Ranger Martin and the Zombie Apocalypse

by Jack Flacco

  Matty and Jon kept on the move. They crept through the aisles, always maintaining the creatures in their sights through the shelves. When the undead moved left, the kids moved right. When the undead moved right, the kids moved left. As long as they kept down and silent, they could try to steer them away from the stairs and make a run for it. Once the undead stopped, the kids stopped. Somehow, something brewed in the puny minds of these fly infested creatures. Partway down an aisle, one of them turned heading to the foot of the stairs from where they came. Had they understood if they divided, they could capture the kids?

  Matty’s eyes widened. She couldn’t have them separate. Staring down at the bookshelves, Jon noticed the bases. He nudged Matty. She noticed it too. The shelves had no bolts to keep them secured in place. They looked at each other thinking the same thing. Amazing what a simple glance can convey between siblings.

  Time to execute their next part of the plan, at least the plan they made up right there on the spot. But how? Jon had the solution. If he told Matty, she wouldn’t have allowed it. He ran to the end of the aisle, turned right and made himself visible to both zombies. “Hey! Hey, you dicks! I’m over here! Come and get me! I’m over here!”

  The zombies flinched. With fire to its stride, the eater en route to the stairs performed an about-face and joined the other, dragging to Jon’s position.

  Matty’s mouth fell open but didn’t say a word. Her idea of the plan did not involve Jon offering himself as a lamb. Smacking her forehead and expelling a deep, exasperated breath, she braced herself on one of the shelves. Even though she didn’t agree with his sudden bout of courage, she knew what she had to do.

  “Now!” Jon yelled at Matty. “Now!”

  Matty shot to her feet and with all her might, she pressed on the shelves with her shoulders. They moved but didn’t topple.

  “Oh-oh.” Jon said, then gulped staring at the approaching beasts.

  Great plan, the shelves should have fallen on them. Matty seized the shelves again, pulled and pushed forward. They moved but didn’t topple.

  At the same time, another eater dragged into the library upstairs through the door the extension cord had once blocked. Sniffing the air, it headed straight for the archives. Downstairs, in unison, the two zombies accelerated their pace to get to the boy.

  Ducking to the other side of the bookshelf, Jon scampered, staying low to lend Matty a hand. When he arrived by her side, the zombies had other ideas. Both eaters poked their arms through the shelving, searching, scouring, and grabbing at air, hoping to seize the kids. Books fell over them and on the floor.

  Jon grabbed Matty’s arm and brought her at eye level. “Use your gun!”

  “No! Not unless I need to.”

  “You don’t call this a need?”

  The third eater made it halfway down the stairs.

  Pulling out her gun, Jon closed his eyes and sighed in relief. She loaded the chamber, stood up, but did not fire. Instead, she flipped the gun and held it by its muzzle. Then she went to work, smacking the hands of the first intruder. It came back. She did it again, more forceful this time. The entity retreated. The same routine played out with the second one. When it retreated, Matty propped Jon by the scruff of his neck and yelled, “Push!”

  Too late rising to his feet, Jon screamed. “Look out!”

  The zombies’ arms exploded again through the shelving unit, swiping and fishing for the redheaded teen and her brother. This time, Jon leapt well back from danger, and waited for Matty’s signal. She pounded again on their hands with great fury as if she were playing a super-long game of Wac-A-Mole. The first one retreated, hands shredded to pieces. She continued her assault with the second. In the midst of the chaos, Jon couldn’t stand there and not do anything. Against his better sense, he scrambled to the second, grabbed one of its arms and hung his full weight on it, snapping the limb, causing the zombie to shriek in great pain.

  “Now?” Jon asked the obvious question.

  “Now!”

  With all their strength, they pushed, shoved and drove the shelving forward. It seemed like forever the unit dangled at the perfect balance point where it could’ve snapped to its original position or tumbled to its final resting place. Without a doubt, it toppled on the zombies like a house of cards, crushing their skulls into gooey messes.

