The front wheels hit the soggy mess and struggled to grip. He cursed and floored the accelerator, hoping it would move the powerful vehicle forward. It groaned under his control as he tried one last time to gain some traction.
“Ryan!” he yelled as he floored the accelerator again. The large machine roared with power and sprung forward onto the muddy field. It skidded for a moment before bumpily moving forward.
“FUCK YES!” Ryan yelled with excitement. His plan had worked, and they were back on the road to the power plant.
Sean focused on the field, hoping they weren’t too late. He forced the Land Rover towards the power plant, the mud kicking up against the doors and quarter panels. The vehicles were forced to slow down because of the terrain, but they continued, having no other choice. Sean cursed again, knowing the loss in speed would cost them dearly, but he was just grateful they were back on the road and moving forward.
Chapter Four
Harry and Oliver read the text from George again. The old house creaked and groaned as they frantically tried to figure out how to get to George.
“The poor man is stuck in the park with a shit ton of zombies milling around!” Harry said, emphasizing the situation to the others.
Isabella sat on the couch, intently watching the TV. The news was broken up, and the power kept flickering on an off.
Ronan, Oliver’s father, came back to the living room, frustrated with the limited power. The TV reporter was telling viewers about the outbreak, and the power supplies were in danger. The TV channels were fading in and out, and the signal was very limited.
“I can’t bloody do anything about the power.” Janice, Oliver’s mom, walked across the room. She took her cooking apron off and slumped down beside Ronan on the couch.
Ronan raised the volume, so they could all hear the reporter. “Man, this is a shit situation.” He scoffed as the picture on the screen crackled and flickered.
“TV channels are already limited, and power is fluctuating so people should prepare for outages. The government—alongside the army, special forces, and the police force—are advising the public to remain indoors.” The reporter shuffled his papers. It was obvious by the look on his face that he hated bringing the sad news.
Janice turned to Ronan. “Outages?” She was visibly shocked. Janice knew the pantry was well stocked with cans of food and dried mixes, but they didn’t have a way to cook the food if the power stayed out.
“If you’re worried about the food, we still have the barbecue,” Ronan assured her. He knew his wife well enough to know that the first thing she would worry about was the food.
Oliver, Harry, and Isabella crammed on the small loveseat and watched the news. The reporter had told the public to remain indoors, but George was still stuck out in the park. They needed to go rescue him.
“We have to go get George,” Harry whispered to Oliver. He wanted to be careful and spoke quietly to avoid Oliver’s parents overhearing their plans.
Oliver nodded bravely. He didn’t want to leave because his legs were still burned badly from the first zombie chase, but he knew that George needed their help. “I know we do, but how?” Oliver questioned.
Harry’s phone buzzed loudly in his pocket as they discussed a rescue plan. He retrieved the device from his pocket and read the text on the screen.
<
Harry showed the phone to Oliver, who quickly read over the text. “He really has a good way of speeding us up,” Oliver said.
Harry’s phone buzzed again. His brows furrowed as he glanced down at the screen to see another text from George.
<
The TV reporter rambled on about power losses and more zombie outbreaks. The signal kept cutting out, and both Janice and Ronan were glued to the image on the screen. Harry and Oliver exchanged concerned looks. They knew it was going to be a suicide mission if they went outside to save George, but they couldn’t leave the poor boy out there alone to be eaten.
They needed weapons.
Oliver had built little sling shots from old elastic bands and cracked pencils before. He used to love to flick his sharpener off the end of his ruler. He was a little experienced in homemade weapons. “We need weapons.”
He beamed as he stood. He beckoned Harry and Isabella to follow him as he dashed to his bedroom. He shoved the door closed and crawled under his bed, rummaging for something.
“What the hell are you doing down there?” Harry asked as Oliver’s legs became the only part of his body visible from under the bedframe.
Oliver didn’t say anything while he searched for his box of hidden gems. His parents generally disapproved of him creating mini-weapons. They didn’t want him to turn into a violent hooligan.
