Zombified (Episode 2): Yankee Heights (4 page)

The guy getting chomped on rolled the blonde off his shoulder and planted a kick in her face: her nose shattered, spraying blood down her chest and stomach.  She fell back into the wall, howled like an animal, and sprang at him again.

Kayla screeched; her eyes bulged and her fingernails stabbed into Matty's back and arms.  He blinked a few times, trying to digest the scene as sobriety came rushing back to his senses.

"Motherfucking zombies," he breathed.  "It's a fuckin' zombie."  Now, he was an avid fan of zombie movies, books, and discussion, but he wasn't a fan of getting eaten alive by actual zombies—real, flesh-eating monsters that used to be people.  Getting eaten alive was numero uno on his list of 'things not to do'.

    The blonde was back on top, clawing at the guy's face and snapping her teeth; he had a hand under her chin, pushing the girl's now deformed face up and away.  A guttural snarl sounded from upstairs and a wiry young man in boxer shorts ran down the stairs; he grabbed the pinned guy's hair and bit into his face, tearing off an eyebrow and part of the forehead.

Kayla threw up on the back of Matty's shoes; she started sobbing and choking.

"Let's go," he told her.  "Unless you want that to be you."  He pointed at the blood-soaked body lying on the stairs, being eaten alive by a naked blonde and a skinny guy wearing underwear.

Kayla nodded.  Matty ran out the front door, pulling his knife out and locking it open.  Two of the girls from inside were on the sidewalk, tapping buttons on their phones and yelling frantically: "Help!  Somebody, please!"

"There's no fuckin' help comin'!  Get in your cars and get the hell outta here!"  Matty dashed past them.  Kayla lagged behind, her bare feet slapping on the concrete as they passed the curb and went onto the street.

"GRAAAH!" A hoarse barking sound erupted from the house; three bloody girls, naked or nearly so, charged from the house.  A pair of guys in underwear charged out behind them, overtaking the girls and making straight for the now-screaming ladies still holding their cell phones.

Kayla stopped in the street. "Oh my God!  Look out!"

"Kayla, it's now or never.  I'm getting in that truck and leaving."  Matty slowed down but didn't stop.  He unlocked the truck and wrenched the door open; out of the corner of his eye, he saw the empty space where Dan's coupe was parked.  "Shit, maybe he made it out of there."

Matty slammed the door shut and started the engine.  He glanced in the side mirror and saw Kayla running to the truck; behind her, the five zombies crouched over the bodies of two girls and tore their organs out one by one. 

She pulled the door open and climbed into the front seat.

"Are you hurt?  Did you get bit or scratched—anything?"  He asked.

"What?" She blurted out between fits of crying.  "No… I'm okay."

He nodded, dropped the shift into drive, and hauled ass down the street. 

"What the fuck!  What the fuck!"  Kayla screamed at the window.

"Zombies, that's what the fuck," Matty replied.  He took a corner at forty: the pick-up skidded and leaned.  "Maybe it wasn't a flu."

"What?"  She sniffed and wiped a strand of tear and snot from her face.

"Didn't you ever watch any zombie movies?  'Night of the Living Dead' or 'Walking Dead' or anything like that?"

"No, but I heard about them."  Kayla slunk down in the seat, gripping her temples and breathing heavy.

"In a lot of those flicks, the zombies are a result of some fucked up biological experiment or mutated superbug."  Matty had a catalogue of zombie apocalypse scenarios in his head; Joey and him stayed up many late nights discussing the possibility—and how to deal with it.  "Maybe this flu epidemic is like that: a zombie virus."

"Or maybe people are just going fuckin' crazy!"  Kayla screamed and pounded her fist on the dashboard.  "Sick people don't eat each other, Matty!"

"If the sickness makes them crazy, they do," he replied.  "Look, I don't know the cause of it, but I spent a lot of time reading books and thinking about what to do when the shit hits the fan."

"You thought about this?  Are you serious?"  She grimaced.  "That's messed up."

"Yeah, well, some people think about celebrity gossip or what they're going to wear tomorrow.  Is that helpful right now?"  He couldn't help but smile.  "Those are the people eating each other."

He sped down the streets, avoiding any main roads or roads that intersected highways.  They sat in silence for a while.

