Zombified (Episode 3): Garden Harbor (11 page)

They smashed the floor to pieces, tossing the loose wood onto the stairs.  Zombies staggered and shambled forward, toppling through the jagged holes and flattening their undead comrades below.

Matty mopped sweat from his brow and watched the munchers march like lemmings—climbing, falling, climbing, falling…

How different are we from them?
  He chuckled aloud.

Joey gave him a perplexed look.  "What so funny?"

Matty shook his head.  "Just a touch of madness, dude."

"All right." Joey shrugged.  "We're out of reach for now.  Keep an eye on this clusterfuck so I can patch up Dana."

"Sure." 

Joey walked off, disappearing into the large bedroom; Matty heard Dana gasping and uttering short, shrill cries of pain.

Now what?
Matty thought.  
We're stuck on the second floor, trapped by a zombie conveyer belt, and we have no means of transportation
.  He suppressed a giggle. 
There's so much to live for!
 

His eyes happened upon the box of blankets taken from the attic. 
Well, I guess we can fashion a rope and climb down
.  A sharp yell from the other room reminded him of Dana's injuries. 
That's if she's capable of holding onto a rope
.

There seemed no end to the supply of zombies; they rose and fell in grisly procession.

"Matty," Joey called.

Dana perched on the edge of the bed; all color had drained from her face and she breathed heavily, eyes closed.

"What's the story, D?" Matty touched her shoulder.

"My arm is busted."  She pointed to a spot just below the elbow on her forearm.  "And there's at least two, maybe three, ribs bruised.  I need you guys to help me set the break."

Joey nodded.  "You'll have to walk us through it, babe."

She gave instructions, biting down on her lips as the arm was flexed and straightened. 

"Son of a bitch-motherfucker!"  She punched the mattress with her opposite fist.  "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!"

"Dana." Joey licked his lips; sweat beaded on his forehead.  "Are you ready?"

Her eyes bulged and nostrils flared.  "No!  You don't fuckin' ask if someone's ready to have a bone set without painkillers!  What the fuck is wrong with you?  Would you—"

SNAP!  It was quick; she froze stiff for a brief moment before her eyes rolled back.  Joey caught her before she toppled off the bed and laid her down, arm cradled across her stomach.

"Thanks," Joey said.

"Of course." Matty slapped him on the shoulder.  "We need to consider an escape, Joe.  Those blankets you found might serve as a rope."

Joey nodded.  "Yeah, I was thinking the same thing.  There's a small overhang outside the bedroom window."  He sat down on the hardwood floor.  "What do we do, run to the guard base?  We have no idea how many are outside and as for ammo," he tapped the gun at his belt, "we're pretty well fucked."

"We were pretty well fucked as soon as the zombies appeared, Joe.  'Fucked' is the de facto state of being now."

Joey lay back on the floor, staring up at the ceiling.  "I can't believe they're dead, Matty.  Of all the people I've seen die—shit, all the zombies that were once people—my parents were the last ones I thought I would lose."

"Yeah, Hank seemed immortal and Gigi… well, I thought death might be afraid of her."

Joey let a faint smile creep up his cheeks.  "For real."

They sat without talking, hearing only the groaning and crashing of the zombified lemmings down the hall.  The first faint rays of dawn crept through the windows, stabbing orange blades through the dusted air.

"Uhhh." Dana stirred, rolling and gingerly pushing herself into a sitting position.  "Whoa, my head is spinnin'."

"How's the arm?" Matty asked.

"It sucks," she said.  "I can feel my heartbeat in the bone, but it aches like a seriously bad hangover.  I need to splint it before we do anything."

They helped Dana rig a splint with a flat piece of wood and several lengths of cloth; a folded bed sheet served as a sling.

"We're gonna try and make a rope from the blankets," said Joey, "and see about getting the hell out of here.  There's a shingled overhang outside the other bedroom."

"Okay.  What happens when we reach the ground?"  Dana looked dubious.  "Are you planning on running all the way to the base?"

"If we have to, yes," said Matty.  "I don't think we're more than three or four miles away."

"And if the base is surrounded by these things?"  Dana gestured to the staircase.  "Then what?  We might have enough bullets to get there, but I don't think we can shoot our way through a thousand of them."

