Zombified (Episode 1): Wooneyville (9 page)

"Pop!"  Joey reached back, making to climb out of the window.

"Start the damn truck, Joe!  Get us out of here! Now!"  Hank shoved the zombie off him and blasted it apart with the shotgun.  The rear window was showered with congealing blood.

Joey fired up Bad Betty and punched it.

Hank slid the length of the bed, smacking into the tailgate.  Zombies toppled out of the truck, disappearing into the rain-soaked night.

"Pop, you okay?"  Joey threw open the rear windows and glanced back.  "Pop!"

"Yeah, kid, I'm okay."  His face appeared at the window.  Blood streaked down from a head wound, winding over his jaw and dripping on his shirt.

"What the fuck happened to your head?"

"Your driving happened.  When you took off tear-assing through the mud, I flew back and cracked my noggin on the gate."

"Shit, sorry about that, Pop."  Joey cleared the thicker trees and turned onto the dirt road, heading back to Peasquimet Road, then onto route 99 and back home.

"I'll live.  One of those damn things almost bit off my finger.  I fed him the shotgun instead."  Hank grinned.  "Pass me a first aid kit, would ya, Joe?"

Joey stretched over, opened the glove box, and fished out the kit.  He passed it over his shoulder to Hank. 

Bad Betty turned onto Peasquimet Road, mauling a trio of zombies staggering in the right lane. 

"How far do you think it's spread?"  Hank asked, pressing a wad of gauze to his scalp.  "Do you think Yankee Heights and Garden Harbor are gone?"

"It happened pretty fuckin' fast, Pop."  Joey recalled sitting on his couch, watching the draft, and waking up two or three hours later to a shitload of flesh-eating zombies.  "As soon as it started, it spread too quick to stop.  People seemed sick--just sick, like the flu--and they treated it like that.  When those sick people got worse, friends and family called an ambulance or brought 'em to the medical center."

Joey swerved into the left lane, avoiding a turned-over minivan, and plowed down an armless zombie. 

"Dozens started dying at the center and then coming back, attacking their family members and the medical staff.  People at home woke up and attacked anyone inside.  There are probably thousands of these fuckheads locked in their houses, waiting for someone to open the door."

"Can you imagine how many cops, firemen, and paramedics went down?"  Hank swore under his breath.  "And that only makes it worse!  Once those first-responders are down, the situation spirals out of control."

"Exactly.  Anyone like us--anyone prepared--is probably holed up somewhere, living off stockpiled food and sleepin' with a gun."

Joey opened the engine and roared onto route 99, heading into the east side of Wooneyville--they were ten minutes from home.

CHAPTER 12

Joey pulled up the driveway, front wheels caked in slimy carnage; he flung open the door, mashing a zombie's head, and jumped out, Glock in hand.

There weren't too many flesh-eaters in the driveway or yard, but Bad Betty's heavy purr was sure to draw them in.  Joey could hear groaning in the distance.

Gigi opened the front door, unloading both barrels into a zombie.  The headless body flopped down the steps, rolling to a stop against Bad Betty's front tire. 

"Hank!" She crooned, hopping down the stoop and planting a kiss on Hank's cheek.  "What the hell did you do to your head?"  She poked the bandage.  Hank grimaced.

"Easy, Gigi!"  Hank grabbed a bag from Joey, who was in the truck bed passing the supplies down.  "Keep an eye out for us while we get this crap inside." 

Gigi reloaded the double-barrel and posted up at the back of the truck.

Joey passed down the boxes, bags, and trunks.  Hank piled them in the foyer just inside the front door. 

"That's the last of 'em, Pop."  Joey hopped down, pulling his ammo bag off the bed and shouldering Zeus. 

"We got incoming!"  Gigi snarled, lowering her shotgun at the driveway. 

A six-pack of running zombies funneled up the incline.  Gigi opened fire, blowing the front two out of their blood-soaked shoes.  Hank came up beside her and started blasting away.  Joey drew the Glock and skull-stripped the remaining runner as it dove at Gigi.

"That was damned close!"  Gigi wheezed, scooting away from the tumbling corpse. 

"There's more coming."  Joey pointed down the street.  Whether drawn by Betty's rumbling or the gunfire, a sizeable horde of zombies was on the way.

"There's so many of them," Gigi whispered, her hand sliding up over her mouth.

