by Mark Tufo
He was still yelling when his rifle’s bolt stood open, his magazine empty. “What the hell?” he asked.
Six zombies were dead, there were no more in the stairwell. He saw the sunlight diminish as the door below him closed.
“Where did they go?”
His answer came quickly in the form of a woman screaming. He watched through the open door as zombies flooded into their location, having come up the stairwell on the opposite side of the building. It was not difficult to see that all had been lost. Lisa, Melissa, and Hal were rallying those not yet fallen into a defensive posture. Curtez could see the writing on the wall. He’d seen positions overrun, and that was what was happening here. He quickly pulled the zombies stuck in the doorway and flung their bodies down the stairs.
He thought to call to Lisa but knew she would want to stay and try to save as many of the people as possible. He closed the door quietly and watched. Somehow, through all the noise and confusion, Lisa realized what he was doing. She turned and looked at him through the small window set high in the door.
He opened the door. “I have no bullets, what do you want me to do? It’s over Lisa, come on!” he told her. She shook her head, but begrudgingly she tapped Melissa and Hal and motioned to the door.
The four of them crowded around the small, wire-encased glass window and watched their friends and co-workers fall quickly to the zombies. Three or four zombies would descend on a fallen human, tearing into them even as they thrashed about. Screams were cut short as throats were ripped out. Eviscerated and de-limbed people lined the floor, rapidly firing nerve endings making their bodies twitch violently.
“I can’t watch anymore.” Melissa headed down the stairs. Hal was next to pull away to comfort Melissa. Lisa’s breaths hitched as she watched.
Curtez was distraught that all he had managed to save was lost in a matter of moments. How though? How had they learned to open the doors? It had seemed a task light years beyond their skill set.
“We’ve got to go,” Curtez said to Lisa when it looked as if the zombies were finishing up with the warm bodies still available to them. If they could turn a handle, pressing an arm bar would be a piece of cake.
“Where to?” Lisa asked, all hope seemingly burned out of her.
“I wonder if we can catch a bus.”
“Hello?” Melissa asked as the door on the first floor opened up.
“Do you think it’s Stephanie?” Lisa asked Curtez.
He knew they were long gone. Right now seeing Trip come up those stairs would be the most welcome sight he could imagine. He knew better. They had walked into an ambush.
“Melissa, Hal, come back up here,” he told them.
“Wh—” Melissa started.
She began to scream when she saw a trio of zombies running towards her. She hadn’t completely turned around when they dragged her down. Chewing quickly through her clothes and into the soft tissue of her buttocks and hips. Hal grabbed her right arm as she fell. He was pulling her back towards him when one of the zombies peeled off from Melissa and lunged at him; he put his rifle wielding arm up reflexively. The zombie bit down hard on his elbow joint, shattering it into three shards.
Melissa was forgotten as he pulled his right hand free to swing at the zombie. He caught it on the side of its head, shattering one of his knuckles—the pain not even registering in comparison to his elbow. The zombie had not let go and was shaking its head back and forth, trying to rip a piece of him free. Curtez went down a few steps and slammed the butt of his gun into the zombie’s nose, rupturing the cartilage and most of the bones in its face. Melissa was mewling as the two zombies on her were ripping strips of meat from her legs. Bone was exposed on her left leg as she still tried to push away with her right.
Lisa was frozen, trying desperately to take her gaze from the scene below her. She wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go. She still had rounds in her rifle, but the engaged fighting was too close to use them. The zombie that had bit Hal was falling away as Curtez slammed it twice more in the head. He had pushed the face almost halfway into its skull. A zombie with a long thin strip of muscle meat in its mouth hissed at Curtez before it chugged the morsel down its throat.
“FUCK YOU!!!!” Curtez screamed as he rammed the rifle into its head as well.
Hal had fallen to the stairs, a glaze of shock sinking down on his features. His mouth was becoming slack, his eyes were losing focus. Curtez figured it was partly from the pain, but the majority was most likely from watching his girlfriend get eaten less than two feet away. Blood was sluicing down the stairs from Melissa’s torn legs. She was still alive but had long since retreated into herself. She was not cognizant of the events unfolding around her and was on the verge of passing out from blood loss.
Curtez had blood and gore all over him as he dispatched of the second zombie. He raised his weapon to take down the third. The zombie stood and backed down the stairs, warily keeping its eyes on Curtez.
“That’s right, motherfucker!” Curtez yelled at it, taking a step to meet it. “I’m the biggest, baddest mofo around!” he screamed, slamming a blood encrusted hand against his chest.
Lisa was nearly flung against the far wall as zombies began to push against the door she was standing next to. “Curtez!” She had turned and braced her legs against the wall and leaned her upper half against the door. The forearm of a man and a woman zombie were sticking through the small opening their initial push had afforded them.
Curtez looked down the stairs. The way was clear, he could leave. With more difficulty than he felt he should have, he turned the thought away. He ran up the stairs, bringing his rifle back, he moved it forward and pulverized the two arms until they hung limply, nothing much more than tendon holding them to their masters. Lisa was nearly able to shut the door completely.
