"That's right, Bad Betty, you tell them who's in charge now." He dropped it in gear and drove straight at the gathering mobs.
SPLURT. CRACK. BLARF. SPLAT.
Bad Betty bounced and rolled, turning zombies into pressurized toothpaste tubes. Fountains of blood, clumps of brain and organ, and shards of bone spun and sprayed from Betty's tires. Joey wore a malevolent, possessed grin as he drive in a wide circle, making four passes to mow down every last zombie in the area.
Dana whimpered in the front seat, clutching at her arm. "It fuckin' burns!"
Joey shook out of his anger-fueled redneck rampage. He turned out of the lot, heading for his parents' house outside of town. Red-treaded trails followed Bad Betty, a road leading to one of the greatest zombie massacres ever recorded.
"Dana, talk to me. What did you find out about the virus? Is there a chance you weren't infected?"
Dana licked her lips; she was sweating and looked pale. "Yeah, there's a slim chance, but I don't know enough to guess what that chance is."
"Tell me what you know--it might be important. It might help."
"I'm a nurse, Joey. I don't know much about how viruses and pathogens work on the cellular level." She shuddered and caught her breath. "It seemed to attack the nervous system, using it to shut down the organs. Doctor Hobbes was trying to figure it out when they started waking up."
Joey fished out a bottle of water and a candy bar, passing it over to Dana. "Try to eat, baby--please. At least drink the water."
"Okay," she replied in a hoarse voice. She opened the water and drank slowly, spilling some down her chin.
Shit… I'm losing her. Joey bit his lip. He wanted to scream and curse and run over more zombies. "What else did you find out, baby?"
"I can't remember. I'm so tired, Joey." She leaned against the door, drawing in ragged breaths.
"No you don't! Stay awake and talk to me." Joey yanked her over to him, keeping her upright with one arm.
"Whaddafuck," she moaned, swatting at his hand. She gave up and just let her head come to rest on the seatback.
"Dana, talk to me. What did Kelly think about it?"
"She thought it might be some kind of mutated bacteria. Something that existed in the body naturally."
"Then it might not have been something spread, like a germ, but something that changed things inside of us? What, like, radiation?"
"Mmm-hmmm." Dana was fading, barely able to keep her head from flopping around on the headrest.
"Come on, baby!" Joey shook her. "What could have caused a mutation of something in the human body?"
"I dunno, Joey. Kelly didn't have a chance to figure it out. They got her while she was trying to get out of the lab." Dana sipped the water, choking and coughing.
"Go slow, baby." Joey rubbed her back. "What do you think?"
"It could be radiation, but I dunno from what. Or maybe something in the food or water, some other pathogen that chan… mutat… uhhhhh…" Dana collapsed on Joey's lap. Her skin was cold and clammy.
"Baby, no!" Joey slammed the brakes. Bad Betty ground to a halt, ripping a swath of grass from someone's front lawn.
Joey lifted Dana to a sitting position, cupping her face in his hands. "Come on, Dana. Stay with me, baby!" He patted her cheeks and gently shook her. Her eyes rolled under the lids and opened briefly--they were bloodshot.
"I can't feel my arms," she murmured. Her breathing was erratic, coming in short gasps and long, pause-filled exhales. Dana's lips had traces of blue-black lines at the edges.
Joey unbuckled her, shifting her against his hip and holding her tight against his chest and shoulder. He kissed the top of her head, letting tears splash into her dirty blonde hair.
"Don't you die on me," he said. Joey squeezed her tight in darkness of the cabin. Bad Betty chortled and purred, but it wasn't the only noise Joey heard.
UHHHHH… GUHHHH…
The neighborhood vomited zombies from the close-built houses; some fell out of windows with a crash of glass. One of them clawed its way into the bed of Bad Betty. It started beating on the rear window of the cab; more were palm slapping and head-butting the doors.
Joey blocked it out, savoring a few precious moments with Dana--while she was still Dana. He kissed her head again and, keeping her held close, put Bad Betty into gear.
The truck bolted backwards, sending the zombie in the bed flying through the night. Joey slapped it into drive and rammed through the milling groups; the truck plopped over the curb and onto the street.
