“This is New Hampshire boy, we’s all rednecks.”
“Sorry, evil rednecks.”
“Son, I’m tellin’ you—”
“No Dick, I’m sorry, but I’m telling you. You can’t stay here. Not in a town full of—”
“Sickies?” interrupted Ernie.
“They’re not sick, guys. They’re dead.”
It was their turn for sideways glances. Ernie folded his hands, put his elbows on his knees and looked at me. “Now I know we just met and all, but are you touched, boy?”
Dick did the opposite of Ernie and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. He shook his head. “Dead folks don’t get up and walk around.”
I stood. “They do now. I’ve seen them crawling around with half of them missing. No insides. No heart or lungs. You getting the picture? There’s no way they could be alive. Well, not all of them. The ones that run, they’re alive, but the moment you shoot one, it dies and gets back up. Oh, and they all want to eat us for some reason.”
“Explains the bites I guess, but I ain’t buyin’ they’s dead.” Ernie looked at my large companion. “What do you say, Ship?”
He spun his book around so they could read it:
DEAD!
Ship folded his arms, finished.
“This is too much voodoo fer me,” said Dick, “so what do we do?”
“We leave,” I said. “We pack some shit and literally head for the hills.”
“Boy, I’m sixty eight years old. Ernie is a might older.” Ernie brandished a middle finger. “We can’t be runnin’ around at all, let alone in winter. And we’s already in the hills.”
“So you’re going to stay here?”
“Yup. You boys is welcome to stay too.”
Ship looked sad when he passed me the book: Dick is right. They won’t make it out there, and they’ll slow us down.
Well, he was right about that. We’d probably be a lunch buffet if we tried to assist these guys outside the church. At least here they would have food and water and relative safety for a while. Every point I made as to why they shouldn’t stay reverberated through my skull for a second, but the bottom line was that these poor guys were better off staying here.
Ship and I left the following night. We said our goodbyes, and the boys tried to give us some food to take but we told them to keep it.
Ship left the key to the back door with Ernie, and the moment the door clicked closed, I was reminded of my first night in prison, except this time my sentence was in Hell.
Fifteen seconds after we left the church, we were passing by a chain link fence, and one of the pus bags saw us. It rattled the fence and caterwauled for all it was worth, alerting every damn thing in the vicinity to our location.
And they came.
So we ran.
The friggin ALICE pack weighed a ton, but I kept up with the big guy as best as I could. We evaded instead of engaged, and we got all the way to the end of the street before it all went to shit.
I felt a tug in my shoulder and heard a loud noise close by, and then I spun around and fell. The pain guy turned the volume way the hell up, and my vision went all green for a moment. A roaring in my ears commenced, and I was barely able to hear Ship’s rifle as he fired in full auto off to the left. He smoked two pus bags that got close, then helped me to my feet. The roaring was getting louder and I must have been a little off because Ship slapped me. I blinked and told him my shoulder hurt. He nodded and held up his hand; it was covered in blood.
Somebody shot me.
The big guy practically dragged me off to cover, but the zombies, all of them I think, were on the way. We couldn’t stay where we were, so we moved off toward the woods, cutting through backyards. I made it another two hundred yards or so and then the dizziness set in hard. The world was moving away from me down green tunnel, and all of a sudden everything felt totally fine.
Kat Got Your Tongue
I remember snippets. Slung over Ship’s shoulder like a very light sack of potatoes. The dead reaching for us as he ran with me draped over said shoulder. Pain going for the Mike Tyson knock-out on my shoulder. I was in and out, but the thing I most remember thinking was that we were leaving a blood trail on the snow that even a blind zombie in a wheelchair could follow. Also, that blood was coming from me.
When I woke up, I was on a cot in the darkness, and I was freezing. I knew it was cold outside, but there was a fire in a stove next to me. It didn’t compute. I was shirtless, my wound bandaged and my arm in a crude but effective tape-sling. I tried to sit up, but my pain receptors gave me an exceptionally impolite F-U, and I had to lie back down. I was immediately nauseated and thought I was going to barf, but pain punched out the nausea and showed his title belt to the crowd. I was very thirsty as well.
