Time of Death Book 2: Asylum (A Zombie Novel) (14 page)

University Parkway was a hive of undead
activity and we were a magnet, like moths to a flame, for their
attention. The road itself was passable, which was encouraging. A
narrow strip, large enough for a single car to traverse, was
protected by a barrier of vehicles that looked to have been moved
to allow passage.

"Someone has definitely been here. These cars
have all been moved out of the way. It's a promising sign," noted
Jake, more to himself than the rest of us.

"Guys, I don't want to jinx us," said Vinny
from the passenger seat, "but I think we have a flat."

Much to my annoyance, I thought he was right.
The ride had gotten rougher the longer we drove, and now the truck
felt like it was listing to one side. With each rotation of the
tires, the sound of floppy rubber slapped down on the pavement.

"Dumb it down for us," said Meg.

Jake and Vinny exchanged knowing looks before
speaking again. I caught Jake's eye in the mirror and he shook his
head.

"Fuck," I said, "we're going to have to get
out and walk, aren't we?"

"What? Are you crazy?" shrieked my
sister-in-law, her voice shrill and grating on my ears.

There was no need to answer. C'est la vie.
The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away, I thought. Selfish
bastard.

"Put the dog in the bag, gather whatever you
can carry, and be ready to run," ordered Jake. "I'm going to keep
going as long as I can, but it's not a matter of if, it's a matter
of when. This truck isn't making it five miles."

"Can't we just change the tire?" I know what
you're thinking. It would have been a dumb question, I agree, but
with the barrier the cars made there were few places the dead could
get through.

They exchanged another look, effectively
causing my good mood to commit suicide. "Enough with the fucking
looks, assholes. Spill it!"

Vinny fell on the sword. "I don't think they
put spare tires in the floor models."

"You think or you know," I questioned
suspiciously.

He sighed and trudged on, knowing his next
words would bring about nothing good. "We know. We looked before we
left the house this morning."

Don't think it was lost on me that he used we
in his response to share the burden of blame with Jake. He may have
taken one for the team, but he wasn't going down alone. When I
didn't answer, he turned to look back at me, flinching when he saw,
what I could only imagine, was smoke rising from my ears and flames
spewing from my nostrils.

I was too lost in my own rage to notice Meg
shared my sentiment. That is, until she lunged from her seat and
repeatedly slapped Vinny on the head, yelling incoherent
profanities. I could only make out a few words, and they weren't
good ones.

"Ow! Quit it!" He pleaded, never taking his
eyes off me, apparently the larger threat.

He was saved further beatings by the truck
suddenly lurching to one side.

"Shit!" swore Jake. "Vin, help me with the
wheel. I lost power steering. I think we fucked up the
driveshaft."

The two managed to straighten us out, but
their faces turned red from effort. I like to think we could have
gone on like that, all of us helping to keep our forward momentum
intact by manhandling the steering wheel, but the wheel proved to
be a worthy adversary. A loud bang sounded from beneath us and the
ass end of the car fell to skid along the pavement when something
broke free and wobbled to its final death in the middle of the
street.

Metal screeched as the tail end of the car
was dragged along by the powerful engine's four-wheel drive. The
truck was pronounced dead when it impacted the line of cars along
the left side of the street. The force of the truck opened a gap
between the wall of cars, allowing the zombies close by easy access
to the Armada, also known as us.

"We gotta jet!" yelled Jake, grabbing his
bug-out bag from beside him and jumping the console into the
backseat.

The sun was eclipsed by the sheer number of
zombies crowding at the driver's side windows, and a glance through
the windshield told me that if we didn't move now, we'd be
surrounded on all sides.

"Go!" Vinny shouted as he opened his door,
using it as a weapon to shove the zombie that had already made its
way around the side of the truck.

We moved like a whirling dervish, running as
soon as our feet hit the pavement. The weight of my stuffed bag,
plus the added weight of Daphne inside the carrier, became a
burden, slowing my pace considerably. Jake ran by my side, pulling
me by the arm and throwing me off my balance. When I tripped and
nearly went down, he grabbed my backpack, and my speed
increased.

