Zombified (Episode 1): Wooneyville (7 page)

Joey finished his smoke.  "This is insane.  Everyone I care about is scattered in this fuckin' madness."  He got up and headed for the garage.

"Where are you going, Joey?"  Gigi called, glancing nervously in Dana's direction.

"To use the radio, Ma."  Joey opened the door to the garage and stepped down.  He grabbed a flashlight from the shelf adjacent to the door and clicked it on.

Piles of spare parts, tools, bottled water, and heaps of junk--most of it useful junk--decorated the garage.  A beat-up SUV was in the left bay.

Joey picked his way through the unorganized piles and sat down at a worn workbench that ran the length of the wall at the back of the garage.  He clicked on a mounted radio unit and picked up the mic. 

"Smart monkey, this is Savage Beast--over."  He fiddled with the dials, hunting for any signals.  Static and warbling voices faded in and out.  Joey flicked a switch and re-adjusted the dials.  "Hank at the cabin, this is Joey at the house--over."

"…
organized medical supplies and bunks on a first come, first serve basis
."

The message faded to static; Joey turned the dials frantically, searching for a stable signal.  He caught it and listened intently--it was a pre-recorded message.

"
Red Cross and military personnel have established a refugee camp at Timmons National Guard Base at Garden Harbor.  Citizens should proceed by any possible means to route 17 south, crossing highway 419, and continue past the Old Moss Campgrounds.  The camp has organized medical supplies and bunks on a first come, first serve basis.  Personal firearms and anyone with medical or military training is urgently needed.  Message repeats
."

Joey scribbled down the message, noting the directions given, and returned to scanning the frequencies.  He repeated the calls for 'Smart monkey'--Matty's self-given handle--and 'Hank at the cabin'. 

"Joey!"  Gigi shuffled into the garage, shotgun in hand.  "Dana is moaning and twisting around on the couch--she's freaking me out!"

"Shit.  All right, get over here and listen for anything from Matty or Dad."  Joey hopped off the stool and sidled past Gigi.  He checked the safety on his Glock before entering the living room.

Dana was curled in a ball, shivering and twitching.  As Joey stepped closer, her eyes popped open and focused on him.

Joey froze.  He couldn't breathe. 
Say something, baby
. 
Tell me you're still human
.  He licked his lips; his body tensed; sweat beaded on his forehead.

Dana groaned--a long, mournful sound that rolled out of her throat.

No.  Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck
--

"Jo… Joey…" Her voice was barely audible.  "I'm fucking freez-z-z-zing."  Her lips were blue and her body shook. 

Joey knelt down and stroked her brow.  "Okay, I'm going to carry you upstairs and get you warm."  He put his arms under her and lifted Dana off the sofa.  It was like carrying an ice sculpture.

"Bathroom," she moaned.  "Right n-n-now."  Her stomach heaved and a foul reek came from her mouth.

Joey detoured to the upstairs bathroom and got her at the toilet as the first wave of vomiting hit.  Dana's head was half in the toilet as green and brown puke splashed up and out of the can.  Joey stepped back, pulling his shirt collar over his nose and mouth. 

Dana gasped, wrapping an arm around the bowl.  She sputtered and spit between breaths.  Joey stepped forward to help her get cleaned up--she retched again, barfing copious amounts of rotten-smelling brew with the texture of spoiled porridge.

"Fuck!"  She growled in the bowl.  "I can't… I can't…" She twitched, burped, and threw up again.  "Oh God… what the fuck…" She spat and dry-heaved a few times.

Joey took a chance and helped her up.  The smell was downright offensive.  Vomit was splashed and painted on her face, hair, neck, chest, and upper arms; it oozed over the side of the toilet and pooled on the fluffy blue carpet wrapped around the porcelain base.  The bowl was full.

Dana was whimpering as Joey lowered her into the tub.  He stripped her clothes and started mopping her clean with a hot, damp towel.  She burped and heaved a few times, causing Joey to jump back with the towel raised like a shield. 

"That was obscene, baby."  Joey lifted her from the tub and helped her slip into a bathrobe. 

"Tell me about it."  She managed a weak smile.

"I'm gonna get you to bed, then get you some water.  Okay?" 

Dana nodded, her eyes shut, as Joey lifted her into the soft twin bed. 

"You want some music, baby?"  With the two generators, Hank and Gigi's was a resort in this madness.  Joey put in some easy listening, tapping the repeat button.

