City of the Dead (9 page)

Frankie's head began to throb and her left knee buckled, growing numb. She looked down to see that her entire pant leg was now scarlet. The severed arm crashed against her cheek, jarring her teeth.

An undead sparrow landed in her hair and tore away a strip of flesh from the wound there. Frankie screamed. Still firing, she beat at the creature with one hand. Immediately, her arc of fire dropped to ground level, sending clots of dirt flying. Arching her back, she readjusted her fire and snatched the bird from her head. She flung it to the ground and crushed it under her bloody boot.

A one-eyed, three-legged German shepherd stalked towards her, teeth bared. Another rock struck her between the shoulder blades. Her leg, arm and head pounded. Her vision turned red.

Frankie aimed at the dog and squeezed the trigger.

The magazine clicked empty.

"Triple shit."

The circle of zombies tightened around her.

They had to shout to be heard above the noise in the garage. Outside, the creatures pounded on the door with sticks and crowbars and fists. Danny clutched Jim's

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shoulder and Jim winced. The re-opened wound throbbed as Danny pressed harder.

"My God," Martin breathed. "They're all around us!"

"We've got to do this quick." Don reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys. "You guys get in while I unlock the garage door. Be ready."

"Who's driving?" Jim asked.

"I am," Don answered. "You get in the back with Danny."

"If Frankie's alive ..." Martin began.

Don interrupted him. "Even if she survived that fall, they've got her by now."

"We don't know that."

"Look, do you know how many of those things are outside that door? Get real, man. You can't be sure it's her out there just because you hear an M-16!"

"We've got to look for her," Martin insisted. "She'd do the same for us."

Don sighed. "Okay. When we pull out, if we see her, we'll stop. But let's be clear. If helping your friend is going to get the rest of us killed, then I'm not stopping."

"That's bull!" Martin exploded. "You cold-hearted son of-"

"Fine, Reverend. You go outside and get her yourself. Did you two really travel all the way from West Virginia just to see those things get Danny?

Martin didn't reply.

Don clenched his jaw. "We don't have time to argue."

Jim cleared his throat. "I hate to say it, Martin, but he's making sense. I'm not sacrificing Danny. I'll sacrifice myself before I'll let those things get him."

Martin shrugged.

"Of course. We can't do that. It just seems so ..."

"I know. It sucks."

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Don jangled the keys. "Okay then. Here we go."

He thumbed the remote. The alarm system beeped softly in the darkness as the doors automatically unlocked. Don tossed Martin the keys and then crept to the garage door.

"Don't start it yet," Don whispered to Martin. "We don't need to alert them."

The Explorer had been backed into the garage. Jim buckled Danny into the backseat and sat next to him. Martin got in on the passenger side, slid the key into the ignition and gave Don a nervous glance.

Carefully, Don rotated the knob on the combination lock. Sweat dripped from his forehead, stinging his eyes. It was sweltering inside the garage, and the stench of rotting flesh overpowered the usual smells of motor oil, paint cans and lawn clippings. It took him three tries, but then the lock snicked open. He nodded at Martin and let the chains fall.

Swallowing, Martin turned the key. The vehicle roared to life as the heavy steel chains landed on the cement floor.

"They're inside the garage," a zombie in the driveway shouted. "Here! They're in here! Around front!"

Don sprinted for the driver's side and slammed the door behind him. The garage door rattled on its frame as the zombies hammered against it.

"You guys ready?"

Jim and Martin nodded.

With the press of a button, Don locked the Explorer's doors, sealing them inside the vehicle. He thumbed a second button and the garage door began to rise, the electricity coming from the battery on the roof. Smoke from the burning house next door curled through the crack. As the door rose further, they saw feet, some clad

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in sneakers or dress shoes, others bare and in various stages of decay. The door continued to rise.

Don flicked on the headlights.

A dozen zombies stood framed in the garage doorway, shoulder to shoulder, blocking their exit. The one in the middle raised a Mossberg pump shotgun and fired.

Danny screamed.

