Zombie Fallout 5: Alive in a Dead World (9 page)

I slowly turned the doorknob. Gary’s rifle
barrel was over my shoulder. At least, it was my right shoulder so
I wouldn’t get hot brass in the face. As I pushed the door in, we
both took a step backwards, weapons at the ready. We could hear
groaning and moaning and the stink was excruciating, but there was
no onward rush of zombies. The door stopped its inward movement
about halfway through its cycle.

“I thought you were like super strong now?”
Gary asked.

“You’re really giving me shit right now?”

He pushed his rifle past my head so that the
barrel could be used to open the door the rest of the way.

Mrs. Dead Husband was straining against bonds
Mr. Dead Husband must have put in place before he opted out. She
was tied to the foot of her bed, which looked to be made of some
stout oak. At least, we knew why she wasn’t eating us yet. Her
hands were almost touching behind her back, she was pulling so
tight on her bindings.

“Are those pantyhose tied to her?” Gary
asked. “Didn’t know the things were so strong.”

Her head, which had been resting on her chest
as she swayed back and forth, popped up much like her infant’s had.
Her eyes almost had an intelligence to them. They looked predatory,
not the mindless glaze of the undead. Her mouth gnashed in anguish
at a food that was so close; the similarities to her baby were
striking.

And then I crossed the bridge into insanity
or at least my world had.

“
Do me a wrong, you bringer of
evil.”

Gary’s rifle erupted, but still the zombie’s
words echoed in my head even as she dropped to the ground,
dead.

“Did you hear that, Gary?” I fairly
cried.

“Don’t know how I would have missed it. Even
a .22 is pretty loud in a small room like this,” Gary shouted over
the ringing in both of our ears.

“Not the shot, the zombie.”

“What about it?” Gary asked.

“She spoke.”

“No, she didn’t.”

“She did, as clear as you and I are
talking.”

“Mike, I wouldn’t screw with you on this. She
said nothing and then I blew her head off. What do you think she
said?”

My thoughts were in a tailspin. I’ve always
felt that I was a pace or two closer to the edge than most, but at
least, I could usually recognize the precipice and step back at the
appropriate time. Seems like I misjudged and slipped completely
over. “She…I mean it said something like ‘Do wrong, you bringer of
evil.’”

Gary had to step out of the room apparently
to gather enough clean air to fuel his laughter.

“What the fuck is so funny!?” I yelled,
following him out.

“You’re telling me that zombie was quoting a
Black Sabbath tune? I find that to be funny as hell.”

“What?”

“That line, ‘Sing me a song you’re a singer.
Do me a wrong, you’re a bringer of evil.’ That’s from Black
Sabbath, I mean not the Ozzy-led band, but the Ronnie James Dio
version. Still an awesome song though.”

“Gary, she spoke to me,” I said. Gary looked
like he was about to brush me off. “So did the baby.” That got his
attention.

“Part of the new and improved Mike?” he
asked.

“I’ve got to believe when those psychics
talked about communing with the dead, this wasn’t what they were
talking about.”

“No wonder why Eliza is so pissed all the
time,” Gary said, reflecting.

“That doesn’t really help.”

Gary gathered himself and walked back into
the room. “I know, let’s see if this little trip was worth it.”
Gary gave a wide berth to Mrs. Dead Husband and went into the huge
walk-in closet. “There’s a safe!” Gary said, sticking his head back
out.

“Great, maybe we’ll see who he willed his
gold watch to,” I said, looking at the zombie’s feet, which were
still twitching. It was creeping the hell out of me, but at least
she wasn’t wishing she had some Dr. Scholl’s or something.

“Gun safe, Mike.” Gary said as if I were Gary
Busey. Does that need any further explanation?

“I know, brother, I’m looking at it too.”

BT and Paul had come up the stairs after
hearing the rifle shot.

“What’s going on?” BT asked, stepping past
the dead zombie and further into the room.

“She was…” I started, but Gary cut me
off.

“Found a safe!” he said louder than he needed
to.

“How big?” Paul asked from the doorway of the
now crowded room; especially since none of us wanted to be any
closer to Twitchy than we had to be.

“I never noticed them twitching so much. Do
they always do this?” BT asked, looking down at her legs.

“It’s not like we usually hang around to find
out, but I don’t think so,” I said.

