by Hunt, Jack
We kept moving down the stairwell until we reached the ground. There was one more door between us and the funeral home’s corridor. I hated this place. I’d only ever stepped one time in here and that was when our mother had died. The funeral had been held here. Everything about the place creeped me out. A few days before the funeral they had an open casket where people could come and pay their respects. When it came to my turn, I couldn’t do it. Death wasn’t something I was ready to face. I wanted to remember my mother alive, not lying motionless inside a box.
I guess that’s why I wanted to make sure our father was alive. Even if he did act like a royal dick, he was all we had. The thought of losing him was unbearable. It’s strange that it took a zombie apocalypse for us to realize how much family meant.
Dax placed his ear against the door, one hand on the bar and the other on his weapon. He cast a nervous glance over his shoulder and gave us the nod. He didn’t burst through the door, instead he pressed against it ever so gently until it clicked, then he paused for a second as if expecting the undead to appear. Satisfied, he pushed it open just enough until there was a hairline crack.
That’s when Baja sneezed. We all looked at him as if we couldn’t believe his timing.
Dax didn’t wait another minute. He forced his way into the corridor. Within a split second he was firing off a round, then another and another. Scot was behind him and firing in the opposite direction. We followed suit until we had neutralized the threat.
As we passed over the corpses, I recognized them as the owners of the funeral parlor. To think they had decided to get into the business of the dead, and now they had wound up dead. We pressed on. We’d been given the tour of the funeral home a day before the wake. They had taken us through the chapel, shown us the columbarium which was a granite wall for placing the urns of those who’d been cremated. We passed by the arrangement room where they had attempted to sell us an overpriced casket. My father wouldn’t do it. We didn’t have the cash for something extravagant. Instead we opted for cremation.
As we got closer to the mausoleum, Dax began to look worried. This place held the remains of the dead in caskets. It was a permanent resting ground for the dead. And if any room in the place was going to be filled with Z’s it would have been there. There was no way of going around it, we had to go through it to reach the main hallway which led up to the main doors.
Dax was motioning to us using military hand signals. But he might as well have been doing sign language for all we cared. As none of it made sense, Baja even returned a signal of his own. A middle index finger. Dax didn’t find it amusing but I did.
Now I would like to say that we slipped through the mausoleum unnoticed, or killed one or two biters and arrived on the other side high-fiving each other. But that wasn’t the case. It was more like hacking our way through a dense jungle. The jungle being Z’s. Dax attempted to kick the door open and fell on his ass. What he didn’t know was a group of Z’s were pressing up against the doors.
The problem was, he kicked it hard enough that it cracked open and one of them managed to get his meaty fucked-up paw out before it closed. What ensued next was deafening. We fired round after round, until we cut our way a few feet into the room. We had no other choice but to go through them. It was that or go back up. The funeral home was the closest to the bank.
I don’t know how long we were in that room. Time ceased to exist. Creepers dropped like flies, only to be replaced by another wall of them.
“That is like Space Invaders,” Baja remarked before letting out a laugh and sticking a knife into a Z’s head. Fucking guy had an odd sense of humor.
Baja was referring to the 1980s Atari game that his father owned. It was a piece of history, and something he only brought out on special occasions. Usually his birthday.
By the time we made it to the other side, we were covered in blood. You couldn’t tell if it was ours, from the guy beside us, or just zombie flesh. From head to toe, we were dripping in the nastiest, rotten, decaying gunk that you could imagine. It felt as if we had just done an intense session of cardio. I had my hands on my knees, trying to catch a breath.
As we stood behind the glass doorway between us and the Z’s that were wandering around the streets, Dax laid out his plan of how we were going to get over to the bank. None of us had considered the thought that it might have been overrun by biters. No, we were going there, because the mighty Dax said so.
I tuned out as he rattled on like an army commander bellowing orders to his platoon. My eyes were fixed on the police station. I could see movement behind the main windows, but I couldn’t tell who it was.
“So are we ready?”
I felt a slap on the arm.
“Did you hear one word of what I said?”
I nodded, still trying to adjust to the fact that we were still alive. Everything felt surreal.
“Now focus.”
Dax pulled back the door and we filed out behind him onto the sidewalk like a line of ants hugging the wall. There was a low mist that hovered through the town like a ghost. It made the place seem even creepier. Z’s immediately noticed us and once again we found ourselves moving fast and shooting. Many of the shots didn’t hit them in the head. It was hard to hit accurately while running.
“Keep up,” Dax yelled.
We were a few feet from the entrance of the bank when I finally could see who the figure was in the window at the station. I squinted. By now the others had made it to the bank and Dax was already inside.
“Dad?”
I began changing direction and heading towards the police station. Specs spotted me.
“Dude, where are you going?”
“That’s my father.”
