Clickers vs Zombies (20 page)

San Pedro, California

Jim had started drinking to stop stalking Tammy.

When she’d first begun dating Anthony, Tammy had been very careful not to expose Danny to the new boyfriend. She’d insisted that Anthony spend the night only once or twice a week, arriving after the boy had gone to sleep and leaving in the morning before Danny woke up. Jim had appreciated that thoughtfulness, and it had assuaged some of his concerns for Danny, but it had done nothing to calm his emotions over the fact that another man was sleeping with his wife. Granted, they were separated at the time, and soon to be divorced, but that didn’t make his jealousy and torment any less palpable.

One night, he’d found himself parked outside the house, staring at Anthony’s car, which was parked in Jim’s old spot. He watched as the lights went out one by one inside the house until only the bedroom light was left. Then, it blinked out as well. Jim had gotten out of the car and slowly crept to the window. Part of him had wanted to flee, but another part felt pulled, as if the window was a magnet and he were steel. He’d gotten within a few feet. The window was slightly open to allow the breeze to blow through the screen. The curtains fluttered as he drew nearer. At first, Jim had thought it was his breath that made them move, but then he realized, feeling foolish, that it had been the wind.

And then he heard them. Two slight sounds. A masculine whisper. And Tammy’s soft moan. That was all, but it was enough. His brain filled in the rest, overwhelming him with vividly imagined details. He’d fled back to his car, and when he arrived home, he’d cried himself to sleep.

The next night, when the compulsion to go over to Tammy’s house had struck him again, Jim had polished off a quarter of a bottle of bourbon. His reasoning had been simple. If he was too drunk to drive, then he’d be too drunk to stand outside her house like a raving lunatic, torturing himself with the sounds of their lovemaking.

It was a philosophy that had served him well those first few months. He didn’t drink at all on nights he had Danny, but otherwise, he self-medicated at sundown, drifting off around eleven each night in an alcohol-induced sleep. After a while, after he’d grown used to the idea of Tammy and Anthony and had gotten laid a few times himself, the urges to go to her home passed, and now Jim only had a single drink—two fingers of bourbon before bed, sipped while watching a DVD, followed by falling into a dreamless sleep on the couch, his face lit by the television’s glow.

He followed the same routine the night of July 5
^th
, falling asleep while ruminating over the events at the coffee shop, and the conversation he and Tammy had earlier that day, and his silent, half-humorous prayer for the end of the world. As a result, he slept through it when all of the cable stations interrupted their regularly scheduled programming to broadcast the news reports of two seemingly unconnected occurrences—reports of the dead coming back to life and mass riots all across the globe, and hordes of bizarre sea creatures emerging onto the world’s shorelines and attacking everything that moved.

He awoke to a different world than the one he’d fallen asleep in, and found that his prayer had been answered. 

PART TWO

JULY 6

SEVEN

Mission Viejo, California

Dawn.

Rick roused from a fitful sleep, coming to sudden wakefulness in the upstairs hallway.

He looked around bleary-eyed, then realized where he was. He’d fallen asleep on the hallway floor between Richard and Melody’s bedrooms.

He lay back on the floor, feeling a wave of desperation wash over him. The realization of what had happened last night was forefront on his mind. The noise from outside told him last evening had not been a dream.

Off in the distance was the sound of hundreds of car alarms. The house smelled of smoke from a fire burning in the hills of the Saddleback Mountain region. Rick had retreated upstairs after raging through the living room last night shortly after receiving that phone call from Melody and Richard. After the connection had been broken and he’d been unable to reach them again, he’d tore through the house, yelling in rage and frustration. Princess had cowered in the downstairs bathroom. After experiencing the terror of not being able to get in touch with his kids, Jeanette had called him from Lancaster. She’d been frantic. There were National Guardsmen all over and the Governor of Pennsylvania had declared martial law. “It’s happening all over,” she’d told him. “Zombies. I know it sounds hard to believe, but I’m seeing it on the news and—”

Rick believed her. He’d had the TV turned to the news all afternoon and early evening as he tried to track Richard and Melody down. And at some point during their conversation, the connection had been broken. He hadn’t been able to get back in contact with her. Even worse, he hadn’t been able to get in contact with her team leader at the corporate office in Irvine, nor the hotel front desk where she was staying, nor the corporate headquarters for the company her firm was consulting for. The line for the Pennsylvania State Police was busy. Then, Melody had called.

He’d been relieved to speak to Melody and Richard, but that relief had quickly jumped to anger and frustration when the call was disconnected. Unable to reconnect, he’d expended his anger on the living room furniture. He’d been on the verge of grabbing his keys and wallet and heading to his car in the garage to make the sixty-mile drive north to San Pedro when common sense prevailed.
If you head out there now you might never see them again. There is shit happening and if those things get you, Richard and Melody don’t have a chance
. The temptation to dismiss that voice and forge ahead had been strong, and he’d almost ignored it and ventured out, but he decided to heed the warning and stay inside. It sounded like World War III outside anyway. And it was only getting worse.

So he’d gone back into the house and made sure all the doors and windows were locked. He drew all the drapes over the windows. Then he’d called Princess in and when the dog came to him, slinking toward him in that fearful way dogs get when they think they’ve done something wrong, he’d swept her into his arms, buried his face in her fur, and wept.

Once he got control of himself, he’d gone through the house and turned off all the lights. He’d stolen upstairs, Princess following, and made his way to Richard’s bedroom, which looked out over Pablo Lane. He’d peeked out between the drapes and looked out at the chaotic scene below.