Joey tore through yards, crushing garden gnomes and splattering zombies, on his hell-bent drive out of downtown Wooneyville.
CHAPTER 10
Bad Betty tore up the driveway, taking the S-curve at a reckless speed, and ground to a halt inches from a closed garage door. Joey flung open the door, sliding Dana over his shoulder, and hopped out of the truck.
"Ma!" Joey kicked at the front door. "It's Joey! Open up!"
The door finally opened. A short, wiry-haired lady with thick spectacles stood in the backlit door. She had a double barrel leveled at Joey's chest.
"Put the fuckin' gun away, Ma--it's me!"
"Joey! You're alive!" The shock on her face turned into joy. Then she spotted Dana hanging lifeless in Joey's arms. "Dana! What the hell happened?"
"Long story, Ma." Joey shoved his way inside, passed through a sliding glass door, and laid Dana on the sofa. Candles were strewn around on tables, windowsills, and shelves. "She's sick, Ma. She got attacked and bit. I don't know… She's not doing good."
Joey stood up and his mom hugged him fiercely. She started hacking and sputtering on his shoulder, pulling away to grab the doorframe as the fit ran its course.
"You chain smokin' again, Gigi?" That was the family pet name for Joey's Ma, an affectionate reference to her full name: Gisele Giovanna.
"With all the shit that's going on out there! Hell yes I'm chain smoking!" She pulled a smoke from her apron pocket and lit up. "Good thing I have a stockpile in the garage." She took a deep pull and shook her head. "What are we going to do with Dana? What if she turns nutso on us?"
Joey helped himself to a smoke from Gigi's apron. "I'll deal with her when that time comes, Ma. Until then, I'm gonna lock her in the spare bedroom." Joey puffed on the smoke, letting the exhalation dribble out and up.
"Where the hell is everybody, Joey? I thought we told some people to come here if anything like this happened? Wasn't that your plan?" Gigi finished her cigarette, dousing it in the ashtray, and fished out another one.
"That was the plan, but plans get fucked up sometimes." Joey watched the smoke curl up; he equated humanity's existence to the smoldering tobacco--short and sweet.
"Did you hear from Matty?"
"Nah. I left him a message, but I dunno where the hell he is right now. I walked through hell to find her." He nodded at Dana.
The house was quiet.
"Where's Dad?"
"He went to the cabin with Marco yesterday." She didn't seem too concerned.
"What?! Have you tried to contact him?"
"Of course I did, Joey!" Gigi frowned and stomped into the kitchen. "He went there with two rifles, a shotgun, and his old revolver--and plenty of ammo!"
"Did you talk to him since this shit happened?" Joey sat down on one of the barstools surrounding the marble-topped island. "Is he coming home?"
Gigi took a long drag and stamped out the butt. "I don't know, Joey. I couldn't get him on the phone or the radio. But I know your father. If he can't get home, he'll hold up in the cabin."
Joey finished his smoke. "This is insane. Everyone I care about is scattered in this fuckin' madness." He got up and headed for the garage.
"Where are you going, Joey?" Gigi called, glancing nervously in Dana's direction.
"To use the radio, Ma." Joey opened the door to the garage and stepped down. He grabbed a flashlight from the shelf adjacent to the door and clicked it on.
Piles of spare parts, tools, bottled water, a
nd heaps of junk--most of it useful junk--decorated the garage. A beat-up SUV was in the left bay.
Joey picked his way through the unorganized piles and sat down at a worn workbench that ran the length of the wall at the back of the garage. He clicked on a mounted radio unit and picked up the mic.
"Smart monkey, this is Savage Beast--over." He fiddled with the dials, hunting for any signals. Static and warbling voices faded in and out. Joey flicked a switch and re-adjusted the dials. "Hank at the cabin, this is Joey at the house--over."
"…organized medical supplies and bunks on a first come, first serve basis."
The message faded to static; Joey turned the dials frantically, searching for a stable signal. He caught it and listened intently--it was a pre-recorded message.
"Red Cross and military personnel have established a refugee camp at Timmons National Guard Base at Garden Harbor. Citizens should proceed by any possible means to route 17 south, crossing highway 419, and continue past the Old Moss Campgrounds. The camp has organized medical supplies and bunks on a first come, first serve basis. Personal firearms and anyone with medical or military training is urgently needed. Message repeats."