“I’m looking for something special,” he said from under the bed.
All Harry and Isabella could hear was a dull mumble. “Say again?” Harry said.
Oliver wiggled and squirmed his way from under his bed, clutching a small, blue box. He smiled enthusiastically before opening it to show the other two what was inside. A handful of broken pencils, broken sharpeners, and shards of what was once a ruler sat in the bottom of the box.
“Uh?” Harry looked at his friend questioningly. To him, it was just a bunch of cracked pencils. “Oliver, what is this?”
“It’s my special box of potential weapon materials!” He looked at the contents, obviously proud of his collection.
Isabella could see that Oliver was excited, but she had a feeling the items wouldn’t be much use in building efficient weapons to defeat the zombies outside. “Oliver, I don’t know if these will work,” she said as sweetly as she possibly could.
Oliver looked up from his collection. “Maybe you’re right. It was a stupid idea anyway.” He sadly looked down at his meager collection. “I just hoped it would be useful one day.” His voice sounded like he had just had his heart broken.
Isabella reached for Oliver’s hand, and Harry had to stifle a laugh. He couldn’t believe that Oliver was being so childish over such a ridiculous collection. It was just a bunch of broken pencils.
“Thank you for showing us though, Oliver.” Isabella smiled, fighting the laugh ready to rumble out of her chest. It wasn’t that she wanted to make fun of him, but she did find it cute and silly.
Harry coughed loudly. “Do you still have that slingshot you got last year?” he asked.
Oliver perked up again and jumped to his feet, pulling open his junk drawer. The slingshot was buried in the bottom. When he found it, he pulled on the elastic to test it out. “Good! It still works!” he exclaimed as he sat next to Harry and Isabella once again.
Harry took the slingshot and pulled the elastic back. “Oliver can you pass me one of the pencils from your precious box please?” he asked.
The broken pencil chunk soared across the room and ricocheted off the opposite wall. The three friends were truly amazed at the power of the small slingshot. Harry thought that if they could give it more power, it could work to harm the zombies with the right ammo.
“So, we know the slingshot works. What else do we use?” Isabella asked.
Oliver looked around his room. He didn’t have a lot of weapons lying around, and his brain was empty of ideas. He tried to think of all the end-of-the-world shows he’d seen in hopes of coming up with an idea.
“Do you still have water guns?” Harry asked Oliver. They always had water fights in the middle of summer even though it was usually raining outside. Oliver nodded in response, and Harry smiled. “I have an idea.”
They made their way out to the garage. The space was small but was stacked high with boxes containing different things. An old lawnmower was shoved in the corner. Oliver pulled the box full of water guns from the bottom shelf and turned to hand them to Harry.
Oliver looked at Harry with confusion. A water gun wouldn’t kill a zombie, so he was afraid about what Harry had in min
d.
Harry pulled a large gun from the box and examined it closely. “This may work,” he said, turning the gun over in his hands. “It’s worth a shot anyway.”
Oliver with his box of pencil pieces and now Harry with a water gun. Isabella sighed before taking a step forward. “Harry, I don’t mean to be a constant reality check for everyone here, but it’s a water gun. The bloody fools won’t die by a water gun.”
“You’re right. Water won’t kill them, but we’re going to fill them with something a little more powerful that will,” he told them before turning to search the garage.
Oliver and Isabella exchanged worried looks. Harry sometimes had the tendency to be dangerous with his genius ideas.
“Harry, for the love of God, please tell me the bloody water gun is not going to be filled with gasoline. Please tell me we’re not going to douse them in petrol and then set the damn things on fire?” Oliver stared at him with wide eyes, afraid of the answer.
Harry continued to search for the petrol he needed. The idea was efficient. The gasoline guns would work well; he was sure of it. “Well, no, of course not. I mean, why would we do that?”
“I know you want to kick their asses, but there has to be a more… well… a safer way.” Oliver wasn’t comfortable setting the zombies on fire. There were too many variables, like wind and weather, and it could go very bad, very quickly. “There has to be another way.”