I glanced through the darkness as my eyes adjusted and I noticed I was alone. Terrified, I called quietly to Ship. My voice sounded like it was crashing through broken glass, and I swallowed and tried again. No dice. There was a canteen and an oblong object on the table next to me. I was able to move my damaged shoulder enough to take a drink and turn on the flashlight that my buddy had left. A note stuck in the canteen chain said: Back soon. Lost a lot of blood. Stay near the fire.
It was time to man up, so I sat up. It was tough, but I did it. I drank half of the canteen and stood, panning the beam from the light around. My weapons were near, on a bench. I seemed to be in some type of metal structure. A shed or hangar, as the sides sloped down from the roof in a half circle. Draping the blanket around me, I was able to get my gun belt on, and checked my weapons to make sure they were loaded. The pistol was loaded, but the rifle mag was empty. Two loaded spares were on the dresser.
I explored my little world and found out that I was at an airport. There were airplane parts and manuals all over and some old flight plans that I looked at. Even some tires sat in a corner. On a desk was a phone, and I just had to know, so I picked it up. Like most people, it was dead. There wasn’t much else to do, so I waited, probing my boo-boo for pain spots. There were plenty.
I think the closest I came to death that night was when the door to the small hanger flew open and a hybrid sasquatch-Santa Claus ducked its head and stepped over the threshold. The humongous Saint Nick plopped his blue toy sack, which was actually a sleeping bag, on the floor with great care. The door closed, and Ship stepped forward, giving the prone form a nudge with his boot. It struggled weakly out of its tubular prison as Ship folded his massive arms. When its head popped out, it looked up and I was shocked to see a teenage girl staring at me with wide and terrified eyes.
I was still smiling at Ship, and realized what I must have looked like to the girl. I probably looked hungry, with a bloody bandage and no shirt on. I immediately stood, and that was a terrible idea because I got woozy, and the kid probably thought I was drunk too. Sitting back down, I offered her my canteen. She just looked at me with those scared eyes.
I took a drink. “We won’t hurt you.“
Ship stood there with his arms folded, giving me the stinkeye. “What?” I demanded. The look continued.
“Relax partner, I didn’t go line dancing, I just checked the perimeter. You got shot in the damn head if I remember, and you were driving a snowmobile with my ever-so-sexy ass on the back the same night, so shut it.” I lowered my glance toward the kid. “Where did you find her?”
He pointed at her, made a gun figure with his thumb and index finger, and then pointed at me.
“No shit?” He nodded his giant melon. “She shot me?” I looked at her. “You shot me?”
She started to cry. What a dick I was. Kid had probably lost her whole family, they might have even tried to eat her. She had been holed up who knows where in that crappy hick town, hungry, terrified, with redneck rapists and dead cannibals everywhere. Yup, a giant, heartless dick.
I was horrified. “No, no it’s OK, we aren’t going to hurt you, I swear. He brought you here because you were dead if you stayed in town. Eventually it
would have gotten bad for you.”
She looked at me with those teary doe eyes, and for one second I thought she was going to bolt for sure. It wouldn’t have done her any good, because short of an Olympic sprinter, or unless she had an Abrams tank handy, she wasn’t getting by Ship.
“Look, did he scare you?” I pointed at you know who. “I know he’s big and scary, but he’s super cool, I swear to God. I’m cool too, right buddy?” I looked at him and he stuck his hand out palm down and wiggled it. Mezza mezza. I flipped him off and it hurt like hell. “He can’t talk, he was born that way.”
She looked at him and sniffled, then looked back at me. I stood and took a step toward her. She stiffened visibly and I held the blanket out to her. “Take this and sit by the fire, you look freezing. I’m going to get dressed.” She took the blanket but didn’t move.
I most assuredly had special needs when it came to putting on a shirt. The hole in my shoulder screamed at me to knock it off, but the kid was scared and I had had enough of the pain. Ship tossed me something that rattled, and it hit me in the forehead and fell on the cot. It was a pill bottle, but there was no label.