Wet, cold, and trembling with pain and shock, Frankie glanced around in panic. The German shepherd hobbled toward her on three legs. To her right, six human corpses and an undead cat crept closer. One of the zombies wielded a golf club and two others brandished butcher knives. Closing in on her left was a creature dressed in the tattered remains of a paramedic's uniform. Its skin was burned black and peeling off in layers. It clutched a small .22 pistol in one charred hand. Behind it stood another, fresher corpse, brandishing a fireplace poker. Frankie was afraid to turn and see what was behind her.

The stench grew worse as they drew closer. She held her breath. The smoke stung her eyes, making them water. Her head swam, and her wounded leg and arm felt heavy, like they were made of lead.

"It will be easier if you don't resist," the burned zombie rasped. Its voice was like sandpaper. "Not as much fun for us, but easier all the same."

"Fuck you," she choked, trying to sound brave. To her ears, the words sounded anything but.

Another corpse stepped closer. Frankie watched in revulsion as a plump worm dropped from its forearm.

"How many humans were with you?"

Frankie recoiled. Its breath was like an open sewer.

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The dog growled, a phlegmatic rumble that lost none of its menace. Black fluid leaked from its eyes and nose.

The burned ghoul grabbed her arm. Its fingers felt like cold, raw sausages.

"We counted four of you, plus one in the other house. Are there more?"

She spat in its face. The act winded her and the thickening smoke made breathing torture.

"No matter." It grinned, revealing blackened, broken teeth. "We'll find out soon enough."

The grip on her arm tightened and the rest of them closed ranks. Frankie tensed.

"I hope that when you eat me, you all catch herpes."

Her hand darted for the burned zombie's face, plunging two fingers into its eyes, blinding it. The creature reared back in surprise and Frankie broke free of its grip. Without pausing, she clubbed its head with the empty rifle.

The dog leaped, white fangs flashing in the darkness. Frankie dropped and rolled. The dog fell sprawling beyond her.

Above the shouts, Frankie heard a motor turn over.

"They're inside the garage! Here! They're in here! Around front!"

The haze thickened, obscuring everything except the zombies surrounding her. Taking advantage of the distraction, Frankie plunged into the smoke.

The first shotgun blast shattered the passenger's side headlight. The zombie jacked the Mossberg's pump again, and Martin watched, transfixed as the empty shell floated through the air in seemingly slow motion. "Shoot it, Martin!" Jim shouted.

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"No." Don grabbed Martin's wrist. "Don't waste your ammunition. We don't know how long it will be before we can get more."

The creature fired again and took out the remaining headlight. Laughing, the other zombies fanned out, completely blocking the doorway.

"De Santos!" Jim punched his shoulder from the backseat. "Drive!"

Don was frozen behind the wheel, his eyes wide. Panic had gripped him, and he wasn't thinking clearly.

Danny whimpered, covering his ears with his hands.

"Well, what are we supposed to do if we're not shooting?" Martin asked.

"This." Don's paralysis snapped, and he stomped on the accelerator.

The zombie's laughter stopped as the SUV shot toward them. The fresher corpses flung themselves aside. Don mowed down the slower ones. The impact jolted the vehicle, and he prayed that the airbags wouldn't deploy. There were more bumps and then they were free, speeding down the driveway.

Thick, black smoke engulfed everything and with no headlights, Don couldn't see more than a few feet ahead. Frightened and still not thinking clearly, he squealed to a stop and glanced into the rear-view mirror. The zombie with the shotgun clambered to its feet.

"Get down!"

Jim shielded Danny with his body. A second later, the rear window shattered, spraying them with chunks of broken glass. Danny screamed again.

"What are you doing?" Martin shouted. "Drive!"

Don gunned the engine.

"You guys hit?" he asked.

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"No, we're not hurt," Jim told him and then turned to Danny. "It's going to be okay. Just hang in there."

"I'm scared, Daddy. I want to go home! I want Mommy!"

"I know, squirt. I know ..."

Don squealed out into the road and the smoke grew thinner. He ran over another zombie. A satisfied thrill shot through him as he felt the crunch beneath his tires.

"You keep doing that and this thing won't make it much further," Martin said.

Ignoring him, Don spun the wheel and aimed at another figure lurching out of the smoke.

"Stop," Jim shouted. "That's Frankie!"

