Zombie Rush

by Joseph Hansen

  “Who is that?” she asked of a figure wrapped up in the bed.

  “I don’t know; I ain’t never seen her before.”

  “How do you know it’s a her?”

  “By the shape; I'm a man and I know curves.”

  She had to give him that as she noticed the girl’s breast outlined beneath the blanket. She also saw that it wasn’t moving. The girl's hand twitched as Lisa closed the gap. A part of her wanted to grab the girl’s wrist and check her pulse but that twitch seemed to be different than simple nerves or rigor mortise setting in.

  “Stay away from her.”

  “Oh, I plan on it. She dead, ain’t she?”

  “Yeah… for now. Closet, quickly.”

  He opened the closet to a stocked and organized armory that included a forty-caliber Rhino—a new age revolver she had always admired, in spite of all its drag points—with a shoulder holster. There were two military ammunition boxes and a bag loaded with .22 magnum rounds. One box was forty and 9mm rounds and the second was straight .223. She thought about this for only second before she asked, “What’s your name?”

  “Skitter, actually Steve, but people call me Skitter Pop… It’s what my dad called me; I don’t know why. Most just call me Skit.”

  “Okay, Skit, where is the AR15?”

  “Jonah keeps it under the couch,” he said as Tonka squared off in the hallway and Skit flattened himself against the wall as he stared at the bed. Lisa knew what was happening and also knew that her rest time was over, as the female had started to reanimate.

  “Grab the boxes,” she said as she hoisted the cloth bag over her shoulder. “Where’s your car?”

  “Ah, we don’t want to take my car; we’ll take Jonah’s 300.”

  “What do you mean we?”

  “I'm under arrest, right?” he said as he kept looking back at the bed where a corpse was starting to rise.

  The blanket fell back, exposing the naked body. There was no sight or awareness in her eyes or mobility in her joints; she was a shell. No longer a whore or an addict or even a kid who lost herself with the wrong crowd one night… she was a zombie. Lisa held off shooting the cadaver in case the one that she could hear in the hallway outside the apartment didn’t know they were there yet. A sudden thought struck her… did she close the door from the apartment to hallway?

  “Move,” she said as she checked for a chambered round in the newly acquired Henry.

  She moved steadily down the hall toward the living room and entry. The putrid stench of released bowels stung her nose, revealing that the door was indeed left open. One of the decrepit beings had wandered in, spreading viscose across the carpet. There were no eyes locking on her or acknowledgment; it just kept veering toward her. A primal scream sounded out from further down the hallway, urging Lisa to step it up a notch. She had heard that scream before on the island. Though it was different in tone and pitch, she knew it was a runner. She popped two rounds in the head of the large male halfway across the living room and ignored two that were in the kitchen as she sprinted for the main entry. She launched herself eight feet from the door, planting a foot on the chest of another trying to enter and bringing herself halfway out into the hallway. She caught herself and looked at the mass that was filling the building from both ends; including the runner who was a huge man with blazing red eyes to match his red plaid shirt with rolled-up sleeves. She had no doubt that he would be through the apartment door with little effort. She scooted back in and slammed the heavy fire door, throwing the dead bolt in one smooth motion.

  She had seen the one in the kitchen so she knew they were there, but she was still hard-pressed to get her rifle up in time to place a round in one female’s head before the second grabbed at her rifle, knocking it out of action. She quickly drew her forty and popped a large hole in the second one’s head before moving back into the living room as Skit struggled into the room with the heavy ammo cases. Lisa re-holstered her firearm and set the Henry on the coffee table then reached under the couch for the AR15.

  She stretched and her fingers had barely touched the rifle when she heard the scream from the bedroom and the sound of running feet. Skit must have gotten out of view because the naked, drug-addicted corpse didn’t even slow down before she launched herself at Lisa. Flat on her back with an arm stretched under the couch and bent at an awkward angle, Lisa barely got a knee and her left hand up to deflect the downward falling corpse, stopping the fetid breathed beast from latching into her carotid artery.

