Tammy rushed to the kitchen as Jim started up the stairs. Danny followed at his heels. Jim was halfway up when he stopped.
“Danny, where’s Samhain?”
The boy’s face clouded. His lower lip protruded. Then he began to weep. Long lines of snot dripped from his nose.
“He…he…Mommy let him out in the backyard and…there were birds. There were dead birds…”
Jim’s knees went weak. “What?”
“They started eating him, Daddy. The birds were eating at him. Then Anthony…”
“This is all I have,” Tammy said, coming up the stairs. She held up a plastic gallon jug of tiki torch fuel. When she saw that Danny was crying, she stopped.
“Here,” Jim said, reaching for the jug. “Take him.”
Tammy picked up Danny and held him to her, while Jim walked into the master bedroom. He tried to ignore the fact that it was different than he remembered. Why wouldn’t it be? Like everything else in the house, Tammy had replaced their old bedroom suite with new furniture. He glanced sidelong at the bed, grimacing at the rumpled red sheets and the pillows, each of which had a head impression on them.
Anthony was here, he thought.
Jim went to the window, which directly overlooked the front door. He slid it open and looked down. The Clickers had been momentarily distracted by the zombie dog, but now it was a sizzling pool of red goop, and their attention had returned to the door.
“You have matches?” Jim asked.
“On the nightstand,” Tammy said. “Next to the candle.”
He picked up the matchbook, trying to ignore the images in his head of Anthony making love to his ex-wife by flickering candlelight, and instead focused on the threat below. Returning to the window, he waited until the Clickers renewed their assault on the front door. Without a word, Jim unscrewed the cap and upended the jug, dumping flammable liquid on the creatures. Then he struck a match and let it fall. The fuel caught fire instantly, and the flames raced along the Clickers’ shells. Squealing in pain, both creatures fled into the road, flaming and smoking. They ran down the street blindly, claws waving in the air like torches. Jim watched them go, gripping the windowsill tightly. Then he took a deep breath and turned around to face his family.
“What happened?” Tammy asked.
He shrugged, and then smiled. “Like I said. It’s the end of the world.”
The three of them embraced, and for a brief moment, everything was okay.
Downey, California
It had taken Rick five hours to drive over thirty miles north. He had made the trip in a white-knuckle heat, slaloming around stalled cars on the highway and the various side streets. At times he’d been forced to stop and head back the way he’d come, detouring around major road blocks, mostly consisting of multi-vehicle crashes that had long since burned out. Occasionally he’d hear high pitched squeals accompanied by clicking noises, which he took to be the Clickers snapping their gigantic claws together. Sometimes, amid the high pitched squealing, he’d hear what sounded like voices, but the tone of the voices was non-human, as if uttered from a throat not of this world. These sounds always came from far away, for which Rick was thankful. Once he’d encountered a human road block—a pair of military vehicles had blocked the road and a dozen soldiers stood guarding the street. This had been on Beach Boulevard and Talbert Avenue just south of the 405, which he’d been forced to exit due to a huge pile-up just past the Harbor Boulevard exit. He couldn’t tell if the soldiers were real or if they were undead. He’d seen a few undead roaming about and luckily he’d been able to outrun them with the SUV.
He was taking no chances, though. He skirted the side street he was on, winding through the cul-de-sac to find another route that headed north. He found it a few blocks up, on Warner Avenue. He hung a left and found Warner to be completely deserted.
Princess sat in the front passenger seat looking out the window. She’d been silent most of the time. A few times after they’d been forced off the freeway, she’d let out a low growl deep in her chest, her hackles rising. Rick would slow down. “What’s going on?” he’d said, looking out at his surroundings. Then he would feel it. Something was out there. He had the unmistakable feeling that something was lying in wait for him around the corner, on the next block, so he would turn around and head back in the direction he came. Only then would Princess relax.