"Thank you," Dana whispered, brushing his face with her hand. 

"Get some rest.  I'll put a couple bottles of water by the bed." 

"Okee-dokee."  She was snoring softly before Joey was out the door. 

He looked at the handle, deciding whether to lock it or not. 
She seemed to turn around after hurling
, he thought. 
What if it's a calm before the storm?
 He bit his lip, spinning the key between his fingers. 
I can't risk it
. 

He locked the door.

Joey trumped downstairs, hooking a quick turn, and descended a narrow staircase to the basement.  He walked to the far corner, approaching a massive wrought-iron safe standing in the corner.

The dial spun and clicked.  Joey pulled the handle and swung the doors open. 

"That's what I'm talking about!"  A boyish grin erupted on his face. 

The cabinet bristled with rifles, shotguns, pistols, revolvers, and oodles of ammo.  Leaning in the corner, wrapped in black cloth, was a slender shape.  Joey reached in and lifted it out.  He untied a knot and let the cloth fall to the floor. 

The cord-wrapped handle felt good.  Joey gripped it tight and slid the sword free from its polished black scabbard.  The blade caught the light and glinted.

"You're thirsty, aren't you?"  He lifted it to eye-level and inhaled the scent of oiled metal.  Joey gave it a few swings before sliding it back into the scabbard.  He fixed the scabbard and ornate knot through his belt and returned to the toy chest.

Joey grabbed a brown duffel bag and stuffed it with shotgun shells, 10mm rounds, and plenty of magazines.  He unclipped a shotgun from the rack and cradled it affectionately.  It took a year--even with his employee discount--to save up the cash to buy the auto-loading, 10-round capacity smoothbore monstrosity. 

He called it Zeus, because it brought the thunder.

Joey popped a round in the chamber, cocked it, and loading nine more magnum shells in the underside.  He slung the strap over his head and patted the stock. 

"Joey!"  Gigi yelled from upstairs.

Loaded with his Glock, samurai sword, a duffel bag of ammo, and Zeus, Joey powered up the stairs.  He bolted to the garage.  Gigi wasn't near the radio, she was standing at the garage door, looking outside.

Oh shit
.  Joey heard the first guttural groans just outside the doors and realized they must have followed Bad Betty's noisy ass all the way across Wooneyville.

"There's five of them in the driveway, Joey!"  Gigi's raspy voice was filled with stress.  She adjusted her grip on the double barrel and looked at Joey.

"If we start shooting, we're gonna have a ton more attracted to the noise."  Joey put down his duffel bag and leaned Zeus against the door. 

"What are we going to do?  We can't let them just walk around there!  They'll realize someone's home--if they don't already."  Gigi backed away from the door and moved into the house.  She fished out a cigarette from her apron and sat at the kitchen island, shotgun in her lap.

"I'll handle them, Ma."  Joey drew his sword and moved to the garage walk-in door.  Two pieces of lumber blocked the door, threaded through iron rings.  He pulled the first beam free and started on the second one when the radio squawked.

"Joe?  It's Hank at the cabin--over."

"Dad!"

"Hank!"

Joey and Gigi both made for the radio.  The zombies did, too.  They rushed the garage doors, crashing against the aluminum slats in a wave.  Dull, hollow cries and sporadic groans filled the night outside.

The walk-in door banged--the second beam, half-pulled out by Joey, perched precariously on the edge of the securing ring. 

Sword in one hand, Joey ran to the door as Gigi scooted to the radio. 

He saw it in slow motion: the door banged twice, the beam slid out and clunked to the ground.  Rotted fingers gripped the frame and milky, bloodshot eyes appeared in the doorway. 

Of course, the one in front wasn't shambling.  It charged Joey, mouth hanging open, and was followed by three more moving a bit faster than a walk.

"Ma, get over here!"  Joey drew the Glock from his hip and fired three hollow-points into the charging flesh-eater.  It twitched and moaned; the first two rounds blasted through its chest--then it collapsed at Joey's feet, showering him with brain and skull fragments as the third round hit it in the nose.

Joey swung the sword in upward arc, slicing a zombie in half through its armpit and out the right ear.  Two others were on him, grabbing clothes and biting at his arm as Joey fired at point-blank range.  The shot went off almost in the creature's mouth, bathing another zombie behind it in gory explosion.