  Before the kids could congratulate one another, although they had smiles on their faces for their accomplishment, their eyes turned to fear. The toppled shelves revealed the third zombie at the foot of the stairs. Without hesitating, it let loose, climbing over the broken shelves to head for the kids.

  “Do you see a need now?” Jon said.

  “Yes.” The gun still in her hand, she pointed it at the zombie’s face and shot it without as much as a quibble. “Happy?”

  “About time.”

  * * *

  Retrieving his knife from the roof, Ranger trotted into the stairwell. He heard murmurings, they came from the bottom. Like a bucket of ice water thrown in his face, Ranger shook and swallowed air. He could hear the footsteps of the slow movers climb. Not in the mood for another fight, he crept his way from the stairwell, and closed the door behind. But the door remained unlocked.

  Frustrated, Ranger darted to where he had fallen earlier. He scanned the area for something, anything to use as a tool or a weapon. The second of the foot-long cast-iron pipes sprung into view lying next to a pallet. He hurried, he needed to block the door before anything stepped its dirty, rotten feet on the roof to make his afternoon. Another session of zombie killing had to wait. Just as he was about to jam the iron pipe under the door, right on time, eaters began pushing to fling it open. Without missing a step, Ranger took charge, pressing his back against it. The pipe dropped and with his left heel he spiked it under. A quick turn, holding the door handle, he stepped on the pipe while pulling. It’s jammed in there pretty good.

  More pounding emanated from behind the door. Don’t these things ever give up? The pipe kept the unwanted from the roof. Ranger shot to the other side of the roof, back to the fire escape. He leaned over the ledge and noticed the crowd of zombies had dispersed. His first idea led him to want to climb to where he had started, in the alleyway. He couldn’t bring himself to do that, not after destroying the scaffolding, his one chance of escape. He had no choice, though. The undead pushed through the door. The look in their eyes, the eyes of death, hit him in the face. They seethed, wanting his blood.

  Ranger raced down the fire escape. When he hit the halfway mark, another group of chewers dragged from a hidden doorway under the ladder to the top of the heap of debris left behind by the collapsed scaffolding.

  The rag wearers had divided into two groups in order to trap Ranger. It worked. He had no place to go. He could try shooting himself out of the jam, but then how long would the shells last? Alerted by the commotion, others would trounce the scene. No. Ranger needed another way.

  His eyes darted to the alleyway. His head bobbed between buildings. Ranger’s options drained. He knew if he didn’t come up with something, the zombies would have plans for dinner. And he was supplying the food.

  As some of the undead made their way, rung by rung, down the ladder, Ranger spotted a window in the next building on the other side of the alley. He had an idea, a wild idea. If it worked, he would live. If not, he didn’t want to think about it. Before the zombies could climb down, he flung his gun from his side, and with precise aiming, shot the railing bolt above to shatter the weld keeping the ladder in place. One of the eaters fell to its death, leaving another dangling with him on the loose bolt. The ladder could not hold both of them so Ranger took aim, this time at the eater. The shot clipped the beast in the neck and it easily fell to the bottom.

  “Damn.” Ranger shook his head after having shot his last shell. He had to reload and he didn’t know how much time he had left. Dangling, more eaters flowed to the top of the building. Ranger steadied the ladder with one hand, placing the weapon between him and the ladder while at
tempting a reload. As it went, he fumbled with a shell, dropping it on the head of one of the awaiting zombies below. The undead didn’t take too kindly to Ranger’s teasing ways. They violently flailed their arms, grunted gruesome sounds, and shook in seizures. Ranger didn’t care what the zombies did, his gun waited for more food. Grabbing two shells from his belt at a time, he slipped them both in the chamber and cocked the weapon.

  As the ladder swayed, he attempted to control it with one hand still holding a rung. He swung it so it would edge closer to the other building. When he gained a sufficient swing, he aimed his shot at the last bolt weld. At the same time, an eater hopped aboard the ride to begin a descent. If it didn’t get off, it would throw the balance of the swing, causing Ranger to fall to his death. He ground his teeth, curled the corners of his mouth to a scowl, and hid his eyes under his eyebrows.