Joey scribbled down the message, noting the directions given, and returned to scanning the frequencies. He repeated the calls for 'Smart monkey'--Matty's self-given handle--and 'Hank at the cabin'.
"Joey!" Gigi shuffled into the garage, shotgun in hand. "Dana is moaning and twisting around on the couch--she's freaking me out!"
"Shit. All right, get over here and listen for anything from Matty or Dad." Joey hopped off the stool and sidled past Gigi. He checked the safety on his Glock before entering the living room.
Dana was curled in a ball, shivering and twitching. As Joey stepped closer, her eyes popped open and focused on him.
Joey froze. He couldn't breathe. Say something, baby. Tell me you're still human. He licked his lips; his body tensed; sweat beaded on his forehead.
Dana groaned--a long, mournful sound that rolled out of her throat.
No. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck--
"Jo… Joey…" Her voice was barely audible. "I'm fucking freez-z-z-zing." Her lips were blue and her body shook.
Joey knelt down and stroked her brow. "Okay, I'm going to carry you upstairs and get you warm." He put his arms under her and lifted Dana off the sofa. It was like carrying an ice sculpture.
"Bathroom," she moaned. "Right n-n-now." Her stomach heaved and a foul reek came from her mouth.
Joey detoured to the upstairs bathroom and got her at the toilet as the first wave of vomiting hit. Dana's head was half in the toilet as green and brown puke splashed up and out of the can. Joey stepped back, pulling his shirt collar over his nose and mouth.
Dana gasped, wrapping an arm around the bowl. She sputtered and spit between breaths. Joey stepped forward to help her get cleaned up--she retched again, barfing copious amounts of rotten-smelling brew with the texture of spoiled porridge.
"Fuck!" She growled in the bowl. "I can't… I can't…" She twitched, burped, and threw up again. "Oh God… what the fuck…" She spat and dry-heaved a few times.
Joey took a chance and helped her up. The smell was downright offensive. Vomit was splashed and painted on her face, hair, neck, chest, and upper arms; it oozed over the side of the toilet and pooled on the fluffy blue carpet wrapped around the porcelain base. The bowl was full.
Dana was whimpering as Joey lowered her into the tub. He stripped her clothes and started mopping her clean with a hot, damp towel. She burped and heaved a few times, causing Joey to jump back with the towel raised like a shield.
"That was obscene, baby." Joey lifted her from the tub and helped her slip into a bathrobe.
"Tell me about it." She managed a weak smile.
"I'm gonna get you to bed, then get you some water. Okay?"
Dana nodded, her eyes shut, as Joey lifted her into the soft twin bed.
"You want some music, baby?" With the two generators, Hank and Gigi's was a resort in this madness. Joey put in some easy listening, tapping the repeat button.
"Thank you," Dana whispered, brushing his face with her hand.
"Get some rest. I'll put a couple bottles of water by the bed."
"Okee-dokee." She was snoring softly before Joey was out the door.
He looked at the handle, deciding whether to lock it or not. She seemed to turn around after hurling, he thought. What if it's a calm before the storm? He bit his lip, spinning the key between his fingers. I can't risk it.
He locked the door.
Joey trumped downstairs, hooking a quick turn, and descended a narrow staircase to the basement. He walked to the far corner, approaching a massive wrought-iron safe standing in the corner.
The dial spun and clicked. Joey pulled the handle and swung the doors open.
"That's what I'm talking about!" A boyish grin erupted on his face.
The cabinet bristled with rifles, shotguns, pistols, revolvers, and oodles of ammo. Leaning in the corner, wrapped in black cloth, was a slender shape. Joey reached in and lifted it out. He untied a knot and let the cloth fall to the floor.
The cord-wrapped handle felt good. Joey gripped it tight and slid the sword free from its polished black scabbard. The blade caught the light and glinted.
"You're thirsty, aren't you?" He lifted it to eye-level and inhaled the scent of oiled metal. Joey gave it a few swings before sliding it back into the scabbard. He fixed the scabbard and ornate knot through his belt and returned to the toy chest.