Joey rubbed her leg.  "I'm not crazy about the idea, babe, but we don't have any supplies here… we don't have any water.  We have to try."

She closed her eyes and sighed; a line of tears spilled over her cheek and splashed on Joey's arm.  "Okay," she whispered.  "I'm scared, Joey… like scared in every part of my body."

He sat next to her, pressing her head against his chest, and stroked her hair. 

Matty quietly stood and backed out of the room, inching the door closed behind him.  He took the box of blankets and started cutting strips suitable for a rope.  There was plenty of fabric, and he crafted several loops for footholds and handholds.

The bedroom window was open.  Matty peered outside and saw the four foot overhang; it was easily accessible from the window and the drop was only ten or twelve feet.  Even without a rope, it was manageable—but a twisted ankle was a nail in the coffin with zombies close by.

He looped the rope around the bedposts and tied a thick knot; straining and grunting, Matty tugged and tore at the rope: it held fast.  Satisfied with the result, he set the remaining length on the window ledge and retrieved the pair of table-leg clubs from the hallway.

Joey and Dana emerged; Dana's eyes were puffy and she sniffled, but there was a hint of iron in her expression: she was ready.

Maybe they sensed her injury or knew the food was leaving, because the zombies appeared to grow frantic; they howled louder and more frequently, clawing and climbing over one another in a mad dash to fall through the floor.

"Maybe we should leave them an appetizer or something." Matty wore an expression of mock pity, pulling his lower lip up and sniveling. 

"Yeah, how about my ten pound log in the bucket."  Joey stepped to the bannister and looked down at the dull-eyed groaning mob; they clutched at the air, reaching for the scruffy-faced food item lingering just out of reach. 

"Come on, Joey." Dana tugged his shirt. 

"I wish I had a couple more of those bombs… even a Molotov would do the trick."  He turned away and went to the bedroom window.

"Why don't you head out first, Joe.  I'll help Dana through next."

Joey hoisted himself through the window with relative ease.  "The shingles are a little slick, guys.  Thankfully, I don't see any of deadheads underneath us."

Matty knelt down and let Dana use his shoulder as a stepping stool.  She clambered up and Joey helped her onto the overhang.  After passing the weapons out, Matty climbed through and they gave the rope a final tug.

"Cover my ass," Joey said, nodding at the gun in Matty's hand.

"Don't take all day about it." Matty stepped to the edge and scanned the bushes and nearby trees for movement.  "Now or never, Joe."

He shot Matty a withering look.  "I hate it when you say that." 

With a grunt of effort, Joey lowered himself to the ground and drew his pistol.  Matty pulled up the rope and helped secure Dana to the loops.  She sat down and scooted to the edge of the overhang.

"Okay," she said. 

Matty leaned back and let out the slack, allowing Dana to glide slowly to the ground; Joey caught her and untied the ropes.  A rustling of bushes drew their attention.

Twenty yards away, a pair of blood-smeared retrievers emerged from the undergrowth with teeth bared and milky-red eyes blazing.  They snarled and leapt forward. 

Joey fired first, catching one of the dogs in its chest and sending it tumbling backward; Matty fired in quick succession, both shots caught the dog in its neck and tore through the spine, leaving a gaping hole of gore.  The wounded one came again, limping this time, and Joey took a breath to aim: the shot tore off the dog's face, exposing its throat and the foreparts of its brain.

"Get the fuck down here, Matty!"  Joey fired at a charging zombie; dozens more emerged from the front of the house. 

Matty slid down the roof and let himself fall; he hit the ground and rolled.  Aside from a few scratches, he pulled off the stunt flawlessly. 

"Let's go!"  He took off.  Dana followed close behind and Joey fired twice more, taking out the fast-moving zombies.

"I think those dogs were waiting," Joey said between breaths.  "Why wouldn't they go in the house with the other zombies?"

"Totally different senses," Dana said; a wheeze had crept into her breathing.  "They might have heard or smelled us outside, where a human would have no clue what was going on—at least not with all the moaning and banging inside the house."

"You sound like shit, babe."  Joey ran alongside her, his eyes wide with concern. 

"I'll be okay."

"You guys hear that?" Matty slowed and cocked his head.  "It's a river, I think.  Shit, we're closer than I thought.  We can follow the river right to the base."