“Do you notice something strange about her
head?” Paul asked, leaning a little over the body.

“Besides having a bullet in it?” came BT’s
wise-ass remark.

Paul was leaning a little closer.

This seemed like one of those moments in a
horror movie where something jumps out of somewhere and scares the
hell out of all the watchers.

“Something’s wrong, man, don’t get any
closer,” I told Paul.

He looked at me questioningly, but he did as
I said. “Wait a second. I’ll show you.” Paul rooted around in the
nightstand until he found something he could use. Ended up being a
wooden ruler.

“You going all Catholic nun on us.?” Gary
asked from the entrance to the closet. “You guys heard that I found
a gun safe, right?”

“Two seconds,” Paul said handing his small
rifle to BT. He straddled the dead zombie and extended his hand
with the ruler as close as he dared. “Gut check time,” he mouthed,
unwilling to suck up any air through his mouth. He moved a
five-inch section of hair still attached to the shattered skull
underneath. It slapped wetly against the top of her head as he
turned it over.

“That’s gross Paul, is there a point to
this?” BT asked.

“Look at how thick her skull is. I’m not one
hundred percent sure, but I think the average skull is about a
quarter-inch thick. Hers is at least double that.”

“Can they thicken their skulls?” BT asked,
turning to me in alarm.

“Oh yeah, good first choice, BT, I’m the one
with all the answers,” I told him.

“I don’t think she’s dead,” Paul said.
“Damaged, for sure, but not dead. I think by the time the bullet
got through this thick-ass skull, it ran out of steam.”

“I hate to get all obvious,” I said, donning
my captain’s hat. (Get it?)

BT finished her off. Once the smoke cleared,
he spoke. “Any chance she’s some sort of anomaly, like a throwback
to Cro-Magnon, you know?”

I was trying desperately to remember almost
as quickly as I tried to forget how the scene with the baby
unfolded. If I wasn’t over-thinking this, the baby was still moving
after my first shot. I might have completely missed with my second
shot, but the third shot hit home and the baby stopped moving. The
fourth shot was mostly involuntary. I didn’t give a shit though.
There was no way I was going back into that room to see if the
baby’s skull was abnormally thick. Even if that were the case, it
could just mean that genetically, Mom had passed that defect down
to it.

“I don’t know for sure, but we’re going to
have to keep this in mind, going forward. Let’s check out this safe
and get out of here. The longer we stay, the more I wish we had all
just gone to Maine and let the chips fall where they may.”

“The safe is open!” Gary said excitedly.
“What’re the odds of that?”

“Pretty good,” Paul said from the far side of
the room. He was looking out the window, keeping an eye on the
street around us. “They were getting ready to leave and all.”

“Makes sense,” Gary said, continuing the
conversation.

“Brother, just check out what’s inside,” I
told him. I would have smacked him upside the forehead if BT hadn’t
got past me and was now in my way.

“Damn!” Gary yelled.

“Grenades! Please tell me grenades!” I said,
almost jumping up and down like a schoolgirl that found out the
captain of the football team liked her.

“Yeah. Joe Homeowner in suburbia North
Carolina has a secret stash of grenades. Get a hold of yourself,
Talbot,” BT said. “Is it grenades?” BT asked Gary softly.

“Rossi Circuit Judge .45/410 revolver rifle!”
Gary said as he held it over his head.

“Zombies could have on Kevlar helmets, it
wouldn’t stop that thing,” I said.

“Big gun?” BT asked.

“Shoulder-mounted cannon,” Gary finished.
“Only twenty rounds though.”

“Those bullets are probably a couple of bucks
each, not something you go plinking with,” I said.

“No name 12 gauge and a snub nose .38, decent
amount of rounds for each,” Gary said as he pulled stuff from the
safe and around it. BT was shuffling it to the larger room. I
grabbed a small duffel bag full of clothes and baby toys that was
perched on top of the dresser. I spilled the contents onto the bed,
careful not to spend too much time thinking about what the things
were or who they belonged to. The pacifier, though, almost dropped
me to my knees. I went back to the growing pile of bullets and
gun-cleaning supplies and began to stuff them into the bag.

“Cats!” Paul said a little louder than I
think he intended to.

“Is that some sort of new expletive?” BT
asked him when Paul didn’t elaborate.