"Probably coming down from the housing projects on the hill," Hank said, pushing his glasses back into place.  "Or all the stores up there.  How many people do you think were stuck up there when all this crap happened?"

"I don't care to guess," Joey replied, grabbing Gigi's arm and ushering her in the house.  "Let's get in and button up before they home in on us."

Joey closed the front door, sliding the double steel bolts into place.  All the windows and doors were covered with at least two sheets of plywood; some of the larger windows had wooden planks reinforcing the coverings.

"How's Dana, Ma?"  Joey put his weapons on the counter.  "Is she…"

"I don't know, Joey.  I haven't heard a peep from the room."  Gigi looked concerned.  She lit up a butt and wreathed the candlelit room in smoke.

"I'm gonna go up and check on her."  Joey headed to the staircase.

"Holler if you need help, kid."  Hank patted him on the back and took a seat at the island.  "We got any aspirin, Gigi?  My head feels like its been worked over with a jackhammer."

Joey climbed up the stairs; each one seemed taller and farther than the last.  He paused by the bedroom door, pushing an ear against the wood. 

Soft snoring reached his ears.

Joey smiled. 
Unless zombies snore, she's alive
.  He unlocked the door and crept in the room.

Dana was asleep, lying on her side.  She was snoring.  An empty bottle of water lay on the floor, the cap missing.  Joey knelt down beside the bed and stroked her hair back.  Her lips were back to a normal color and the wound on her arm--the bite mark--seemed to be healing normally.

He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek and neck.  She roused, murmuring nonsense, and rolled over to face him.  She opened her eyes but her face was impassive. 

"Baby, how you doin'?"  Joey touched her chin. 

She groaned and blinked slowly.  Then she lashed out, biting his fingers and snarling; she grabbed his shirt with her right hand, clawing into Joey's chest.

"Fuck! Shit!"  Joey pulled his hand out of Dana's mouth and tried to get away, but she wrapped her arm around his neck and pulled him towards her.

"Gotcha!"  She released him, cackling madly.  "That was fuckin' awesome!"

"Are you insane!  You crazy bitch--you bit me!"  Joey felt his heart straining to break out of his chest; his mouth was bone-dry.  Tears pooled in his eyes.  "That wasn't funny--not even fuckin' close to funny!"

"Aww… I'm sorry, babe!"  She sat up and pulled him over.  "I needed to laugh, okay?" She suppressed another outburst.  "I think you needed to laugh, too." 

Joey sat down on the bed, pressing his eyes into his palms. 

Hank appeared in the bedroom door, Gigi beside him, with the double barrel in hand.

"What the hell was that?  I heard yelling up here."  Hank looked from Dana to Joey.  "Everything all right?"

"Everything is fine, Hank," Dana said, hiding her smirk behind Joey's shoulder.  "I just scared the shit out of Joey, that's all."

"Scared the shit out of us, too!"  Gigi piped, clutching her chest.  "I'm too old for this shit, Hank."  She scooted away, going back downstairs.

Hank pushed his glasses up.  "Good to see you're not chewing on my son, Dana."

"I'll save that for later--when I'm feeling better."  She giggled, gnawing on Joey's shoulder playfully.

Joey shrugged away, shivering.  "Please don't do that--at least not for awhile.  You scarred me, girl." 

Hank trotted off, talking to himself.

"Do you know how amazing I feel, babe?"  Dana said, turning Joey's head to face her.  "I should be dead, eating brains and guts, but I'm not.  I don't know how or why, and right now I don't care!"

She kissed him soundly, sliding her tongue into his mouth and wrapping both arms around his head.  They stayed that way for some time, until Joey's jaw ached.

"All right, horndog.  We need to wash up and you need to change those bandages."  He grabbed Dana's hand, pulling her into the bathroom. 

"Where did you go?" 

Joey closed the bathroom door and they stripped, tossing their clothes into a plastic washbin. 

"I went to get Pop.  He was at the cabin, surrounded and alone."  Joey filled a bucket with water; the house had a reservoir of purified water, prepped for just such an emergency.  He grabbed a bar of Gigi's custom soap and started scrubbing his body.  Dana followed suit.

"Did you guys have any trouble?"  Dana lifted her arms and rubbed vigorously.

