Zombified (Episode 2): Yankee Heights (10 page)

BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG!

He was backpedaling as the slide locked back.  A dozen zombies were taken down, but hundreds more erupted from the forest.  Matty locked another clip and chambered a round. 

He saw two—and then four—zombies break through the mob at a run. 

It's only a matter of time before the rest of these runners push free
.  Matty took aim: the first shot clipped a runner's shoulder, and the second blew its eye and brain out the side of its head. 

"Alex!"  Matty yelled over the growing chorus of undead.  "There are too many runners, man!  We can't shoot them all!"

"I'm not leaving my sister!"  Alex picked her up, cradling her in his arms, and started running. 

"Fuck me."  Matty fired at two more sprinting zombies, hitting one in the sternum and knocked him back into the surging horde.  In the moonlit darkness, the mass of featureless, groaning bodies struck cold fear into his guts.  There seemed to be no end; the nameless dead stretched down the lane, under the trees, and everywhere the moon allowed a glimpse.

Matty lowered the gun and, for a brief moment, considered putting it to his own temple. 
No matter where I go, they will be there
. 
We're looking through the door to hell, and we all have one foot inside
.  The chill in his stomach evaporated; it was replaced by a stoic certainty. 
One foot in hell
, he thought. 
We're all halfway there… almost dead.

He caught up to Alex.  "Alex." 

"What?"  Alex blurted between bursts of labored breathing. 

"We can't get away at this pace.  If you want to be with her," he tapped Alex's rifle, "then be with her one last time, because they're gonna catch up."

Tears overflowed Alex's eyes and ran down in shiny streaks. 

"Alex, he's right," Kate said.  "I can't run and you can't carry me forever.  They're not going to get tired."

"I can't just leave you, Kate!" Alex wailed.  He had slowed noticeably, going no faster than a light jog.  "You can't ask me to do it!"

"You don't have to," Matty said.  "Give me your rifle."

They trudged on for as long as Alex's legs lasted.  He put Kate down on a wide dirt path.  Behind them, set back from the road, was Stumpy's Sporting Goods. 

"Make it quick, Alex."  Matty patted him on the shoulder and turned away, jogging off along the side of the road.  He found a thick tree and ducked behind it; he could just make out Alex and Kate holding each other.  A wave of gurgling, shifting darkness reached out towards them.

Alex stood up and started sprinting down the road, away from Kate. 

"Come on you fucks!" Kate screamed.  "I hope you choke on me!"

"What the hell ya doin'?" Stumpy's voice belted out.  "Git outta my driveway, ya crazy bitch!"

A green line of light flickered into view; Kate waved it in the air and then held it above her head.  The glowstick was bright enough to mark her location. 

Matty aimed; he heard Alex crashing through the brush and trees. 

"Give it to me."  Alex wheezed, holding out his hand for the rifle.  "I'll do it."

"All right."  Matty handed it over.  "You only have a few seconds."

Alex knelt down and pushed the Garand against his shoulder.  He exhaled a long, slow breath and squeezed the trigger.

BANG!

The green stick spun through the air for a brief moment, hitting the ground and rolling away as Kate's body twitched in the dirt.  Alex turned away and slung the rifle.  Matty watched the horde of zombies pour into the dirt driveway, swarming around Kate's body and groaning in feral satisfaction.

BOOM!

Stumpy's rifle shot echoed down the road as Matty and Alex jogged off in silence.  They kept close to the trees and neither one of them looked back.

I hope Stumpy's boy is okay
.  He shrugged. 
Welcome to hell, kid
.

CHAPTER 9

"Alex, I'm truly sorry about your sister.  I didn't want—"

"I'd rather not," Alex replied.  "I don't hold you responsible, so let's focus on staying alive." 

Matty nodded.  "Okay."

Dawn was an hour old when they reached the end of Tarkwood Lane.  The trees thinned out and ended at the intersection.  They stayed behind a clutch of evergreens, gazing out onto the carnage of Dougland Pike.

The broad, four-lane road was choked with abandoned and crashed cars; bodies were strewn across the roadway, paving the ground in bloody mess. 

"Holy shit."  Matty gestured to the highway exits.  "Looks like Plan A is a loser." 

