The Demented Z (Book 1):The Demented (13 page)

Slowly
opening the door, he was startled to see one of the undead staring back at him.
Stumbling while backing out of the narrow doorway, he nearly tripped over his
feet before realizing what he was seeing. On the bathroom counter sat an oval
makeup mirror, facing the door. Stepping back into the bathroom and turning on
the light, he was shocked to look at himself. Most of his body was splattered
in blood. His face and arms caked in thick dirt and grime. He truly looked
like one of the undead.

Crossing
the hallway, he slowly opened the next door.

From
farther down the hall, the sound of something falling to the floor with a thud,
caused Tom to jump. He took a quick glance down the hall to make sure all the
doors were closed and then focused back on the now halfway open door, not
wanting to get surprised.

The
interior looked to be a teenage girl’s room. Surrounding a white frilly bed,
were walls decorated with cute, boy band posters. On the shelves sat jewelry
boxes, decorated with a rainbow of gem stones, glittering as the hall light
struck them. The smell was not as bad in here and a quick check of the room
verified it was empty.

Moving
back to the hallway, more noise could be heard, clearly coming from the door
straight at the end of the hall.

Not
wanting to leave unchecked rooms at his back, he first checked the last two
rooms along the hall, one to each side. One was a small office area and the
other was a toddler’s room filled with toys, neither having anything of
promise.

Stepping
back into the hallway and nearing the final door, Tom was slowed by the
intensity of the stench emanating from the door. Stopping in front of the door,
he had second thoughts. His heart was pounding. He was worn
out, certainly something nasty waited on the other side of the door, and likely
there were not even truck keys in the room. It was only his weariness that
spurred him on, knowing he was too worn down to make it much farther through
town.

Slowly
twisting the door knob, he found it locked…locked from the inside.

It
had been silent inside for quite some time now. Unsure if that was a good sign
or not, he knew there was only one way to find out. Holding his knife flipped
downward in his fist, he raised his right leg, and gave the door a solid kick
next to the handle. The jam easily splintered, sending the door swinging
inward, and crashing up against the interior of the wall. An unbearable stench
rolled out of the open doorway, followed by several low growls. Directly in the
light of the hall sat a large bed, covered in stains and filth. To each side
of the bed there was sudden movement out of the darkness.

In
a terrifying instant, the power went out, leaving only blackness and the terrifying sounds of
oncoming undead.

******

“Jackpot.”
Hank said.

Stepping
over next to him, Rachael shined her flashlight in the cupboard and said,
“Whatcha find?”

Reaching
into the tall cupboard, Hank pulled out a camouflaged crossbow with several
bolts mounted to a frame along the top. “Look at this bad boy.”

Rachael
stood looking at him, dumbfounded and nearly speechless. “What the hell good
is that going to do us?” she said while pointing at the seemingly medieval
weapon.

Holding
the crossbow up, he said, “I know it doesn’t look like much, but these are nasty
critters…and quiet.” He then looked back toward the door and added, “Do you
think there are more of them now or still just the two?”

Turning
to the door and gazing at it as if she had x-ray vision, she said, “It doesn’t
sound like there are more of them, but the noise may have drawn some that are
just stumbling around out there.”

Hank
worked his way around the boat and over to the door, crossbow in one hand. He
cocked his head trying to listen at the door, but with the incessant pounding
it was difficult to make anything out. “I think we’re gonna have to just
go for it.”

“How
fast can you reload that thing?” Rachael asked, clearly worried about the
prospect of opening the door. “Even if there are just the two…” She left the
rest unsaid.

Holding
the flashlight end in his mouth, Hank shined the beam down on the crossbow and
placed his foot in the stirrup. Using both hands, he pulled back on the string
until it clicked into place. He popped a bolt out of the rack, dropped it into
the loading slot, and then looked over to Rachael and shrugged his shoulders.
The entire operation took about four seconds. Plenty
fast enough under normal circumstances, but under duress it would only take one
fumble to botch the entire process.

