Zombified (Episode 1): Wooneyville)

by Matt Di Spirito

  The extinguisher stayed in place. Joey made an adjustment, making sure it would hold up long enough to give him a head start.

  He unsnapped the cargo pocket on his pants and pulled out the first aid kit he had found at the fire station. Inside the plastic case there was gauze, tape, antiseptic wipes, antibiotic ointment, and adhesive bandages.

  Joey tore open the gauze and pressed it to his brow; he held it tight while tearing off several lengths of tape. He squeezed a packet of ointment onto a wad of gauze and swapped it with the bloodied one from his head; he tossed the used gauze onto the landing of the stairs above.

  Let's hope they're attracted to blood. After securing the bandages to his head with four lengths of tape, Joey snapped the kit closed and slid it into his pocket. He glanced at the evacuation map posted near the extinguisher mount.

  "How many of these shit-heads could be in storage?"

  The stairwell door banged and thumped--the extinguisher rattled but held.

  "Shut the fuck up, will ya! I'm trying to think here!" Joey flipped the bird at the bumping door. "All right… the loading dock it is." He started down the stairs, Glock and machete in hand.

  Where the hell could she be? He ran though everything she said the last time he talked with her.

  Her voice filled his mind: "…even Kelly is at a loss." Kelly was Dana's best friend--'chums' was the word Dana used--and if Dana were alive, she'd be with Kelly.

  Joey stopped at the bottom landing; the sign posted next to the door read 'Storage & Janitorial'. He turned the handle and flung it open, gun and blade at the ready. Nothing stirred in the corridor.

  He followed the map, turning twice, and came to the storage room entrance. The door was locked.

  Ten feet back, next to the restrooms, was an employee locker room. Joey entered it and started rummaging through the lockers, looking for keys--or something to use as a key.

  "Ah, shit!" He slammed a locker shut. "One small iota of luck would be nice!" He glanced at the ceiling, shaking his fist. "A key--that's all! Just a key! That would be fanfuckintastic right now!"

  He saw it in the periphery--a shape, maybe a person. Joey spun right, Glock in hand, and froze. His brows scrunched up. "What the…"

  It wasn’t a zombie--at least not the kind he had seen thus far. It was a corpse. It was charred to the bone; there was little, if any, flesh or hair left. It didn't moan, breathe, or make its existence known in any way.

  It took a sliding step towards Joey.

  The cemetery! He remembered the cops firing towards walking corpses--some of them looking as bad as this guy. Where the hell did it come from?

  It slid forward, arms dangling, mouth half-open. The reek of scorched meat and fried hair filled the room. Joey gagged and pulled his tee shirt up, covering his face.

  This ass-clown just walked out of the morgue, didn't he? How the hell… Joey sidestepped and maneuvered around the barbecued body; it stopped and rotated to face him. It doesn't have any eyes! How the fuck can it see me?

  Joey brought the machete down on its skull. The blade tore a trench, cutting to the sternum through bone and strands of molten flesh. Joey wrenched the machete free. A charred hand reached up and snagged Joey's shirt.

  "Whoa!" Joey spun away and backed up. "You gotta be kiddin' me!" He drove a boot into its midsection, propelling it into the lockers. It rolled off the adjoining bench and onto the floor; it corkscrewed, grasping the carpet and reaching out for Joey.

  He got the hell out of there.

  Two shots from the Glock shattered the lock on the door. Joey went into the storage area, his thoughts a jumble of horror and confusion.

  He hacked down two zombies outside the loading dock and headed for the tree line behind the medical center. Kelly's house was three or four blocks west, in a fairly new residential strip--he'd been there often enough with Dana, knocking back beers and playing poker.

  Straight-up infected flesh-eating maggots I can grasp--I can deal with them, he thought, but these headshots-don't-kill-me bastards… This is some shit.

  Re-loading the Glock, he headed west, keeping to the trees.

  CHAPTER 6

  Kelly's house was in sight, four lots down, behind a waist-high wooden fence. Zombies strolled down the sidewalks, looking like pedestrians bringing the dog out for a walk. Most of them were shamblers, staggering awkwardly and stumbling on curbs and steps, but some moved with predatory speed, hurtling fences and clambering over parked cars.

