Deadlocked 8 (17 page)

I sat up, and then panicked when I realized
that Stubs was no longer tucked in my shirt. I looked around, and
saw the limp pup laying off to the side, a lump of brown on the
grey, moldy carpet.

Breath still eluded me as I got on all fours
to crawl over to Ben’s dog. I was hunched over like a wounded
animal, gasping as strands of spit fell from my lips. I blinked
away the dust that kept invading my eyes and reached out to touch
the dog I feared was dead. His pudgy little body was as still as a
stone, sitting there in the faint light.

My lungs finally responded to my desperate
attempts to breathe, and I gasped in relief as I pulled my way over
to Stubs. I uttered, “Please, please, Stubs. Please be okay.”

I touched his side and felt his skin jerk
from tension just as his little paws jostled. He whimpered, and my
heart swelled. “Oh thank God,” I said as I turned the wounded dog
over so that I could see his face. He whimpered again, and I knew
he was hurt, but I didn’t see any blood, which was encouraging. I
cautiously lifted him, apologizing to him as I did, and then
cradled him as I stood.

My knee was pulsing, and my back felt like
someone had taken a bat to it, but the most worrisome of my pains
came from the shoulder that had been my scourge for months already.
The wound from my fall off the steeple months back returned with
vengeance, pounding as if a second heart was hiding just under the
skin there. I tried to rotate my arm, but the pain was too intense,
keeping me from raising my arm any higher than my shoulder.

“That’s not good.”

Stubs looked up at me with his one good eye,
the other glancing off somewhere in the distance, and he whimpered
in sympathy.

“Can’t worry about it now, right Stubs? We’ve
got shit to do.”

I searched for my pistol, certain it had to
be in the room with me somewhere, but there was no sign of it. I
spun in a circle, and then got to my knees to look under the bed to
see if it had somehow bounced that way, but it was nowhere. Perhaps
it was up in the attic, stuck on a rafter, or maybe it was still on
the roof. It didn’t matter where it had landed, I’d lost a good
gun, and that would cost me.

The door to this room was closed, and I was
cautious as I opened it. The house was quiet, except for the sound
of the zombies outside. It didn’t seem like anything had broken in
here yet, and I felt safe as I moved out into the hallway.

There were pictures on the wall of a happy
family, each of them smiling for the camera. A mother and father,
and one girl that I guessed was around five or six when the
apocalypse began, at least based on the types of toys that had been
in her bedroom. I saw her baby pictures on the wall, a pink bow
clinging to wisps of blonde hair, and her parents smiling as they
held her. The husband was a stout man, clean shaven and tall, with
a smile that brought dimples to his wide cheeks. The mother was
thin and pretty, with blonde hair that was only a little darker
than her daughter’s.

I wondered how they’d met their end in the
apocalypse. Were they among the survivors that had been tricked by
the government into going to one of the camps where they would
later disappear? Or had they succumbed to the first onslaught of
the disease? Where was the little girl that had once played in the
room I fell into?

What had finally killed her? It was foolish
to wonder if she’d survived. Hardly anyone did.

I got my answer seconds after ruminating on
the question. As I reached the stairs, I glanced into the master
bedroom. A skeleton in a red dress was laid out on the bed, her
arms wrapped around her child’s corpse. Time had long ago stripped
away their flesh, leaving brownish bones behind that hadn’t been
bleached white by the sun.

I didn’t have the heart nor the time to
investigate further. I’d lived in the post-apocalypse long enough
to guess what I’d find inside. Somewhere in that room would be the
bones of the father that had so lovingly placed his wife and
daughter on that bed. I imagine he’d been the one to kill them
before taking his own life.

Now these faces staring at me from the walls
felt like ghosts, hoping I’d take their memory with me, because the
world would forget them otherwise.

I staggered my way down the stairs, confident
that the pain in my side would lessen if I ignored it. The family
had fortified themselves here, and their work had held up. They’d
pulled boards out of the inner walls to nail against the doors and
windows, and there was no sign that anything had broken through.
The family’s demise was likely caused by the contraction of the
disease. Perhaps the daughter had been ill, and infected the
mother. Several scenarios danced through my imagination, but I
forced myself not to consider any of them. They didn’t matter. None
of the trials of those Reds mattered anymore.