“Pain pills?”
Ship shook his head in the negative.
“Antibiotics?”
More stinkeye from the Shipster. Try as I might, I couldn’t open the damn bottle either. I couldn’t move my arm correctly and it was very weak. The only people that can open those child-proof bottles are children anyway, and as it would happen, we had one. She tentatively held her hand out and I passed the bottle to her with my good arm.
She opened it in three seconds, passing the bottle back and then the cap, “I’m sorry I shot you,” she said staring at the floor. “I thought you were with those other…people. They killed my dad.”
“We are not with those assholes. They’ve been trying to kill us too,” I shook my head in disgust. “You would think what with the end of the world, and humanity on the brink, we would be better to each other.”
A small gasp, and a tiny voice: “End of the world? You mean it’s not just here?”
Stinkeye, complete with follow-up eye roll. Guy could make me feel terrible on a whim. How was I supposed to know she didn’t know the extent of whatever was happening. Hell, I didn’t know either at that time, I was just making assumptions.
“No kiddo, it looks like it’s all over. I came from Boston, and it was all kinds of awful there…what’s your name?”
“Katrina. But everybody calls me Kat.”
I sat down and rubbed my shoulder; it ached. “Well Kat, here’s the plan…actually, I have no idea what we’re going to do, but I’m sure Ship does.”
She perked up. “There’s a ship? Is it safe?”
“No, no,” I said, pointing at my large friend. “He’s Ship.”
She looked confused, but perked up immediately when the first fist smacked against the side of the hanger. It was followed by many more. If I thought she had been scared before, she showed all new prowess in the scared-look area when the moans began. We had a crowd outside, and with the wind howling it was impossible to tell how many.
I pulled my pistol, as there was no way I was going to be able to use my rifle. As an afterthought, I passed the rifle to Kat. She grabbed it, but I didn’t let go straightaway. “I’ll be wanting that back when this is over.”
She nodded, wide-eyed, and I let go, “If you would kindly not shoot me again, I would be grateful.”
I turned to look at the big guy, and he gave me the worst look yet. He really didn’t like the fact that I gave this girl a weapon. “What? She needs a gun if she’s going to help.” I shifted my gaze to the terrified girl. “You do want to live, right?”
She nodded quickly.
“Then shoot any that get past us.”
Ship shook his head no, then pointed at himself, then to the door. He pointed at me and then to the cot.
“Nope. Not letting you do it by yourself.” I jacked the slide on my Glock, and spears of agony lanced through my shoulder and into my neck. I tried my best not to show it, but it was tough. Ship scribbled something in his book and passed it to me. I used the flashlight to read it: You’re a liability out there. Watch her.
He was right, and I knew he was right. The worst part of it was he knew I knew it. He stood there waiting, like a smug Sasquatch that had just won a bet. I walked past the girl and whispered in his ear, “The rifle I gave her isn’t loaded.” He nodded, slung his rifle and pulled his machete. He shushed us. He actually shushed us with his finger in front of his lips, then strode to the door and ran into the storm. I holstered my pistol, slamming the flimsy door.
There were windows, more like skylights, in the top sides of the metal structure, and I stood on a desk and peeked outside. I couldn’t see anything, not even the falling snow.
The pounding and moaning continued, echoing back and forth through that metal tomb. One of them had found the door and had begun to whack at it. Kat racked the bolt on the M4 and then looked at me funny. “I’m from New Hampshire. I know when the gun is empty.” The little square window in the door gave way, and a lacerated arm clad in flannel poked through.
My machete was brandished in my good hand and I pointed to a full magazine on the desk. She dropped the old mag, grabbed the fresh one, popped it in, and charged a round. I walked to the door and waited with the machete. Ship didn’t want any unnecessary shots fired, as they would draw more dead to our little sanctuary. The reaching arm was pissing me off, so I hacked at it a couple times and it fell to the floor. The thing that the arm belonged to stuck its face in the window and growled. I was horrified and overcome with sadness at the same time. The dead thing was Ernie. I spun, thinking that this was no time to be sad, and saw the kid with the rifle. The weapon was pointed at me, center mass.