  Joey bent over, hands on his knees, trying to suppress a coughing fit--running three blocks with smoker's lungs has a price. I miss my truck. He winced, a sharp pain stabbing between his ribs. Why the hell didn't I take one of the abandoned cars? He stood up and chuckled softly. Because you're a fuckin' moron, Joe--that's why. Usually, he blamed mental lapses on the copious amount of weed inhaled during his teenage exploits.

  The clip was topped off. Joey checked the five remaining magazines before pulling the slide back and chambering a round. He hefted the machete and made his way through Kelly's neighborhood.

  Each house occupied a lot of equal dimensions to all the others, and every house had a wooden fence complete with a mailbox mounted on a pole. There were no lights shining in any of the houses.

  Joey skidded down a shallow grassy hill and onto the sidewalk. Staying in a crouch, he shuffled behind a sky blue minivan--he was directly across the street from Kelly's home. There were two undead in the street; both were drag-assing in the same direction--away from Joey. He waited until they were a comfortable distance away.

  His back hit against the vinyl siding a little louder than he liked. Joey squeezed his body into the shadows. The flesh-eaters kept ambling away, apparently waiting for a dinner bell.

  The house had a back door, a basement bulkhead, and a wraparound porch that led to the front entrance. He stretched up and peered in the back window.

  ROOF-GRRRRR-ROOF-ROOF!

  Bloody-eyed and foaming at the fangs, the mutt banged its snout into the glass as if tapping out a message in Morse code. Its claws scratched on the sill--the noise made Joey's neck cramp.

  Her dog has seen better days. Joey backed away from the window. He remembered being at Kelly's house--not more than four days ago--playing cards and tossing potato chips to the very dog now snarling for his blood.

  A fast-mover careened over the wooden fence and hurtled in Joey's direction. He aimed and fired; the 10mm round tore the zombie's neck off. The headless body came forward, arms flailing, and hit the grass with a heavy thud; the head flew back, bounced off a fire hydrant and rolled down the street.

  All the zombies in the neighborhood turned in Joey's direction.

  Well doesn't this suck, he thought. Drawing the machete, Joey rounded the house and took the front steps three at a time. The door was locked. Low moans punctuated the air behind him: a four-pack of zombies--all women--staggered towards the house.

  Joey turned and booted the door: it swung open, cracking against the interior wall. He stepped into the darkened house, gun raised.

  "Dana! If you're in here, baby, make some noise!"

  A guttural snarl came from atop the stairs. Kelly's daughter Anna, barely a teenager, erupted from a bedroom and fixed crimson eyes on Joey.

  He raised the Glock.

  She tumbled down the first half of the stairs, snarling and gurgling.

  Joey's finger eased up on the trigger. All he could see was the bubbly, air-headed younger version of Kelly--the girl who batted lashes at him every time he stopped by.

  She righted herself and sprang off the stairs, gory hands outstretched.

  This shit ain't right, he thought; but he yelled, "Sonnabitch!" and the gun went off. Anna's body went head-over-heels backward, crashing into the stairs. Joey turned away, tasting bile in his throat. He shut his eyes as the headless body thumped to the lower landing.

  The dog leapt at his throat--Joey's momentary revulsion nearly cost his life. He swung the machete reflexively, cleaving the pooch in
two. The upper half snapped and snarled, clawing with forepaws, still trying to get at the fresh meat.

  Joey brought the machete down, hewing the mutt's head off. The jaws continued snapping, slowing to a stop. He turned in time to put a round in the face of a pajama-clad woman on the doorstep.

  "Dana! Last call, baby!"

  BANG! BANG!

  Two more zombies fell on the front porch, spraying skull on the rails and steps.

  Right next to the door, Joey spotted a set of keys hanging on a decorated rack.

  Please be car keys! Joey grabbed them--one was stamped 'Ford'--and he stepped outside. A single-car garage attached to the house was closed. Joey pounded down the steps and hopped the fence. He emptied the clip, mowing down a knot of zombies gathered on the sidewalk, and reloaded.

  One of the keys fit the garage door; he flung it open. A beat-up pickup, bed piled full of junk, sat inside. He opened the door and got in.

  It wanted to start but choked out at the last second.