"Where are we going?"  She asked, her voice subdued.

"The university, I think."

"Why there?"

"The security office and biology labs are in the basement.  If we can get one of the guards or their keys, we can turn off the elevator and lock the stairwell doors.  Once that's done, it'll be the safest place I can think of."

"Why not the police station?"  She bit her lip; Matty saw tears still flowing down her flawless cheeks.

"Kayla, half the police force is out sick and the other half is going to pretty damn busy tonight, don't you think?"  She nodded; Matty continued: "And if these things are attracted to noise and light—which I'm not sure about yet—then police sirens and gunfire aren't a safe bet."

"With so many people sick…" She started sobbing again, hugging herself and leaning against the passenger window.

"It's a veritable buffet for these fucks," Matty supplied.  "Not enough cops to maintain order and not enough healthy people to put up a fight."  He sighed.  "The timing is fubar, that's for sure."

"What's fubar?"  She rolled down the window a notch and sucked in the cool air.

"Fucked up beyond all recognition," he replied.  "Pretty apt description for tonight."  He felt around in the truck and in his pockets.  "Shit!  I must have dropped my phone at the house."

"I don't think anybody is going to answer right now, Matty." 

"My boy Joey is the only other person I know of that is ready for this shit.  We had a plan to go to his parents' house and hole up there.  Lots of bullets and beans, as his dad says."

"I want to go home," she groaned.  "I want to be with my family."

"Kayla, if you need to do that then I'll drop you at home."  He looked at her and touched her hand.  "Say the word… last chance."

She didn't speak for a while; her eyes were closed and she whimpered; her mouth crinkled and a thin stream of tears slid down to her chin. 

"Kayla?"

"I'll stay with you," she said.  "I'll try to contact them and find out if… if…"

"It's okay.  I understand."

Matty punched the gas, cruising down the tree-lined road towards Colonial University.  It was eerily quiet; nobody stirred on the street.  A few abandoned cars were off to the side, doors opened and interior lights aglow.

Somewhere in his head, Matty heard:
It's the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine…

CHAPTER 4

With a bone-jarring rattle and clang of loose parts, the pick-up bounced over the speed bump; Matty cut the wheel and mowed down a clump of bushes.  The headlights flashed on person in a pressed salmon-colored shirt an instant before he collided with the front of the truck.

"Oh my God!  You just hit someone, Matty!"  Kayla shrieked.  "You just ran someone over!"

Matty glanced in the rearview mirror.  "It was one of those things, girl."

"How do you know?  What if it was a real human being?"

"Because," he glanced at Kayla, "they wouldn't be getting back up so fast."

She twisted in the seat to look and slapped a hand over her mouth, muffling a string of hysterical profanities.

The truck ground to a halt in front of the main entrance.  Matty pocketed the keys and reached under his seat, pulling the black case out.  "Reach in the glove box and find the pair of knives in there."

Kayla pulled the compartment handle and rummaged through the gum wrappers, receipts, and piles of loose change.  She found both of the tactical knives and handed them to Matty.

"You keep one." He showed her a wood-handled knife with a foldout blackened blade.  "Push the little lever on the back and flick it open."

"I can't use this on someone."  Kayla held it away from her, frowning. 

Matty shrugged.  "That's up to you, girl.  You have to choose between them and you, simple as that." 

He dialed in the combination, popped the case open, and retrieved the pistol and the two full clips.  In a smooth motion, Matty pulled the slide back and chambered a round.  "You ready?"  He asked Kayla.

She looked at him, eyes wide, and shook her head side to side.

"Good—let's go."  He pushed the door open and jumped out, elbowing the door closed.  Matty dashed to the university doors and yanked on the handle: it was locked.  He pounded on the door and screamed: "Open the fuckin' door!"

"What do we do now!"  Kayla spun in circles, glancing around and waving the knife through the air.  "Matty, what are we going to do?"

He stepped back from the door and raised the gun.

A growling, drooling zombie tumbled over the hip-high wall adjacent to the entrance; it hit the concrete ground with a thud, spewing blood from its mouth.  Matty turned on the monster and leveled a gun at its head.

BANG!

Smoke wafted from the barrel; the zombie's head burst open, dribbling chunks of brown-gray brain onto the pavement.  Matty turned back to the door and fired again, shattering the glass inward. 