The ramps were collapsed; rubble, steel, and twisted shells of vehicles lay in a heap.  A bus and an eighteen-wheeler perched precariously over the edge of the overpass.

Zombies were everywhere.  Some knelt by the mangled corpses, gnawing on bones or shredding hunks of blackened human flesh.  Droves of undead milled around the trashed cars, moaning softly and stopping to chew on the leftovers of whatever catastrophe brought down the ramps.

"Do you think we can get a car without them noticing?"  Alex gave a half-smile. 

"Yeah, sure… and all politicians are honest." 

"I think you mean 'were honest'."  Alex glanced back and forth along the Pike. 

"There's no way we can grab a car unless we know for sure it has keys in the ignition and gas in the tank," Matty said.  "Even then, there's no way we're gonna get through this shit and make it to Wooneyville."

"Hey."  Alex nudged Matty's shoulder and pointed to a gas station across the lanes.  Between a pair of bumper-to-bumper SUVs, a zombified kid—no more than eight, Matty guessed—stared at them; its vacant, white-washed eyes unblinking in the early morning sun.  "Does it see us?"

"I fuckin' hope not."  Matty retreated deeper into the shadows of the trees, keeping a tight grip on his 9mm. 

"We should head to my Uncle Ray's house," said Alex; "it's on the other side of Tarkwood Pond."

"I can't see any other options at the present.  What's the situation with your uncle?"

Alex chuckled softly.  "He's an ex-army ranger with a paranoid streak.  He has guns, MREs, bottled water, and whatever else is available at military surplus stores."

"That sound like the kind of guy we need to be friends with right now."  Matty watched the undead kid shamble into the roadway.  "How do we get there?"

A shrill, cackling cry rang out; the zombie child was hobbling faster, headed in their direction with its arms outstretched.

"By the fastest possible route," Alex said. 

"We can't go back down Tarkwood, dude.  All those zombies aren't that far behind us.  And by the looks of it, Dougland is a no-go, too."  Matty and Alex looked at each other for a moment.

"Let's hope somebody left a boat." 

They broke cover as a chorus of gurgles and moans swelled up.  The zombies clogging Dougland Pike followed the undead boy in pursuit.  Matty and Alex sprinted out of the tree cover and made for the pond.  Behind them, the rapid slap of running feet—more than a few pairs—punctuated the hungry groaning.

Dashing across the wooded lane, they charged into the forest on the shores of Tarkwood Pond.  Less than a football field's distance down the lane, back toward Stumpy's, the mob of walking dead filled the street.

"If there's no boat in sight, I'm swimming it," Alex said as they ran, swatting aside branches and hurdling downed trees. 

"Fuck me.  I hate swimming in ponds and lakes!"  Matty huffed. 

They cleared the trees and emerged on a stretch of pale sand and dirt dotted with clumps of tall grass.  The waterline was fifty feet away. 

There was no boat or anything seaworthy in sight.  Matty hunched over, hands on his knees, and sucked in sharp, shallow breaths.  "Plan B is also a loser."

"Take your pants off," Alex said.  He unbuckled his own pants.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"We're going to make floats.  It's something I learned in the Navy—trust me."

"All right, dude, but if something bites my junk off I'm holding you responsible."  Matty pulled off his pants.  Snapping branches sounded from the trees, followed by the hollow moaning of approaching undead.

"Let's go."  Alex tightened the clasp on his rifle strap and waded into the water.

"Dude, what if there are zombies at the bottom?"

Alex tied knots on the bottom of the pant legs, binding them together and creating a opening suitable for a human head.  "Then we're dead."

Alex held the waistband and swung the open pants overhead and down into the water, trapping the air inside the legs.  Matty copied the procedure; it took a few attempts, but he managed to make a viable life preserver.   

A pair of zombies burst onto the beach area.

"Loop the legs over your head and hold the waist against your chest.  We might have to tread water and re-fill it."  Alex waded deeper into the murky water, clutching the pants and rolling onto his back.  His face remained above the water as Alex paddle-kicked away from the shore.   

Undead filled the beach, staggering forward; their eyes were fixed on Matty and Alex.  An overweight man, belly protruding beneath a plain white shirt, ran to the water and disappeared beneath the surface.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!"  Matty screamed and started kicking faster. 