  "Unfuckinbelievable!" He smacked the steering wheel. "Go ahead, soon-to-be-a-zombie lady, get in this perfectly driveable car and wait for help!" He turned the key again, getting the same result. "You couldn't get in the car yourself, could ya Joe? Nah, that would've made sense!" On the third try, the engine roared to life.

  An obese face, both chins dribbling blood and meat, bumped into the driver-side window. Joey jumped sideways, swearing, and managed to lock the door.

  The sliding window, giving view to the truck bed, was ajar. Joey was in perfect position after scuttling away from the fat zombie: a gray-haired, near-toothless zombie climbed onto the back and tore at the window. One arm and half of his head pressed into the cabin, snagging a handful of Joey's hair.

  It started chewing on his hair. The fat one was head-butting the window, smearing slime and snot in grotesque shapes. Another one appeared at the passenger side, trying to climb up onto the roof.

  Joey yanked his head free, losing a clump of hair, and drove the machete into the zombie head stuck in the rear window. He gave it a shove, ejecting the fiend onto the truck bed. The machete was stuck in its face.

  Sliding back behind the wheel, Joey put the truck in gear and blew out of the garage. He crushed a few zombies in his wake. The fat lady jiggled out of the garage, flexing her pudgy fingers and squawking like an overfed pigeon.

  Joey popped it in drive and sped off. His machete tumbled out of the bed, still embedded in the zombie that had eaten his hair.

  "Think, Joe, think! Where the hellshit could she be?"

  He took the phone out, but tossed it on the dashboard. She doesn't have a phone anymore. He ran through the list of mutual friends but couldn't come up with a good reason why she'd be with any of them and not with Kelly.

  Maybe she found the house in the same condition I did… maybe she went back home. He pulled the cigarettes out and lit one up.

  He cleared the residential neighborhood, heading south towards the west side of Wooneyville. The park passed by on his left. Scattered groups of zombies--kids, adults, and old folks--wandered around at will. He saw zombified cops, firemen, store clerks, and even a couple of gang-bangers complete with colored bandanas.

  The grocery store came into view. Joey saw the flash and then heard the shot. Someone was on the roof with a rifle. There was a sizeable horde of zombies pressing in on the two main entrances, but they weren't making any progress.

  Someone on the roof flashed a light at him. Shit! Maybe she got inside! He turned into the lot, mowing down rows of shambling corpses.

  CHAPTER 7

  The loading dock door opened as he pulled up. Two guys with tire irons cleared out a few zombies trying to climb up on the dock. Joey parked close enough to clamber out the driver-side window, and one of the guys hauled him up.

  The overhead door shut with a bang. Both of the guys were middle-aged, one taller than the other, and they wore the store uniform.

  "Night stockers?" Joey asked.

  They both nodded. The taller one extended his hand; Joey shook it.

  "My name's Gino. This is Todd. We got eleven people in here: six employees and five customers."

  Todd nodded. "Yeah, the first of these zombie fucks comes in and starts chewing on a customer--that didn't go too well!" Todd snickered.

  "We starts piling up carriages and display cases at the main entrances--after locking the doors up, of course--and then they starts coming by the dozens!" Gino's eyes widened. "I couldn't believe what I was seeing! They was eatin' people right in the parking lot!"

  "Yeah, yeah! We even tried throwing some meat out there to distract them, so as people could get away, ya know? It didn't work… they didn't even pay attention when we threw out the pork loins." Todd shook his head.

  Joey raised his hands, trying to stop their torrent of chatter.

  "Sounds like quite a night, guys. Look, I'm trying to find a woman about my height with long blonde hair and huge tits." Joey stretched his hands out in an approximate triple-D shape. "You seen anyone like her in here--or anywhere?"

  Gino and Todd glanced at each other.

  "I think I'd remember if I seen a girl with knockers like that!" Todd grinned.

  "I don't know if she was part of the mobs out front though… sorry if she was." Gino shrugged.

  "I haven't had much luck finding her or her car. She was working at the medical center, but her car wasn't there when I showed up." Joey looked around the back room. Most of the inventory was still on palettes, waiting to be brought out.

  "Hey man, if you need anything, help yourself!" Gino waved around the room. "Most of this crap's going bad soon--what with the power out and all."