  “Get out of the way you maggot bag!” He screamed, letting off a shot, hitting the zombie in the hand, loosening its grip to plummet to its death. No more wasting time, Ranger thought. When the swing aligned with the pile of rubbish, Ranger took a final shot. He hit the target bang-on, shattering the bolt, causing the ladder to plummet with Ranger still on. Like a javelin, it sliced the air to impale a zombie on the heap of debris. The eater’s torso burst in green covering the wreckage and its brothers. The inertia of the swing propelled the top of the ladder toward the side of the other building and landed on the window’s ledge, just as Ranger had intended. He left the zombies on the fire escape to wander.

  Thinking he beat them, the crowd below began their assault on the ladder. Rolling his eyes, a gesture he may have stolen from Matty, Ranger ascended to the window, crashed the glass with the butt of his shotgun, and flew through the opening. Then, he popped his head over the ledge and noticed the zombies three-quarter the way up the ladder. He smacked the ledge resolving to end it, once and for all. Holding on to the window frame, he dangled his leg over the ledge and kicked the ladder. It moved slightly, but not enough to cause it to tumble. At the same time, an eater swiped at the zombie slayer’s leg. He kicked, it swiped. This went on for several times until the ladder finally gave way, plunging to the alleyway with the zombies still on it.

  Hearing the screaming and moaning safely behind him, he dropped inside the building with his back against the wall, resting for a moment to regain his senses.

  Chapter 19

  Randy and Wildside ducked into St. Paul’s Roman Catholic Church, several blocks west from Porter Street. They had abandoned fixing the truck’s last blown-out tire after the undead tracked their scent and gave chase. In hopes of veering the throng away from the truck and hitch, the boys had led them through a maze of alleys and side streets late into the afternoon. When they had spotted the church, they dashed in, perhaps with the idea a church would offer them asylum from the predators at large. The doors slamming shut behind them gave that impression. A few seconds later, a couple of straggling eaters breached the doors. And a few seconds after that, the boys opened fire on the lone maggot bags with M16 assault rifles spraying brain matter over the shut doors.

  Once they’d quelled the scouts’ mission, and peace had returned to the church, they wandered the length of the center aisle, pews on either side, absorbing the view. Not long ago the altar had offered regular parishioners a spectacle to behold. From top to bottom, it stood as a golden display. Gilded cherubs acted as the altar’s legs, positioned as guardians against the forces of evil. Between the cherubs, a golden cross lay fastened to the front. Light penetrating the stained glass windows surrounded everything, falling on the benches as rainbows. They smiled as if they saw color for the very first time.

  They moved closer to the altar, weapons in hand, never quite sure what they’d find behind it. Randy stepped first to the side of the elaborate table, his gun at the ready. Wildside followed from the other side. They traded glances and peaked under the altar. Finding nothing, they settled their weapons at ease.

  “We can rest here for a while.” Randy said, dropping a step from the altar to sit on the wooden bench in the front row, left of the center aisle.

  “Good idea.” Wildside sat on the right.

  They meditated as if part of two families of a bride and groom’s wedding party. A calm silence hung in their midst. For a moment, Wildside closed his eyes.

  A few minutes later, Randy asked, “By now, do you think Ranger’s with the truck?”

  “I think so. He’ll probably change the last tire himself and park the Rover on Michigan Avenue, just as he’d said. He’s that way. He won’t leave without us, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  Randy nodded. All of a sudden his study of the floor became the center of his attention. He wondered how Matty and Jon were doing. He hoped they found safety.

  A few minutes later, the quietness in the church had Wildside crossing his arms, tapping his temple. “When you finally found out about your parents dying the way they did, what ran through your head.”

