Zombie Chaos (Book 2): Highway to Hell

by Martone, D. L.

  So, when I heard the loudest thunk of all above me, I assumed Ray had finally jumped down with his human burden. My right foot shifted from the brakes and hovered over the gas pedal, but I hesitated to hit it until I was certain Ray was aboard.

  Someone suddenly beat the roof of my van.

  “Go. Go. Go!” Ray yelled.

  I stepped on the gas and rolled forward across the grass, pushing the zombified obstacles aside and beneath me. The farther I got from the building, the faster we moved. Faster, as in going from one mile per hour to perhaps two miles per hour, but hey, at least it was progress.

  Chapter

  17

  “I believe the most rational mind can play tricks in the dark.” – Sam Daily, The Woman in Black (2012)

  Slowly, I turned left through the zombie horde and prodded my way across the crowded parking lot. Glancing toward the burning church beside me, I noticed a creature emerge from the disintegrating foyer. Not sure what alarmed me more – that the thing wasn’t on fire or that it resembled the untamed beast I’d seen on the Earhart Expressway in New Orleans.

  Whatever it was, it hadn’t decayed like the zombies. It was muscular and half-naked, with clawed hands and patches of coarse hair covering its body. As with the one in New Orleans, it also possessed intelligent eyes that had locked onto my face as if assessing the threat level of an obvious nemesis. As I rolled past the driveway, it remained in the burning doorway for a few more seconds, then unleashed an unholy screech and plowed through the zombies surrounding the van. It had sprinted so quickly toward me, I didn’t even have a chance to warn my rooftop passengers. With ten feet left between us, it leapt upward, past my driver’s-side window, and onto the top of my vehicle.

  Based on the human shrieking above me, I figured the creature had nabbed someone. The zombies around us had thinned out a bit, but I still couldn’t do much to shake the creature loose without shaking off all the rest of my passengers as well.

  Suddenly, I saw something roll down my windshield and bounce off my hood. It was the bloody head of the first woman who’d climbed down to my van. The tall, lanky one. Her body fell off the passenger side, followed by the screeching creature. Right then, I decided I’d prefer having the chalice dent my hood again.

  Some gruesome sights you just can’t unsee.

  Noting a temporary gap amid the teeming zombies, I prayed everyone above me had braced themselves on the roof, and then hit the gas. All of us needed to get the fuck away from the hellish situation as soon as humanly possible.

  As I headed back to East Main Street, I heard multiple gunshots from above and watched several zombies fall in the glow cast from the burning church. The unseen shooters (probably Ray and at least one other person) seemed to be aiming toward the hairy, screeching creature, but it kept zigzagging through the crowd, trying to keep the undead between itself and the bullets.

  Seriously, what the fuck is that thing?!

  When the path ahead of me cleared enough, I flipped on my headlights and hauled ass out of the parking lot. I could hear thunks, swearing, and more gunfire above me, but I didn’t stop for anything or anyone. Glancing into my newly repaired side-view mirror, I realized the creature hadn’t stopped either. It was chasing us faster than any zombie could and didn’t halt until I hit about thirty miles per hour. I suspected it could’ve caught us if it had wanted to, but instead, it just stood eerily in the empty roadway and stared at our rapidly diminishing van.

  About a mile down the road, I came to a gentle stop. Then Travis and I hopped out and helped all the shaken passengers climb down from the roof, into the rear of the van. Besides Ray and Clovis, his injured friend, there were two men and three women remaining.

  “We lose anyone?” I asked Ray.

  “Shirley,” he solemnly replied.

  She must’ve been the tall woman the mysterious creature had unceremoniously decapitated. I’d meant anyone besides her, but I decided not to spotlight the fact that I’d driven rather recklessly from the overrun parking lot. I was just grateful the others had survived.

  Once everyone had safely boarded the van, another ungodly screech echoed in the distance, as if the beast had moved on to someone else. Ray’s eyes locked onto mine. His mouth was tight; his expression, grim. Or at least less stoic than usual.