She limped across the yard, her clothing soaked with blood and her head drooping. Weakly, she raised her hands to signal them. A horde of the creatures pursued her.

"Shit!" Don slammed the brakes. The Explorer fishtailed, ramming into the abandoned Humvee. Jim's head cracked against the side window.

Martin rolled down the window and took aim. His hands were shaking.

"Frankie, get down!"

She collapsed, flattening herself out on the grass.

"Lord, guide my hand."

Martin squeezed the trigger and dispatched the lead zombie. He fired again at the remains of a German shepherd, but the shot passed through its breast. Don put the Explorer in park and rolled down the driver's side window. He crawled halfway out and began firing over the hood. The Colt .45's thunderous roar drowned out Martin's smaller pistol.

Jim glanced around. Zombies were converging on them from every direction.

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"They're almost on top of us!"

Frankie crawled toward them. Blood streamed down her dirty face. Martin flung open the door and ran toward her.

"Martin," Jim yelled, "what are you doing?"

Don ducked back inside. "I can't get a clear shot. The old man's in the way."

Martin took two steps and fired, three more steps and fired again, steadily closing the distance between himself and the injured woman.

"What the hell are you doing, preacher-man?" Frankie gasped. "Get back in that ride before they get you too."

"I don't think so," Martin said. "You rescued me in Hellertown so now I'm repaying the favor."

Don drove up over the curb and across the yard toward them. The wind picked up, blowing the smoke away from the street. Orange flames licked across the roof of his home. Anger and sadness welled up inside him and he fought for control.

Goodbye, My ma, he thought. I love you and I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry ...

Grunting with effort, Martin dragged Frankie to her feet. Supporting her with one arm, he sighted on the dog again and squeezed the trigger. The pistol clicked empty.

"What now?" Frankie grunted.

"We've still got this." He pulled out the knife as he dragged her across the grass. Frankie ground her teeth as Martin accidentally brushed against her head wound with his thigh.

Don whipped toward them, but so did the dog. The dog was quicker. Its jaws snapped shut on Frankie's wounded leg. Shrieking, she beat at its head.

The others watched in horror, and Don was reminded of Rocky.

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Martin stabbed with the knife. The blade lodged in the dog's skull, right between the ears. Grunting, he tried to free it, but the knife would not budge.

"Get it off me!" Frankie moaned.

"The blade is stuck in its skull."

A bullet plowed into the dirt by his feet. Clenching his false teeth together, Martin tugged at the handle again. The knife stayed put.

"H-hurts ..." Frankie panted. "Forget about the knife!"

"Come on."

Martin dragged her toward the Explorer. The dog's corpse trailed along behind them, jaws clamped tight on Frankie's leg, even in death.

Don fired again, and the pursuing zombies drew back, seeking cover. More of the creatures emerged from the other houses.

Jim's hand slid to the door handle. "Danny, stay here."

Danny reached out and grabbed his arm.

"Daddy, no. Don't go out there!"

"I have to. They're in trouble."

Hefting the hatchet, Jim opened the door and ran toward them. With four precise swings, he severed the dog's head from its body. Frankie's eyes rolled up as she passed out. Martin and Jim quickly loaded the unconscious woman into the cargo area of the SUV. The dog's head was still attached to her leg like a leech.

Don ducked back inside the vehicle.

"I'm empty!"

"Forget about it," Jim snapped. "Just drive."

They sped away. The zombies faded in the rear-view mirror. The fire became a dull orange glow, and then vanished as Don turned onto a side street.

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Martin sighed with relief. "We made it. Thank you, Lord."

"Any ideas where we're going?" Don asked.

"Away from here," Jim said. He probed the dog's teeth, searching for an opening. Frankie's blood seeped out around them. He pulled and the jaws opened, releasing her. The severed head snapped at him instead. A long, scabrous tongue lolled from the dog's mouth.

"Jesus-it's still moving!"

"The blade must not have hit the brain," Martin said.

Grabbing the head by the ears, Jim rolled down the window and tossed it away.

Frankie's eyes flickered. Her breathing became erratic.

"Where's that bitch going with my baby?" she moaned.

"Is she going to be okay, Daddy?"