Their neighborhood was descending into an apocalyptic war zone. Off in the distance he could see the glow of distant fires. There was the sound of gunshots. A man wearing no shirt, his guts spilling out of his belly, walked down the street. The neighbor girl two doors down, Brooke Rey, darted out of the house screaming. The man with his guts hanging out zoomed after her and took her down, tearing into the flesh of her neck and face with a resounding crunch. Rick had watched, spellbound, barely able to breathe. The thing that had killed Brooke was still feeding on her, eating her face, when Brooke’s eyes opened. She rose to her feet and the other zombie—that was the only description Rick had for them—stopped feeding. Together, Brooke and the zombie headed down the street.

Rick had retreated from the window, his heart racing.
Oh God, please watch over my kids, pleasegodohjesuschristplease!

He hoped Jeanette was safe, too. But try as he might, his thoughts centered entirely on Richard and Melody. At least they were safe. They’d had the resourcefulness to act quickly and sequester themselves indoors. It was probably best they were seeking shelter inside an abandoned building in Sunken City rather than somewhere else, where there were more people. There would be less people in Sunken City, if any.

He’d tried calling the kids again. And he’d tried calling Jeanette again, too. And at some point he’d crept downstairs in the dark. Princess followed him, keeping a discreet distance behind him. She could tell something was wrong, and it was a wonder she wasn’t barking at the disturbances outside. Maybe she sensed that the chaos outside wasn’t normal. He’d gone to the kitchen and found lunch meat for a sandwich. He fed Princess, then quickly made a ham and cheese sandwich for himself, which he’d wolfed down with some bottled water. Then he’d gone back upstairs, went into the master bedroom and turned on the TV. Princess hopped up on the bed with him and he’d watched the news until the station suddenly got jolted off the air.

The two hours he was able to see was enough.

In short, it was global chaos. The dead were returning to not only eat the living, but to kill every living thing, which in turn, joined the ranks of the dead. These weren’t the shambling corpses of the Romero films. These were cunning, fast, creatures. Reports were coming in from traumatized witnesses claiming these zombies could run, drive, shoot guns, and even talk. Furthermore, when they spoke it was as if they were being powered by something that was controlling them.

Simultaneously, there were reports of strange sea creatures invading beaches all over the world. These creatures were being described as monstrous scorpion-lobster hybrids. They were highly venomous. One sting resulted in painful death by massive corrosion of the flesh. Their claws were as strong as steel, and the creatures themselves ranged in size from as small as a housecat to as big as a tank. Some wag in the media had named them Clickers because of the sound their claws made, and the moniker had stuck.

When the TV went out, Rick tried calling the kids and Jeanette again. Then he’d wandered around upstairs, moving between Melody and Richard’s bedrooms to the master bedroom, as if searching for them. Finally, he’d settled down on the floor in the hallway, where he’d fallen asleep.

Rick sat back against the wall and stretched. Princess had stretched out beside him last night. She looked at him with sad eyes that seemed to ask,
is everything going to be okay?
Rick looked at her, then patted her head, caressing her muzzle. “Just me and you for now, puppy. Okay?”

Princess wagged her tail at the sound of his voice.

“Come on. Let’s go downstairs and get some breakfast.”

Once downstairs, Rick went to the kitchen. He fed Princess, made sure she had fresh water, then prepared a bowl of cereal for himself. As he sat at the kitchen table eating, he thought about what to do. He hadn’t looked out the window yet, but it was much quieter now than it had been last night. In fact, he didn’t hear a thing from outside. He could smell the smoke from the fire—that might be a concern if it spread and started coming down the hills into Mission Viejo. There was a very good chance that could happen. If so, he had to get out of here.

But not without making a plan of action.

Rick pulled the cell phone out of his pocket. He’d charged it the night before, and it still had a full charge. He tried Richard and Melody again. Once again, there was no signal.

That left only one option.

He had to venture out and head to San Pedro. To Sunken City. To find his kids.

Lancaster, Pennsylvania

Jeanette cowered inside a milking stall in a barn, trying not to scream. The previous night, shortly after speaking with Rick, the local fire company had come to her hotel, announcing an evacuation. It wasn’t mandatory, but with martial law in effect, her choices were simple—remain inside the hotel and hope that things got better, or go with the volunteer fireman to a safe location. That location, as it turned out, was a National Guard Armory in Wrightsville. The firemen had loaded Jeanette and the rest of the evacuees into a commandeered school bus. An armed civilian volunteer sat up front next to the driver. Another one guarded the back. They’d used back roads mostly, avoiding the highways due to massive congestion, and when they began to cross the Susquehanna River via a bridge in a town called Columbia, the driver had announced that they were only ten minutes from their destination.

Jeanette had breathed a sigh of relief—and then the guard up front shouted.

“Look out!”

Jeanette and the other passengers had leaned forward and crowded into the aisles, trying to see what was happening. The guard in the rear cautioned them to sit down, but everyone ignored him. Through the windshield, Jeanette saw a man with arrows sticking out of his chest and his bottom jaw sheared away barreling towards them on a motorcycle. He raced across the bridge, weaving in and out of stalled and wrecked cars.

“Move,” the guard shouted at the driver. “Get out of the way!”

“I can’t,” the driver yelled. “The bridge ain’t wide enough for us to turn around. We’re—”

The rest of his sentence was cut off as the dead man on the motorcycle rammed into them head-on, crumpling the hood and driving part of the motorcycle into the engine block. Steam erupted from the radiator and the bus shook as if struck by lightning. The zombie flew up and over the hood and smashed through the windshield, exploding in a shower of gore. A piece of shrapnel sheared off the top of the driver’s head, killing him where he sat. The passengers were silent for a moment, and then everybody screamed at once.

“Quiet,” the guard at the front ordered. “Everybody quiet down! We’ve got to get our shit together.”

The guard at the rear of the bus collapsed into the seat beside him and began to weep. “It’s fucking hopeless, man. We’re screwed.”