The front door was fortified too well to
bother trying to open. It would take me too much precious time to
pull away the multiple boards. Instead, I went to one of the
windows. The family had only nailed up a couple boards before
pushing a curio cabinet in the way, blocking off access. I pushed
the cabinet back, causing the trinkets within to rattle as I did.
It didn’t take me much longer to pull away the board that the
home’s owner had thought would protect them from a horde breaking
in. This had been a feeble attempt to secure the home, and the
family would’ve been doomed even if they hadn’t succumbed to
infection.

Before I opened the window, I searched for a
weapon. My gun was lost, and my knife was in my satchel instead of
on my belt like it should’ve been. I hadn’t brought anything else
with me except for Stubs, and I doubt he’d like it if I started
smacking zombies with him. I headed for the kitchen, although I
wasn’t looking for a blade. Knives are good for fighting humans,
but useless against the undead. Zombies don’t care if you cut them.
They don’t process pain, which means you can slice a hundred times
and never slow them down. The best melee weapons to fight zombies
with is by far a blunt one. Despite how these monsters seemed
indestructible, a quick smack to the kneecap is often enough to
send them tumbling to the ground. They might continue crawling your
way, but if you can still run then you’ll be fine.

I found a rolling pin, but it was an awkward
weapon and I kept looking. I knew that time was a factor, and ended
up grabbing a meat tenderizer with a rubber grip. I took a couple
practice swings with it and then, feeling satisfied that this would
work, headed back to the window.

I slid the window open and then stuck my
fingers into the handles of the screen that would allow me to pop
it out before pulling it inside, giving me a clear escape. I looked
down at Stubs and said, “Wish me luck.” He whimpered in
response.

We squeezed through the window one leg at a
time, and then gazed out at the distance between this porch and the
Jeep. It seemed an ocean away, and there were plenty of walking
corpses in the way.

When a zombie horde moves, the ones in the
front of the pack are spurring the fervor of those behind. They see
or hear something, and are drawn to it, causing the head of the
horde to surge with them, all of them enticed by the excitement of
the first. The creatures in the back rarely have any idea what
invoked the group’s movement, which often causes hordes to split in
two, with the second group unwilling to chase whatever had drawn
the first’s attention. Once a large portion of this horde had
pushed their way into the house, another group was left wandering
outside, unaware what everyone else was so excited about.

I knew there would be some zombies on the
side of Ben and Harrison’s house, investigating the noise we’d
caused when our makeshift bridge collapsed. It was clear that I’d
be swarmed if I ran straight for the Jeep, but taking a longer trip
around the cul-de-sac might endanger my friends. There were only a
couple of zombies in my direct path. The rest of them were in the
yard and around the tree that had grown in the driveway of the
house.

I took a deep breath before rushing forward,
relying on reckless bravery to save the day.

Note to self: Don’t bet on bravery.

I ran past a couple of zombies that didn’t
have time to process what was happening. They twirled and growled,
but were too slow to catch me. Another of the creatures stood
directly in my path, and I knew I’d have to kill it if I was going
to make it to the Jeep. He’d been a fat, slovenly man in life, and
his weight slowed him in death as well. He didn’t have a shirt on,
and I could see the wound that had killed him. His left breast was
missing, as was a portion of his cheek, and there were gashes on
his side from when he’d been a meal for the creatures that had
murdered him. I noticed that the marks his flesh bore were clearly
from an animal, but I didn’t have time to ponder what that
meant.

He caught sight of me running at him, but not
in time to do anything to stop me. I smashed the tenderizer against
the side of his head with enough force to send him staggering to
the side, out of my way as I rounded the front of the Jeep. There
were at least ten other zombies within a few yards of me, and all
of them turned their attention to me as I opened the door. If I
could just get in, I’d be safe. I had the door open, and was just
about to get in when something thudded against me.

