by Kirk Withrow
Yelling erupted from somewhere behind them, and Eric swiveled to get a bead on where it was coming from. The voice was frenetic and unhinged, filled with anxiety rather than the confidence and authority that he’d heard in the soldiers’ voices.
“I have to get out of here! They’re going to kill us all!”
With every word, Eric got a little closer to localizing the sound, until his eyes came to rest on a wild-eyed man moving about seventy-five yards from the barricade. Despite seeming to be talking to someone, the man appeared to be alone. Eric glanced toward the barricade and saw movement, though the soldiers gave no indication that they were overly concerned about the harried man who continued pressing forward. He wondered how many times they’d seen this exact thing already. The man moved deliberately, occasionally stumbling over a body part jutting into his path. He picked up speed when the park exit came into view, which was when the soldiers began moving with more purpose.
A loudspeaker crackled to life, and the tinny voice of a soldier squawked, “Halt. You are entering a restricted zone. Turn away or you will be shot. I repeat, turn away or you will be shot.”
It was clear that the man heard the soldier’s voice, though it seemed to spur him onward in spite of the stern warning.
“STOP WHERE YOU ARE AND GET DOWN ON YOUR KNEES. THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING. WE WILL OPEN FIRE,” the soldier said bluntly.
The man continued forward and the first shot came a second later, missing him by a fraction of an inch. Had he not tripped and lurched to the side, the bullet would’ve struck him center mass. A dark puff of blood and tissue exploded from a dead zombie lying where the man had been just a moment ago. Judging from the tissue damage and the rifle’s report, the shot had been fired from one of the sniper’s smaller caliber weapons rather than one of the big, .50 caliber machine guns. For the first time, the man seemed to realize the danger he was facing as he scrambled for cover behind a mound of corpses.
Eric could see the man clearly from his position, and he watched the man’s head pan from side to side as if he was searching for a way out of the predicament he’d gotten himself into. The man paused when he caught sight of a service truck parked between two stores on the left side of the main strip. It was only fifteen yards away, and judging from the runner’s starting position he’d moved into, he planned to risk crossing the open area to reach the vehicle.
“Don’t do it. Get to the side and head back the way you came,” Eric muttered under his breath. The man trying to cross that much open terrain with so many guns trained on him was an act of suicide. That said, Eric also imagined the man would’ve been shot even if he’d complied with the initial commands to get down on his knees. The only safe thing to do was to get the hell out of the kill zone.
As though a starting gun had fired in his head, the man sprang forward, sprinting as hard as he could toward the truck. As expected, multiple weapons began sending lead downrange. Rifles cracked and bullets whizzed, sending up little plumes of dust and gore as they impacted all around the man, who managed to duck and dodge the barrage before diving headlong toward the abandoned truck.
“TARGET DOWN! CEASE FIRE!” the soldier in charge barked over the loudspeaker.
As the last echoes of the gunshots faded away, Eric thought he heard the low moans of zombies in the distance. Those gunshots probably sound like dinner bells to the undead bastards. Behind rising clouds of gun smoke, several soldiers continued staring through riflescopes, as though waiting for the man to pop up so they could re-engage in their mortal game of whack-a-mole. Although he hadn’t witnessed it, Eric thought one of the soldiers might have actually hit the running man.
A second later, the lurching sound of an engine turning over several times preceded that of the truck’s motor rumbling to life. Even though the truck’s headlights were off, Eric saw the brake lights flash as the man threw the truck into gear. The engine roared as the man floored the accelerator, and the heavy truck tore out of the alleyway. Unaware of the truck’s existence and having assumed the man had been dropped by gunfire, the soldiers were caught off guard as the sound of screeching tires marked the maintenance truck’s grand entrance. The man swerved wildly as he navigated the narrow path cleared down the middle of Broadway, heading toward the admission gate. Whenever a stack of dead zombies proved unavoidable, the massive truck simply plowed right through them. The impact sent rotting limbs flying in every direction while others were crushed under the truck’s heavy tires.
Although none of the .50 caliber guns were in action, several rounds of small arms fire slammed into the truck’s metal panels. At the quarantine line, soldiers scrambled in every direction. One man stood atop one of the armored vehicles, struggling to bring the mounted machine gun into the fight. Eric knew that if the soldier succeeded, the truck’s driver would be in for a short night. A bullet finally found its mark, transforming the truck’s windshield into a spiderweb of broken glass before several follow-up shots exploded it into a thousand shimmering pieces. Throughout it all, the truck’s course never wavered.
Dozens of bright light flashes punctuated the darkening sky like a swarm of methed-out lightning bugs. Every rifle and pistol at the barricade seemed to be firing simultaneously as the truck drew closer. One of the soldiers screamed frantically over the loudspeaker, but his words were drowned out by the din of gunshots and engine noise. The escalation of gunfire was short-lived, as the soldiers immediately stopped firing once the truck tore through the barricade. Eric was impressed with their situational awareness and trigger control, as firing outside the quarantine zone would certainly risk friendly fire casualties.