The problem with sprinting is…well its right
there in the word. Sprint. Defined as a short race at full speed.
There was only so long the human body could maintain full speed.
While I ran, my thoughts drifted back to my anatomy and physiology
classes. Running took energy, that energy required oxygen stores;
lactic acid builds up in the blood and creates the lactic acid
threshold. I wheezed, struggling for oxygen after only a few
hundred feet.

"I. Can't. Keep going," I sputtered out
between gasps.

Jake turned back, his eyes shifting to
whatever was behind me. "Holy Christ! Don't stop!"

Don't turn around, don't turn around, I
chanted to myself. I'm my own worst enemy. I couldn't not turn
around; every fiber of my being yearned to turn. For the first time
in my life, I listened to the inner voice, knowing if I turned
around I would either fall flat on my face or shit my pants.
Neither option was appealing.

"In there!" I heard Vinny yell. My vision was
becoming tunneled, and his voice seemed to come from someplace far
away. If I didn't stop soon, my body would stop for me. At least
I'd be passed out and unconscious while the zombies ate me.

Chapter 09: Dry Clean Only

We ran through a narrow opening between cars and
crossed the sidewalk to enter into an old Laundromat. The small
space was empty of zombies, but it wouldn't be long until they
broke through the front windows. Four rows of washing machines
filled the center aisles, and the walls were stacked with built in
dryers. I counted twelve large portholelike glass windows, six on
either side of the room, and stacked two high.

"Get inside the dryers," Jake hissed in a low
voice.

"What? Are you nuts? We'll suffocate!"
protested Meg. She was leaning on one of the machines pressing her
hand to a cut on her hip that was bleeding enough to have saturated
her pants leg.

"Meg!" I said, my voice shaking. "You're
hurt!" I couldn't bring myself to say the word bitten.

"There was a piece of metal sticking out from
a car. I caught my leg on it."

"You need stitches." The wound was a deep,
jagged cut.

Jake stood in front of a dryer stack and
pulled out the lint trap, then knelt down to poke his head in.

"It'll have to wait," he ordered. "Pull out
the lint trap and get inside. Hurry the fuck up. They're
coming."

We chose machines on the bottom row and
followed Jake's instructions. I pulled the long-dry clothes from
the machine and climbed in, scrunching Daphne's carrier in beside
me. Before I could lean out to yank the door closed, Jake slammed
it into place.

"I love you," he said, looking in at me one
last time before shutting the door.

"I love you, too," I choked out past the
growing lump in my throat.

Across the aisle I could see Meg tucked away
in the dryer. For her tiny body, the dryer was a palatial mansion.
For me, it was a tight squeeze, and I shuddered to think what it
was like for Vinny. The poor guy was probably kissing his knees, or
even worse, finally flexible enough to perform the act that every
man wishes for.

I was trying to reposition myself when the
first set of dirty gray legs appeared, soon followed by more, until
I could no longer see Meg through the decrepit forest of limbs.
There was no question that I was getting air through the open vent,
but with so many rotters, it was not even close to being fresh. My
cramped round bubble of doom smelled like death, and not the
flowery funeral home scent one would normally associate with death.
Of course, I mean normally as in the pre-zombie era. It was foul
and rancid. Pick an adjective for smells like ass, calculate the
sum of all the words and multiply it by infinity; that is how bad
it smelled.

Daphne whined and scratched at the mesh
lining of the carrier, wanting out of the bag and into my arms. In
the spirit of not risking a bark of insistence, I complied, taking
great care to make as little noise as possible. I knew full well
this would bite me in the ass if I had to run for my life again,
but I could only deal with one issue at a time, and our current
predicament trumped a future one.

I held her tight to my chest and whispered in
her ear, she loved the vibration my voice made up against her, and
she leaned into it. It began to concern me that I couldn't see
anyone. For all I knew, they'd made a meal out of my family, and I
was about to be dessert. Try as I might, I just couldn't convince
myself to think happy thoughts. Out of sight was not even remotely
out of mind, and my imagination was running rampant.