Harry looked at his friend angrily. “What the fuck do you have in mind then, genius? Pencil chunks? Because that’ll do a really good job,” he snapped.
Oliver shrugged his shoulders. “I know that, but we could put something in the slingshot and use that.” His attempts were feeble, and he knew it all too well.
Isabella pulled out her phone and opened the Google app. She typed furiously, and in a matter of seconds, the three friends were looking at images of end-of-the-world weapons. A lot of them were high-tech guns or other, more powerful rifles.
They scrolled down to see if there were more realistic options. Harry was tired from just seeing the guns on the image result. They were wasting time, and George needed them soon.
“Oh, my God, guys. I think I figured it out!” Harry was certain his idea would be a worthwhile one. “Knives.” He gestured to the assortment of different woodworking tools on the shelf.
Oliver shook his head furiously. “No way. We’re not using my dad’s woodworking tools. He’d kill me!”
“But you aren’t disagreeing with my idea—just disliking the idea of getting in trouble.” Harry felt satisfied that he’d suggested an idea that Oliver liked.
Oliver opened his mouth to argue, but no words came out. As much as he didn’t want to use his fathers’ woodworking supplies, he also knew they’d make excellent and efficient weapons to hurt and potentially defeat the zombies they were about to face.
Oliver looked at the ground and sighed. “We need to use his bloody tools.”
“Knives and the slingshot will work. Do we need more?” Harry asked, observing the looks on his friends’ faces.
“It’s suicide anyway.” Isabella shrugged. She didn’t want to go with them, but she knew if she didn’t, they would get killed. “I’m going back inside, if you don’t mind.”
Isabella quickly headed back into the house. She imagined her stepfather in his beer mug pants, racing after her. She shivered to know there were more zombies to face. The slingshot and knives wouldn’t even cut the tip of the iceberg.
“You pissed her off. Good job,” Oliver shot at Harry.
Harry turned his attention from the knives to his friends. He hadn’t said anything out of the ordinary to annoy Isabella. “I did shit all, Oliver. Fuck off,” he shot back sarcastically. He didn’t aim his words to offend Oliver, but he wanted to prove a point and let Oliver know that he was working.
Isabella sat looking out the front window of the house. It wasn’t large, but it was large enough for her to see the swaying trees and empty row of houses on the other side of the street.
She watched birds fly from branch to branch, restless and uncertain just as she was. She looked sadly at Oliver’s high-tech bike and Harry’s old racer. The thin tires needed repaired, and the rusted frame was in desperate need of a clean.
Isabella watched the newspaper pages rustle and flap in the breeze. The overcast grey clouds were holding their rain while the wind blew softly over the quiet neighborhood.
Ronan and Janice bickered about power and the TV reporter. He thought it was going to be alright. They had extra propane and were well stocked with food, bottled water, and enough blankets to keep them warm when it got colder.
Janice worried about the food and water. No one knew how long the power would be out or if some areas were going to lose power at all. Nothing was certain, and that made her feel unprepared. At least the pantry was spilling full of different foods that could last a long time, but she still didn’t know how long the rations would need to last.
Ronan tried to reassure his wife that everything was going to be fine. “The newspapers say the same thing as the TV,” Ronan softly said. Janice was perched on the edge of the sofa, looking up at him when he spoke. “They say the power might go out, but it isn’t certain.”
Janice ran her fingers through her thin hair. She felt useless staying still. “Yes, Ronan, but what if the papers are lying to us?” Her voice was grim, and her expression matched.
Isabella watched the newspapers in Harry’s red milk crate. They had made a bloody useful projectile to knock out oncoming zombies. They hadn’t killed the enemy, but it had provided them with much needed time.
Newspapers.
Isabella sat up taller on the sofa as she processed her thoughts. The newspapers could come in handy. Harry and Oliver had been so focused on weapons they’d overlooked something as simple as the newspapers.