  “Wow.” Randy eased his back into the bench and stretched his legs. “I—I didn’t feel anything. I didn’t know them or have a memory of them to feel anything. Like an empty chest. Whatever I needed to express wasn’t there. I just felt alone to everything that had happened.”

  “I suppose if you don’t have a memory of them, you wouldn’t feel a thing.”

  “How about you?”

  “Me? I thought how could everything so good turn into something so awful? My parents wouldn’t have touched a butterfly’s wings if they thought doing that would hurt it. To think of them as the changed eating others, tears at my insides.” He closed his eyes and curled his fingers into fists, shaking them in front of him as if he had a zombie by the lapels. Ranger’s influence may have rubbed off on him more than he knew.

  A loud creak echoed through the church from the back. The boy’s heads snapped over their shoulders, down the aisle to the door. It had swung open from the wind. They looked at each other relaxing their faces. It slammed shut and open again. Again, the boy’s stares ran down the church aisle. When they saw what had appeared beyond the door, under the archway leading to the center aisle of the church, they shot to their feet. Both raised their guns at the zombie with the tilted head, discolored complexion and torn garments. They nudged each other with their elbows knowing what would come next

  The boys had no mercy. They let loose a hail of bullets on the zombie, throwing it through the door, and down the steps of the church in a pool of green blood.

  Wildside whooped and hollered. Randy gave him a high-five. But before they could continue patting each other on the back, on either side of the entryway, separate groups of the undead united in the center in full compliment. Randy wondered. Had the eaters sent in a lone brother to test the duo’s firepower? Zombies do not have intelligence that way. They are pack hunters, much like wolves. When one finds human meat to feed on, it will alert the others with either a shriek or a cry. The first zombie didn’t have time for shrieking or crying. He thought, maybe the sound of the guns alerted the others.

  Even in the face of death, Wildside couldn’t help himself. “You go first.”

  “Oh, no. You go first. I insist.”

  “I have always been one to give first dibs to the youngest.”

  “Hey, respect for the elders, is what I believe.”

  “Oh, all right. Let’s do it together.”

  “That sounds like a great idea.” Randy reloaded as the pack of beasts edged through the door. “Oh, might I suggest on the count of three.”

  Wildside thought for a moment and shook his head. “Nah. Let’s let ’em have it.”

  They opened fire, spurting zombie juice outside on the front steps of the church. Bullets pierced body parts, snapping bones, causing the roaming dead to drop on the spot and crawl toward the boys, moaning in agony from their plight yet still hungry for young flesh. When Wildside would run out of ammo, Randy would provide cover fire until he reloaded from his pants pocket. Bullets flew from the M16 rifle
s, clips dropped as each and every zombie died at the entrance to the church. Whatever the cherubs standing guard at the altar couldn’t protect against, the boys shot dead. The duo acted as guardians to the sanctuary, not letting any of the eaters pass.

  After the rain of ammunition stopped, the gun barrels smoldered. Settled at the foot of the door, the bodies of the undead rested, having given up their souls.

  “Well,” Wildside said, wiping his face of the sweat with his free hand. “That was easy.”

  “Don’t say that. We don’t want to jinx our luck.”

  With their guns drawn, pointing at the pile of cadavers, the boys stalked the aisle. Remaining ever-vigilant, they clung to the hope nothing would hop to its feet in a surprise attack. As they drew closer to the mess, Randy studied the dead. He examined their white skin, the contour of their bones and their faces. “These are different.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Look at their arms and hands.”

  “All right, I don’t see anything different.” Wildside didn’t see anything different because he had never had an intimate encounter with any of the zombies as Randy had had.

  “Their limbs are paler than the ones we encountered near the towns in Arizona.”

  “Do you think it means anything?”

  Randy shrugged, not answering. He stared at them in distant thought.

  As Wildside stood over the bodies in silence, green blood trickled into the cracks of the brick and dripped on the steps of the church.

  “We have to get out of here, Wildside. That was a hell of a lot of noise we made and I wouldn’t be surprised if the army showed up.”

  * * *