After
watching him, Rachael said, “May work for two of them, but what if there are
more of them out there?”

Looking
back at the motorcycle, Hank said, “You know how to ride?”

Rachael
shook her head. “No, I’ve ridden but never drove one.”

“Well,
now is probably not the time to learn.”

Hank
moved back to the large enduro and unscrewed the gas cap, making sure there was
fuel. Looking promising, he rolled the bike up close to the large roll-up
door. “Let’s go about this a different way.” Shining his light on the wall
mounted garage door button, he said, “We’re gonna ride out of here in style.”
Handing the crossbow to Rachael he finished, “When I get this thing running,
hit the button, and hop on the back.”

She
nodded, looking a bit worried.

Giving
the motorcycle one strong kick, the engine roared to life, filling the small
space with noise and the smell of exhaust.

Rachael
hit the door opener, turned, and leapt onto the rear of the seat, wrapping one
arm around Hank’s waist and holding the crossbow with the other.

The
powerful engine let out a throaty rumble each time Hank gave the throttle a
twist. The door seemed to be rising impossibly slow. Doubt began filling both
their minds.

At
the base of the door, through the opening, several pairs of shoes could be
seen. They were staggering back and forth, trying to determine the source of
the door’s movement.

“Stay
low, we gotta go right when it gets open far enough.” Hank shouted over the
noise. He could feel Rachael squeeze in tighter to his back, readying for go
time.

The
thin door panels shook as the infected began pounding on the outside. Movement
and noise had stirred them, spurring their desire for carnage. At least five
or six pairs of feet stomped angrily in the darkness, their waists just
becoming visible.

Hank
revved the engine in anticipation.

One
of the infected, a fat man with a huge belly hanging down over his bloodied
sweat pants, bent over, his grime covered face peering below the rising door.
Baring his teeth, he growled in rage. He began shuffling under the door,
directly in the path of the motorcycle.

Rachael
raised the crossbow out in front of Hank. Aiming the best she could from such
an awkward position, she pulled the trigger. With a
thwok
the bolt
darted across the narrow gap and plunged deep into the fat man’s neck.

Fat
man reached for the bolt, issuing a gurgling grunt as thick red blood oozed out
onto his already stained t-shirt.

Hank
clicked on the headlight, blotting out the darkness and illuminating the torsos
of nearly a dozen infected. Hunching forward over the handle bars, he opened
the throttle and let go of the clutch. With a lurch, the motorcycle shot
forward toward Fat Man. Veering to the left, he dodged past and used his boot
to shove Fat Man out of their way.

Staying
low, he accelerated through the group. Rachael nearly got pulled from the
motorcycle by desperate, grasping hands that clawed at them as they sped by.
Their headlight cut through the night, lighting up the pavement ahead. Several
more infected, likely the undead, staggered toward them. The noise was drawing
them like moths to light. Their slow moving arms reached out, trying to grab
their prey before it sped away. Hank easily evaded them and roared down the
street.

“Nice
work! What now?” Rachael shouted into Hank’s ear.

Hesitating,
Hank finally turned and said, “We need to get to a gas station, see if we can
get some diesel. Get back to the mog.”

“I
can’t leave Tom.”

“One
thing at a time. Fuel, then we look for him and the others.”

The
two of them raced through the streets in search of a gas station.

Piled
up cars clogged the narrow downtown streets, forcing them to use the sidewalks
at times. They frequently saw movement in and around the cars; infected
stumbling around in the darkness.

Rounding
a corner, Hank could see the large neon signs of a gas station just on the other
side of the freeway. Their current street led through a narrow cement tunnel
to the other side.

Knowing
hesitation is what got people killed, Hank accelerated through the tunnel, the
engine roar echoing strangely in the enclosed space. Shooting out the other
side, they sped over to the station, stopping right at the front door.

The
bright interior lights lit several rows of shelving, filled with brightly
colored candies and goodies that previously enticed the wary traveler. Light
spilled out onto the surrounding pavement, an oasis in the darkness.

