Floyd & Mikki (Book 1): Zombie Hunters (Love Should Be Explosive!) (20 page)

Floyd’s head felt like it had been used for a soccer ball. He slowly opened his eyes. Mikki was leaning up against the scarred tree, next to the headless bear corpse, eating a zombie cake.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty!” she said with a smile.

“Thanks for the concern,” Floyd answered, annoyed. “How long I been out?”

“About 20 minutes. I checked and you was breathing. Sure got the wind knocked outta you, though. I watched over you for about 10 minutes in case some other creeper showed up. Then I got hungry. I got an extra zombie cake in the pack if you want.”

“No thanks, I’ve had enough zombie anything for a while.” Floyd took a long drink from his flask. “At least we’re close to the place. Should be up at the top of that hill. Get to that damn house, grab the damn radio, and get the hell back to the damn campsite.”

“No argument from me.” She held up the bear’s head. It had stopped moving and was no longer trying to bite anything nearby. “You want Cement Head? Make a great hood ornament!”

“Fine. You carry it. I gotta carry the radio. At least we won’t have a problem getting lost in the woods. All we gotta do is follow the trail of blasted trees and dead bodies all the way back to camp.”

“Works for me.”

They continued on for another hour as the sun climbed into the sky. They jumped at every leaf that rustled and every shrubbery that moved. At one point, Mikki whirled and fired three rounds rapid-fire into a sage bush.

“Well, that’s one bush that won’t get you,” Floyd said, dryly.

“Put a sock in it, Floyd!”

When they came to the grounds of the Wilkerson place, the two understood what Bob had meant by eccentric. Behind the expensive wrought iron gates, the front yard was littered with what apparently was supposed to be art. Numerous pieces of junk were welded together and painted bright colors. There was no rhyme or reason or theme to any of it. “One man’s art is another man’s crap,” Mikki observed.

The automatic gates were closed and wouldn’t budge. Mikki found the chain to the gate motor and blew it away with a shotgun blast. Then the right gate opened easily.

The home itself was clearly custom built. The two-story structure was sort of a cross between an old Victorian house, a log cabin and a church. It was adorned with a number of stained glass windows, but instead of Jesus, Mary, or a bunch of saints, these windows depicted a waterfall, a large tree, and an assortment of woodland creatures—the not-undead kind. Apparently, she worshipped nature. Or at least really, really, really liked it a lot.

They walked all around the house from a safe distance within the grounds and saw so sign of movement. No undead Dobermans jumped out the windows at them, no shuffling zombies popped out of the doors, no brain-eater bats flew out of the belfry (yes, it had a belfry). Everything seemed perfectly safe. And that scared the hell out of them.

They took turns switching on the radios on each other’s backs and completed a mic check. They were thrilled with how well the system worked. Of course, Mikki had to screw around. She breathed heavily into the microphone and said in a deep voice, “Luke, I…am your father!” Floyd laughed as he replaced the slugs with the drum mag. Shot was far more effective in close quarters and the drum mag held a lot more rounds.

They moved silently to the front door, which had its own little window of clear, beveled glass. They peered inside and the image was distorted, but the two could make out a large quaint living room, just like any you would expect of an old lady. The room was filled with lace-doily-covered furniture, paintings on the walls, and a wide assortment of knick-knacks strewn throughout. What seemed to be the blue hair of an old lady’s head was sticking up from a rocking chair, facing away from them.

Taking a deep breath, Floyd twisted the doorknob as silently as possible. It was unlocked so he slowly pushed the door inside. Multicolored light streamed in from the surrounding windows, giving a peaceful appearance, but also making it a bit hard to see.

Floyd had a really bad feeling about this. He was certain this was going to get really ugly, really fast, but he had no idea how. After staring down an undead grizzly bear, however, he felt he was ready for anything. He was wrong.

Mikki closed the door behind them as silently as Floyd had opened it, and took her place on Floyd’s left. They moved slowly to the woman in the chair. They couldn’t tell if she was alive or dead or undead as Mikki tapped her on the shoulder with the barrel of her shotgun.

Undead. Of course! Undead! The hideous thing turned around with her mouth wide open. It tried to stand but fell over as it got up out of the chair. The rocking chair fell over to the right as the old lady fell to the left. Floyd blew its head away with one blast as the body was on its way down.