The dog growled, and I clamped my hand over
her muzzle, making a shushing sound against her fur. An arm shot in
front of the window, startling me. I made to snatch up the dog
carrier to tip it sideways as a visual barrier between me and the
zombie dragging itself, but I froze when the profile of its face
came into view inches away from my hiding place.

My outstretched hand trembled, mimicking the
rest of my body, and I held my breath, hoping it would continue its
sluggish drag. Slowly, the zombie's head turned toward me, like a
creepy antique doll possessed by demons, and its lifeless eyes
locked onto me. I didn't move a muscle. I just stared back, willing
it to look through me and keep going.

Feeling threatened, Daphne leapt from my arms
and threw herself against the glass. Little droplets of her frothy
saliva coated the window and she barked and growled with a ferocity
I'd never seen before.

I felt my throat constrict and began to
whimper. Tears flowed down my cheeks in thick trails. The zombie
snapped at me behind the glass, the impact on the thin barrier
causing reverberation like a cannon boom in the tight quarters. I
shrieked in terror and cupped my hands over my mouth while I
ineffectively attempted to push myself farther away from the beast.
My stomach knotted up and I felt the prickle of hair on my arms
standing on end.

By now, the other zombies had been alerted to
my presence and their legs converged on my location. One by one,
they dropped to their knees and struggled to reach me, climbing
over one another without pause. Just before the last bit of glass
was covered by their misshapen faces, I glimpsed Meg across the
aisle, eyes gleaming and mouth agape with horror.

Countless hands pounded the glass, adding to
the cacophony like the constant beat of a bass drum, and I was
inside the drum. I pressed my hands to my ears and squeezed my eyes
shut and began to scream with rage. After a while, my throat became
raw and my screams were replaced with a raspy wheeze that mimicked
the undead.

I leaned back against the cold steel of the
dryer, hearing nothing but my wheezing breath and the growls of the
undead as they fought to find a way into my tomb. My body slumped
in defeat and I stared out the window, taking in all the ghastly
features of the ghoulish corpses. Like snowflakes, each zombie was
unique. Cruel, razor thin lips pulled back in a grimace, exposing
blackened gums and rotting teeth with remnants of their last meals
still clinging to the jagged tools of mastication.

My eyelids fluttered shut, and I allowed
myself a brief smile while I pictured my husband's face. We were at
the beach splashing each other in the ocean. He pulled me to him
and kissed me, soft and sensual, and I wrapped my legs around him,
kissing him back with passion. I drew back to look into his eyes
and ran my hands through his thick locks, sighing in contentment.
He was my world.

I watched in fascination as the clouds began
to melt out of the sky. Like paint thinner splashed onto a canvas,
my surroundings blurred into a muddy brown as the colors mixed
together. Confused, I turned back to Jake and gasped as his face
melted away, revealing a skinned and maggot-infested corpse. He
drew me closer, black tongue darting out and sliding over his
broken teeth.

My eyes shot open, and I flailed out my arms
in defense, swatting at nothing. Panting, I steeled myself and
looked at my tormentors, still vying for my flesh.

"Crap," I said to myself, the sound of my
voice incensing the zombies. "Just go away," I pleaded. Squinting
in the dim light, I looked down at my watch. We'd been stuck in the
Laundromat for six hours, and it looked like we'd be here a lot
longer. Most likely, this would be our final stop.

Cramps and muscle spasms wracked my bent
legs. What I wouldn't give to stretch them out. Daphne hadn't moved
from her guardian position at the window. She sat, alert, watching
to make sure they didn't get in.

Something was happening.

In a choreographed move, all heads turned
away, their attention fixated on something at the front door. I
leaned forward, pressing my face into the window for a better look,
but only saw the closest undead. A man shouted, and I heard
banging. To my amazement, the area in front of the dryer began to
clear. Zombies clambered to their feet and started to shuffle
stiffly away.

I saw Meg again, sobbing as she looked back
at me with relief. Still, though, the flat glass made it impossible
to see more than a few feet out, and the only thing I knew for
certain was that there were no zombies within my line of sight. I
motioned to Meg, pointing at my eyes and then to the room, and she
shook her head no; she didn't see any either.