The truck slammed into the edge of Fun World’s main gate, the impact sending one of the admission turnstiles hurtling through the air like a giant ninja star. Eric stared in disbelief as the driver fought to regain control of the vehicle, picking up speed as he headed in the direction of Fun World’s many parking lots. That son of a bitch actually did it. Although it had been an exceptionally risky move, he was jealous of what the man had managed to do. He’d escaped and was on his way to freedom. While Eric hadn’t considered it at the time, the thought of having jumped into the back of the truck seemed pretty appealing as he stared at the truck’s receding taillights.
Eric watched as the silhouette of a soldier calmly stepped out into the open just behind the quarantine zone. With practiced ease, he hoisted a long metal cylinder onto his shoulder. Eric’s eyes went wide. No. Oh, God, no!
The truck pulled farther and farther away as the soldier made a few last-minute adjustments, took aim, and flipped a switch to arm the weapon. Seconds later, there was a deafening roar followed by a blinding light as the rocket tore across the sky. If the truck had been hauling ass as it punched through the barricade, the rocket was a bat out of hell. A brilliant orange trail outlined its course in beautiful yet horrifying detail. The projectile slammed into the truck’s tailgate, where it promptly detonated. In an ear-splitting display of absolute destructive power, steel was rent apart as if it were nothing more than tissue paper. A thick plume of smoke rose high above the blazing inferno. The mushroom cloud seemed to hang in the air as a warning to anyone else that had lofty aspirations of trying to flee the quarantine zone. In the end, all that remained where the truck had been was a sizable scorched crater and few mangled scraps of metal that looked like they could’ve come from virtually anything.
“Breach contained. All clear. Send fire and decontam units to the vehicle site. Over,” the soldier said into his lapel mic. The steady voice—detached and even—could’ve just as easily been ordering take out for all the concern it conveyed. If there had been any question as to the extent the soldiers were willing to go to enforce the quarantine, it had been answered emphatically.
The man’s failed escape attempt had captured the attention of more than just Eric and the soldiers. Behind him, Eric heard guttural moans growing steadily louder as the undead came to investigate the commotion. It seemed that the soldiers were going t
o have their hands full fighting off the incoming horde in short order. He and Lila needed to be clear of the area when that time came. With any luck, the intense fighting would make it easier to slip away unnoticed by the soldiers. The trick would be to avoid the zombies’ snapping maws and soldiers’ stray gunfire in the process.
Eric turned to Lila, her confused and horror-struck face illuminated by the subtle glow of the truck’s smoldering remains. “Sweetie, we need to get out of here now.” With the soldiers’ agitated voices on one side and the zombies’ droning snarls on the other, he felt like he was stating the obvious. He had hoped they could skirt along the corridor’s edge, staying tight against the storefronts. One look in that direction and it seemed clear that the entirety of Broadway was about to be overrun by a zombie procession coming to mingle with the soldiers. Even if they somehow managed to slip past the horde, the amount of lead about to be flying downrange posed an unacceptable risk. He cursed under his breath as he nudged Lila back into the shadows toward the stairway access point. The possibility of ducking back into the tunnels crossed his mind but was immediately quashed when he heard the heavy thuds of fists banging against the inside of the stairway door. Between the zombies and the soldiers, he felt as though their avenues of escape were being stifled one by one.
Directly ahead was a railing, beyond which lay an imposing wall of darkness. Were it not for the treetops silhouetted against the inky sky, it would have been impossible to tell that the jet-black wall was anything other than that. After enduring the gloomy tunnels, heading back into total darkness was the last thing Eric wanted to do. When the first of the zombie horde reached the intersection and their ravenous moans echoed down the path behind him, he felt there was no other option. The sound of the zombies vanished a second later as the thunderous blasts of heavy machine-gun fire roared to life, drowning out everything in a quarter-mile radius.
Taking Lila by the hand, Eric said, “Come on, we have to cut through the woods.” Reluctant to go along with the idea, she resisted slightly before acquiescing. He had no idea what lay beyond the trees, but he found it hard to imagine that it could be any worse than their current situation. Having given up on the idea of actually finding anywhere truly safe within Fun World, it was the best he could hope for.
14
Clang.
Thunk.
The loud crash hit Frank’s eardrums like a shot, and his sleepy eyes widened instantly. He’d been keeping watch while Eric and Lila slept for what seemed like hours. As was often the case, the tunnels had been as quiet as a tomb, making the sudden noise seem all the louder by comparison. Even so, neither of the sleeping forms stirred in the slightest. Frank peered down the darkened corridor but saw nothing aside from unmoving blackness. He considered waking Eric, but he hated to do so without a definite reason. Instead, he picked up the heavy length of pipe he kept for protection and started down the passageway to investigate. The only thing that seemed to be with him in the tunnel was the darkness, his constant companion. Having walked a considerable distance and not discovered anything out of the ordinary, he was about to turn back when he heard something that froze him in his tracks: the clang of metal crashing to the ground followed by the distinctive moan of walking death. The image of Lila’s sleeping face, completely oblivious and unprotected, surfaced in his mind.
“No,” he muttered, before racing back toward the sleeping forms as fast as his aged legs would carry him.