Less than a hundred yards away, the trees gave way to a rocky embankment and a twenty-foot wide river.  They scampered down the decline and waded into the water; the current was sluggish, but they still struggled to make their way.

"If we can get out of sight, the water should cover any smell they're following."

Joey stumbled and got a hand out before going under.  They waded around a bend and made for the opposite bank.  Zombies had followed to the river and jumped in, splashing and thrashing wildly, but so far, none had followed them upstream.

"Slow and quiet now," Joey whispered.  "How far is it, Matty?"

"If we climb out here, we should be able to see the base," he replied, "but I think the gates face east and west."  He pointed farther ahead.  "That's our best bet."

"Let's do it." Joey kept an arm around Dana as they slogged onward. 

Within a few minutes, a droning chorus of zombified groans filled the air.  A rattling noise, like chains scraping the ground, punctuated the steady moaning. 

"Holy shit," Dana breathed.  "That sounds like a lot of fuckin' zombies."

"Yeah it does." Joey hugged her close.  "But let's get a look and see what's going on before we cross that bridge, okay?  Maybe there's a way in that's kept clear."

He met Matty's eyes with a weariness that went down to the soul.  Matty had never seen that look on his friend's face and it chilled him. 

Almost crawling, the three of them emerged from the river and carefully picked a way up the embankment.  The undead voices grew louder.

They crawled to the edge of the incline and peered through waist-high grass.  Thousands upon thousands of zombies—none of them could estimate the size of the horde—surrounded Timmons National Guard Base.  The undead shook sections of chain-link fence and beat upon massive steel shipping containers.

Tanks, jeeps, crates, timbers, and sheets of metal ringed the base; this patchwork fortification rose fifteen feet and in some places even higher, accommodating a platform upon which rested a pair of uniformed sentries and a tripod-mounted machine gun.  A dozen or so buildings clustered behind the walls; some resembled hangars or giant warehouses, while others seemed to be barracks or office buildings.

Infantrymen patrolled the interior area, carrying all manner of assault rifles, shotguns, and handguns; one of them carried a flamethrower.  Mingled with the uniformed men, Matty spotted groups of people in regular clothes; they, too, carried weapons and kept watch at different areas on the fence.

Despite the rush of relief that flooded his mind, Matty's attention refocused on the overwhelmingly huge horde of flesh-eaters that surrounded the base.  Within a hundred feet of the fence, there wasn't enough room to squeeze a sheet of paper between the bodies.  Beyond the initial press of zombies, uncounted thousands roamed back and forth, trying to find a way toward the gate. 

Dana slumped to the ground, pressed her face to the dirt, and bawled.  Her shoulders shook and shrill gasps of air escaped her lips.  Joey placed a hand on her back, but his expression emptied of all hope.  A haunted air surrounded his eyes, as if he were awaiting execution; all hint of the energy that kept him going seemed to leech away.

Matty heard his own words and thoughts run through his mind; all his musings on how pointless everything was now, and how he wondered if it was worth surviving.  Well, he knew it was worth it for Joey and Dana.

He scanned the area and found what he was looking for: a turned over public transportation bus thirty or so yards away. 
Now or never
, he thought.  Matty leaned in close to his friends and squeezed their arms.  "Don't say anything.  Don't waste it."

He leapt up and ran for the bus, waving his arms and screaming profanities at the zombie horde.  A wild exhilaration raced down to his toes.

"Come on, you mother fuckers!"  He swung the table mace, mashing a zombie head as he charged through the outer stragglers. 

"Sir, we have you in sight," a booming voice rang out from the guard base.  "Find an elevated position and a helicopter will pick you up."

Matty reached the bus and jumped, catching the edge with one hand; the club fell from his grasp as he climbed onto the top.  He drew the pistol and counted the remaining bullets: there were eight.  Zombies rushed toward him, jostling and shoving to get a piece of the meat.

"Over there!" Matty screamed and gestured to the embankment.  He held up two fingers. 

The soldiers manning the machine gun turned binoculars in the direction Matty indicated; Joey stood and signaled.

"We see you," the voice acknowledged.  "Make for the gate.  We'll clear a path."

Matty fired a shot, blowing a hole through an old man's face.  They were climbing over one another to get on the bus; some managed to get a foothold on the exhaust or transmission.