Kelly screamed and backed up a few steps.
Dana slapped one of the reaching hands away and managed to grab the pistol still strapped to the cop's hip. She pulled it out, clicked the safety off (just like Joey taught her), and held it in both hands.
She squinted, lining up the policeman's head--
BANG!
He stopped reaching for her and flopped on the desk, a lifeless shell oozing dark red gummy blood on the floor.
Dana breathed deep, steadying her nerves; the gun was rattling and shaking in her hands. She turned to Kelly, who was ten paces away standing outside a patient's room with her hands pressed to her ears.
"Kelly, get over here right now!"
Kelly looked to the employee entrance at the end of the hall. "Let's go, Dana!"
"Kelly, get over here! You're standing outside the room that--"
GRRRRAAAAR!
Mr. Peterson grabbed a fistful of Kelly's hair and hauled her inside the room. Her screams echoed and filled the corridors of the medical center.
Dana felt tears flood down her cheeks as she darted in the room, gun raised, and saw Kelly kicking and screaming as Mr. Peterson bit into her face, ripping a slab of cheek off. He slurped it down, chewing and gurgling.
BANG!
Dana blew his head off. The body fell forward.
Kelly screeched and shoved it off her. Blood sprayed from her cheek and flowed freely down her neck and into her cleavage.
"Dana, my face! Oh God, my face!" She screamed and cried, alternating between the two, until the pain and blood loss was too much. Kelly turned pale and her lips became blue-black.
Dana had shut and barred the door. She helped Kelly onto a bed and bandaged the missing cheek.
Kelly passed out and Dana couldn't get her to wake up.
The door lurched. Milky eyes and gore-spotted teeth pressed against the small window.
Dana choked on her tears, gasping and crying.
"What the fuck do I do?" She yelled out loud. Her lungs were on fire.
Calm down, girl, she told herself. Your inhaler is at the desk, so you have to calm down.
After a few minutes, she was breathing normally. There were two creatures at the door--one of them looked like Dr. Hobbes.
Dana walked to the window and wrenched it open. It didn't go far enough to allow her to escape. She picked up a chair and swung it overhead.
The window cracked.
She swung again and again until the window gave way and broke into pieces. Dana used the chair to clear out the glass.
She wasn't too high from the ground and the parking lot was within sight. Her snot-green two-door sat in the corner spot under a light--which was, of course, not working at this time.
Dana stepped up on the windowsill, carefully angling her body out the window. She shimmied down, hanging from the exterior ledge. It was about seven or eight feet to the grass embankment below.
"Come on, girl, it's not that far!" She looked down. "I'm such a wuss."
UHHHH…
She looked up and saw Kelly stagger to the window, eyes rolled back and tongue lolling out the side of her mouth. Kelly groaned and grabbed Dana's hand through the window.
Dana yanked and let go, falling to the grass.
She got up without a scratch. Kelly climbed through the window and fell face-first to the ground with a sickening thud.
Dana turned and ran to the parking lot.
Kelly got up, her leg bent backwards, and hobbled after her former friend.
Dana fumbled with the keys, distracted by Kelly's approach, and finally managed to unlock the door. She got in and started the booger car.
Kelly climbed on the hood as Dana backed up.
She spun the wheel and floored it; Kelly spun off the hood and hit the pavement. Dana didn't look back. She was crying, but she was alive.
The cop's gun sat in the passenger seat.
She pulled out of the parking lot and saw the mass of zombies pressing into the medical center, attacking fleeing patients and banging on the cars of people pulling up in search of medical attention.
Dana took a different street, watching the undead in her rear-view mirror.
The impact made her jump and slam the brakes.
A zombie tumbled off the right side, getting tangled in the front wheel. Part of the creature broke off--it looked like an arm--and bounced off the passenger door.
Dana backed up, trying to get the zombie out from under her car. She pulled forward, hearing a thump-thump and saw a still-moving carcass on the road behind her.
She set her jaw.
"Fuck you!"
And she put the booger in reverse, splattering the zombie's brain on her rear window.
The washer fluid didn't make a dent on the mess.