He saw his first Clicker in Huntington Beach as well. Driving down Talbert Avenue just past Magnolia he came across a small horde of them. The ones he saw were small—nowhere near the behemoth’s he’d heard described on the news. Instead, the ones he encountered ranged from the size of a small dog to the largest being the size of a sofa. A few times he’d come across them feeding on a recently dead human, one so ripped up that it could barely move. The quick glimpse he got of this involved an undead zombie trying to pull itself forward on one arm, its body eaten below the chest in a stringy mass of congealed flesh that was being quickly devoured by the Clickers. As Rick drove by he saw the zombie raise its head up and for a moment their eyes locked…
…and then a dog-sized Clicker darted forward and with a quick snap of its claw, it sliced into the zombie’s face and Rick turned away from the scene, concentrating on what lay ahead of him.
And now he was in Downey, a small city in the central Los Angeles area commonly known as a suburb. The only thing Rick knew about Downey was that the original version of Metallica was formed there. Aside from that, Downey had no other claim to fame that he knew of. It was the kind of place you drove through to get to somewhere else.
Rick approached an intersection that appeared deserted. He looked up both streets, noting the crashed vehicles and the utter absence of any living thing. He swore he’d heard people yelling for him to stop during the five-hour drive up here, but he’d paid them no heed. Normally, Rick would have felt guilty for not stopping to help others in need, but he had to tend to his own first. He had to save his kids. Fuck everybody else.
Rick pulled his cell phone out of his breast pocket and turned it on. As it powered up, he patted Princess. “We’ll find them,” he told her. “Don’t worry.” Princess’s tail wagged a few times in response to his voice. That made Rick feel a little better, but not much. He was still very worried.
As the phone powered up he saw the following message: NETWORK NOT FOUND. Below that was the following: JOIN NETWORK? A YES and NO followed. Rick selected YES.
CHOOSE YOUR NETWORK: AT&T, SPRINT, VERIZON, T-MOBILE.
Rick scrolled to his network, which was T-Mobile. The progress bar began to react as the phone tried to find the system. As Rick waited, he looked around again to make sure nothing was trying to sneak up on him. It would be his luck that their network was down. Maybe if they’d stayed with Verizon this wouldn’t be happening and he could connect to his kids.
The phone returned a message: NETWORK NOT FOUND.
“Shit!” Frustrated, Rick looked around again. Nobody alive in sight. Now what?
Curious, Rick powered his phone down. He waited ten seconds, then powered it back on again, all the while keeping a wary eye on his surroundings. At the first sign of movement he had to bug out of here.
Once again, the system could not find his network and he was invited once again to join a network. This time, Rick chose Verizon. He waited.
A moment later: NETWORK CONNECTION ESTABLISHED. WELCOME TO VERIZON!
“Yes!” Rick cried, not caring how this was possible since he didn’t know jack shit about cell phone networks. The end goal had been achieved. He quickly brought up Richard’s number and hit speed dial again, praying that he would get a connection. It rang once, twice, three times…
“Dad?” Richard sounded panicked but relieved.
“I’m here, Richard. Where are you?”
There was noise in the background. It sounded like the other kids, Mary and Paul and Max yelling. They sounded terrified. “We’re still in San Pedro,” Richard said. “Still hiding in that building.”
/> “What’s happening over there?” Rick said, feeling his own fear start to rise. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, but one of us—” A scream cut him off and then Richard started yelling at somebody. “Just lean against the door! Lean against the damn door, he won’t be able to get out if we keep the door closed!”
“Richard!” Rick yelled. “Talk to me! What’s happening?”
Richard was back, his voice coming fast and clipped. “One of us turned into a zombie, dad! We’ve got it shut down in the basement and it’s pissed.”
Rick felt himself go ashen. It felt as if somebody had scooped out his insides and replaced it with ice. He almost dropped the cell phone, his hand was shaking so badly. “Is Melody all right? Is she…”
“She’s fine Dad,” Richard answered, “she’s just…yeah, yeah, like that, put your shoulders into it. If you all just lean against it like that, he won’t be able to get the door open.”
At the mention of Melody being fine, Rick felt the tension rush out of him, like air escaping from a punctured tire. He was still a nervous wreck, but he realized they still had a chance. If he could just get there. “Tell me where you are,” Rick said.