  We rode back to his house in near-silence. Gazing back at my passengers, I spotted Ray, Travis, Nicole, and Frankie huddled together on the floor. At my dining table, two sobbing white, middle-aged women sat across from two shell-shocked white, middle-aged men. I could only assume those were Uma, Eunice, and their husbands.

  Meanwhile, an old black woman leaned against the sofa bed, cradling the injured man’s head in her lap and shaking her own head with apparent dismay. Clovis grimaced and let out a mournful cry, and she responded by caressing his sweaty brow and mumbling words of reassurance.

  Oh, yeah. This won’t end well. For any of us.

  Chapter

  18

  “Hey, sweetheart. Let me tell you something. You, uh, you have my permission. I ever turn into one of those things? Do me a favor, blow my fucking head off.” – Steve, Dawn of the Dead (2004)

  When we returned safely to Ray’s house, he opened his garage door, and I guided my van into the available space. Fortunately, there was just enough room for me to squeeze beside the trusty pickup that had transported him and his kids from the Lake Maurepas boat launch on the fateful day the undead incursion had arrived in southern Louisiana. Once Ray had secured both of his garage doors (in case determined zombies or marauders were still in the vicinity), he and one of the other guys carried poor Clovis from the rear of my van and gently laid him on a canvas tarp on the concrete floor.

  Uma and Eunice, who had met as fellow nurses in their youth, knelt on either side of their injured friend and, in the ghostly light of several electric lanterns, did their best to treat him. First, they removed the blood-soaked bandage they’d fashioned from a pink sweatshirt back in the church office. Next, they used a pair of Ray’s heavy-duty scissors to cut away Clovis’s jeans around the wound. Then, they tried to clean the pus-filled gash with hydrogen peroxide, which only made their patient yell in pain – and probably attract a variety of undesirables toward the only occupied house on the block.

  While Ray’s children took Frankie inside the kitchen to give him some overdue food and water, and the ladies’ husbands disappeared into the den to allow their wives some space to work, Ray, the old black woman, and I remained in the garage. The other two no doubt stayed to lend a hand, and though I was willing to help, too – even if it meant just grabbing any necessary supplies from the house – I also attributed my presence to a certain level of morbid curiosity. As with the various times I’d slowed down on the interstate to sneak a peek at a terrible accident on the other side, I felt compelled to hover and observe the inevitable outcome.

  Blood, pus, and black zombie goo seeped from the wound, which clearly resembled a deep bite. Clovis had accompanied the ladies’ husbands on the first, less-successful rescue mission, and one of the rotting motherfuckers in the church had managed to take a chunk out of the poor guy’s thigh.

  The patient’s breathing had become noticeably shallow and ragged, and his face had drained of all color, turning “a whiter shade of pale,” to quote one of Clare’s favorite old songs. Almost as pale as the fresh bandages Uma and Eunice utilized to wrap the wound.

  Poor Clovis was still conscious, moaning periodically, with rivulets of sweat pouring from his clammy forehead. No doubt the infection had spread throughout his body, and trying to fight it had resulted in what was surely a seriously high fucking fever.

  As Uma finished bandaging the wound, Eunice placed a cool rag across his brow, but we all knew it wouldn’t do much good. In fact, every effort to save him was futile. If the sepsis didn’t kill him first, his boiling brain surely would – and then, we’d all be in deep shit.

  Ray stepped beside me. “Have ya seen dis before? Seen what happen?�
��

  Though flattered that a badass, resourceful ex-Marine like him considered me the resident zombie expert, I still didn’t know enough about the real-world, non-Hollywood undead to hazard an accurate guess. Of course, my often-reliable gut told me he (and Clovis) wouldn’t like my answer.

  “Well, I’ve certainly seen a lot of folks get bitten… hell, even torn apart… but I don’t usually stick around to see what happens next.” I hesitated before continuing, “Still, while I haven’t actually watched someone turn into a zombie, I have seen thousands upon thousands of walking corpses… people who had been bitten or dismembered, many of whom looked recently deceased.”

  Although Clovis seemed too dazed to hear my words, the women had turned toward me, listening closely. I hated disappointing such kind-hearted people, but lies would only hurt them in the new fucked-up world.