She bumped violently when more zombies pushed from the other side. Curtez joined her in repelling the attack. They stood there for a moment, shoulder-to-shoulder.
“Now what?” Lisa asked him as if she thought he had the answer.
“Well, I suppose I should count to three and we’ll both head down these stairs as fast as we can and pray we can stay one step ahead of the zombies behind us,” he told her earnestly. “Move to my other side.”
“Why?”
“You’re slower.”
“Isn’t that better for you?” she asked.
“I’m sick of leaving people behind,” he said with a deep sadness.
“What about Hal?”
“Zombie broke skin.”
Lisa’s mouth became tight-lipped as she slid past Curtez. He moved further down the door so she would have room.
“Ready?” he asked.
She licked her lips.
“I’ll take that as a yes. One…two…three!”
Lisa pushed off from the door and was halfway down the flight of stairs before Curtez followed. Curtez was no more than three stairs down when he heard the door behind him crash open. He didn’t bother to hazard a look, he knew what was coming. Lisa was standing in the open doorway leading outside.
“Go, go, go!” he urged her, catching up.
He stopped short when he saw what was blocking her way. A dozen zombies were standing in a semi-circle looking at them. He was barely able to register how complete of a trap it was when he felt a spike of pain and heat in his neck as a zombie tore into him. I should have gone with Trip, was his final thought.
Lisa bolted, nearly breaking free of the ring; it was a bite to the back of her skull that brought her down. The zombie’s teeth had cracked through the thick plate and skimmed against her cerebellum. With her motor skills misfiring, she could not get her left leg to bend properly. Stiff-legged, she still tried. It was a short-lived attempt as a zombie dove onto her back and drove her into the ground. Her front teeth shattered as she hit the pavement. She couldn’t think why she thought it, but a bus ride sounded like the best thing in the world right now…and then her eyes shut.
Chapter 8
– Mike Journal Entry 5
“Mike!” Ron yelled through the heavily crackling radio while BT and I stared at hex-head screws and wondered how we were going to get them out. The library housed all sorts of ‘How To’ home improvement books. But in all of them, one needed tools.
“How about we just smash the damn thing against the ground until it opens?” he had asked at one point. I was inclined to agree.
I ran over to the window, figuring Ron was getting ready to give me tongue-lashing number two for destroying another truck. I knew something was wrong the moment I looked out. Zombies were surrounding the truck, and not just milling about, they looked aggressive. We’d found that, throughout most of the invasion, if the zombies had a choice between a car and a building, they invariably stayed around the building. I can’t really attest to why this is. Maybe they felt that the odds of more people being in the building were higher. As good a theory as any I suppose.
But that was changing right now. Zombies that had been perfectly content to wander around our stronghold were now peeling off and heading towards Ron’s truck, and what was more unsettling was that they were trying the door handles.
“Holy shit,” I said aloud.
“Are they trying to get in?” Tracy asked me.
I thought about going with ‘You think?’ Luckily, from time to time, an inspiration of wisdom hits. “Yup,” was my answer. “Looks like our friends slept at a Holiday Inn.”
“What the fuck are you talking about, Talbot?” BT asked, coming up next to me.
“You know, because they’re getting all smart and shit,” I said defensively. “Want me to shoot some of them?” I yelled down to Ron. I was ignoring BT’s shaking head.
“Don’t you fucking dare!” I heard him somewhat through the failing radio and the span of distance; although that latter voice was muffled from the closed windows.
From his angle, it would look like I was shooting right at him. I mean, I wouldn’t be, but there was a chance I’d send rounds into his engine…and that wouldn’t be good. Zombies or not, he’d get out of that truck and come up here and kick my ass for wrecking another one.
“I was afraid this might happen,” Tommy said from the next window over.
We all stopped to look at him. “Any chance you would like to elaborate?” BT finally asked.
“Eliza sort of kept the zombies at bay. With her giving them commands, they never had to think much past what she told them to do. With her influence gone, they are free to learn, or relearn, or just plain remember, I’m not sure.”
“How much of any of that can they do?” I asked, fearful.
“Well…none of them are ever going to write great novels. But opening doors and figuring out basic tactics shouldn’t pose too many problems.”
“How do you know all this?” Tracy asked.
“When I was linked to Eliza I could feel what she felt when she reached out to them. She suppressed them to keep them under her rule.”
“Who would have figured having Eliza around would be a good thing?” BT asked as a statement.
“This is worse than pissed-off flying monkeys,” I said off-handedly; a thought I probably should have kept to myself.
Tracy stopped her thoughts to look over at me. “Huh?”
“Heavy medication day?” BT asked her.
“Forget it,” I said, feeling fingers of embarrassment flick up my neck.
“We gotta go!” Ron shouted as the zombies began beating on the hood and glass of his truck.
“I didn’t think the cavalry was supposed to retreat.” Travis said, beating me to the punch.
“We’ll be back!” Ron yelled over squealing tires.
“Seems the cavalry is re-grouping. Boys, this changes things a bit. Stay together. I want you to check out every weak area this place has, no matter how small the chance you think a zombie can use it. I want you to either fortify it or let me know about it. Tracy, Tommy, if you two could keep an eye on the zombies, me and BT are going to get this box open.”