Joey grabbed a brown duffel bag and stuffed it with shotgun shells, 10mm rounds, and plenty of magazines. He unclipped a shotgun from the rack and cradled it affectionately. It took a year--even with his employee discount--to save up the cash to buy the auto-loading, 10-round capacity smoothbore monstrosity.
He called it Zeus, because it brought the thunder.
Joey popped a round in the chamber, cocked it, and loading nine more magnum shells in the underside. He slung the strap over his head and patted the stock.
"Joey!" Gigi yelled from upstairs.
Loaded with his Glock, samurai sword, a duffel bag of ammo, and Zeus, Joey powered up the stairs. He bolted to the garage. Gigi wasn't near the radio, she was standing at the garage door, looking outside.
Oh shit. Joey heard the first guttural groans just outside the doors and realized they must have followed Bad Betty's noisy ass all the way across Wooneyville.
"There's five of them in the driveway, Joey!" Gigi's raspy voice was filled with stress. She adjusted her grip on the double barrel and looked at Joey.
"If we start shooting, we're gonna have a ton more attracted to the noise." Joey put down his duffel bag and leaned Zeus against the door.
"What are we going to do? We can't let them just walk around there! They'll realize someone's home--if they don't already." Gigi backed away from the door and moved into the house. She fished out a cigarette from her apron and sat at the kitchen island, shotgun in her lap.
"I'll handle them, Ma." Joey drew his sword and moved to the garage walk-in door. Two pieces of lumber blocked the door, threaded through iron rings. He pulled the first beam free and started on the second one when the radio squawked.
"Joe? It's Hank at the cabin--over."
"Dad!"
"Hank!"
Joey and Gigi both made for the radio. The zombies did, too. They rushed the garage doors, crashing against the aluminum slats in a wave. Dull, hollow cries and sporadic groans filled the night outside.
The walk-in door banged--the second beam, half-pulled out by Joey, perched precariously on the edge of the securing ring.
Sword in one hand, Joey ran to the door as Gigi scooted to the radio.
He saw it in slow motion: the door banged twice, the beam slid out and clunked to the ground. Rotted fingers gripped the frame and milky, bloodshot eyes appeared in the doorway.
Of course, the one in front wasn't shambling. It charged Joey, mouth hanging open, and was followed by three mor
e moving a bit faster than a walk.
"Ma, get over here!" Joey drew the Glock from his hip and fired three hollow-points into the charging flesh-eater. It twitched and moaned; the first two rounds blasted through its chest--then it collapsed at Joey's feet, showering him with brain and skull fragments as the third round hit it in the nose.
Joey swung the sword in upward arc, slicing a zombie in half through its armpit and out the right ear. Two others were on him, grabbing clothes and biting at his arm as Joey fired at point-blank range. The shot went off almost in the creature's mouth, bathing another zombie behind it in gory explosion.
Gigi blased off both chambers, clearing the walk-in door, and clicked the barrel open to reload.
"Shut the door, Ma!" Joey yelled, stomping a zombie's kneecap and swinging the blade horizontally through its face. He popped a cap in the last one, rushing to help Gigi with the door.
She put the shotgun down and pushed the door shut. Gigi bent down to pick up a beam and the door shuddered, sending Joey's Ma down on her left hip. She yelped and reached for the shotgun as a zombie shoved at the door. Joey ran up and thrust the sword into the three-inch crack, skewering the fiend through its left eye.
Joey kicked the door shut, hoisted a beam, and slid it through the rungs. The door banged, but the second beam was in place immediately after the first.
"You okay, Ma?" Joey helped her up. She grimaced, rubbing her hip, and scooped up her shotgun.
"I'm not that frail, Joey. Those shitheads don't know who they're messing with!" She popped two rounds in the open barrels and snapped it shut.
Joey couldn't help but laugh. "You'd probably taste too bitter for 'em, Ma."
"Hey! Watch it, kiddo. You aren't too old for some wood to the ass."
Joey raised his hands. "Sure, Ma."
The radio warbled. "This is Hank at the cabin. Gigi, you still there?"
They rushed over to the bench; Gigi scooped up the mic.
"Yeah, Hank, we're here. Had some company, but we asked them to leave." She laughed a hoarse, barking laugh that turned into a hacking cough.
Zombified (Episode 1): Wooneyville) Page 5