  “I hate to say it,” I added, “but zombie bites spread the infection. And I don’t think there’s any way to stop it.”

  “He goin’ into d’Infernal,” the old black woman whispered, “an’ one of dem dead t’ings comin’ back.”

  I glanced at her. She was leaning against the workbench, nodding sagely. She looked familiar, but thanks to my fuzzy, fatigued brain, I couldn’t figure out where, when, or how I’d seen her before, and I certainly didn’t know what the hell she was talking about. Given my interest in religious history, I’d encountered a lot of different terms for the afterlife, but never the Infernal.

  Wait a minute…

  I had in fact heard that word before – earlier in the day. Miss Myriam had muttered it during my brief stay in her laundromat.

  And come to think of it, the two oddballs do look a lot alike.

  “Sadie, stop dat,” Eunice said to the black woman, wearing the concerned yet condescending expression of a parent attempting to dissuade a child with an overactive imagination. “You know dere ain’t no such place.”

  “Sorry, child,” Sadie said with genuine sorrow. “No matter whatcha believe, Mr. Joe right… dere ain’t nuttin’ can be done.”

  Eunice’s face fell, as if Sadie’s words had knocked the self-assured Catholic fervor right out of her. Tears dribbled down her cheeks, and she softly sobbed.

  That was all it took for Uma to start weeping, too. “Oh, Clovis,” she said, sniffling.

  Ray glanced at Clovis, then back at me – a silent question in his eyes.

  My chest tightened as I slowly shook my head.

  For the first time since I’d met him, I saw Ray’s shoulders slump in defeat.

  I gazed down at Clovis and noticed he was looking up at me, his eyes wide and lucid.

  Well, shit.

  Apparently, he’d overheard our conversation.

  His focus shifted to Ray. “I don’t wanna turn into one of those godforsaken demons.”

  They’re not demons, they’re zombies. Well, except for that hairy thing. I don’t know what the fuck that is.

  “Ray,” Clovis begged, drawing me back to the melancholy moment. “I already lost Lizabeth. It’s time for me to be with her again.”

  A spluttering, coughing fit overtook him, and I instinctively retreated a couple of steps.

  Sorry to be an asshole, buddy, but I don’t want your nasty spit on me.

  For all I knew, bites weren’t the only way to transfer the zombie infection.

  When Clovis finally ceased coughing, he fixed his stare on Ray again. “Please, man. You need to take care of it.”

  Ray sighed heavily, hesitated for a few seconds, and then nodded. “OK, brother. If dat’s whatcha want.”

  Uma and Eunice stopped sniffling and exchanged nervous glances.

  “Uh, ladies,” I said, “you might not want to be here for this.”

  Nodding sadly, they rose to their feet, said “farewell” and “Godspeed” to Clovis, and trudged into the house.

  I glanced at Sadie, but she shook her head. Clearly, she wasn’t going anywhere. I smiled, admiring her strength and resolve.

  Then Ray knelt beside Clovis, grasped his hand, and removed a long hunting knife from his hip sheath. What a heartbreaking tableau to witness: one man suffering, the other comforting him, and both filled with peace and determination.

  “Thank you, Ray,” Clovis whispered before closing his eyes.

  “Rest easy, Clovis,” Ray replied. “Give Lizabeth my best.”

  Then, before he could second-guess his decision, Ray slid the knife into Clovis’s head, piercing his brain through the ear canal. One sharp intake of breath, and Clovis was gone. After a few seconds, Ray withdrew the blade, wiped the blood on his friend’s shirt, and replaced the knife in his hip sheath. As he rose to his feet, he kept his eyes on Clovis.

  Undoubtedly, Ray had watched many fellow Marines perish. But I figured it was never easy to let your friends and loved ones go, even if you believed in a peaceful afterlife – which, sadly, I didn’t. And neither did Clare.

  So, unlike Clovis, I had no confidence that Clare and I would be reunited in heaven or hell. We only had one shot at happiness – in our current life, such as it was – and goddammit, she’d better be alive when I finally reached Baton Rouge. Or else, I might embark on the vigilante murder spree I’d always promised would happen in the wake of her untimely demise.

