The Demented Z (Book 1):The Demented (14 page)

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In
the pitch black, Tom’s instincts took over. He side stepped out of the doorway
just as something large brushed past him. The large body must have felt Tom’s
shoulder, causing it to slow. Not wanting to waste an opportunity, Tom lunged
forward, knife out in front. The blade plunged into something soft. He
repeatedly pulled it out and jammed it in, not wanting to give any reprieve.

Something
crashed into his legs from behind and began clawing at his waist. Using one
leg, Tom kicked at it, sending the attacker back toward the open doorway.
Several angry moans issued from the same direction.

The
large body spun and howled out in rage, his giant arm catching Tom in the side
of the head, sending him crashing up against the wall. He instinctively ducked
down the wall just before there was a loud crash as a fist slammed into the
wall where his head used to be.

More
moans. Loud.

He
slashed out with the knife, catching something…flesh.

The
big man continued to pound at the wall and then screamed when he was unable to
locate his prey.

Turning
back toward the big man, Tom reached out with both hands, grabbed onto one
of the trunk sized legs, and yanked with all of his might. The large man was
thrown off balance and came crashing to the floor with a loud boom. Not
wasting any time, Tom leapt on top of him and began repeatedly slamming the
knife down with both hands. Over the nearly overwhelming stench that filled
the hallway, Tom detected the metallic smell of blood.

A
loud grunt reminded him that something else was in the hallway with him.
Before he was able to spin around, somebody slammed into his back, pressing him
up against the bloody mess of Big Man. Clawing hands raked at his back and
shoulders. With all his might, Tom twisted around, leading with his elbow.
With a crack that sent sharp pain all the way up his arm and through his spine,
he caught someone square in the head. The body went limp and flopped off to
the side as Tom worked to gain his feet.

More
moaning, low and soft. The sound emanated from just a couple feet off the
floor.

He
could barely see movement in the darkness, but inside, Tom knew it came from the
lips of a child or what used to be a child. He did not know if he could do
what needed to be done. This could be Sam. This was somebody’s Sam, probably
the two on the floor.

Reaching
out with one hand, he swung it in the darkness, feeling for flesh. Several
swipes later he made contact, felt hair. With a growl, the little one clawed at
his arm. Hesitating briefly, Tom swung the butt of the knife down, smashing it
into the little one’s skull. The hands went still and with a soft thump, the
body hit the floor.

Tears
streamed down Tom’s cheeks. His throat burned and chest tightened. He tried
to take a few deep breaths to avoid vomiting, but only drew in the stench of
filth and death. His stomach heaved. It felt like he had gotten sucker
punched in the gut. Unable to resist, he threw up to the side of the narrow
hall.

Using
the back of his arm, he wiped clinging spittle and vomit from his mouth. Eyes
and body aching, he just wanted to lie down, even amongst the bodies. It was
the thought of Kelly and Sam, the fear of what they might be going through that
made him keep moving. Gathering himself, he made for the bedroom, feeling his
way along the wall.

Reaching
the bedroom, he quickly realized that without power, life was going to be much
more difficult. Without even the faint light of distant street lamps, he could
not see anything. Turning, he stepped his way back down the hallway, trying to
avoid the bodies as best he could.

After
making his way down the stairs and silently slipping out through the front door,
he stood next to the large truck in the cool night air. Looking around, he was
amazed by the level of darkness. He could just make out the outlines of houses
across the street, with details lost in deep black shadows. It was a darkness
he was used to out in the country, but found very disorienting when surrounded
by the dangers of the city.

Listening
intently, he could hear the noises of the infected from somewhere in the
distance as well as possibly a motorcycle or ATV, but nothing sounded close.
Hesitating for a few minutes, Tom decided the immediate area was clear and
slowly opened the truck’s driver side door.

The
dome light clicked on, bathing the interior in a bright glow. Reaching across
the cab, he opened the glove box and rifled through its contents. Nothing. He
then lay across the seat and began digging under the passenger seat. Feeling
mostly papers, he was about to give up when his hand touched something
metallic. Stretching to get a hold of it, something outside touched one of his legs.

