Epidemic of the Undead: A Zombie Novel (22 page)

With the feasting woman’s slurps and grunts overpowering Jesse’s faint voice, Chris heard him call out from behind “Shoot the bitch, already!”

Chris couldn’t do it; not yet. He was too busy scanning the rest of the yard for more of the undead. It was just too dark and although his eyes had adjusted, the falling rain was making it almost impossible to see.  

“What the hell’s the hold up, son?” Brady whispered.

“Just wait…” Chris raised a hand. “I think there’s more…”

Before Chris had the chance to really explain, Brady walked up from behind him with his rifle in position. He lifted it up and fired two shots. One shot hit the undead ghoul feasting on putrid gore. The report sent her down face first in the muddy grass. The second shot went right between the eyes of the homeless meal. The shot obliterated what was left of the man’s nose into dust. The rifle fire echoed off the buildings around them.

“What the hell was that for?” Jesse asked.

“Safer than sorry, I always say.” Brady said without any emotion. He dispensed the empty rifle shells and then drove another one home. “If I get eaten on, I don’t much care’s to come back. I give you permission to blow my brains out, you hear?” 

“I hear that,” Jesse agreed with a heavy sigh.

“My pack should only be a few paces that way. Let’s get the light, get the people we needs to get and get the hell out a Dodge.” Brady started to walk away from the two unmoving corpses. “I wouldn’t mind gettin’ the hell outta this rain too.”

“Wait a second…” Chris called out, but it was too late.

The gunfire had drawn the attention of those still lingering around in the courtyard.

Brady didn’t see her until she was almost right on top of him. The noise of the rain had covered her silent movements. As she lunged forward, there was something large dangling in her right hand. Her eyes were black with running mascara and blood as the rain beat down on her sneering face. Her free hand reached out at Brady, grabbing hold of his rifle. As her right hand took away the rifle, the men could see bite marks and missing skin all up her arm. It was as if some cruel person had flayed the skin away from bone. Brady let go of the gun as she dashed at him with gnashing intent. He sidestepped and pushed her away, instantly reaching for his sidearm. 

Jesse gasped. Not because the zombie’s attention was suddenly diverted toward him, but because of what she was wielding in her hand. It was a baby. The baby that Jesse had rescued and taken care of for the last half a week to be exact. Jesse froze. It was dead and mutilated. It was missing both feet and its skull was crushed to red pulp. Its small limp frame flapped about like rags in the undead woman’s hand as she attacked Jesse. Dropping the rifle, it held tight to the infant corpse. The undead woman fell on top of Jesse with rage. Jesse didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t think. Disbelief stopped his limbs from action. He didn’t fight the woman away at all. His eyes never left the horrific sight of the child. She just fell on him and the big man folded under her. Her already meat-stained teeth met flesh as Jesse fell to his back in the mud. The undead lady tore into his gullet pulling away his windpipe and the skin ripped back like rubber. She refused to release the crushed and battered infant as she feasted. Jesse lay there silently bleeding out as the woman viciously continued to tear away meaty bites from his neck. His eyes were unmoving, fixed with shock.

“Holy shit!” Chris yelled.

He raised his pistol and fired. He fired over and over again. The continuous volley of fire echoed in the distance. As each shot struck home, Chris watched in horror as the bullets did their close range damage to the feasting ghoul’s back. Her back jerked and pivoted with each shot as a bloody display of pus ejected with each bullet’s entry. He lost control. He just kept firing one after another. Panic had set in. The gun locked with a clicking sound as he pulled the trigger.

“I’m out, Brady!”  Chris yelled, looking back for the old man.

He wasn’t there. In fact, he wasn’t anywhere.

“Oh shit,” Chris winced, as he reached in his pocket for a box of ammunition.

The woman wasn’t dead. After all of those frantic shots, he hadn’t put one in the brain.
Fuck—Fuck—Fuck . . . .
She was getting up and turning toward Chris. Fumbling with the box of bullets, Chris started to walk backwards. His eyes darted around for Brady. He still couldn’t see the old man anywhere. The rain still wasn’t letting up and it was too hard to see anything.

Where the hell did you go, old fart?

