading to town. The police were doing their best to direct the evacuation while holding the zombies at bay. They didn’t open fire, as there were too many people around and too few clean shots. As Vinnie followed Marie into the crowd, pushing and shoving their away against the tide, he felt like a salmon swimming upstream.
When they passed the fleeing people, Vinnie saw the dead lumbering up the ramps from the beach. There were two cops at the edge firing into the advancing swarm, but their efforts were futile.
Within minutes, they were grappling with the dead hand-to-hand. Vinnie watched as they were overrun, falling to the boardwalk. The dead piled on top of them, sinking their teeth in. He was reminded of the cats snatching the seagull.
The cops begged and pleaded as they cried out. They writhed around as flesh was torn away from their body, like antelopes frenzied by lions in a nature show. They had those same blank looks of helplessness as they were eaten. Like the seagull from before, they went limp, powerless to fight back. Vinnie wanted to help them.
Marie saw him looking. “We can’t help them. Let’s go.”
Vinnie nodded and followed her. There were a few zombies on the boardwalk, but Marie circumvented them, careful to conserve her ammunition. She’d need it on Blackbeard’s Pier.
Dead hands reached out for Vinnie from both sides, grabbing his arms and shoulders. He shoved them back and struck them with the stock of his shotgun. He ran to keep up with Marie. Damn she was fast.
One, a woman with bloated skin and seaweed hanging from her tattered outfit, grabbed him and wrapped its fingers so tight around his upper arm that he wasn’t able to shake it free. Its one intact breast swung free from its torn blouse. The other was missing, the wound glistening.
As he struggled with this zombie, Marie was getting away from him. He called out to her, but either she didn’t hear him, or she didn’t care. He twisted and turned to wriggled out of the woman’s grip as it lunged its head forward, snapping its jaws at him. He felt its cold, putrid breath on his face.
The dead woman embraced him as Dharma had many times, pulling him close. He fought the wave of panic that would immobilize him. Instead, he turned his shotgun, bringing it up between them and pointing the barrel right under its chin. He pushed with all his might, creating a bit of distance between them using the gun as a lever. He turned his head away and pulled the trigger.
There was a loud boom, wetness splattered the side of his head, and the dead fingers loosened their grip. As he pulled himself free, ears ringing, he tripped over something and fell backwards onto the boardwalk.
He crunched his stomach to look at what he stumbled over and saw a small zombie child chewing on the face of a fallen adult. The body was a mess of gore, and the flesh around its right eye had been eaten away, making it look as if the eyeball was bulging out of its head. The victim’s mouth was contorted, blood dripping out of the side.
The zombie child, its hair matted in blood, clad in tattered shorts and a T-shirt, was chewing on the poor bastard’s tongue when it saw Vinnie. It dropped the chewy morsel and began to crawl towards him.
Vinnie shrieked, trying to find his footing, but the creature was fast. It scurried over to him, eyes clouded but wild, and scree
ched at him, spraying his face with its spittle.
He kicked at it, but it pulled its way up his legs in a commando crawl. That’s when he felt its limp legs dragging across his own. They had been broken.
Marie ran up to Vinnie and wound her leg up. She gave the zombie child a swift kick in the head, sending it flying backwards. It landed just over the body it was feeding on, its neck broken. Its head flopped around like a wrecked jack-in-the-box as it whimpered and wheezed.
Marie pulled Vinnie to his feet.
“I thought you left me,” he said, shocked and embarrassed all at once.
“Never,” she said with an edge of anger in her voice. A dead man reached out for her. She lifted her pistol and shot it point blank in the head. It dropped to its knees and sat on its haunches, limp arms dangling behind it, its lights turned out.
She grabbed Vinnie’s wrist and pulled him through the crowd. She jerked him to the left and to the right, dodging attacks, dragging him like a ragdoll.
As Vinnie was pulled, he looked up to the left, just above the beach, and saw a zombie hanging from the sky ride, gripping the chair’s foot bar as two riders—a teenage couple—kicked their feet at it. The girl was screaming. A few chairs back, a man wrestled with a zombie until they both rolled out of the chair and onto the beach below. Out of the frying pan and into the fire.
On the right, Vinnie and Marie passed Mac’s Pub. It was no longer filled with bikers. It looked abandoned, chairs and stools strewn about the place. There were large, matted bloodstains on the felt of one of the pool tables. There was a zombie leaning over Mac on the floor in front of the bar. It was pulling his intestines out of his pot belly. Mac’s eyes were wide, staring up at the ceiling, and his mouth was moving, as if conversing with his attacker. Hell, maybe he was praying.
Vinnie shook his head and forced back hot tears as he and Marie saw Blackbeard’s Pier coming up on their left.
* * *
It had all happened so quickly. One minute, Nancy was handing out complimentary cotton candy to the children, and the next people ran through the arcade screaming. Then she heard the other screams, the dead kind, and she ducked behind the prize counter as zombies came pouring in.
The Creeping Dead: Book 2 Page 14