“What about Gary?” BT asked.
“Let him sleep,” I answered. I went over to the librarian’s desk and began to rifle through it until I found something I thought we could use on the screws. “Hope this works,” I said, holding up a pair of toenail cutters.
“Damn, did she cut horse hooves with those?” BT exclaimed.
I hadn’t noticed how big they were until he had said something. I was just happy to have a tool. Then thoughts of what those had been touching began to dominate my mind. What if she had toe fungus like the zombie?
“Here, you should probably use these.” I thrust them out to BT and quickly rubbed my hand on the side of my pants.
BT figured out my unease and the source of it quick enough. “This little thing grossing you out a bit?” BT asked, holding them dangerously close to my face.
“I’ll hit you, man.”
“I can almost see the germs wriggling around on it.” BT held it up to his eyes. “Looks like some of them have horns.”
“Why? We have zombies running around outside trying to get in and you feel like you have the time to give me shit?”
“Because it’s fun, man,” he said, sticking his tongue out and nearly licking the apparatus.
Heaving was not out of the realm of possibilities. As difficult as it was, I had to man up. My man-card was already in jeopardy of being revoked. As soon as this shit was over I was going to have a metal one made. Then I rethought my strategy; metal rusts.
“Just get the screws, will you,” I said to him, peeling my eyes from the horror he was trying to inflict on me.
BT slowly removed half the screws, the soft metal on the clippers was beginning to twist. We could only hope it would last. Justin came up behind me. I hadn’t even heard him approach as I was concentrating so hard on the process in front of me.
“Hey, Dad.”
I hoped the small jump my heart took went unnoticed.
“Hey,” I said back.
“Everything’s secure, but they’re trying all the doors.”
“Fuck…that’s creepy,” I said. “Whatever happened to the good old days?”
BT stopped. “Good old days?”
“Yeah, stupid slow shufflers,” I told him.
“Yeah, those were the good days,” he said, getting back to the box.
“There’s more…they’re really starting to congregate around the small basement windows,” Justin reported. “Trav’s keeping an eye on them. We don’t really think they can get in that way, but they seem real interested.”
“BT, you good?” I asked.
“No. Without you watching, I’m not sure how I’ll ever get this done.”
“Funny. I’m going downstairs.”
“Alas, what will I ever do without your micro-management?”
“Come on, Justin,” I said.
The basement was darker than I remembered; then I realized it was because the zombies were crowding out the ambient light. Mostly we were staring at legs, but more than a couple of the windows had the faces of the living dead staring back at us. Talk about a nightmare. Think about that the next time you have an opportunity to go down into your basement and get supplies. We were fish in a fishbowl and the cats were trying to figure out how to get their paws in. Did I mention I fucking hate cats?
“Shit!” I heard BT bellow upstairs.
“You alright?” I yelled.
“Broke a nail,” was his terse reply.
I was about to say something when a zombie hand slammed against the thick-paned glass, followed quickly by another. And then, as if they had synchronized their attack, pounding was going on all around us. I did a quick three-sixty to watch. Travis pulled back from where he was to be in the relative comfort and safety of us.
We were all holding our breath, so it was pretty easy to hear first one window crack and then another.
“Well, this just got interesting,” I said more as a way to calm my skipping heart.
“Shoot?�
� Travis asked nervously.
Tracy and Tommy had come down from the top floor to see what was causing so much noise. Large pieces of glass shattered on the cement floor. Hands shot through, trying their best to seek purchase on something that was WELL out of reach. On a few of the windows, hands and arms were replaced with heads as zombies tried to wriggle their way in. Fortunately, they were getting hung up on their shoulders. A smaller woman zombie was able to flop most of the way in; her gratuitous, child-bearing hips became her sticking point.
“Shoot the ones that are stuck,” I said, hoping that we would create a logjam and prevent any further attempts.
If they were gaining smarts, they would realize that they could use small sizes to their advantage; that meant women and children zombies. The woman zombie was flailing about, trying her best to get in. Between her movements and my nervousness, it took me three shots to still her. The first had slammed into her shoulder, the second, went wide right and into a framed reproduction of a Picasso painting. At least I hoped it was a reproduction. I’d never liked his art, but I was not into indiscriminately destroying invaluable pieces.
The third caught her in the top of her head. She fell against the wall, her head leaving a bloody stain where she struck. Similar shots rang out around me, with the desired affect being achieved. I was breathing heavy like I’d just run a marathon. Okay, that’s a lie. I’d never be able to run a marathon. Let’s go with ‘I was breathing as heavy as if it was the fourth quarter in the Super Bowl, tie game and a commercial break came on, and not only did I need to take a world-class piss, I also needed to get a few beers for my guests and reheat the nacho cheese before the ads were over. Yeah, that’s better…that’s how heavy I was breathing.
“Seems to have worked,” Tommy said. He was still on the stairs with Tracy.
“Trace, could you see how BT is doing?” I asked. She was all too happy to oblige.