Dead Hunger III: The Chatsworth Chronicles (23 page)

Well, that worked out for a week or two.

At first, I tried calling anyone and everyone I knew, starting with the tattoo shop.  I’m assuming the cell service went out almost right away, because nobody at work was answering their cells, and soon I just got a busy signal no matter what number I dialed.

My mom had cable TV, and I was seeing some weird but familiar shit on there before it turned to static snow.  In
Los Angeles
, Chicago,
Miami
, coast to coast.  People from all walks of life were killing other people.  Police, fire personnel, medics, gangbangers, teachers, and not surprisingly, attorneys.

Chaos.
  They were saying it was some strange new bug or virus, but it was so widespread that nobody was left unaffected.  Scientists were dropping along with everyone else, and as we saw later, most military and police personnel just headed toward home as fast as possible to save the lives of their families.

Unfortunately, many of them likely ended up being the demise of their family members after contracting the illness themselves.  Fires were burning out of control everywhere, and I wondered why that would be.  I figured it out when one of the last interviews on the news showed a group of four survivors pouring gasoline on a door, having barricaded it closed with plywood and nails.  They were having themselves a good, old-fashioned zombie cookout.

Seeing all that shit, I
felt lucky to be alone at this house, which wasn’t as remote as Flex’s, where I’d end up later, but remote enough that not many people lived within a two-mile radius.  Maybe four households.

I didn’t want to
check on them.  Call me selfish, or call me smart.  Either way I was taking care of me.

It was a full week before the power went out. 
I slept under the bed, the doors completely locked.  I blocked the feet up a bit and put a memory foam pad under there to lie on.  I wasn’t sure hiding would do any good, but it sure as hell worked when I was a little girl hiding from the creatures of my imagination, and no – I never imagined there were monsters under my bed.

That was my safe place.  And closets.  I liked closets.

A month passed.   I ran out of food and I was
almost out of fresh water.  I
had to get out of there and go on a scavenger hunt.  I had no idea what Lula or the surrounding areas were like
since this thing hit
, but there was no decision to be made
, because I had to go
.

That morning, I stood in the bathroom, the shade on the window up and my eyes peeled for any movement outside. 

I looked in the mirror, the scissors in my hand.  My hair was down to the middle of my back, and
during
my tousle with Tommy, I realized it was a
possible
hand hold and something to get in my way when I went to withdraw arrows from my quiver.  I would not be prepared at every moment with a rubber band to tie it back, and I didn’t have any fucking idea who I was trying to impress with my long, flowing locks anyway.

I wasn’t a complete amateur, and the scissors – to my credit – were actual hair-cutting scissors, not your standard office scissors. 

I put it in a low pony tail, and pulled it as even as I could get it.  Then I divided it in thirds and carefully cut it, letting it fall into a wicker trash can below.  When I was done, I pulled the rubber out of my hair, and it fell nicely just to my shoulders.  It was then that I thought I should’ve done that shit a long time again.

Again, it was Tommy.  He loved long hair, and if you recall, I was trying to keep the peace.

I’d never do that for another person.  And I don’t just mean men.  When I’ve got a bitch, or I want to do something, it’s going to have to be what’
s best for me.

I went over my bow with a fine-toothed comb and made sure all my arrows were in good repair.  Sharp.  True. 

Then I took my iPod, stuffed the ear buds in my ears, a
nd hopped back in my Wrangler.  I rolled the selector around until AC/DC’s High Voltage was there, and I quickly rolled down to She’s Got Balls. 

I hit play.

The Jeep fired right up and I felt comfortable in it to a degree, but t
o be honest, I preferred something with a hard top at this point
.  Tommy had been nothing if not aggressive, and if others out there were like that, I could see them attacking that soft top and making headway through the vinyl windows and canvas.

Yes, tempered glass and steel was the way to go.  Granted,
I hadn’t had any confrontations other than with Tommy,
so I wasn’t all that sure they were the same as he was, but I felt pretty sure they were.  And also remember that my first arrow went into Tommy’s head – and that was just pure luck.  At this point in my story, the poor Charlie we’re speaking of doesn’t realize a head shot is all that will kill the zombies.  I did know they were
tough to stun.

Okay, damned near impossible to stun.
  Tommy’s header into the shower wall tile didn’t phase him, but I’ll bet he lost some teeth.

I buckled in and
hit the gas
, the bow and quiver stuffed with arrows on the passenger seat and floorboard.

Flex did a pretty good job describing how rural Lula is, so I won’t get into that all too much. 

With AC/DC jamming in my head, I headed out on my supply run.

****

I realized very quickly that I couldn’t kill any of these things from inside my Jeep; not with the crossbow.  This made me wish I’d worked on becoming more proficient with other firearms.  I could handle most rifles, because the barrels were long and the sight was similar to a crossbow sight.

The difficulty I had was with handguns.  Short barrels, small sights, and a slight kick would send my shots off the mark, which was a source of real frustration for me, because I’m damned good with a crossbow.

And with regard to me learning the crossbow, let me just say that when I was very young, I watched The Princess Bride, and I fell in love with bows and arrows.  I soon discovered all the different types there were, and somehow I set my sights on a crossbow.  The one I had when Flex and Gem found me wasn’t fancy, but I could shoot that sucker with deadly accuracy and consistency. 