“We’re in an abandoned apartment building in Sunken City,” Richard said. “It’s like, the third building past the chain-link fence on Paseo del Mar. You know where that is?”
“Yes.” Rick hadn’t been to Sunken City in thirty years, but he remembered how to get there. If he could find Crenshaw Boulevard he’d have a straight shot. He didn’t think he’d be able to get there from Long Beach. From where he was sitting it looked like Long Beach was on fire. Thick plumes of black smoke were coming from that general direction and the wind was carrying it east. If Rick continued west he’d soon be driving into it. “I know how to get there. I don’t know how long it’ll take me to get to Sunken City, but I’m almost there. I need you to hang on and—”
But he was talking to nothing. The connection had been broken.
“Goddamn it!” Rick cried. He jabbed at the buttons on the cell phone again, trying desperately to reconnect with Richard again. This time he had a NO CONNECTION message on the phone’s LED screen. He tried Melody’s number, cursing under his breath as the screen indicated the number was dialing but there was no sound coming from the ear piece. There was no indication that a connection to the other number was being made at all. There was just dead silence.
Through it all, Princess sat calmly in the front passenger bucket seat, her dark soulful eyes conveying hope that her master would get himself together. When Rick gave up on trying to get a hold of his daughter he cast an anguished face toward her and she looked up at him in that same look she’d given him the night before—did I do anything wrong? If I did, I’m sorry! Her tail thumped on the seat. Rick hitched in a breath, fighting back tears as he ruffled her fur. “We’ll be fine, girl. We’re gonna get Richard and Melody. You ready to head into Sunken City and kick some zombie ass? Huh girl?”
At the mention of Richard and Melody’s names, Princess’s tail thumped harder against the seat. She whined softly, leaned forward and licked Rick’s face.
“We’re going to get them, Princess. Don’t worry.”
Suddenly, Princess’s posture changed. She leaned across Rick’s end of the SUV, a low growl emanating from deep within her chest. Rick turned left and saw what Princess had already seen. Zombies. A dozen of them. Heading their way.
Rick checked behind them, as well as the street to the right. The coast was clear in those directions. They just had the zombies on their left to contend with. They were heading west, away from the zombies, skirting the cities of Compton and heading into Gardena toward Crenshaw Boulevard where he would hang a left, which would take him through Torrance and into the heart of San Pedro and right into Sunken City. On a good day through surface streets this would be a thirty minute drive. Maybe forty minutes with traffic. But now?
“Don’t think about it,” he told himself as he put the vehicle in gear and started heading west. “Let’s just do it.”
And they did. In no time, Rick had the vehicle on a good straightaway going about fifty miles an hour. Princess sat up in the front bucket seat, her dark eyes focused on the road ahead as if she were scoping their path out. Rick kept one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the Ruger .22 rifle that he’d placed between the seats. He’d placed it there so he’d have easy access to the weapon when needed. They passed very few Clickers. And what few zombies they passed, they quickly outdistanced them.
Rick drove with a grim sense of determination, weaving his way down side streets whenever he saw a traffic jam or zombies. A few times, the undead came dangerously close. One time, while maneuvering through the city of Compton after having been diverted by a massive pile up on Artesia Boulevard, a large throng of zombies that were gathered in a park gave chase. Several of them had guns and they started shooting at them. Rick had yelled and ducked, instinctively pushing Princess down into the seat. He sped away in a blind heat and almost clipped a Lincoln Continental that was moving slowly on Grape Street. The Lincoln was being piloted by a young black kid wearing a dark jacket and a white tee-shirt. The kid’s throat was torn out. When Rick drove by the kid—zombie—it hissed at him and tried to give chase, but something must’ve been wrong with his vehicle because all it did was hitch back and forth and belch smoke.
“We’re gonna get there, Princess,” Rick said as they sped down Grape Street. “We’re gonna get there.”
Part of him was beginning to have doubts about that, though.
San Pedro, California
The moment he was off the phone, Richard immediately dived toward his friends, who were leaning against the basement door, trying to keep Sparky imprisoned down there.