She ran to the garage. Harry had finished gathering the assortment of knives and screwdrivers and had made a pile of deadly weapons. Along-handled spade sat beside a chainsaw, and a sledgehammer stood beside the broken leg of a lawn chair. The boys had been successful, and Isabella was excited to bring her ideas to the table, too.
“Newspapers,” she said, panting from the brief run. “We can use them as projectiles. We already know they work.”
Harry smiled brightly. He hadn’t even thought of using the newspapers as weapons. “That’s pure genius!” he said, nodding excitedly.
Oliver shrugged, unsure that the newspapers would work. He didn’t want to argue, though. It was bad enough they’d had to use all the different supplies from his garage to create what they’d managed to thus far. His parents would be furious if they saw the stash.
“C’mon, let’s go grab our jackets,” Harry said urgently, leaving the pile behind him. There was a small door in the exterior wall of the garage they could use to take the supplies out without Oliver’s parents seeing them.
Isabella knew she needed to go with them. George was out there, surrounded by zombies, and they needed to go help him. “Harry, I know we need to go, but they told us to stay inside,” she said in vain.
“I know, but my best friend is out there. He needs us.” Harry was set on finding George.
“Aren’t you scared they’ll attack you?” Isabella asked, terrified of the zombies and her stepfather finding her again.
Harry shook his head. Deep inside, he was terrified to go back out to the zombies, but he showed no fear. He had to be strong. “I’m not scared at all. Trust me, we’ll be fine.”
“You’re very brave.” Isabella felt fortunate to have Harry as a friend. He was a good example to follow. “I don’t want to go, but if I don’t, I worry you’ll get killed,” she said, voicing her concerns.
Harry was stoic as he pulled his jacket over his shirt. His legs still burned from the long bike ride earlier, but he was ready to go and rescue George. He reached out to Isabella, and she smiled, hesitantly accepting his hand. She took a deep breath and steeled herself, knowing she would
need to be the newspaper gun wedged on the back of his bike. They were ready to face anything.
“Coming Oliver?” Harry called out.
Oliver was fetching his coat. He stood in front of the large mirror in the bathroom, admiring himself. “Yes. Yes, I’m ready.” He flashed a pearly white smile in the reflection.
He strutted out of the bathroom next to the garage with confidence. His jacket flowed as he walked, his aviator sunglasses sat proudly on the brim of his nose, and he flicked his hair dramatically. Harry and Isabella stood quietly, staring at their friend. He looked ridiculous in his sunglasses and oversized jacket.
He smiled eagerly at Harry and Isabella. “I’m ready now.” He smiled at their confused expressions, still feeling confident in himself and the way he looked.
Harry raised his eyebrows at Oliver, visibly amused. “Why do you have those sunglasses on? It’s cloudy out there, you damn fool.” He couldn’t understand it. He didn’t even know Oliver possessed a pair of aviator sunglasses.
Oliver seized the moment and whipped the glasses off with great dramatic emphasis. He wiggled his eyebrows and looked to the left, attempting to mimic a movie star. He’d seen countless American crime shows, and he’d always wanted to be like one of the American detectives with the sunglasses and leather jackets. He’d always wanted to be the hero and win the fight, just like on the crime programs he loved to watch.
“I wanted to be like those American cop shows. You know, with the cool detectives!” he excitedly said.
Isabella giggled into her jacket lapel. “Well, you look great.” She paused, stepping closer to Oliver. “You just need to have this.” She fluffed out his hair, so he looked like a boy band member. She stepped back, admiring her work.
Harry nodded in quick agreement, even though he thought Oliver looked a bit silly with his new hairstyle.
They quietly made their way back out to the garage to pack up the things they’d need. The three fearless heroes quietly loaded up Harry’s red milk crate with as many weapons as possible, but they were forced to leave the heavier supplies behind. Oliver made sure to grab the long-handled spade and the slingshot. He was excited to use them but also nervous they wouldn’t work.
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