Zombified (Episode 3): Garden Harbor (8 page)

"Escaped or dead would be my guess," Roger said.  "Any idea how long it takes for these things to starve?"

"The ones around my house hadn't eaten for a week, at least," said Joey; "maybe two or three, if the rest of Wooneyville was toast."

Roger pursed his lips.  "On the surface, it doesn't sound all that different from a regular person going without food—aside from the type of food, of course."

"Sugar lips, hold the fruit teeth," Geoff blurted in his sleep.

They passed a faded green sign that read "Welcome to Garden Harbor".  Below the words floated a tree surrounded by water. 

"The shop should be about a mile ahead," Matty said, gesturing out the front window; "it looks like a log cabin and there's a big roasted coffee bean on the roof."

"I take it you like coffee." Roger smiled.  "I could use a cup myself."

"Or three," Matty added.  "I've had a constant headache for a week.  I thought it would go away, or at least diminish, but the jackhammer goes on."

"I guess you really liked coffee.  Let me guess, a pot a day habit?"

Matty nodded.  "One pot of coffee, one pack of smokes—but I'm not fiending for a smoke anymore."

"There it is." Joey leaned forward in the seat.  "It looks quiet from the outside."

"I see a few cars in the lot, too."  Roger turned off the road and approached the shop at a crawl.  "We won't have much more than an hour if the zombies are still following us.  I'd keep it under thirty minutes, if possible."

"Roger, you and Dana keep the van running and keep an eye on sleepy back there." Joey thumbed over one shoulder.  "Me and Matty are going in—honk if any deadheads show up."

Pistols in hand, Joey and Matty hopped out of the van and climbed the stairs to the front; the screen was torn off, but the interior door remained intact.

"After you." Matty bowed and swept an arm toward the door.

Joey took a step back and then planted a boot into the door, busting the handle latch and splintering the wood frame.  "Knock, knock!" Joey stepped inside, gun raised.

The smell of coffee gripped Matty's nostrils and sent a caffeine-fueled fire racing through every neuron.  His fingertips and toenails tingled and warm, erotic sensations crept up his thighs: he sighed and a shiver sent his limbs twitching.

"Are you shittin' me?" Joey frowned.  "It's that bad?"

"Dude, I might need a cold shower." Matty blinked and tried to shake off the mounting desire to raid the beans. 

"That's just sad."

After checking the storage areas and finding the rear door locked, they returned to the van and reported the rare stroke of luck.

"If you can hold the fort, Roger, Dana and Matty are going to ferry supplies out."  Joey leaned in the passenger window.  "I'm gonna see a man about some wheels."

"So far, so good," said Roger.  "Sleeping beauty is still… well, sleeping, and I haven't heard or seen a single zombie yet."

Joey glanced down the road and scanned the surrounding trees.  "Yeah, that worries me a little bit.  I'm startin' to think these fuckers are gonna pop out all at once."

"Get moving before they do," said Roger.

Joey trotted off, heading for three vehicles parked on the west side of the building. 

Matty and Dana returned to the building interior, rummaging through food and drinks and carrying out armfuls to the van. 

"Oh, shit!" Matty yelled from the backroom.  "Jackpot!"

"What?" Dana came through the door and laughed.  "Seriously?"

Matty clutched a plastic container labeled "Iced"; it was filled with a heavenly brown liquid. 

"It's probably stale," Dana said, "and warm as piss."

"Nah, it'll taste like unicorn tears to me." Matty stroked the container and murmured to the screw-top lid.  "Open up for daddy."

Dana rummaged through the rest of the store room, piling unopened bags of chips and bottles of water in a plastic crate.

Matty tilted the container and chugged four mouthfuls of the stale, room-temperature brew.  "It's the most delicious shitty taste." He took a deep breath and sucked down five coffees worth before coming up for air.

"Help me carry this crate," Dana said; "it's freakin' heavy."

Matty screwed on the lid to his coffee treasure; he hoisted it on top of the crate, squatted, and lifted the stack of supplies.  "Yeah it is!"

"Told ya."

As they stepped into the main area of the café, a horn blared outside.

"Move it!" Matty waddled as fast as possible, trying desperately not to drop the canister of coffee.  As he stepped onto the porch, Joey came around the side carrying a gas can.