I lifted my machete bearing appendage toward the sky. The other arm was tied to me with the sling. The gun looked damn big when I was on this side of it.
“I could shoot you now. Just let me go,” she said between Ernie’s growls.
“Kid, you can leave at any time, but you’re better off with us, and I’ll make you shoot me before I let you leave me without my gun. Again. I mean shoot me again, you already shot me once.”
She brought the rifle to her shoulder and looked down the sight. I lowered my machete, putting one hand on my hip. I could hear Ernie and a couple of his new buddies scratching at the door. One of them had grabbed the window frame and was either pushing or pulling, I couldn’t tell.
“They’re in here with us in thirty seconds, if you’re going to shoot me, get on with it.” I turned around, waiting for the shot that would kill me, or further incapacitate me so that the dead could kill me. When it didn’t come, I hacked at whatever was sticking through the window. Digits and pieces of arm fell on both sides of the weakening door. I heard steps behind me, and all of a sudden she was there with a spade shovel. She used it well, pushing one of them back from the door, using the tool like a spear.
I knew they were going to get in, so I used a poking motion and went for the eyes of the one closest to the door, apparently Ernie had been shoved aside. I got one eye before one of them grabbed the machete with both hands. A normal human would have let go when the brush-clearer bit into their palms, but this thing didn’t care, and it had two arms to my one. I had to let go of the machete, or I would have been dragged through the window.
Kat stabbed the one-eyed critter in the other eye, the orb going with a squish, and we had ourselves our first blind zombie. I drew the Glock and took a step back. “Can you shoot?”
She looked at me dumbfounded. “New Hampshire!”
“Then back up and get the rifle, this door is done.”
She dropped the shovel and ran for the rifle. Ernie was back, his face a mess, and he was reaching for me with his remaining arm. I don’t think he was inviting me to tea. The door was almost down, and I cocked the hammer on the Glock and pointed at his nose, but suddenly there was something sticking o
ut of it. It was a machete blade, and it was withdrawn as quickly as I had seen it. Ernie collapsed, lifeless. Well, more lifeless, and another dead guy went down with a split cranium. The crowd at the door turned around to see what was going on, and they were cut down one by one.
The door fell to the ground and Ship stood there, covered in gore. He was surprised to see Kat pointing an assault rifle at him, but remembered it was unloaded, and the surprise was replaced with a mild disgust directed at me.
Ship’s surprise was reignited when Kat raised the rifle and fired.
A zombie woman fell to the floor next to Ship, half her head missing. Ship looked at the kid, who shrugged. “I reloaded.”
Escape
Ship and Kat fixed the door while I got some noodles cooking on the stove. I was still freezing, and Ship told me via notebook that I was cold because I had lost so much blood. Kat apologized again when she heard that she had almost killed me. I was already feeling better, and the big guy told me I had been out for over a day. I had thought it was the same night that we escaped from the town that the zombies had found us at the hanger, but it had been the following night. Ship also told me that I would stop feeling cold in a couple of hours.
Ship’s jacket was covered in zombie goo, so it had to go. We couldn’t risk him or Kat getting infected because of a jacket. Unfortunately, there was nothing else big enough for him to wear. The big guy and the girl sat down to some noodles, and when they were done, Kat asked for a knife. I gave her one of the knives I took from the dead rednecks, and she started cutting up the sleeping bag Ship used to transport her. She found some wire, and soon enough my giant buddy had a functional poncho. He smiled at her and she smiled back.
We got some shut-eye, Ship taking the only watch, and had crappy coffee and some kind of chicken MRE for breakfast. Kat announced that she had to pee, and we were shit out of bathrooms, no pun intended. I still wasn’t up to doing much, so Ship took the kid outside, both of them armed to the teeth, while I checked our packs and started making a list of what we had and what we would need.
Chaos Theory: A Zombie Novel Page 6