  Looters and post-apocalyptic megalomaniacs, beware. If my wife is dead, your days are fucking numbered.

  Chapter

  19

  “I can’t lie to you about your chances, but… you have my sympathies.” – Ash, Alien (1979)

  Soon afterward, the shock and sadness had morphed into gratitude. Most of us, including Ray and his kids, were eager to get on the road and flee the wasteland that Gramercy had become, but we all needed a short break first. Death-defying experiences sapped a lot of energy.

  As most of us relaxed in Ray’s uber-tidy den, drank some much-needed water, and tried to catch our collective breath, the two middle-aged couples (Uma and Rick, Eunice and Tony) seemed especially thankful for the successful rescue. I knew because they kept saying so – to me, Ray, the kids, even Frankie. Just as their constant thank-you refrain started to grate on my nerves, I changed the subject and asked them where they intended to go in the aftermath of the zombie apocalypse.

  Like Ray and his two children (and now Frankie, too), they planned to venture via boat to their remote fishing camps and wait out the craziness there, however long that might take – possibly forever. Southern Louisiana boasted countless hunting and fishing havens, whether nestled along the shores of various lakes and rivers, situated on islands deep within the cypress-filled bayous, or, like the one Clare’s father had owned before a nasty hurricane washed it away, balanced on pylons not far from the Gulf of Mexico. Many such camps were nothing more than cozy, raised cabins, only accessible via the water. Basically, the perfect hideouts for surviving a zombie apocalypse.

  Unless, of course, zombies could swim long distances. In that case, all bets would be off. But I refrained from expressing my concerns and dampening the mood. Uma and Eunice were still upset over Shirley, their friend and fellow parishioner, who’d escaped a burning church, only to lose her head a few moments later. Of course, their other friend, Clovis, who’d accompanied their husbands in the initial rescue attempt, currently lay dead on the floor of Ray’s garage, not far from my van. So, I kept my pessimistic mouth shut.

  As it turned out, only Sadie intended to stay at her home in Gramercy – a fact that her church pals considered more than a little foolhardy. But really, none of us had all the answers or could predict the future, so who could attest to having the smartest plan? Maybe we were all fucked.

  That said, I couldn’t help but worry about my new friend – and his imminent isolation in the bayous of southern Louisiana. So, once the time had come for me to hit the road again, I tried convincing Ray to forego his fishing-camp scheme. I might’ve helped him rescue his cohorts, but I still felt obliged to him for saving my life and fixing my ride.

  “Listen,” I said
when Ray and I had returned to the garage, “why don’t you and your kids come with me? Frankie, too. We have a ton of space up north. We’re on a lake, with lots of wooded property.”

  Ray smiled and shook his head. “T’anks, but we’ll be safe. You can only git to our place by boat, so we don’t hafta worry ’bout any of dem dead t’ings showin’ up.” He turned toward the workbench, scribbled something on a pad of paper, and tore off the sheet. Facing me again, he handed me the paper. “Besides, I don’t do snow. Michigan too damn cold for me.”

  I chuckled. “I don’t do snow either, believe me. But desperate times and all that…”

  He smirked. “Ain’t dat da trut’?”

  I caught a glimpse of Clovis’s covered body near the side door, and my grin faded. “Do you need some help with him? Or the bodies next door?”

  “Nah, I’ll take care of it. Don’t wanna keep ya wife waitin’ much longer.”

  I appreciated the fact that he didn’t question whether Clare was still alive. Honestly, I had questioned it enough for the both of us.

  Just then, Travis and Nicole wandered into the garage, Frankie trailing them.

  Ray turned to his kids. “You two all packed up?”

  “Yes, sir,” Travis said.

  I gazed at the paper in my hand. Ray had written down a series of GPS coordinates, along with some other numbers and the name Cajun Corps.

  “Dat’s where we’ll be,” he explained. “At doze coordinates.”

  I was touched that he trusted me with such crucial information. I assumed most military men and doomsday preppers kept those details close to their chests.