"What is it, Roger?"

"Joey, they're coming down the road fast."

"How many?"  Joey asked.

Roger stared at him and held up one finger.

"Shit, it's them," Matty said.  "It's the fuckers from Hatchet."

Joey growled.  "These muthafuckers are really testing me.  We don't have time to hotwire a new car and can't outrun them in this piece of shit."

"Nut up or shut up." Matty walked inside and put the stack of supplies down.  "I think we have one bomb left."

Roger came inside and Geoff staggered behind him, blinking wildly and breathing heavy.

"All right, what do we do?" 

CHAPTER 7

The black SUV turned into the coffee house lot, churning up a wave of gravel and dirt.  From the upstairs window, Matty saw four guys climb out of the vehicle; two bore rifles and the other two held shotguns.  They leveled the firearms at the abandoned van and approached the side doors.

Matty looked over to Joey, who was crouched beside an open window clutching the last pipe bomb in one hand. 

Joey nodded and lit the fuse, letting it burn for a few seconds.

Outside, the four marauders opened the sliding door and started swearing.

"What the fuck is this shit?" One of them said, throwing something on the ground.  Matty peered over the edge of the window and grinned.

The glass bottles smashed on the ground around their feet.

"It smells like gas," one of them grumbled. 

Joey stepped back from the window; the wick was dangerously close to the top of the weapon.  He lined up the throw and whipped the bomb in a line drive: it bounced off the side of the SUV and landed in the expanding puddle of gasoline.

"Down!" Joey yelled.

"Oh shit!" the attackers screamed.

KA-BOOM!  The explosion rocked the coffee shop, blowing in all the remaining windows and knocking everything from shelves, walls, and counters.  A sickening aroma of greasy smoke, charred fabric, and smoldering flesh wafted into the upstairs windows.

"Did we get 'em?" Geoff stood up, brandishing a carving knife in one hand.

"Dude, we almost got ourselves," said Matty.  He looked out the window and saw the smoking, flame-licked remains of both vehicles; the sides exposed to the blast were twisted and blackened, and what was left of the four marauders littered the ground.

"That's insane."  Matty waved away the tendrils of smoke wrinkling his nose.

"Good." Joey pushed up from the floor and brushed his hands.  "Let's get to those other cars and start loading up.  Roger, siphon off the gas from the other two into the four-door."

"Will do." Roger trotted down the stairs.

"Dana, give him a hand.  Matty, Geoff, and me will pack whatever we can in the trunk."  Joey led them downstairs.  The front door and adjacent windows were gone, replaced by charred husks. 

"We gotta move fast," Matty said.  "Any zombies in a five mile radius must've heard that explosion."

"No doubt." Joey grabbed a box of supplies and headed out the door.  "Those other two boxes and the pair of trash bags should fit in the trunk."

Matty and Geoff hefted the remaining goods and followed Joey to the beige sedan parked alongside the building.  Roger had rigged a pump using tubes from the café beverage dispensers; he transferred fuel from one of the vehicles, filling up the sedan.

"How much longer, Rog?" Joey asked.

"Longer than we want," Roger replied.  "Doing this manually is a tedious process.  We'll get as much as we can until we have to leave."

"That might be sooner than we want."  Dana pointed down the road, in the direction the attackers from Hatchet had come.  "I see something moving over there."

"We'll check it out." Joey nodded to Matty; they drew pistols and headed toward the road.  "Geoff, watch Roger's back while he gasses up our getaway."

Geoff tested the knife-edge with a thumb.  "Oh yeah… right under the base of the neck."

Dana watched him warily.  "You have some experience using a knife on zombies?  That's a little scary."

Geoff laughed.  "I had to use a pocket knife the first time.  This thing will go in a lot smoother and require less wiggling to sever the spine."

"O-kay." Dana shuddered.

Matty and Joey trotted off, passing over the low curb and onto the asphalt.  They were coming.  Matty guessed them to be two hundred yards away; they staggered back and forth across the road, moving inexorable toward the coffee house.

"Let's get out of sight before the see us and start running," Joey said. 

"Right." Matty fell in behind as Joey hustled back to the cars.

Halfway to the sedan, Dana's scream pierced the air, followed by a maniacal roar that must have come from Geoff.  Joey charged off, hurtling around the corner; Matty kept a slower pace, searching the building and nearby areas for any signs of movement.