Gigi blased off both chambers, clearing the walk-in door, and clicked the barrel open to reload. 

"Shut the door, Ma!"  Joey yelled, stomping a zombie's kneecap and swinging the blade horizontally through its face.  He popped a cap in the last one, rushing to help Gigi with the door. 

She put the shotgun down and pushed the door shut.  Gigi bent down to pick up a beam and the door shuddered, sending Joey's Ma down on her left hip.  She yelped and reached for the shotgun as a zombie shoved at the door.  Joey ran up and thrust the sword into the three-inch crack, skewering the fiend through its left eye. 

Joey kicked the door shut, hoisted a beam, and slid it through the rungs.  The door banged, but the second beam was in place immediately after the first. 

"You okay, Ma?"  Joey helped her up.  She grimaced, rubbing her hip, and scooped up her shotgun.

"I'm not that frail, Joey.  Those shitheads don't know who they're messing with!"  She popped two rounds in the open barrels and snapped it shut.

Joey couldn't help but laugh.  "You'd probably taste too bitter for 'em, Ma."

"Hey!  Watch it, kiddo.  You aren't too old for some wood to the ass."

Joey raised his hands.  "Sure, Ma."

The radio warbled.  "This is Hank at the cabin.  Gigi, you still there?"

They rushed over to the bench; Gigi scooped up the mic.

"Yeah, Hank, we're here.  Had some company, but we asked them to leave."  She laughed a hoarse, barking laugh that turned into a hacking cough. 

Joey took the mic from her and pressed the talk button.  "Hey Dad, how's things at the cabin?"

"Joe!  Damn glad you're okay.  I figured you'd find a way through this crap." 

There was a pause; Joey was about to hit the talk button when Hank's voice sounded: "The cabin's a mess, Joe.  Those damn things are outside, beating on the walls, and Marco is… well, he's gone.  He got his arm damn near chewed off."

"How about you, Dad?"  Joey released the button, whispering "please be all right… you're all right…"

"I'm okay for now.  I got plenty of bullets and a few days food and water, but I'm not going anywhere.  Marco lost the keys to the truck somewhere outside when he got attacked."

"You sit tight, Dad.  I'll be there in a couple hours."

"What!?"  Gigi exclaimed, getting up off the stool and dropping her half-finished cigarette on the workbench.

"Joe, that's not a good idea."  Hank's protest overlapped Gigi's exclamation.

Joey put one hand on his Ma's shoulder as he cued the mic: "Dad, it's not up for negotiation.  If I was stuck out there, would you leave me hangin'?"

He looked at Gigi, who scowled at him. 

"Of course not," Hank came back.  "I'll see you soon, Joe."

"Copy that, Dad."  Joey hung up the mic. 

He gave Gigi a hug.  "Don't open the upstairs bedroom before I get back, Ma.  Dana seems better, but I'm not going to risk it."  They went into the house together.  Joey topped off his Glock and cleaned off the sword in the sink.

"Joey," Gigi shuffled over and gave him a hug.  "You be careful--I want both of you back in one piece."  Joey gave her a squeeze. 

He went upstairs, left a couple bottles of water next to Dana, and locked the door behind him. 
Hang in there
,
baby
, he thought.

Joey collected the ammo bag, slung Zeus over one shoulder, and pulled open the plywood-reinforced front door. 

There were zombies waiting.  Moaning and gurgling, they crossed the yard and shambled up the driveway.  The Glock came to life, lighting up the front of the house.

Behind him, Gigi closed the front door and slid the bolts into place. 

Joey blasted a path to Bad Betty, grabbed the frame, and hoisted himself into the driver's seat.  The engine roared to life; the clock on the dashboard read 4:40.

He gunned it, re-paving the driveway with zombie brains.

CHAPTER 11

Bad Betty cleared the bushes and bounced over a tangle of gnarled roots, grinding a pair of undead into the earth, and ripped down the dirt road.  A light rain was falling and coat of mud accumulated on the tires.

Joey clicked on the radio. 

"Pop, it's Joey--over."

"I'm here, Joe.  The place is crawling, and I think Marco is one of them."

"Is he in there with you, Pop?"

"He's locked in the shed.  He went in there to get some gas for the generator, but I heard some groaning and threw the latch.  I felt bad, but I wasn't gonna risk him trying to make me into a sirloin." 

Joey could see a dim light down the road.  "Pop, do you got a light on?  These fuckers are attracted to light."