“Damn, what the hell happened to her?” Floyd asked.

“Looks like she’s been…eaten!” Mikki responded.

No wonder the thing couldn’t walk. There was no flesh on her legs at all. Just a couple of tibias sticking out of the bottom of her dress into tennis shoes. The leg bones looked as if they had been clawed, while her exposed hands and much of her face had been gnawed away. Floyd half expected Norman Bates to walk in, wearing a dress and calling for his mother. Instead, what happened was worse. Much, much worse.

A sound began rising in the air. It was echoed and repeated throughout the room. A dreadful, macabre sound that Floyd knew all too well, filling his ears and sending icy chills up his spine.

Slowly, very slowly, they started to emerge. They came from under and around the furniture. They came through the open doorways from other rooms. They came at the top of the open wooden staircase at the far right end of the hall. They were even in the rafters and on wooden shelves built high into the ceiling.

“Cats!” Floyd said. “Why’d it have to be…cats?”

“Keep it together, Floyd!” he heard through the speaker in his ear.

“Easy for you to say.”

The me-oaning intensified. Suddenly, as if on some secret cat signal, they all pounced at once. They attacked from literally everywhere: in front, behind, both sides, and even from above. Floyd and Mikki started shooting everything in sight, turning the sweet little parlor into a blast-ridden pile of rubble. It still wasn’t enough.

“Goddammit!” Floyd screamed. “How many cats did this crazy old bitch have?”

“Too many!”

Mikki and Floyd both tried using the spotlights, but they only managed to daze the creepers directly in front of them. Cats jumped on their heads. Cats jumped on their backs. Cats clawed at their legs like a scratching post. Cats bit. Cats hissed. Cat’s me-oaned.

Before long, Floyd and Mikki looked like they were covered in fur coats as the cats latched onto any part of the two they could reach. Floyd couldn’t even see anymore as one big, fluffy, undead monster landed on his head and was trying to claw his face through the mask of his helmet.

“Mikki get these goddam things off me!” he screamed.

Floyd was clearly losing it, so Mikki took drastic action. Reaching through a pile of zombie cats hanging off her belt, she pulled the pins from two grenades. She threw one on top of the nearby couch and one into the far corner by the stairs. She grabbed Clyde out of Floyd’s hands so it wouldn’t get damaged in the fall and swept her leg around, knocking Floyd off his feet. He landed on his chest, flattening several of the undead felines, and she hit the deck next to him.

“Stay down!” She ordered, just as the two grenades went off.

Ba-Boom!

Shrapnel went flying in every direction, slicing through cats, walls and furniture.  Mikki jumped to her feet and fired off another 10 rounds at anything that had survived the initial blasts. Suddenly, all was silent. She helped Floyd to his feet.

Floyd was covered in dead cat. He had smashed the ones he landed on and the ones on his back had been blown away in the blasts. He stood there stunned, barely able to speak to Mikki.

“You…actually…did it. You…finally…actually…goddam…did it. You freaking
blew us up!
”

“Oh, relax,” Mikki said calmly, pulling a chunk of shrapnel out of the top of Floyd’s helmet and handing it to him. “I got rid of the cats.”

“But you freaking
blew
…
us
…
up!
”

“I said it before, and I’ll say it again. I love me these new outfits!!!”

The two surveyed the damage to the room. Every window was blown out. Every piece of furniture was in splinters. Undead cat guts plastered the walls (what was left of the walls).

“Mikki.”

“Yeah, Floyd?”

“Don’t ever apply for a job as an interior decorator.”

“I don’t know, Floyd. I like this better. Adds character.”

They moved through the rooms on the bottom floor and found nothing. The staircase was equipped with a chair lift, but Old Lady Wilkerson hadn’t used it for a while, and would never use it again. They chose the traditional method and walked up, carefully. They found a few more cats at the top of the stairs and blew them away.

“Bunch of pussies,” Mikki remarked. Floyd was still too weirded out to laugh.