A pair of zombies staggered out from across the street, emerging from the woods and hobbling toward Matty.

"Shit!" He raised the gun.  "They're coming from all directions—we're surrounded!" He fired twice, pancaking the rotten faces, and sprinted to the vehicles.

Joey backpedaled, pulling Dana behind him; a knot of zombies surged forward, grabbing at his shirt and moaning eagerly.  "Everyone in the car right fuckin' now!"

Roger yanked the tube from the gas tank and jumped into the back seat.  Joey opened the passenger side door and thrust Dana into the car; he rounded the front, firing several shots in rapid succession.  An old man missing half his face lunged at Joey and received a boot to the sternum.

"Geoff!" Matty gunned down a topless female zombie about to chomp on Geoff's leg.  "Get in the car, man!" 

Geoff was covered in gore and ribbons of flesh hung from the knife.  He shook his head in the negative and raised his left arm: Matty saw several bite marks from the elbow to the wrist.

"Fuck me." Matty slammed a fist on the car. 

"Go!" Geoff waved them off.  "I'll drop a match in the gas tank before I'm done, but I want to split some skulls first."

Joey started the car and dropped the shift into gear.  Matty climbed in the back next to Roger.  Zombies swarmed on the car, slapping the windows and gibbering a chorus of croaks and groans.  With a sickening crunch, the front end smashed through the cluster of undead and bounced onto the road. 

Geoff had climbed onto the roof of a small silver two-door; he held the knife upside-down, jamming the blade into the heads of zombie after zombie, seeming oblivious to the teeth tearing into this legs and side.  In his opposite hand, a lighter flame burned; the tube from the gas tank hung from the vehicle, spitting fuel onto the ground.

"He saved our asses," Dana said, tears pooling in her eyes.

As the car zipped away from the scene, a ball of fire roared into the sky and a booming echo shook the world. 

"He saved us twice." Matty pointed behind them.  The mob of zombies coming down the road fixated on the explosion and poured into the coffee house parking lot. 

What did he die for?
Matty thought. 
One by one, we're all going to die
.

As he turned, Matty caught Joey's gaze on him from the rearview mirror.  He tried to read the look, but there was too much in his own mind.  Was Joey telling him that they should have stayed in Wooneyville… that all this could have been prevented.

Matty looked down at the floor, listening to the car zip down the empty road.

"Roger, do you remember the way to Timmons?"  Joey asked.  "Without a map, I'm a little fuzzy on all the back roads."

Roger slid forward, leaning through the open middle of the front seats.  "I sure do.  I don't think we need to worry about concentrations of zombies at this point.  They seem to be spreading out, searching for anyone."

"So we just need to avoid areas where cars might be jammin' the road."

"Exactly," said Roger.  "It's still a long way to the base.  Garden Harbor is ten times the size of Wooneyville, so the quiet back roads go on for a while."

"We're gonna need more gas then." Joey tapped the dashboard.  "We didn't have time to siphon off more than an eighth."

Roger tapped his chin and then nodded.  "All right, take your next right and then go about ten miles until you see a convenience store.  I think there's a gas station there.  If not, there's definitely one further down that road."

"How many rounds you got left, Matty?" Joey handed his pistol to the back.  "Add 'em up and see where we're at."

"Joey, how are we going to get in the base if it's surrounded?" Dana chewed at her nails.

"I dunno, babe," he said.  "Maybe we'll make a diversion… maybe we can make some more bombs with gasoline or something like that to clear a path."

"We're down to twenty-eight rounds, Joe," Matty said. 

"That's fuckin' awesome." Joey gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles stood out white against the dark blue pleather.  "If the base is a no-go, we're gonna need to find ammo."

Or save four bullets
, thought Matty. 
If there's no base, the journey's over.

Joey turned onto a narrow two-lane road; tall trees lined the road, broken occasionally by a driveway or a dirt trail leading off into thicker woods.

"Joe, try scanning for any broadcasts," Roger said.  "Even if it’s a pre-recorded loop, there might be some information floating around."

Joey turned on the radio, switched to AM, and pushed the scan button.  Static followed static, broken by chirping or the steely drone of an emergency broadcast signal with no message following.