  “Tonka!” she screamed unnecessarily; the hundred-pound hound latched on to the zombie’s leg and yanked it backwards.

  Her hand slipped and the zombie's head fell into her vested abdomen where she could feel the teeth trying to pierce through the Kevlar. The chomping jaws continued down her body toward her legs that were protected only by the heavy fabric of her blues when an Air Jordan was suddenly kicking its head up and away. Skit continued to kick the thing repeatedly, and every time, it lurched back at him more determined than ever. He was slowing and she lunged again but Tonka’s drag hindered its reach.

  Lisa got the rifle from under the couch, charged it, and fired three rounds at close range through the runner’s head. She regained her feet and didn’t even take time to catch her breath before issuing instructions.

  “Help me up. Check the patio door. You got the keys? Good, you’re driving.”

  “Oh… okay. It’s the silver Chrysler right out front,” Skit said with a glance toward the now tipped over coffee table and the baggies spread all over the floor.

  “You’ll have to come back for it after I am done with you, Skit.”

  “That's a lot of money on the floor; I hate to see it go to waste.”

  “I think your market has dried up, unless you can get a few of these zombies addicted to this shit,” Lisa said snidely.

  Skit just glared at her for a moment before spitting out, “You don’t know nothing about me.”

  “Just shut up and get to the car, Skitter Pop. I don’t need to know much about drug dealers. You’re not the most intricate of personalities, you know.” She kept the man in front of her as they moved toward the lot as Skit shook his head at her attitude.

  They didn’t bother checking to see if the lot was full because they didn’t have a choice; the runner was slamming against the outside of the barely intact apartment door. There was a mob down on the end where she had entered, and a few scattered at the opposite end of the building. The center between was relatively clear until Skit pushed the wrong button on the key fob and the horn started blaring as the lights flashed on and off. He quickly shut it down and cringed as he looked at Lisa.

  “Dammit, Skit, what kind of idiot are you? No, just don’t say anything. Throw the ammo in back and fill the driver’s seat with your skinny ass,” Lisa said as she noticed his eyes filling with fear.

  She turned to see two runners coming around the building and bearing down upon them. “Move, fool!” Lisa spat as she pulled her newly acquired scoped rifle to her shoulder.

  A 30/30 or a 30.06 would have had more stopping power—as would the AR15 that was being tossed in the back—but the .22 Magnum should have enough punch to get the job done if she nailed them in their heads right away. She didn’t think the body shots would have enough impact to slow them down.

  She fired and saw a tiny dot appear on the forehead of the lead Z but no telltale spray out the back of its skull. It collapsed to the pavement after the smaller caliber bullet ricocheted repeatedly within its skull. The second runner took a few more shots before falling and she heard the panicked honking of the Chrysler horn. The runner from the hall had busted through the door and was now hurling itself toward her and the car, shattering the sliding patio door. Her barrel was out of position and she just didn’t trust the rifle to stop its momentum. The horde had diverted and was closing in; soon it would close off her escape to the now running car.

  I must have been a fucking cowboy in another life, she thought as she qui
ckly drew her Glock, slamming three rounds in the runners head—the last of which being from close range. It fell at her feet, spraying blood and brains all over her boots. She had to run to catch up to the already moving car and made a running hop into the passenger seat, glaring at Skit as he maneuvered around a horde.

  “What did you expect? You’re standing out there like this is some kind of shooting range while more of these fuckers try to cut us off.”

  “They would have caught us, Skitter Pop, if I hadn’t shot them.”

  “Nu-uhhh, not with the car moving… and call me Skit.”

  “What, you don’t want me to use your drug-induced handle?”

  “Drug induced handle? What bad TV show did you hop off of? A Skitter Pop is a fishing lure, fool. I don’t do drugs; I'm an associate. Associates aren’t allowed to use.”

