Zombie Fallout 12
Page 32
“Shit,” was Sty’s reply as he fumbled with the safety.
The door opened quickly, and just as Trip predicted, the head banger fell straight in, the top of its head landing squarely on Mark’s boots. Sty had jumped back and Mark was busy placing three hastily shot rounds into the other zombie who had not yet, nor ever would, move into the shelter. Porkchop picked up the slack as he placed the muzzle of his small caliber pistol up against the fallen zombie’s skull and pulled the trigger hoping that the bullet didn’t go from skull, squishy stuff, skull, boot, to more squishy stuff, thus rendering Mark unable to move quickly. Mark, after killing the zombie directly in front of him, moved away just as Porkchop finished off the one at his feet.
Trip had moved with a quickness not normally attributed to him; the smoke had not stopped coming from Mark’s barrel as he stepped out of the enclosure. He raised the ball bearing-laden slingshot as he did so. The shrieker, seeing that his life was in jeopardy, was preparing for his aria just as the ball struck his eyeball at high-velocity. The gelatinous mass ruptured completely; eye fragments blew out to the sides as the ball dug further in. The shrieker’s head snapped back as the ball broke through his orbital socket and splintered the optic nerve. From there, the ball traveled another two inches, lodging deep into the frontal lobe and pressing hard on the temporal lobe. But none of that mattered, least of all to the shrieker, as he fell over, dead.
“That’ll teach you to try and screw with this brain!” Trip was touching his jaw. Stephanie came up beside him, her revolver roaring as she fired.
“Boys! Come on!” Mark and Porkchop were quick to follow. Sty had frozen in fear and indecision, not daring to come out.
“No!” He was shaking his head back and forth; Stephanie had thought he’d finally relented as he moved quickly; she thought to catch up to them as they moved and continually fired, taking care of the majority of zombies inside the house. Instead, he shut the door and threw the lock.
“Sty!” Stephanie begged.
“Mrs. Trip look!” Porkchop pointed to a window that looked upon a scene that would have been difficult to miss. A murder of zombies was coming down the road after hearing the shots.
“Sty, open the door!” Stephanie begged.
“I’m, I’m so sorry…I can’t!” She could hear him crying.
“Get out here!” she urged. She could hear him whimpering and possibly shuffling backward, though it was impossible to tell. What he wasn’t doing was opening the door and any avenue of retreat was quickly fading.
Trip looked at her solemnly. “Backdoor,” he told her.
“We can’t leave him here.”
“We can come back. We need to get away first.”
Her husband was withholding some information, but none of them had the time for her to decipher exactly what it was. He was right, and she was pissed about it.
“We’re coming back!” she made sure to point out.
“Of course we are,” he told her as they dashed for the kitchen and the door to the backyard. They quickly scaled the six-foot privacy fence, Stephanie handing Zach over before joining the rest of the small group. They found themselves in a small, but well-landscaped, yard that had a beautiful rock wall and a koi pond which had long since gone green. A swimming pool dominated the rest of the area; five zombies bobbed around in the now viscous-looking swamp. They watched with hungry eyes as the group inched away from them and around the other side. A small, female zombie puzzled out that she would not be able to get at them from the deep end, so headed to the shallows where the scalloped steps led out.
Porkchop had moved toward the house and the gate by the side; he opened it a few inches before closing it quietly. “Zombies,” he whispered. They were not only surrounded, they had some within the perimeter. Shooting the ones here would only bring the rest down upon them. The small female’s progress had slowed as she got into the shallower water and had nearly halted as her foot came down upon the first step. The rot and ruin below her head was not a sight any of them would soon forget. Brownish-black muscle shown through her translucent skin, where there was skin at all. Some of the muscles in her arms and legs had detached from the tendons that held them in place, hanging loosely against her body as if she were wearing a macabre gown of streamers. She could not raise her right arm at all, and her legs did not appear to be able to support her weight. Still, she tried to make it out of the pool.
She gripped the metal handrail to keep from slipping and left a trail of bloody mucus from the contact. On her next step ahead, she pitched forward, her jaw smacking loudly onto the concrete edge. Chunks of teeth rattled away like hard cast dice. Two of the zombies in the pool with her, after hearing the noise, chose to investigate.
“I don’t think I can watch that again.” Stephanie’s voice quivered with horror. They were spared the sight as their attention was diverted; heavy gunfire was happening off to the east. It was getting closer and hope surged in her heart as she thought help might be coming. Then, as high as her thoughts had gone, they crashed down doubly far as the sound began to trail off and stop completely. There was a loud crashing sound immediately to their rear. Try as she might, she could not shake the knowledge of what it was. A bulker had broken through the doorway to the house they had just vacated; Sty’s refuge was next. She thought she might go mad with the knowledge of it.
“Come.” Trip had gently grabbed her shirt and was urging her toward the garage. Porkchop took hold of her other sleeve and got her moving. She knew they were going to lose one, but she had to look out for the other four. She unwillingly went with them. “I…I think we were meant to be here.” There was a tear in Trip’s eye as he looked at the restored VW van sitting parked in the garage.
“Have you already forgotten about Sty?” Stephanie cried.
“I will never forget about him or his sacrifice. If not for that boy, we would not have had the opportunity to escape.” He said it so tenderly and so heartfelt, she could not doubt the sincerity of his words. “You need to drive; I don’t want to get another DUH,” he told her.
“A duh?” Porkchop asked.
“Driving under hallucination,” Trip explained.
“What about the keys?” she asked as she got in.
Trip opened the glove box. “That worked?” he asked as he pulled a small key ring out.
Stephanie turned the ignition; the vehicle backfired once and started. She took note that the fuel level hovered at three-quarters full. One small bright spot in a day filled with bleakness.
“I’ve got it. Just get ready to go.” Mark was looking out the garage door window; he had pulled the electric opener handle, releasing it from the machine’s engagement. He had one hand on the garage door handle and was going to open it fast then dive for the van. Porkchop was manning the sliding rear door to shut it as soon as the other was inside.
Stephanie put the van in reverse and nodded to Mark, who was watching her through the side-view mirror. He pulled the door open and could not help but notice the trio of zombies coming to investigate the small explosion that had happened. He spared them not a second glance as he turned and climbed inside. Porkchop immediately closed and locked the door. Stephanie gunned the van backward, she and the passengers bouncing about wildly as she did so. There was one agonizing moment as she reached the roadway and threw the transmission into drive; the car sputtered and nearly stalled. And then they were off. West; they were heading west.
About the Author
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