As the undead woman stood, she dropped the lifeless baby to the ground. It dropped flat to the wet, muddy grass, like a wet sack, making a loud splat. Both of her arms reached out as she started her slow decent toward Chris. Just as he ejected the empty clip to begin reloading, a shot rang out in the distance. It had to have been Brady who fired. Startled, Chris dropped the clip. Its flat black metal instantly vanished in the muddy dirt at his feet. Chris dropped to his knees, desperately sifting through the murky grass and mud. 

Come on, Chris…Come on…Were the hell are you at you piece of crap?

He looked up for a second, his hands still filtering through the muck. She was getting closer, her eyes furious with hunger. Drool and blood from Jesse’s body ground between her teeth. Chris glanced past his undead assaulter and saw Jesse’s dead body writhing on the ground. The electrical impulses in the buff man’s tattooed body jerked with protest, each limb pulsating as he bled to death in the dirt.  

“Hell’s yeah!” Chris’ hand met metal. He retrieved the empty clip. He jumped to his feet, but he didn’t have time to mess with the ammunition. The zombie reared its head forward, standing almost right on top of Chris. He dropped the box of bullets as she grabbed him.  Pushing her away with both hands, he hit her in the head with his gun. The bullets collided with the ground scattering everywhere. Off balance, she stumbled backwards and Chris shoved the clip into his back pocket. A hand reached out from behind him taking hold of his shoulder with a firm forceful grip. It tugged him down abruptly. His eyes went dark with fear. This was it and he knew it. He was done. As he looked up to meet the teeth that were surly descending upon him, he was excited to see Brady illuminated by a dark silhouette. The old man was holding a flashlight. He pushed Chris down and out of his line of fire. Brady’s shiny chrome handgun gleamed against the flashlight beam’s poor lighting as he aimed. With the gun raised at the dead attacker, he grimaced with disgust. She had gained her footing and she was at it again, eager to sink her teeth into Chris’ meaty body.     

Chris smiled. “You’re the shit, Brady!” His voice was drowned out by one loud report.

Brady’s pistol jerked in his grip, sending the undead woman to her knees. Blood oozed from a hole in her head. It hadn’t been dead center, but it was dead enough. The woman slumped to the ground immobilized.

“Thanks, man.” Chris reached up for a hand off the ground.

Helping Chris up, Brady said, “Any reason we need to stick around out here?”

“Hell no, dude. Let’s get out of here before we end up on the fucking menu.” With gun in hand, Chris checked his back pocket. The empty clip was still there. “I think Nan was with these people. You do realize what that could mean, right?”

Brady ignored the comment. “I can’t speak for everybody. There ain’t no tellin’ where all these people ran off to or what happened, but I do know Nan. She would have gone to check on Stephanie and your friend Steve. We start there!” Brady’s voice was stern. “We meet up with them and get the hell out a here!”

“No complaints there, my man!”

Brady walked over to the dead woman, knelt down, and picked up his rifle. Slinging it over one shoulder, he nodded to Chris that they needed to get on the move. Brady looked down at Jesse, the rain beating down on his muddy shirtless body. The man’s neck was obliterated. Without any second-guessing of any kind, Chris watched Brady raise his pistol and fire. The shot hit Jesse in the face.

“Let’s move.”

With Brady in the lead, they both quickly made their way across the courtyard toward the double doors that led to where Steve was being treated.

They entered the building.

With the rain finally off their backs and the doors closed behind them, Chris stopped. The hallway was dark, and Brady’s flashlight was doing a terrible job of correcting the problem. Chris could barely make out the gurneys and cots lined along the hallway walls. One or two of the beds still looked occupied. 

“Wait,” Chris whispered.

“What is it?”

“Please tell me you can work your voodoo magic on this?” Chris pulled the empty clip and box of ammunition out for Brady to see. “I dropped one of the boxes outside. This is all I have left.” He looked down at the second box of bullets with defeat. “Hope I can make them last.”

Without any words, Brady tucked the light under his arm to free both hands. With haste, he filled the empty clip and drove it home. After chambering a round, he handed the gun to Chris.

“Check the safety.” 

“Thanks man. You know, I think Steve was right all along. You are Rambo.”