"Stop!" Alex shouted over the frantic splashing.  "You'll burn yourself out.  Slow and steady, all right?  They aren't floating or swimming.  We're out of reach of the bottom."

Matty slowed down.  The shore faded back; it was packed with undead, all of them sprinting, shambling, or crawling into the water. 

What happens when we get to the shore?
  Matty imagined an army of zombies emerging from the water, catching them with their pants down… literally.

After an hour in the water, Alex stopped them to re-fill the pant preservers.  He shaded his eyes with one hand.  "There's a small island over there.  I don't see anything moving on it."

Matty followed his eyes and spotted the truck-sized piece of land.  It was covered in thick grass and a couple of broad-leafed trees hung out over the water.

"I wouldn't want to stay there too long," Matty said, "but it might be a good idea to catch our breath."

"Yeah.  I'm guessing if the zombies are following our splashing, it might throw them off for a bit."

"Or they might follow us to the island and then we're royally fucked."  Matty finished refilling the pants and slid his head between the legs.  They started kicking again, heading for the island.

"We need to eat, at least.  I have a few more MREs and the packaging is waterproof."  Alex squinted; the sun was rising and the heat with it.  "Some shade wouldn't hurt, either."

"I'll second that, dude.  The zombie apocalypse couldn't happen in a colder month, could it?  No, the fuckers had to come when it's warm out!"  Matty tasted salty sweat running into his mouth. 

Alex laughed.  "Would you want to do this in freezing water?"

"If it was freezing, we could sled across, dude.  Shoot a few spots behind us and let those things fall in: problem solved." 

They made it to the island and collapsed in the grass for a few minutes.  The shore was far off, but they saw rows of figures pressing into the water.  

"How many of them are there?"  Alex watched the zombies thrash around and vanish beneath the surface. 

"Figure a quarter of a million in Yankee Heights alone."  Matty ran through the surrounding areas, trying to guess how many people lived within walking distance of the city.  "Add another hundred thousand if all the surrounding communities are gone."

Alex closed his eyes.  "I can't even imagine it, man.  We've seen a thousand, maybe two, at most."

"Not with a bang but with a slow, whimpering crawl to the grave," Matty recited.  "My buddy Joey and I used to talk about how it would end.  Would it be a nuclear bang?  Even then, we'd have anarchy and gangs of armed thugs taking whatever was left."  Matty sat up and removed his pistol from the soaked pack; he took it apart and spread the pieces on the grass.

"I guess no matter how it could have gone, there would be this," Alex waved a hand towards the shore.  "We're bleeding to death."

"I think we've bled to death, Alex."  Matty emptied the rest of his pack on the grass.  "We're looking into the light right now and trying to decide if we want to be there or come back and fight."

"Nobody wants to die," Alex said.  He sat up and folded both arms across his knees.  "The instinct to live is too strong."

"Is this life?"  Matty shook his head.  "It's more like waiting for death."

"Looking into the light," Alex whispered. 

After a moment, he got up and pulled a pair of military rations from his dripping bag.  He opened the contents and handed Matty a meal pouch, crackers, and a pack of peanut butter. 

"Beef stew?"  Matty asked.

Alex smiled.  "It's the only one I enjoy eating."

They devoured the food and then rung out their clothes. 

"Alex, do you think our guns will fire?"

"It's not the guns we need to worry about."  Alex fished out a handful of rounds from his pack and examined them.  "If the primers or powder are too wet, none of our bullets will fire."

"Wow… does that suck."  Matty grabbed a handful of his Luger rounds and tried to figure out if they were wet.  "How do you tell?"

"Pull the trigger," Alex said. 

"Nice, dude.  You really inspire me."  Matty shoved the bullets back into his backpack and started putting his pistol back together.

"My uncle has plenty of ammo.  We need to get there soon." 

Matty's eyes drifted to the still water.  "Before they do."

Alex nodded.

They tightened the knots on their makeshift preservers and eased back into the water.  The afternoon wore on as they kicked towards the shore, angling towards a red and brown brick house set back from the shore.

"It looks quiet," Alex said.  "I know that means dick, but it's more than I hoped for."  He splashed water over his head. 

"How deep do you think this water is?"  Matty peered into the gloom; his mind conjured up pairs of dull white eyes watching him from below.