"We almost didn't come back, baby.  A tree came down through the side of the house.  It was madness…" 

He related the rest of the story as they washed up, dumping the used water into the makeshift drain; the water collected in the basement, ready to be distilled.

They dried off and threw on some clean clothes.  Downstairs, Hank and Gigi were looking outside, watching the clusters of undead milling around, shifting, and searching for food.  There were a lot of them around the house, shuffling to and fro, slapping the walls and moaning.

"I'm gonna go take a look from the roof," Joey said.  He planted a kiss on Dana, scooped up a rifle, and headed upstairs.  He went through the corner bedroom, lifted the window, and stepped outside.

Wooneyville was burning.  Fires went unchecked in a dozen spots.  There was no power--only a few spots here and there. 
Looks like a few people got generators
, Joey thought.

Zombies wandered at will.  Everywhere he looked, Joey saw groups hunting around the houses, banging on windows and groaning--an echoing, hollow sound that stuck in Joey's head.

There's no coming back from this
, Joey realized.  He took in the scene, letting his vision stretch out.  It was a panorama of hell, complete with fire, darkness, and death. 
The back is broken.  Now comes the slow limping march to the grave
.

Joey lowered his head, letting the waves of horror and grief run their course. 

He remembered the first phone call from Dana, and her scream punctuating the lifeless moans in the background. 

He shuddered at the busted station wagon and the woman eating her husband's guts. 

Tears ran at the memory of the lady fleeing in the park--he tossed her in a car and left her for dead. 

He wondered if the guys at Bullseye, looking for weapons, were still alive. 

He wanted to take Bad Betty and smash the hordes outside the supermarket. 

He still couldn't believe the dressed-to-kill club crowd at Riverfront…

How much more can I take?
  Joey pulled at his hair.  He felt the missing clump at the back of his head. 
How many years can we survive?  Two?  Three?  What's the fuckin' point?
 

He slid the pack of smokes from his pocket and sparked one up.  Across his index finger, Joey saw the marks from Dana's prank bite.  He ran a finger over the indents.

There was a point.  There was someone to survive for…

Joey took a long drag and flicked the butt off the roof.  It spun down in a wide arc, bouncing off a zombie's head.

It didn't feel a thing.

EPILOGUE

It had rained twice in the past week.  Joey checked the water drums, satisfied at the reserves, and ascended the stairs.  Dana sat in the kitchen, taking her time with a bowl of macaroni and sauce.  Gigi spooned some into a large wooden bowl and handed it to Joey.

"Eat," she said.  Cigarette smoke puffed from her lips, a butt hanging limp off the corner of her mouth.  Hank snored upstairs.  Joey sat down and started in on breakfast. 

"This sauce tastes as good as it did when we canned it."  Joey licked his lips.  "When was that, Ma?  Four years ago?"

"At least," Gigi replied.  She sat down, tapping the ash into a glass, and stared out the window.

"What is it, Ma?"

"It's too quiet."  Her voice was raspy.  Her eyes were worried, lined with stress and sleepless nights. 

"You can hear them moaning," Dana said.  "I can hear them at night, clawing at the windows and doors."

"I don't mean those things."  Gigi got up and stood at the window, looking off into the lightening sky.  "I mean no rescue crews, no military, not even anyone scavenging.  Don't you think that's weird?"

"I'll take as much peace as I can get," Joey said.  He stuffed a heaping spoon of elbows into his mouth. 

"I know, I know," Gigi said.  She took a couple of puffs.  "But how bad is it if no one is out looting?  Are we going to have a million zombie army banging on our doors in a few weeks, when all the big cities are empty?"

Joey tried to fathom the possibility, the numbers, of just a few major cities completely infected.

Millions
, he thought. 
Tens of millions
…
a hundred million
…

He pushed the half-eaten macaroni away, rubbing at his stubbly chin.

"What can we do about it, though?"  Dana said, watching Joey and Gigi in turn.

"Go someplace farther from the cities."  Gigi blew smoke into the ceiling.  Her eyes were still fixed on the horizon.  "These things are going to get hungry and start searching.  If the ones outside stay and keep moaning and banging, how many more are going to come?"  Gigi turned and leaned on the counter.  "How many people live in Wooneyville, Yankee Heights, and Garden Harbor?"

"Probably half-a-million," Joey said.  He swallowed hard and leaned back in the chair.  "Shit, that's a lot of fuckheads."