  “What? A code of ethics among drug dealers? I don’t believe it.”

  “Yeah, Pinto didn’t either until Jonah had his knees broken.”

  “Pinto, huh? I bet he sells a lot of dope now with his knees broke.”

  “He sells meth by the boatload and never leaves his house, not two blocks from a police station. He makes six figures selling and still gets food stamps and disability. Dude's got it made… other than the permanent limp.”

  “Now that I do believe. I hope you’re clean, Skit, because we need to be sharp,” Lisa said as she scanned the streets looking for potential threats. There were lots of Zs but they were all the slow-moving ones and barely got their heads up in time to see the car speed past.

  “So, are you going to arrest me when we get to the station?” Skit asked, concerned.

  “What? No, Skit. I'm done arresting people. I don’t think that world exists anymore. What is going on over there?”

  “It looks like Mr. Thorn is fighting off a bunch of zombies,” Skit said, making Lisa want to slap him for even responding, let alone stating the obvious.

  Mr. Thorn was a small man; or rather short because the rest of him was anything but small. He was bald on top with a surround of gray that did nothing to hide the bull neck resting on rounded, muscular shoulders. Arms the size of Lisa’s leg displayed in a wife beater t-shirt were swinging a hammer with grim proficiency and displaying a tireless economy of motion that Lisa found herself envious of. His stocky body flowed from Z to Z, crashing the steel head through temple and forehead alike and taking out knees in order to create space so that he could kill some more.

  Is he even trying to get away? She couldn’t tell because he wouldn’t break and run even though he had opportunities. She couldn’t even envision running as being within his nature; he was the type of guy the world needed right now and he was about to be overwhelmed.

  “Stop the car.”

  “Stop the car? What are you talking about stop the car? You have a prisoner, man, you can’t be helping him.”

  “Shut up, Skit, you’re not a prisoner; if you want to leave then leave, but the car stays,” Lisa said as she shoved a couple of mags in her jacket pocket. “Or I’ll fucking shoot you.”

  “I go with the car, you need a driver.”

  “Alright then, stay here and keep her running. If you leave, I will shoot you in your cowardly back.”

  “I ain’t leavin’; I ain’t got nowhere to go anyway… and what makes you say cowardly? I could’a swore I just saved your ass by kicking a zombie in the head,” Skit said as she opened up the car door.

  “I guess there is that, isn’t there?”

  “Little help! Little help!” she heard Thorn shout out as if it were a mantra rather than a request. Hell, he probably didn’t even know she was there. He swung left, catching one on the back of the skull and pulling it past him as he crouched low and came up with his body under another, flipping it over behind him. It would be a mistake for most, but Thorn moved with the body, using the pavement and his hammer to obliterate the skull and come up several feet from his attackers… and practically on top of Lisa.

  “Step aside, Clyde,” Lisa said, causing him to jump back startled by her presence. Clearly he was unaware that there was help to be had. Lisa lined up her forty, once again fully loaded with extra magazines and popped off six shots to take down three zombies. “Get to the car.”

  “But this is my building,” Mr. Thorn protested.

  “Your building is lost… for today, anyway. Come back tomorrow and it might be a different story; come on, we gotta move out now.” Her no nonsense tone prompted him to obey. Lisa dropped a couple more Zs as Thorn pushed a couple off to the side before they were both crawling in the 300 and Skitter was speeding off.

  “Dude, you are so lucky that a runner hadn’t showed up.”

  “Skit, how ya doin’, bud? There weren’t any of them around until I opened up the restaurant door, then they were all over me. At first it was only a few, and then my tenants started coming out of the apartment building and I thought I was going to be swarmed. At least I got to kill that fucker Stanley Curtis. Motherfucker hasn’t paid his rent in three months. I spent five hundred dollars on eviction proceedings a year ago and he came in with equitable fucking redemption at the last minute… fucking bastard. Cost me more money than I ever made off of his rent. Fucker's too fat to work so we got to support him. Well, he didn’t seem too fat when he wanted to take a chunk out of my face, now did he?”