Kayla darted inside ahead of him, disappearing into the darkened lobby. 

The gunshot had drawn attention: Matty spotted zombies ambling through the trees on the outskirts of the parking lot.  "Shit."  He stepped through the shattered doorframe. 

A couple of dim lights shone from nearby corridors, leaving the lobby in deep shadows.  Kayla was nowhere in sight.

"Kayla!"

No reply; Matty darted forward and peered down the branching hallways, left and right: there was no sign of her.  "Last chance, girl!  I'm heading downstairs!"

He waited a moment, listening: only the growing moans of undead, echoing from outside, could be heard. 

Two polished elevator doors were in the lobby area; the stairwell entrances were in the two corridors with two more on the other side of the building.  He ran over and punched the elevator button: it refused to acknowledge the request.  The button lit up for a split second and then went dark.

It's already locked out
, he thought. 
Somebody must be down there
.  Matty gripped the pistol and headed to the stairwell, turning right out of the lobby.  He leaned into the crashbar and it opened, swinging wide and bouncing on the rubber stopper.  From the landing below, he heard a dull pounding:
thud… thud… thud…

Stepping softly, Matty descended with the gun sights fixed in front of him.  He glanced over the rail and spotted two figures—one in a tie-dyed shirt—banging on the basement stairwell exit.  He couldn't tell if they were people or zombies.

Without a sound, he went down the rest of the way and stood fifteen feet back from the door.  From behind, the two plain-clothed men looked relatively normal: shaggy retro hairdos, skinny jeans, and no mangled limbs.  They leaned against the door, slapping with palms and balled fists, but they didn't make a sound—no hollering, pleading, or any indications that they really wanted to get through that door.

Matty took a step forward and was about to speak when he saw the small puddle of blood under their feet.  It was dripping from their torso or face, and they seemed not to notice. 
Fuck me
, Matty thought.  He raised the gun and fired two quick shots, puddifying both of their heads.  They slid down the door, leaving a trail of thick gore.

That sucks
.  Matty wiggled a finger in his ear, trying to clear the tinny ringing.  He grabbed the ankles of the two corpses and dragged them away from the door.  Both of them were pale, black-lipped and foggy-eyed, with rivulets of blood slithering from their nose and mouth.

He banged on the door and shoved the bar in with no effect.  "Hey!  I'm alive out here!  No bites, no blood!  I feel great!"  Pressing an ear to the door, Matty called out again and then starting kicking the sturdy metal door.  "Come on, man!  I just killed two of them out here!"

How much longer can I make a racket before more come?
  He wiped sweat from his brow and kicked the door again, this time banging out patterns and rhythms. 
What's Morse code for 'open the fucking door right now'?
     

Maybe he was hearing things, but a faint shuffle sound grabbed his attention; he pressed an ear to the door.  "Hello?"  Someone—or something—was definitely on the other side.  Matty heard a metallic sound… keys jangling. 

"Slide your ID under the door," a squeaky voice demanded.

"Are you shittin' me?  My ID is that I'm talking and not growling," Matty replied.  "Open the door, please!"

"Unless you're a student, I can't let you through."

"What?"  Matty recoiled from the door, throwing his hands up and sneering.  "There are zombies eating people alive and you're seriously trying to card me?"

There was no reply from the other side.  Matty gave up and fished through his pockets; he pulled out his driver's license, student ID, social security card, fishing license, handgun permit, concealed carry permit, and supermarket bonus bucks membership card.  One by one, he flicked them under the door in rapid-fire.

"Okay, okay!  I get the point!"  Captain squeaky chirped.  The keys jangled and the door swung open.  A kid five or six years Matty's junior, pimple-faced and beady-eyed, held the door open.  He was wearing a campus security uniform.

Matty slid into the tiled hallway, waited for him to re-lock the door, and then drilled him in the face with a left cross.  Squawking like a crow fighting over roadkill, the kid fell down and writhed, kicking his legs and thrashing.  Matty nonchalantly collected the identification cards, slid them into his pocket, and pulled the guard to his feet. 

"No more horseshit out of you," Matty warned him.  "Next time you're an asshole like that, I'll shoot you.  We good?"  He slapped the kid on his shoulder and grinned.