“Jesus, he’s strong,” Richard grunted. He shouldered his way between Max and Paul and moved his shoulder into the door, using his legs to lean into it and give more pressure. The girls were positioned in the center of the door, lending their entire weight to it. The thing that had once been Sparky roared and shoved at the door from within the basement. The door budged open half an inch and then was slammed shut by the combined effort of Richard, Melody, Paul, Mary, and Max. Mary was crying in panic; of the five of them, she was lending the least effort in keeping the basement door shut.
“What the hell are we going to do?” Paul asked. He was looking at Richard as if Richard had all the answers.
Richard had no answers.
The speed at which everything had disintegrated in the last thirty minutes as they’d ventured out of that third floor apartment to investigate that falling sound coming from across the hall seemed like a bad nightmare now. The girls hadn’t wanted them to investigate what the sound was. Melody had clutched Richard’s arm and said, “Don’t go, Rich, please!” But Max and Sparky were already moving into the room, the older gang banger brandishing his weapon, ready to shoot anything that moved. Richard had urged the girls to stay behind in the back bedroom of the empty apartment—they were just going to check it out. They’d entered the darkened room, trying to make out the rotted furniture that had been left behind. Richard remembered their earlier trip up there yesterday; they’d done a quick sweep then, and Richard noticed this room must have been a nursery. The walls had the remnants of pink and green wallpaper with baby elephants on it. There had been a large oak dresser near the corner and an old-fashioned looking crib against another wall. The position of the sun and the drawn, heavy curtains gave the room a dark, gloomy appearance.
They’d entered the room and stood there, looking around, trying to see what had fallen. Paul had motioned to the open closet door. “It’s an old building,” he’d whispered. “Maybe it’s just the place settling.”
That’s when something had darted out from beneath the crib and launched itself at Sparky’s ankle.
Sparky had bellowed in rage and pain, flaying back, almost falling. Paul and Max had yelled in surprise and the girls had screamed. Richard didn’t r
ealize he’d screamed until he felt his throat burn—he’d darted toward the door to the bedroom in an effort to be near Melody. It was from that position that Richard had seen what had attacked Sparky.
The baby must have only been six months old when it died. How a baby could have wound up in a condemned building was beyond Richard’s comprehension, but they’d seen evidence of squatters here. Maybe a homeless couple with a baby had sought refuge here at some point. If so, the infant had died in this room and his parents had left it, probably in the crib—that explained the falling sound; the baby had fallen to the floor as it pulled itself out of the crib. Maybe its parents had left shortly before all hell had broken loose, too emotionally traumatized to take their child with them and whatever force powered the zombies had moved in. As Richard watched in a stunned kind of horror, he noticed how the infant’s purplish-white, mottled skin was stretched thin over brittle bones. The poor thing had been malnourished. Could that have been what killed it? Could that be why it sank its infant teeth into Sparky’s ankle and bit hard, holding on with thin limbs as Sparky yelled and kicked at it, trying to shake it off.
“Get it off!” Sparky had yelled. “Get this fucking thing off me!”
Everybody had been frozen, unsure of what to do. Sparky’s attempt to shake the thing off made him lose his balance. He fell to the floor. The assault rifle clattered to the ground. Richard thought it would go off, but it hadn’t. Sparky kicked his right leg out as if trying to shake a mean little dog that had fastened itself to his ankles. The zombie baby clung stubbornly. Its baby teeth broke off from the force of its bite. Richard had seen blood well in the bite wound as the zombie gnawed at the flesh. It’s gnawing on him with the bones of it’s jaw, Richard had thought, fascinated. Jesus, that’s sick!
It had been Max who’d darted forward and, like a punter racing to score a goal for his team, had launched a kick that connected solidly with the zombie baby. The creature flew across the room and crashed against the wall. Paul leaped for the rifle, brought it around, aimed, and fired a volley of shots as the creature began crawling toward them. Most of the shots missed, but the last five blasted the little creature apart in a spray of dried bones and skin. The last was a headshot; it’s skull exploded like old pottery being blown apart by an M80.
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