They found the radio in the bedroom, next to a big, dust-covered bed. Floyd unplugged it and threw it as quickly as he could into his backpack. It wasn’t that big, but being built in the 1960’s, it was pretty heavy. He readjusted the straps of his pack and practically flew back down the stairs. Floyd couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

Back at the front gate, they switched off the radios to save the batteries. The communication system had worked flawlessly, even after Mikki had blown themselves up. The two reloaded the drum mags, and then headed back down the hill. They ran into no further trouble, other than a rampaging herd of brain-eater bunnies, which they took out with their machetes.

Pedro rang a bell in the ranger tower and everyone came running into the center of the campsite. “They’re back!” he screamed down at everyone, as excited as he could be. “They’re back!”

John couldn’t believe it as Floyd and Mikki made their way into the camp. They looked like they had been through hell. Their outfits were clearly battle-scarred, but they were alive.

“What happened to you two?” the ranger asked, incredulously.

“Nothing we couldn’t handle,” Mikki replied, taking off her helmet. “Radios worked great, Bob. Thanks!”

Bob turned about three shades of red as he mumbled, “You’re welcome.”

Floyd took off his backpack and set it down on a bench. Mikki did the same.

“We got a little present for you,” Floyd said, pausing dramatically.

He had intended to pull out the radio, but Mikki stole the moment and pulled Cement Head out of her backpack first. The entire camp recoiled in horror. The kids who were present all started crying, except for one little boy who shouted, “Coooool!”

After the shock wore off, everyone in the camp moved forward slowly, transfixed by the sight of Cement Head. Every one of them remembered the creature that had attacked the camp long ago. Before the barricades. Many good people died that day. One man sacrificed himself by leading it away, while the rest hid inside the strongest cabin. They found his mutilated body days later when they finally emerged. Now this horrible creature was dead. And they had Floyd and Mikki to thank for it.

Bob eventually broke the silence with a loud cheer and everyone joined in. They surrounded Floyd and Mikki, patting them on the back and shaking their hands. The joy on their faces was overwhelming. Several of the women started crying. Even the Sourpuss Family smiled at them.

When the hubbub died down. Floyd finally got a chance to reveal his prize. He pulled out the radio. He didn’t get as big of a cheer from the crowd, but Bob just about wet himself as he came and grabbed it from him. He ran off to the radio room to plug it in as everyone followed. They all peered through the door or the window, watching breathlessly as he turned it on. The dial lit up and another cheer erupted from the crowd. No need to replace a tube if the radio already worked.

Bob spun the dial around to the frequency where he had heard the signal from New California Haven before. There was nothing but static.

“New California Haven, this is Emerald Valley Campground. Do you copy?”

Silence.

“New California Haven, this is Emerald Valley Campground. Do you copy?”

More silence.

“New California Haven, this is Emerald Valley Campground. Do you copy?”

Nothing. Everyone’s faces dropped, along with their spirits.

“What do we do now, Floyd?”

“We go anyway, Mikki. We know they were there. Gotta find out what happened to them.”

“Keep at it, Bob,” John instructed.

John left the door open as he left the little room so everyone could still hear, just in case. “New California Haven, this is Emerald Valley Campground. Do you copy?” Bob repeated.

“Emerald Valley Campground, this is New California Haven. We copy. What is your situation?”

The crowd started to cheer again, but John quickly quieted them down. This was a pretty vocal bunch today, but now everyone held their breath, straining to hear the conversation.

“21 men, women and children here. All alive and well!”

“Any sign of the disease?” The voice on the other end didn’t need to identify what disease. Anyone left alive knew exactly what was meant.

“Negative. We are living in the campsite. Have running water and power. Everyone clean and healthy. Can you send help to evacuate?”

There was a long pause, then came the answer.

“Negative. Too far away. Do you have means to travel? Can you make it to California?”

“Yes! We have transportation and weapons. We can make the trip. Can you accommodate 21 men, women and children?

Another long pause, then, “Yes, we can accommodate. Looking to help any and all survivors. Must be quarantined and examined first, but we can accommodate. Do you copy?”

“Yes, we copy! Please give exact location!”

Bob scribbled everything down onto a note pad. The exact location of New California Haven and how to get there. Long Beach, California. Main entry down the 710 freeway.

So it was true! It was really true! There was hope. There was a future. All they had to do was get there. Somehow, Floyd and Mikki both knew that would be easier said than done.