As Frank drew nearer to the place where Eric and Lila slept unguarded, he saw the silhouette of an unmistakably human form moving in a herky-jerky fashion. He prayed the darkness would conceal his sleeping guests as he willed his legs to move faster. A second later, his worst fear was realized as he watched the zombie—arms outstretched—collapse to the ground. The guttural grunts that followed made the older man sick, but he pressed forward with everything he could muster.
The sound of the struggle echoed through the passageways, distorting and multiplying as it went, making it impossible to tell who or what was winning the exchange. When he reached the end of the corridor a moment later, he saw Eric shove a zombie backward onto the ground. Frank’s stomach tightened as he watched a second zombie shambling toward the younger man’s blind side. With one last burst of energy, he surged forward with pipe raised. His momentum added to the force of the blow, which nearly decapitated the undead monster. Although it was hard to see in the darkened tunnel, a thick, pulpy spray splattered the white wall like the start of a Jackson Pollack painting. Frank brought the pipe around for an overhead strike that caved the zombie’s skull and sent it immediately to the ground. Roused by the commotion, Lila sat bleary-eyed, staring in confusion at the chaos that had been so far from her mind when she’d fallen asleep.
Frank looked to Eric and shouted above the clamor of the zombies that seemed to be pouring into the narrow tunnel, “Get her out of here! I’ll hold them back as long as I can!” Without missing a beat, Frank swung the heavy pipe, connecting with the face of a zombified pirate sporting an actual wooden leg. The artificial leg clicked against the concrete floor as the monster staggered backward before a second hit shut its lights off for good.
Although he couldn’t tell exactly where they’d come from, Frank knew it hadn’t been from the direction that he had gone. Given that the light trickling through the skylight further down the main corridor appeared uninterrupted by the steady stream of zombies, he assumed they must be coming from a side tunnel. He was relieved when Eric heeded his advice, pulling Lila to her feet and starting down the darkened passageway. Sensing the younger man had a good heart, he’d worried he would hesitate at the idea of leaving him to deal with the zombie horde alone. Despite the sea of death closing in around him, Frank breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the pair race past the shaft of light coming through the skylight. Hopefully I can give them enough of a head start to get out of here safely…
A hard shove from the side garnered Frank’s full attention, and he spun to find that the closest zombie had tried to grab him but had overshot in the dark. Taking advantage of its imbalance, he gave the undead monster a solid shoulder bump that sent it careening into the zombies closest to it. Without pause, he swung his heavy pipe. He swung and swung, each time connecting with bone and flesh, and each time adding more gore to the tunnel’s macabre décor. For every zombie that fell under his crushing blows, there was another impatiently waiting for its turn. Despite the intense stress of the situation, he had the fleeting thought that even the zombie apocalypse wasn’t enough to get rid of Fun World’s notorious waiting lines.
Frank had no idea how many times he’d swung the pipe, but it was clear that his current pace wasn’t sustainable. Whoosh. Thud. Whoosh. Thud. Whoosh. Thud. It was the unremitting rhythm of death, and its tempo was gradually slowing. The pipe’s smooth surface quickly became so slick with blood that he had trouble keeping his grip no matter how hard he squeezed. Every muscle in his arms burned like it’d been injected with acid, while his elbows popped and ached with the reverberations of each blow. As the blood dried, it became so sticky that Frank wondered if the pipe would be able to fall from his hands when he finally decided to let go, and with every passing second, that fateful decision loomed closer. So tired were his arms that he began to feel as though they might actually fly away with the pipe in hand if he swung just one more time, but he kept at it.
Whoosh. Thud.
Whoosh. Thud.
Then slower, Whoosh…Thud
Whoosh.
Thud.
His eyes stinging from sweat, he gazed out over the sea of dark heads pressing toward him and realized that the decision was no longer his to make. He couldn’t have kept up that pace at age twenty-seven, so at sixty-seven years old, he understood that his race was run. Whether he was too tired to care or he’d finally had enough of what the world had become, he didn’t find the thought upsetting in the least. He’d lived a good life, and he’d made the best of it even after the devastating loss of his beloved B
etty. Now, he took comfort in knowing that he’d done everything he could to help Eric and Lila escape. She was so young, and he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to fight like hell to give her the chance to live the life his own child never could. This sentiment fueled every swing and allowed him to keep fighting long after his body told him that he couldn’t continue. When the inordinate exertion left his arms feeling like noodles, he stopped trying to strike the zombies and instead simply held the pipe horizontally in front of him in the hopes of holding the monsters off for a little longer.
The zombies pressed forward, driving Frank backward until his foot bumped into something hard. Although he’d known it was coming, the feeling of the wall against his back infused him with the abject fear of a man who knows his time has come. After Betty died, he’d always told himself he’d been ready for death whenever it saw fit to come for him, but now that it was staring him in the face, it seemed like a different prospect. Perhaps it was the nature of the death with which he was faced rather than actually being dead that made him afraid. Regardless of the reason, ready was the furthest from how he felt as he held the surging horde back with the pipe.