  “Wow.”

  “What’s that, little lady?” Thorn asked in response.

  “You were almost just eaten and you’re worried about rent money?”

  “It’s just nervous banter; he always gets this way,” Skit explained.

  “Oh,” Lisa replied as she looked at the face of their newest acquisition. “So that was some fighting style out there, Mr. Thorn. Have you had some training?”

  “Yes… I’m trained in Pine O Chi, got a leather belt,” he stated, and Skitter immediately began giggling.

  “You know that I am part Hispanic, right? I know what fucking Pinochet is,” she replied angrily, both men continued to giggle.

  “It is a delicate art,” Thorn said and the giggles turned to guffaws and Lisa turned back around to face the windshield.

  “Great, the fucking Z-poc comes and I get trapped with a couple of fucking yahoos with warped humor.”

  “No need to be name calling anyone.”

  “Just watch the fucking road, Skit.”

  “Hey, where we goin’?” Thorn asked.

  “Police station to get some guns,” Lisa said, looking for a reaction.

  “Cool,” was all he said as he scanned the interior of the car and then looked at Tonka, noticing the large hound for the first time.

  “Hey, you got a doggie,” he said and reached out to pet the trained canine, who showed his teeth and snapped, barely missing the appendage. “Whoa, your dog isn’t very nice.”

  “He isn’t a dog, Mr. Thorn, he is Sergeant Tonka. We just met today and he has saved my life more times than anybody else ever has.”

  “Cool, good to know. Then what?”

  “Then what… what?”

  “After you get the guns, then what?”

  “We’re hopping on a boat and heading up river to a house on an island. You can come with if you promise not to be a creeper.”

  “Creeper? I’m no fucking creeper. Why would I want to go to a fucking island?”

  “Hide out, be safe…” Lisa replied, put off by his question.

  “Then what?”

  “What do you mean, then what?”

  “I mean, you hide out until what? This passes over? It ain’t passing over, lady. Most of us saw the horseman light up the sky last night. This shit is Biblical; it ain’t going away. So that means you’re going to be on that island for a long time until someone else wants it,” Thorn said with a matter-of-fact tone.

  “Okay then, don’t come with. Skitter and I will just drop you off somewhere. I don’t need to be listening to your Bible bullshit anyway.”

  “I’ll help you get the guns.”

 
“Excuse me, what is this shit about ‘Skitter and you dropping him off’? I trust that a little alone time wit’ you out of official skins would be a lot of fun, but an island? I ain’t goin’ to no fucking island either. Talk about trapped. What are you gonna do, Buck?” Skit said.

  “Buck? Your name is Buck Thorn? Parents can be so cruel.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with my name. I love my name. It’s better than Consuela or whatever the fuck you’re called,” Thorn said, clearly irritated by her sarcasm.

  “Reynolds, you racist prick,” Lisa replied as she checked her chamber and mag to emphasize her annoyance.

  “I ain’t racist; Skit and I are friends,” he countered.

  “Hey, hey, now calm the fuck down. I asked a question. Now, what are you going to do, Buck?”

  “I don’t know… I suppose get some kind of army together and fight this thing. There are going to be a lot of people changing the way they do business and I think you have to get a solid group or army together to get through it.”

  “And then what?”

  “I don’t know yet. I’ll figure something out while you’re running away.”

  “Hey bud, I’m not even from this town, okay?” Lisa stated angrily.

  “That’s not what your uniform says,” Skit interjected.

  Lisa turned back around, more than a little dejected; she really didn’t have a place she called home. From the East Coast to the Midwest, she just went wherever her parents were going. She watched the surprisingly empty road as Skit drove her to the station, lost in thought.

  “You would need a warehouse; something with a couple protectable overhead doors and a couple entrances with no windows. A flat roof would be nice too,” Lisa said as her mind took on the logistics of staying.