Leaving
the engine running, they both hopped off the bike and leaned it on the
kickstand. Even over the rumble of the idling engine, they could hear sporadic
gunfire somewhere in the distance, followed by hate filled howls.

Hank
reached out and took the crossbow back.

While
he began reloading, Rachael peered out into the darkness. She thought she could
make out movement in the inky blackness, but maybe it was just her mind playing
tricks. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw it again. Just barely. A shadow
shifting through darkness. “We better hurry.” She said.

Raising
the crossbow up in front of his face, Hank said, “I’m going to flip on the
diesel pump, you grab a gas can and some bungees if you can.” With that, he
turned and pushed through the glass doors.

Rachael
followed in his wake. Seeing some quarts of engine oil sitting on a shelf, she
turned down the aisle scanning for gas cans. Halfway down, she found a pack of
assorted bungee cords and at the far end were several red, plastic gas cans.
They were the smaller, one gallon variety, but would have to do. Grabbing two
of them, she turned and headed for the front door, where she saw Hank looking out
toward the front parking lot.

“They
are out there…coming this way.” He said.

Both
of them stood staring out into the shifting darkness across the parking lot.

Pushing
through the door, he added, “Pump one is on. Fill those and I will distract
them.” Hopping back on the bike, he sped away, toward the infected that were
just now visible in the light of the station.

With
a can in each hand and the bungees tucked under one arm, she sprinted for the
pump, trying not to think about what surrounded her. Laying the cans on the
cement pad and dropping the bungees, she grabbed the large green handle and
began filling the first one.

Hank’s
motorcycle could be heard from the other side of the pumps. Shrieks and growls
trailed the roar of his engine. Too stressed to even look, she focused on the
gas cans.

Once
both were full, she screwed on their lids and grabbed the bungee pack. She tore
at the package, cursing whoever designed plastic theft proof packaging. The
plastic finally split apart, slicing her finger in the process.

Looking
up, she could hear Hank in the distance and see his headlight bouncing through
the night.

An
ear piercing shriek sounded from directly behind her. Spinning around, she saw
one of the demented racing out of the darkness, coming directly for her. He
was tall and muscular, with short cropped hair. Looking strangely out of place,
he still wore a wetsuit from his last windsurfing outing.

Without
warning the station’s lights went out, shrouding the parking area in inky
blackness. The power had gone out.

Terrified,
Rachael panicked, unable to move. She could hear the slap of wetsuit’s feet on
the pavement, bearing down on her.
Do something. Move.
Her body would
not respond, muscles locked.

Light
splashed across the pumps and shined on Wetsuit’s angry face. Nearly on top of
her, he opened his mouth in a growl.

Rachael
realized what was happening just as a bolt whooshed past her head, slamming
into wetsuit’s open mouth. With a final step, he collapsed face first to the
pavement at her feet. Hank squealed to a stop next to her.

Hopping
off the bike he said, “Hurry, strap those on…more are coming.”

He
stepped over to the body and kicked him over to his back. Placing one foot on
Wetsuit’s chest, he grasped the bolt and with a sickening sucking sound, pulled
it free. Wiping some of the blood off on the wetsuit, he then rearmed the
crossbow, and turned to Rachael.

She
still stood, staring into the night.

Grasping
her arm, he shook her and shouted, “Take this!” He shoved the crossbow into
her hand. She looked down at it and nodded rapidly, the cool metal pulling her
out of her stupor.

Grabbing
both gas cans, he strapped them to the front and rear cargo racks with a couple
of bungees. The two of them hopped on the bike and roared away from the
station.

“I’m
sorry.” She shouted into his ear. “I…I couldn’t…”

“No
worries. We’re not out of this yet.” He shouted back while opening up the
throttle and speeding toward the tunnel.

Ripping
around the corner, he squeezed the brake when their headlight illuminated dozens
of undead slogging through the tunnel. The slow moving mass of bodies filled
both lanes. Skidding nearly to a stop, Hank turned the handlebars and gunned
the throttle. They would have to find a different way.