“No,” Paul answered, looking at BT
questioningly. “There were cats running by.”

“Running?” I asked. Paul nodded.

“How many?”

“Ten, twelve maybe.”

“Let’s get this shit and be gone.”

“Not that I want to stay in here any longer
than needed, but what’s the rush now?” BT asked me.

“Unless Mouser King just opened up around the
corner, something has them spooked,” I said, grabbing the handles
of the duffel bag and standing up.

“I hate it when you’re right,” Paul said.
“Couple of speeders headed this way.”

“Well, it’s a good bet there’s a bunch of
their slower brethren behind them and I am not getting stuck in
here as my final stand. I hate this house,” I added.

“I’m outta here,” Gary said, pushing past
BT.

“Don’t let me get in your way,” BT told
him.

Gary was already at the foot of the stairs
and not turning to respond.

I shrugged my shoulders and followed my
brother.

The two speeders had blown completely past
the house in pursuit of the cats. The twenty shufflers following
had just shambled onto our street and seemed to redouble their
efforts with quarry in sight.

The zombies were within thirty yards by the
time we were all packed and ready to go. Not close enough for any
immediate danger, but how close does one really want to get with
one’s waking nightmare?

“Hey G, let me see that rifle,” BT said as he
stepped back out of the car. He carefully placed five shells in the
rifle’s cylinder.

“BT, make sure it’s tight against your
shoulder,” I told him right before I covered my ears.

BT slightly rocked on his heels as he fired a
round. Doesn’t sound like much, but it was the first gun I had seen
that could even do something as much as that to the big man.

“OOOOOH WEEEEE!” he shouted. “It took three
of them down!”

We all looked through the back windshield.
Two were completely out for the count and the third one’s legs were
still moving, but it was only doing circles in the pavement as its
head was on the ground in an ever expanding pool of its own
jellified blood.

BT was still celebrating when I tugged on his
arm that he might want to get back in the car with us so we could
go.

I had a flash of panic in my gut, wondering
if anyone had deemed it necessary to check and see if the car
actually started.

Paul turned the key in the ignition, a slow
churning whirring sound quickly became the rapid tick of a dying
starter and then it caught. The engine roared to life just as the
first of the zombies banged into the rear bumper.

“That was close,” Paul said, looking in the
rearview mirror at me and the zombies outside.

“Um, dude, it’s still close; we haven’t left
yet,” I told him.

“Right,” he said as he placed the car in
drive.

“How did he end up in the driver’s seat?” BT
asked as he watched the zombies retreat.

The speeders up ahead turned when they heard
us coming. They started running full speed towards us, the smaller
cats completely forgotten.

“Run them over!” BT yelled.

“Don’t!” I yelled trying to match him in
volume. “There’s a chance they could stop this car,” I said,
thinking of Tracy’s long defunct Jeep Liberty.

“Bullshit!” BT said.

“Okay, how about crash through the
windshield? You want one of those things in your lap? Just think
where its mouth might end up,” I told him.

“Stay away from the zombies!” BT begged.

“Easier said than done, guys. The road is
only so big and they’re fanning out,” Paul said as he slowed the
car down.

“Do your best,” I told him as I braced for
impact.

“Anyone want to switch seats?” Gary asked
from up front.

Hitting at least one of the zombies in front
looked to be a foregone conclusion. Gary grabbed the bag I had
taken from the house and placed it in his lap. Not a one of us
thought it wasn’t a wise move.

Paul wrenched the wheel quickly to the left
and the car shuddered as the lead zombie smashed into the side view
mirror. The zombie’s tongue left a saliva string down the entire
length of Gary’s and my windows. I swear I could see the mega germs
swimming in that toxic stew now eating through the glass. (Flair
for the dramatic? Sure, I’m not above it.)

The car flung back to the right, but it was
either too much or too little of an adjustment. I couldn’t tell
because I was still transfixed on the zombie spit inches from my
face. That was, of course, until the side of my head slammed up
against Gary’s headrest. The impact, I think, brought the rear
tires of the small car off the ground for a fraction of a second.
My head was ringing from the smack. I was shaking the cobwebs away,
but I didn’t think I was doing such a good job when I looked out
the windshield. A zombie was halfway up the hood, his outstretched
hands latched onto the windshield wipers, and he was trying to pull
himself up.