As I said, I’d begun to pass some of the afflicted in the road, and
as I passed, they changed direction.  If I drove around three miles per hour, I’m pretty sure it would have eventually looked like a fucking parade.  But that wasn’t my style.  I left most of them behind.

Then I hit a portion of the secondary highway that was only one lane in each direction, with heavy cable guard rails on each side.  The lanes were completely blocked, and there was no way to pull the Wrangler over to skirt around the mess with some creative off
-
roading.  I was very close to the main shopping and services in Lula, and since I wanted to switch to a hard top vehicle of some kind anyway, I didn’t worry too much about leaving the Jeep behind.

I’d drained the last water from my bottle, and saw a
crossover SUV of some kind
with the door standing open
.  I leaned in and saw a half a case of
Crystal
Springs
water, and pulled it out.  As I stepped backward, I tripped over something, and fell into the vehicle behind it.  My
shoulder slammed into the side mirror of a crew cab pickup, and I yelped in pain, steadying myself.

When I saw what caused my fall, I threw up onto the ground, dropped the water, and ran.  Not far.  As I turned, I angled straight into the torn metal edge of a door panel on the next car over. 

Blood
ran
down my thigh where I’d ripped it pretty good right through my jeans, I looked back to stare in horror at the reason I ran in the first place.
  My hands quickly went to the security of the crossbow.  I locked an arrow in place.  It wouldn’t leave my hand again.

I’d tripped over a woman who was so horribly
mauled
, I couldn’t recognize any facial features at all. 
Because
there were none left.  Only her tattered dress told me her sex.  Her face was gone, and all I could see was the inside of her empty skull
, filled with maggots and flies
. 

They
had to be responsible for this. 
Those things
.  Nothing else could do this.

I looked at the back of the strange, tinny-looking car I’d ripped my leg on.

A VW Thing. 

What the fuck
it
was, I had no idea.

I cursed to myself.  I couldn’t be doing shit like this.  The world was clearly nothing like it had been a month ago, and I needed to be careful.  Infection.  Loss of blood.  Lack of doctors.

And nobody to help should I just pass out on the roadside.

I realized, with the blood gushing from the gash that I needed to get my ass to
a hospital.  Banks County
General, which sounds much bigger than it really was,
was
about
three blocks from
there.  I tried running three or four steps and realized I could still do it.  Apparently it wasn’t as horrible as it looked
. 

I looked back toward where my car was parked, and saw someone coming in my direction.  A
black
man.  He wore a pink button-down shirt that was torn open, and he staggered up the road
, his face
turned toward me
.

At first my heart leapt.  Was this someone to join forces with?  Maybe an
other person to cover my back?

I waved at him.  He didn’t wave back.  Just kept coming.

I looked down at my leg, then went back to the SUV and grabbed a towel I’d
seen
.  I ripped it down the middle and tied it over
the cut on my
leg.  When I was done, I looked up again.

The man was closer now, and
he was moving faster
.

But something was wrong.  As he drew
to within fifty yards or so
, I realized his shirt wasn’t pink at all.  It was white at one time, but now it was covered with red blotches, the rest of it a lighter color that I’d mistaken for pink.

And he wasn’t a black man
either
.  His skin was dark and scabbed with patches and areas that looked raw and open.

Thirty yards.  I could see part of his jaw was gone, and his teeth – all the way to the molars – were visible on the left side of his face.

It was one of them.  One of Flex’s abnormals, one of the zombies, as we’d resolved to label them
for a while, anyway
.

I raised my crossbow and got the thing in my sights.  I judged the distance even as he closed it, and went for center mass.

Fifteen yards.  I pulled the trigger, and the bolt went directly through his heart.

He jerked back with the impact, his eyes never moving from me.  One quick stagger back, and h
e resumed his forward progress.

I wasn’t sure what happened.  It should have killed him instantly.  I’d taken Tommy out with one arrow. 

I took an involuntary step backward, away from him, and reached into my quiver and retrieved another arrow. I quickly mounted it, locking it in.

I raised it once more. 
Took aim and f
ired.

Two in the heart.  He was fifteen feet from me now, and still coming.  I could see his eyes now, strangely pink, and there was a bone sticking out of his right arm near the wrist.  It was tweaked almost at a ninety degree angle, and the hand flopped, useless.

But it sure didn’t seem to bother him.   He was focused on me, and I quickly reached back for another arrow and turned to run. 

As I limped at the fastest speed I could muster, I knew that I could easily stay ahead of him.  But I couldn’t afford to allow him to keep the arrows I’d already fired.  This was my only weapon, and I woul
d literally be damned if I were to waste them like that.

I charged forward, glancing back when I was certain I wouldn’t trip on something.  He was still coming, but I’d gained enough ground that he was again about thirty yards back. 

The bow was loaded.  I stopped and turned.

And I waited.

Twenty-five yards.

Fifteen yards.

Ten yards.

I sighted in on his head. 

Five yards.

I fired.  The bolt flew from the bow, straight and true, and it pierced his cranium, nearly splitting it in two.  The thing took three more involuntary steps borne of momentum,
and then
crumpled to the pavement just four feet in front of me.

I saw movement again.  Three more were coming up the street.  I felt chills run over every pore of my skin and I started to cry.  I glanced up occasionally as I kicked the body of the man in the blood-pink shirt from his side onto his back, and reached down to retrieve my arrows.