  "Thanks, guy. I'll grab something to eat and something for the road."

  Joey rummaged through the inventory, chugging chocolate milk, and grabbed some packaged junk along with a few bottles of water.

  "Say, what kind of car did your girl drive? Maybe we can check the lot and see if it's out there?" Todd offered.

  "Not a bad idea. Lead the way."

  Joey followed Todd to a metal staircase that wound up above the receiving area. They crossed a catwalk and entered a hallway. Todd clicked on a flashlight and led Joey to a ladder bolted against the wall. A metal hatch was open above.

  He climbed out onto the roof. A tall, lanky guy with a handlebar moustache walked over. He had a rifle shouldered.

  "What's the word, man? I'm Jean. Glad to see another living face."

  "I'll second that, Jean. I'm Joey." They shook hands. "Nice piece you got there. Is it a .30-06?"

  "Sure is." Jean handed it to Joey. "Oddly enough, I picked it up from Bullseye yesterday morning. Bought a boatload of ammo, too. I didn't know why at the time, but now it makes sense."

  "Hell yeah, it does! I work over at Bullseye, but I was playing hookie yesterday."

  Joey worked the action on the rifle, checking the sights, and handed it back to Jean. "Good choice. That's a helluva gun."

  Jean slung it over his shoulder. "What brings you out here? You hunkering down where the food is?"

  "No. Actually, I'm looking for my girlfriend. She was working dogwatch at the medical center, but I can't find any sign of her or her car."

  Joey walked to the edge of the roof and scanned the parking lot. Dana's booger was nowhere to be seen. "It's a green two-door coupe. It's hard to miss."

  Jean grabbed his arm. "A small green car whizzed past this store about twenty minutes before you got here. It didn't stop, just blew by heading south."

  Joey felt his heart rocket into his throat. "You're sure?"

  "I'm positive. It was the only car I'd seen for a while, and it was hard to mistake for anything else."

  "Shit! She must've been going home!" Joey sprinted to the hatch and bolted down the ladder. "I should've gone with my gut! Damnit, Joe!" He plunged, half-falling, along the metal stairs and into the loading dock.

  "Whoa, man, where ya going?" Gino rushed up as Joey opened the loading dock door. "Watch
it!"

  Zombies pawed at Joey's legs, struggling to clamber into the stockroom. Joey kicked them away and slid into the truck window. Gino clubbed at the zombies with his tire iron. Todd ran up and yanked on the garage door. A couple of flesh-eaters scampered into the stockroom as the door slammed shut.

  Joey mowed down more of them as he swerved away, smoke billowing from the tires. He tore through the lot, bumping and bouncing over bodies, and swung out into the street. He punched the gas; the engine whined in protest.

  "Come on, you piece of shit!" Joey white-knuckled the wheel, sweat pouring down his neck and back. He crushed the pedal down, trying to drive it through the floor, but the truck wouldn't break fifty. "It figures the only car I ever steal is the one that can't break any speed limits!"

  Joey didn't slow up as he approached Market Circle--a broad roundabout lined with restaurants, small businesses, and bars. The light was red when he spun through, following the roadway around the multi-level parking garage in the center of the circle.

  He turned the corner at the entrance to the garage and smashed into a wall of bodies and vehicles. The truck wouldn't stop; momentum carried him forward and Joey's torso was crushed against the wheel, knocking the wind out of him.

  He gasped; the zombies fought through the debris, homing in on him. There were so many of them, and they were dressed to kill. Blood dripped from painted lips and ran red over the collar of hundred-dollar shirts. Joey watched the nightlife of Wooneyville in their element.

  The three-story nightclub, Riverfront, was dead ahead. To the right of Riverfront ran the Blackstone River, complete with a fifty-foot waterfall. He heard the roar of thousands of gallons hammering on rock. There was no way over the bridge, no way back to his apartment--not in a truck, anyway.

  He leaned back in the seat, rubbing tender ribs. He saw stars swirling at the edges of sight.

  They closed in… no less than a hundred of them. As a clump of zombies broke apart around a tangle of vehicles, Joey spotted Dana's car. The booger was wrapped around a telephone pole at the mouth of the bridge; the door was open, the interior lights on.