His
mind raced, knowing he was in a terrible position to defend himself. Arching
his back, he went for the passenger door handle.

“Whoa…take
it easy.” A familiar voice said from behind him.

Peering
back toward his feet, Tom was relieved to see Ben’s face staring back at him.
“You almost cost me a pair of underwear...maybe even did, I don't know
anymore.” He sat up, holding high the flashlight he had found under the seat,
like it was a glass of champagne. “I hope your night has gone better than
mine.”

Looking
agitated, Ben said, “Where’s Danny?”

“I
haven’t seen him…or anyone since the attack...except you.”

“We
have to look for him. He’s out here somewhere.”

Clicking
on the flashlight to make sure it worked, Tom said, “I’m working on it, but one
thing at a time.”

Ben
grabbed his arm. “Right now, we can’t leave him.”

Not
in the mood to argue, Tom shook away his grip and stared hard at him. “Grab me
again, I’ll kill you.”

Ben
stepped back out of the way.

Leading
the way, Tom went back into the house and up the stairs. Part way down the
hall, his flashlight beam landed on a monster of a man, maybe six-six, built
like a pro linebacker. His chest and face were a bloody mess.

The
flashlight beam traced its way over to a petite, dark haired woman with a
crushed in cheek bone and thick, dark blood oozing out of her nostrils and
eyes. She had a nickel sized hole punched through her chest, surrounded by
black, dried blood. The light continued to work along the gory scene until it
came across a toddler’s sneaker. One of the nifty ones that lit up each time a
kid took a step.

Incapable
of seeing what was attached to the shoe, Tom raised the light, instead searching
ahead into the darkness of the bedroom. Stepping through the bodies and into
the bedroom, he almost gagged on the unbearable stench. Raising his arm up to
cover his mouth and nose, he scanned the room with his flashlight.

“Ugh.”
Ben said before retching somewhere near the doorway.

Tom’s
flashlight revealed piles of feces, pools of urine, scraps of food, and an
unrecognizable bloody clump of fur. He guessed it to be the family cat. Once
the light landed on the small coffee table he finally found what he came into
the house for. There by the tipped over lamp, sat a pair of glasses, a wallet,
and a set of keys.

“You
got ‘em, let’s go!” Ben said.

“Hold
on, there is one more thing here we need.”

“What’s
that?”

Ignoring
him, Tom continued to circle the filthy room shining the light in all the dark
crevices. Nearly coming full circle, he came to a reading chair and a small
tipped over table lying next to it. There on the floor, up next to the wall, lay
a pistol. He reached down and scooped it up, noticing two spent shell casings
lying next to the table legs. He tucked the gun in the back of his pants and
turned for the door.

“How’d
you know that was in here?”

Knowing
Ben would never let it lie, Tom answered, “I saw the bullet wound. The mom and
child were undead…they were killed some time ago with shots to the chest and
then came back, stuck in the room. The dad was demented. It was likely a cop
out to start with. The family probably locked themselves in the bedroom when
everything started, and then he ended it for his family before going crazy. My
guess is he didn’t have the balls to finish himself and became demented
sometime later.”

“Why
don’t we just hole up somewhere with food…wait for the cavalry?”

Tom
was not quite sure he wanted to go into much detail on his family, so instead
he said, “Cavalry? If this thing is interacting with flu shots then the
military is gone.”

Ben
stood staring at him, trying to process the information.

“All
the branches of the military get vaccinated…all kinds of vaccines. They were
likely the first to turn demented.” Stepping past Ben, he finished, “We’re on
our own.”

Stepping
into the garage, Tom shined his flashlight around the large space. Unlike
typical garages, this one was nearly bare. Only a tiny two person car took up
any of the clean cement floor. At the back were a set of wall mounted shelves,
neatly stacked with various items.