I fired round after round taking out Z’s, oblivious to the fact that every shot would only bring more of them. Dax came out. I only knew this because he shouted my name.
“Johnny. Get back here.”
The police station was surrounded by a high metal fence with barb wire at the top. I don’t know if they built it because they thought it looked cool, or whether it was some part of the mind tricks that they liked to use on anyone thinking of breaking the law. Within its fenced walls Z’s were roaming around the burnt-out cars like buzzards hovering around dead carcasses. I dropped down low behind a cruiser that had barely made it out the front entrance before it must have been stopped by a horde of Z’s. The windows were busted up. The door was wide open. Dried blood now streaked the doorframe. No one was inside. Only the faint crackle of the radio could be heard.
Dax and Specs sprinted over. The others stayed inside the bank.
“You better have a good reason for this.”
“It’s dad, look.”
Dax looked towards the open door before ducking back down.
“He’s secure. But we’re not.”
Dax’s eyes darted back and forth between the path that led back to the bank and a group of Z’s that were heading our way. They were the slow-moving suckers. Several were dragging their feet as if they had snapped at the ankles. Their moans were getting louder.
“I’m not leaving without him.”
“How the hell do you know he’s not one of them?”
“I don’t. But we need to at least try,” I replied.
He grabbed hold of my collar. “Listen, you asshole. You are going to get us all killed. Look at how many are in front of the station.”
I peered over. There had to have been at least twenty pressed up against the doors.
“Even if you could get over there, you wouldn’t get in. If dad is alive, he would have barricaded himself him. Which is exactly what we need to be doing right now. Now get your ass up or I swear...”
I pushed up against him. “You’ll what? Huh?”
“Screw this, I’m outta here,” Dax said.
With that Dax took off in the direction of the bank, firing off a few rounds at the Z’s. This only made the ones around the police station take notice.
“He
’s right, man. We need to go. We’ll get your dad. But right now we got to stay alive,” Specs said.
I took one last look, then gave a nod to Specs. We bolted towards the bank. I used my baseball bat a few times to take out a few heads, and unleash the pent-up anger that I was carrying around.
Jason slammed the door behind us. We were gasping for air. Inside there were dead lying around. Dax went around and stuck his hunting knife into the head of each of them. He wasn’t taking any chances. Meanwhile Scot and Jason used the rope to tie off the door handles while I searched for anything we could jam up against them. The windows in the doors had a fine metal grid inside of them. That industrial strong shit that was super hard to smash. We knew the chances of them breaking through it was slim, but we didn’t want to wake up in the night overrun.
Meanwhile, Baja and Specs followed Dax, clearing each of the offices on the main floor. I heard the sound of a few gunshots and then it was quiet. The plan was to systematically clear each of the five floors.
None of us really had a chance to process the full extent of what was happening. Every thought or decision we made was focused on survival.
“You think we could have holed up in the baker’s? I’m starving,” Baja said.
Specs tossed him a Twinkie.
“Great.”
There was an elevator that appeared to be out of order. No doubt it was filled with Z’s. No amount of punching the button did anything. A set of stairs went up. We crept up behind Dax until we reached the next level. There were so many offices in this place. The building was used for insurance companies, the bank, a call center, and several other financial institutions. Each of them had a floor dedicated to them. Before everything went to shit, there was always an influx of people coming and going. Now it was dead. Literally.
It took us all of thirty minutes to clear each of the floors. The final floor had more Z’s than we had expected. It was the call center. It was weird seeing Z’s walking around with headphones on. It was almost like they were still doing their job. The final stretch of stairs went up to the roof. Baja pushed against it hard and daylight lit up our faces as we stumbled outside. I had imagined that the roof would have had some survivors. But there were none. Not even dead people.
I looked out over the town. We now had an even better view of what we were up against. Below the streets were crawling. Alleys filled and there was a large horde still in the vicinity of where the festival had taken place. On the roof of the local pizzeria, we saw two individuals. They looked like teens. They were alive. We tried to get their attention but they seemed preoccupied with holding the door closed on whatever was banging against it.
“Hey,” Dax yelled but we were too far away.
We were closer now to the gun store. Only four stores away. The thought of not being able to help Jess or my father niggled me. We were running out of bullets. It wouldn’t be long before we’d have no choice but to head over there. As for my father, he wouldn’t be able to live long without food.
Our stomachs grumbled, and now that we were behind the safety of doors, our basic needs began to surface. Hunger, the need for sleep and a shower. Oh what I would have done for a shower. When blood dried on the skin, it became itchy and it stunk worse than a skunk’s ass.
“We’ll settle here for now. It will give us time to figure out what our next move is,” Dax said. But no one could settle. You see, no one is prepared for when Mother Nature flips the switch on society. We assume that everything will remain the same; that armies would come in and save the day, and the government would be able to hold back the flood of any disaster that hit. But this was the worst thing that could ever happen. And there was no one coming to save us. At least that we knew. If anything, it wouldn’t have surprised me if they dropped a bomb on us and just wiped all the small towns off the map.