APPENDIX B
Bullseye Survivors
Fran dragged Rick inside, slamming the door. He deposited the crybaby against the counter and proceeded to search for ammo and magazines.
"He's dead, jackass!" Fran barked at Rick. "Make yourself useful and barricade the door."
Rick didn't move. Fran snorted. He hitched his drawers up, pulling them over the bottom roll of his gut.
From a display case, Fran grabbed a bunch of fixed-blade knives. He walked to the door and drove the knives into the frame along the top, side, and bottom.
"That should give us a little while to arm up." Fran returned to the counter and started loading 5.56 rounds into the AR15.
"Rick, if you don't have your shit together when I'm done, then I'm leavin' your ass. Got it?" Fran kicked Rick in the leg.
"Johnny's fucking dead, man!" Rick looked towards the door.
"Do you wanna be dead, too?"
Rick shook his head.
"Then get your sorry ass up and start loading some guns!" He yanked Rick by the collar, choking him. Rick scurried up, sputtering and choking.
Fran handed him a pistol and a shotgun. Rick started loading rounds into the weapons.
Outside the door, they heard chewing and grunting.
"Looks like the Johnny buffet is in town," Fran said. He shouldered the AR15 and walked to the door, leaning to the side to peer out the windows. "Shit. There's two of 'em feasting on Johnny's balls, and there's more coming."
Fran grabbed boxes of bullets, filling his pockets.
"Where are we gonna go?" Rick asked.
"First of all, we need to get out here. I say we hit the basement, blast any of these things down there, and go out that way."
"What if there's no way out the basement? Why don't we go upstairs and try the fire escape?"
"Not a bad idea, Ricky-dick." Fran clapped him on the back.
The basement door thumped and the eating noises outside stopped.
"Fuck." Fran said it as the front door bulged inward, multiple arms beating on it.
They made for the narrow stairwell behind the cash register. Fran squeezed his way in, sideways, and got to the top--the blue-painted door was locked.
Bullseye's main entrance cracked and shattered; zombie groans and moans filled the building.
"Oh man, whadda we do? Whadda we do!" Rick raised the pistol, his hands trembling violently.
"I'm gettin' out of here," Fran said. He kicked Rick in the back, sending him sprawling down the stairs.
Rick screamed as the zombies jumped on him, tearing the flesh from his bones.
Fran pumped two rounds into the door and booted it open.
The small apartment was well furnished. Fran jogged to the window, searching for the fire escape.
"You gotta be kiddin' me!"
He couldn't find the escape.
Fran pushed open a window and stuck his head out. It was fifteen or twenty feet down to the concrete sidewalk. Rusted holes indicated where the fire escape used to be.
The apartment door swung open with a bang. Fran spun around. Zombies came into the apartment with pieces of Rick hanging from their lips.
Fran tightened his grip on the gun.
He started firing, dropping the creatures one by one; some of them tumbled back down the stairs. He emptied the clip and pulled a fresh one from his pocket.
Gunshots attracted zombies.
The park, not all that far away, was full of zombies.
Fran stood at the top of the stairs, blasting zombies until he ran out of bullets.
He had the sense of mind to save one last bullet.
APPENDIX C
The Supermarket Aftermath
Jean heard Joey's pick-up roar out of the loading dock. He watched it mow down a clump of zombies.
From down the hatch, Jean heard Gino and Todd hollering for help.
"I'm on the way!" Jean jumped down the hatch, sprinted down the wallway, and came out on the catwalk with his rifle ready.
Gino and Todd had managed to close the bay door, but there were six or seven zombies in the stockroom. Todd was down with bloody foam spilling out of his mouth. Gino was beating off a zombie with a tire iron.
Other survivors came into the stockroom with hand weapons.
Jean couldn't get a clean shot.
He picked off one that was hunched over Todd, eating his thigh. Jean figured that Todd was done for, so it didn't much matter.
It didn't look too good. Gino was bitten on the forearm as he struggled to get away from two of zombies. Someone from the front came in to help, but he walked right into one of them and got his nose torn off.
A lady swinging a golf club did some damage, beating the tar out of a zombie near the milk deliveries.