Using
the flashlight, he took inventory of the items, but was unable to find the
garden hose he was hoping for. “Don’t these people have any normal garage
items? I think we could eat off this floor and most of the stuff on the
shelves belongs in a kitchen.” Mumbling to himself, Tom added, “City rats.”

Turning
to Ben, he said, “We need a hose if we’re going to transfer any diesel over to
the mog. Let’s take a look around the outside of the house.”

In
the rock landscaping, just off the porch, lay a coiled up hose that Ben removed
from the house and tossed in the back of the truck. Both men now stood in the
dark listening.

“Hear
that?” Tom whispered.

"Motorcycle.”

Tom
nodded. “It’s a start.”

They
both climbed in the large truck and thankfully one of the keys was a fit and
the engine fired right up.

“We’re
in luck, tank is nearly full.” Tom said.

Tom
felt a great sense of relief when he turned on the headlights, pushing away the
suffocating darkness that had surrounded him for way too long. Backing out of
the driveway, they drove off in the direction they heard the motorcycle.

Even
after they rolled down their windows, nothing could be heard over the loud
rumble of the engine. Unsure what else to do, they continued toward the
freeway.

Ben
kept fidgeting with the glove box and taping on the dash. He appeared on the
verge of a breakdown. Hoping to keep him occupied, Tom handed over the
flashlight and said, “Try this, maybe we can spot your brother…or he can spot
us.”

Tom
tried to work quickly through the streets, dodging the various car wrecks,
sometimes having to drive through yards to get past. He figured the most
important thing was to stay on the move. A stationary target was an easy
target.

The
headlights were great for seeing what lay ahead, but the darkness to sides was
very discomforting. He felt like a horse with blinders on. The shapes of
houses would scroll by, but nothing could be seen just a few feet away from the
cab. Keeping the window rolled down a few inches, they could listen for noises
in the night and occasionally heard angered growls of the infected. They
sounded close, likely infected that saw or heard them driving by and screamed
out in chase.

Tom
worked to keep the image of hundreds of demented chasing in their wake out of
his mind, but it kept creeping in. Inadvertently, he continued to glance at
the inky blackness of the rearview mirror.

It
was one of those times, that he was startled to look back at the road just
in time to see several infected staggering through a narrow gap between
wreckage. A garbage truck had crashed into a street pole, tipping it over into
the nearby house. The wreck must have caused a domino effect, because along
the other side of the road was a tangled mess of vehicles.

Shuffling
through the narrow gap were three infected, their clothes bloody and mangled.

Not
daring to stop in the middle of the street, Tom instead accelerated toward the
group. The bright headlights lit the scene like some macabre stage play. One
of them, a portly woman, wore matching faded pink sweatpants and sweatshirt.
One of her arms was a bloody, tangled mess. Another looked like a high school
student, still wearing a backwards baseball cap and a backpack over his
shoulders. The third, farther back from the others was an elderly man with
short grey hair and a comical plaid vest. Blood caked his face and neck. In
another situation, Tom would have thought the trio was getting ready for some
kind of twisted flash mob.

Pink
sweatshirt’s head poked out just above the hood, her teeth bared in a bloody
grimace. Her eyes never showed a hint of awareness before disappearing below
the truck in a sickening thud. Next came Student, never even getting turned
around to see the truck before it smashed over him and bounced as he went under
the tires. The impact shattered the driver side headlight. The elderly man,
seeming more aware of the situation, was actually able to shuffle far enough to
the side to avoid getting ground into the pavement like his friends.

Navigating
the streets with a single light made the houses and cars seem to close in on
them. It was like being in an ever narrowing tunnel, the sides closing in,
threatening to smash into their truck.

“See
that.” Ben said.

Squinting
into the darkness ahead, Tom responded. “Yip…looks like lights on the move.

A
few blocks ahead of them, nearly to the freeway, was a soft glow, shifting and
bouncing on the pavement. Tom stomped on the accelerator, not wanting to lose
an opportunity to find other survivors. Cars and debris were quickly appearing
out of the darkness. Focusing intently, Tom dodged through the wrecks, tires
chirping with the quick direction shifts.