Even Specs with all his father’s pep talks about the end times, and weekend trips out into the desert to show him how to survive. He never really got it, because he wasn’t listening. Sure there were moments he tuned in, and that’s why he was a little paranoid. But I often wondered if he acted like that just for his father’s sake. The truth was, we knew it wouldn’t be long before the power would go out, water would stop flowing and then what? The thought of being really thirsty was foreign to us. But I had a strong feeling that before this was over, we would come to know what it meant to be thirsty, hungry, and willing to kill even the living to survive. Right now though, it was just a passing thought.
GUN RUN
Patience was never a virtue of mine. Throw in the fact there was no internet, we were running low on food and ammo, and all we had was a battery radio that was broadcasting the same message on repeat. You could say, the stress level was running high for everyone.
“I’m hungry,” Scot said, tossing an empty packet of chips to one side.
“We’ll go out this evening,” Dax replied.
Scot rose to his feet. “I’m going now.”
“We go this evening,” Dax barked back.
“Right, cause that makes sense. Go when we can’t even see them. Didn’t they teach you anything in the corps?”
Oh shit, I thought. This was about to go sideways real quick.
“Take a seat and shut the hell up.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “Well, I for one am going to get food.”
Dax jumped up, and Scot spun around aiming his rifle at him.
“What are you going to do? Huh?”
Dax put his arm out. “Put it down.”
“Yeah, just lower the gun,” Jason said.
“You siding with them now?” Scot’s eyes darted between them.
“I’m not siding with anyone, but we aren’t going to get anywhere if we start turning on each other,” Jason said.
Scot held it there for a few more seconds then he lowered it. In an instant Dax was on him. He didn’t have a chance to see it coming. Dax shoved him up against the wall.
“You point a gun at me, you better pull the trigger.”
With that he took Scot’s weapon from him.
“We go this evening,” Dax repeated.
He walked away with the gun, Scot slung him a dirty look before disappearing into the stairwell. Jason followed behind him.
“You know he’s right. Don’t you?” I said.
“Don’t you start.”
“Dax, I’m all for camping out here until we can figure out what’s the best move to take, but we need to make sure we’ve got the basics. Ammo and food. We are running low, brother.”
“You’re preaching to the choir. I already know.”
“You can’t control everyone. This is way out of our hands. The only way this is going to work, is if we work together. The last thing you want is to have Scot and Jason gone.”
I held out my hand for the gun. I could see him shaking his head just a little as if some part of him was trying to cling to whatever remaining control he had. Reluctantly he tossed the Winchester rifle to me.
“We’ll be back soon.”
He laughed. “I’m giving you his gun to give back. I’m not giving you free rein to lead them into the next bad choice. I’m going with you.”
“Fair enough.”
Down on the ground floor, Scot was speaking with Jason. It didn’t look good. It was as if they were hatching some kind of plan to leave.
“Here.” I tossed him his gun, hoping that he would be pleased to get it back.
“We’re going on a run for ammo, then food,” Dax said.
Scot still had a hard scowl on his face.
“Listen, a few of us should stay here. No point in all of us going,” I said.
That went over like a wet paper bag. After they unwound the wire, everyone piled out.
“Or, we can all go,” I finished.
* * *
The gun store was a block and a half down from us on the other side of town. In between us were several burnt-out cars. Bodies were everywhere. There was no telling if they wou
ld rise as we navigated our way through them. It was like a fucking minefield of Z’s. Specs tied off the front of the bank so none of them could get in.
“We sprint it?” Specs said.
“We don’t have much choice,” Baja said.
It was true. There was no real way of doing this. You couldn’t exactly sneak along the side. There wasn’t enough cover. The moment we came out, Z’s were already heading our way. Their faces torn apart. Their groans filling the air.
“This is like Zombiegeddon, except these fuckers aren’t going to tear your tags off.”
“No. They are going to tear your balls off,” Specs replied.
“Fuck yeah,” Baja pumped the air with his fist like an overeager kid excited about obtaining a top score in a video game. I honestly don’t think he had fully clued into the danger that we were in.
“A block and a half, we can do this.”
We began to sprint. We started in a line, but then eventually formed into an arc. Scot was at the tail end, taking out any Z’s from behind. Dax led the way and Baja, well he was just all over the place, throwing out kicks as though this was a scene from Fists of Fury. Fucking guy had me in stitches. Though I was thoroughly convinced he had lost the plot when I saw him round house kick a zombie and the head flew off the Z’s shoulders.
“See that shit. That’s how we do it in the hood.”
“Dude, you are not even from the hood,” I said, shooting off round after round.
“What the fuck do you call this place?”