As she raised the club for a sixth blow, a zombie chomped down her breast and ripped off the nipple--or close to it. She looked down at the squirting hole in horror; her mouth hung open but was not making a sound.
Jean took down another as it went after the wounded Gino.
Two of them went into the main store area. There were still two of them tangling with four people in the stockroom.
Gino grappled with a zombie, trying to keep its teeth away from his face. They twirled around the stockroom, knocking over stacks of canned food and jugs of orange juice.
They fell together, crashing over a bin of flour, and Gino's tire iron hit the door release for the loading dock.
Zombies climbed inside the stockroom before the door was halfway up. Jean watched in horror as Gino was eaten alive and a dozen zombies overwhelmed the people below.
Jean fired four times, killing four zombies, and then lowered his weapon.
One of the zombies spotted him and howled. It loped up the stairs, one arm hanging lower than the other did.
Jean scurried away, down the hall, and back up. He shut and locked the hatch.
The parking lot filled with zombies. Whether attracted by the calls of other undead, the gunshots, or Joey's truck, there were hundreds surrounding the building.
Jean sat down in his white lawn chair. A stack of .30-06 ammo boxes was piled nearby. A flashlight, pair of binoculars, and a cooler full of soft drinks were scattered about the chair.
All around him, the night was full of moaning and shuffling.
Jean sat there for a long time, staring up at the stars and facing his loneliness.
Eventually he took his rifle, loaded it up to capacity, and chambered a round. He took aim and fired, blasting a zombie's skull apart.
Jean took his time reloading, singing to himself a song of better times.
At the right pace, he had enough bullets to last a week.
APPENDIX D
Hank at the cabin
"That's not looking so good, Marco." Hank pointed at the bit mark on Marco's hand. "I told ya not to try getting to the dock."
"All right, Hank." Marco scowled. "Don't rub it in."
"Well, the generator's almost empty so I'll start on the fire." Hank got up and moved to the fireplace, grabbing an armful of logs from the stack on the mantel.
"Hank, I'm going to the shed to gas up the generator."
Hank dropped the wood and pointed a finger at Marco.
"If you think I'm letting you go out there and get your arm ripped off, you're out of your mind!"
"Hank, I can't stay in here." Marco looked at the windows. "I can hear them outside and it's driving me crazy."
"Marco--"
Marco interrupted him with a wave of the hand. "I'll take my rifle. Don't fret, Hank. I'll be back in a few minutes."
Hank watched his old friend saunter to the front door and slip outside, his hunting rifle cradled in one arm.
"I have to get these windows boarded up," Hank said. He got a fire going and started gathering up boards and nails.
Twenty minutes later--when Marco still hadn't come back--Hank climbed to the attic. He pushed open the window and clambered onto the roof. It was nearly pitch black outside. The full moon cast eerie shadows over the woodland.
"Marco!" Hank called out, picking his way to the rear side of the cabin. The tool shed stood ten yards back. The shed door was shut, and Marco was nowhere to be seen.
Below him, in the rear bedroom, Hank heard the radio squawk. He couldn't make out the voices.
He called to Marco again--no reply.
The shed door swung open. Marco lumbered out. He didn't have the rifle with him and he didn't look well.
Zombies picked up on Hank's yelling and started gathering at the edge of the cabin, reaching up for the roof.
Marco joined them, groaning and spitting teeth.
"Marco, you dumb coot." Hank turned and carefully found his back to the attic.
He boarded up the rest of the cabin and walked to the back room. He plopped down on the bench and fired up the radio.
"Joe? It's Hank at the cabin--over."
AUTHOR'S NOTE
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Discover other work by Matt Di Spirito at www.myrmidya.net
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Look for "Zombified, Episode 2: Yankee Heights" in paperback and e-book.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilogue
Appendix A: Dana at the Medical Center
Appendix B: Bullseye Survivors
Appendix C: The Supermarket Aftermath
Appendix D: Hank at the cabin
Author's Note
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilogue
Appendix A: Dana at the Medical Center
Appendix B: Bullseye Survivors
Appendix C: The Supermarket Aftermath
Appendix D: Hank at the cabin
Author's Note
Zombified (Episode 1): Wooneyville) Page 8