I didn’t know what it was that hit me, but
the attack had come low, striking my rear instead of my back. When
a zombie attacks, they come at you with their hands first, grasping
and pulling you into their gnashing teeth. They normally went for
the throat, simply because that was usually the easiest place for
them to dig into their meal. This time, I didn’t feel the grasping
hands, and there were no teeth snapping at my neck. Instead, I felt
myself being pulled back by something grabbing my sweatshirt. Then
I felt myself being shaken, back and forth, before I turned to face
my attacker.

A dog had come from within the horde on the
street and had lunged at me. Its first bite only managed to earn it
a mouthful of my sweatshirt, but when I turned it released its grip
and lunged again. It moved too fast for me to defend other than to
offer my arm. The dog was wiry and tall, with mottled brown and
black fur that was stained with dried blood. It was emaciated, with
ribs clearly defined, and the skin over one of its eyes had been
torn away, leaving the blackened globe on full display as it peered
up at me. Its maw clamped down on my left arm, which had been
wrapped beneath Stubs to keep him safe.

The undead beast shook its head violently,
pulling my arm along with it. I couldn’t help but yelp in pain. The
creature’s jaws were tight, and I could feel its teeth on my bone
as it jerked back and forth. I swung in desperation and smashed the
dog’s head, but it didn’t let go. It pulled back in an attempt to
drag me with him, but I refused to move. I tried to pull my arm
back, but the dog was stronger than I expected.

When my left arm was pulled away from my
stomach, Stubs fell from beneath my shirt. The poor dog barked as
he landed at my feet, and I desperately tried to retrieve him. I
dropped the mallet that I’d been carrying and reached down for
Stubs, but the dog that had attacked me also saw the meal I’d
inadvertently given up. He let go of my arm in favor of an easier
target.

My hand was on Stubs when his killer snatched
him away. I felt his soft fur slip out of my grip as the undead
dog’s teeth gripped his neck and it stole him from me. I tried to
chase after him, but my battle with the creature had given the
horde around me time to reach us. The swell of undead closed the
gap, and the dog that had taken Stubs was lost among them as I was
pushed up against the Jeep. A female zombie, lithe and frail, had
grabbed my shoulders and was lunging for my neck. I thrust my elbow
into her and then decked her with my right hand, sending her
staggering back a step. I was able to kick out at her, connecting
with her waist and causing her to fall back into the arms of
another monster.

If there was anything I could’ve done to save
Stubs, I would’ve, but he was lost.

I got into the Jeep and tried to pull the
door shut, but another zombie had gripped the top. His fingers
crunched as I tried to close the door, but he stayed vigilant in
his attempt to get me. Now there were several zombies reaching in
at me, and they pulled the Jeep’s door open as they grasped at my
clothes. One of them got my hair and pulled me partially out of the
door as I scrambled to get the keys into the ignition.

My head was being pulled out of the Jeep and
I could see teeth baring down on me as I turned the key. I slammed
my foot on the gas, but the Jeep was still in park. The engine
roared but I went nowhere as the horde flooded the vehicle,
climbing over the hood and pulling at my clothes as they
relentlessly bit at me. I had to blindly reach for the gear shift
and I did my best to get it into drive. I didn’t normally drive
this type of vehicle, and tried to remember which position would
propel me forward.

I guessed wrong and the gear shift grinded as
I put the vehicle into reverse, sending us back and onto the lawn
of the house I was trying to get away from. I heard the thump of
the Jeep striking a portion of the horde, and when I stopped the
entire vehicle was at an angle. I wasn’t sure if one of the tires
was resting on a curb or a body. The zombie that had been pulling
at my hair had tried to scalp me, but the Jeep’s movement had
broken me free of her grasp, albeit not before drawing blood from
where she’d pulled some of my hair out. I could feel the hot liquid
coursing down my cheek as I got the Jeep into drive and then sped
out of the yard, kicking up dirt and grass as I went.

There were zombies on the hood, but they
didn’t have a good enough grip to hold on. They slid off as the
Jeep bounced over the curb and back down to the street. I was able
to finally close the Jeep’s door as I headed out, and then I caught
sight of the dog that had stolen Stubs away from me.