Brady didn’t even half smile. “Come on, let’s go.” His voice was different. He seemed focused and highly on alert.

Walking with a brisk stride, Chris followed close behind, thankful to have his gun reloaded. He made a mental note not to lose it like that again. If he was going to survive, he needed to keep his cool and to conserve ammunition. He checked the safety like Brady had instructed. It had been on. Brady must have set it when reloading the weapon. Looking down at the gun as he walked on, he thumbed the safety off. Suddenly, he bumped into Brady who had stopped. Without having to ask, Chris’ senses instantly focused on the noises around them. It sounded quiet, which made him wonder why they had stopped. The door to the right, which led into where Steve had been was only a few paces ahead.
What the hell’s the hold up?

Then he heard it. It was faint.

The moaning of an undead ghoul was in the hallway with them, but where was it coming from? Brady scanned his flashlight across the dark hallway. Reds and blues bounced back between the flickering lights from the destroyed mural across the hall. On one of the tables lining the wall next to Brady there was an unexpected movement.

Chris’ swift reflexes brought his handgun toward the cloth-covered table. “There…the gurney.” Chris pointed at something under the sheet which had to be the source of the noise.

It moved again.

Brady reached up with a slow moving arm to have a peek.

“Be careful,” Chris insisted.

Brady tugged at the cloth. An arm reached up from under the sheet gripping him by the hand. Startled, Brady aimed and fired without thought. The shot from his handgun clanked against metal as the bullet exited the back of the skull. The figure lying on the table was motionless, dead. Chris covered his mouth with his free hand, the other still holding tight to his gun. He and Father Clark had walked past the burn victim when the priest was taking Chris to Steve. The dead man covered in burns hadn’t been one of the undead. His muffled moans weren’t a plea of hunger, but of need. Most likely, he had heard Chris and Brady walking up and was probably trying to get their attention.

“Well, that sucks,” Chris mumbled between his fingers as he looked down at the man. The hole in his head was the size of quarter, maybe even a little bigger. Blood ran down the blackened face.

Brady wasn’t listening. His attention and the flashlight were fixed toward the end of the hall. If there were any undead lingering in the long corridor, the gunfire would have surly drawn them out. There was no noise or movement, so Brady waved Chris to keep moving.

Chris wasn’t sure about it, but something told him that Brady wasn’t being himself. The man had no remorse after shooting that suffering man on the table. It was like some distant militarized reflex of survival had set in for the old man and he was focused on one thing and one thing only: survival. As much, as Chris knew he needed to be that way too, he didn’t like it. He didn’t like seeing Brady function like a machine. Chris’ mind flashed back to the gas station before Steve had been shot. It felt like ages ago. Brady and Nan had mentioned meeting when he was in the military, or something like that. However, if survival meant to become less human, then he felt like maybe it wasn’t really worth the effort. 

Chris looked back down at the man that Brady had just killed and sighed. Covering the poor bastard up with the cloth once more, Chris hurried forward to catch up with Brady. The old man stood at the door they intended to enter.

Brady grabbed the handle.

Now or nothing
, Chris thought.
What if we walk into this room and Nan’s dead cold corpse was devouring Stephanie? What would Brady do? Would the warrior kick in or would he just flake out and fold? Worse, what if nothing awaited us on the other side; just an empty room filled with disappointment. Surely, Steve is still in there. Where the hell else would the jerk have run off too? He’s injured for Christ’s sake. Not like, he could have gone far…Hell, speaking of going far, were the hell is everyone else?
Chris thought of the roof for some reason.
All of these people, the homeless and the families who survived have been camping out here and believed that the National Guard is on the way. If that were true and the shit hit the fan like it has all of a sudden, the roof would be the place to go, but which roof?
There were several buildings to this place and they could be on any one of them.
If he didn’t find them behind this door, Chris hopped that Stephanie and Steve had managed to make it to one of the roofs. It would be the safest place.

There were way too many variables to try figuring it all out. Chris just knew that he needed to keep his head in the game. He wanted to win and he hoped that would lead him to see tomorrow.

Chris nodded and Brady acknowledged.

With weapons raised high, and fingers on the trigger, Brady swung the door open. They stepped inside, still soaking wet from their weathered trip across the school grounds.