Floodwater Zombies (20 page)

“You don’t need an autopsy to tell what that thing is!” Woody shouted. “It’s a goddamn zombie!”

They turned to him with matching quizzical looks as light raindrops began pelting the ground and leaves around them.

“That’s impossible,” Rachel murmured, staring at Woody with watering eyes that begged him to tell her she was right. “Zombies don’t exist.”

Johnson screamed and their heads snapped around to see Logan biting into the young deputy’s ankle. Johnson fell to the ground. His gun went off, striking Myer in the belly. Myer grunted loudly and clutched his bloated stomach with both hands. He pulled them away and stared at the blood with terrified eyes.

“Myer!”
Hooper shrieked.

Myer looked up and held Hooper’s horrified gaze for a second or two before dropping to his knees in the sand. He took a labored breath and glanced down to the blood spilling out of his abdomen. “I…I’ve got a new baby at home,” he sputtered, falling onto his side. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, staining the sand beneath him.

“
Sonofabitch
!”
Johnson cried. “Get him off me!”

Logan yanked his head back, tearing away a mouthful of Johnson’s skin and tendons. The deputy threw his red head back and released a high-pitched shriek as the diver chewed and pulled himself closer to Johnson’s paling face.

A gunshot rang out, making everyone flinch. Logan’s head snapped backwards, brain and skull fragments blowing out the back of his wet suit. He tumbled over and landed on his back. Hooper lowered his gun and stared blankly at the diver’s body. “What’s happening?” he said weakly.

“Shit! Fucker bit me!” Johnson yelled through gritted teeth, scooting away from Logan’s lifeless body like maybe it wasn’t so lifeless yet.

Hooper blinked, whisking the fog from his eyes, and holstered his weapon. “Just take it easy, David,” he tried to say calmly, helping David Johnson up. “I need a belt!” he cried, staring at the blood gushing from the jagged gash in Johnson’s leg.

Rory undid his belt and handed it to the sheriff, who pulled it tightly around Johnson’s calf. The deputy cried out in pain, tears carving paths down his ghost white cheeks. “It’s no use, I’m screwed!”

“No you’re not,” Hooper said, his voice cracking under pressure. He pulled tighter on the belt and Johnson cried out again. “You’re going to be fine.”

“No I’m not! I’m gonna turn into one of those things!” he sobbed.

Rory turned to check on Rachel, who was now even closer to the woods. She watched them through wide eyes, her hands over her face.

“Logan turned into one of those things!” Johnson gasped. “And I’m next!”

“One thirty-two and bush, officer down!
I repeat, officer down!” Hooper yelled into the radio hooked to his shoulder. He let up on the button and static answered him. “Copy that! Officer down! Officer down! We need medic! Do you copy?” His thumb released the button and more static crackled from the small speaker. “Cynthia, do you copy?”

Thunder rumbled over them as the sprinkles grew in size and frequency.

“Shit,” Hooper groaned, giving up on the radio.

Johnson balled his hands into fists and gritted his teeth, his breath coming in jerky spurts. “Just shoot me now!”

Hooper turned to Rory.
“Anything?”

Rory looked up from his cell phone and solemnly shook his head.

Hooper glanced at Myer’s crumpled body and grimaced, rain pattering against the bill of his hat. “Check on Jason!”

Rory looked behind them to make sure Rachel was still there and went to Deputy Myer’s side. Gently, he rolled the chubby cop over onto his back. Myer’s listless arms slapped the sand and Rory jerked backwards when he found himself staring into the deputy’s vacant eyes.

“How is he?” Johnson yelled, his face growing paler by the minute.

Rory’s eyes remained fixed on Jason Myer, their war of words the night before flashing through his mind and making his gut wrench.

Johnson wiped tears from his face and took a deep breath. “Rory!” he screamed, writhing in pain.

Myer had spent what little time he had left on this planet arguing with Rory instead of being at home with his wife and baby girl and Rory felt sick about it.

“Rory!”
Jonson cried again, his voice becoming hoarse.

“He’s dead,” Rory replied flatly.

Johnson stared at him with incredulous eyes and shook his head. “No,” he whispered, tears cascading over his freckled cheeks. “No, you’re wrong!”

The sky darkened with the ominous thunder heads rolling in over the lake. It looked like dusk but wasn’t even four o’clock in the afternoon yet. A jagged bolt of lightning dove into the lake, just down the shoreline, making the hair on Rory’s arms and legs stand up. The water sizzled as the smell of sulfur filled the dead air. Thunder exploded above, making the group hunch their shoulders.

“Let’s go!” Hooper said, throwing Johnson’s arm around his neck and lifting him to his feet. Johnson squealed with the movement. “We
gotta
get you back to the car, David.”

“I can’t,” he panted. “Just let me rest for a minute.”

Hooper got him moving. “No time. Just stay with me.”

Johnson took a gingerly step on his wounded leg and shrieked. His body tensed and went limp in the sheriff’s arms.

“Johnson!” Hooper screamed, adjusting his wet grip.

Woody ran over and took the deputy’s other arm, flopping it around his neck.

“We’ve got to get him to the hospital,” Hooper grunted, dragging his deputy past the picnic table where the sand met the dirt.

Rory tried not to stare at the trail of blood the deputy left in his wake.

Suddenly, Johnson inhaled and puked out a violent spray of breakfast pizza. They stopped to let him get it out. He coughed and gasped for air, a brown rope of saliva hanging from his bottom lip to the ground. “I don’t feel so good.”

“You can make it, David,” Hooper urged, dragging him across the campsite as the rain started coming down in buckets.

 
Thunder clapped again as fat raindrops assaulted the lake, creating a blurry haze along its surface. Lightning flashed, making shadows jump across their frightened faces.

“Johnson?” Hooper yelled over the storm. The deputy’s head rolled listlessly around his shoulders, rain streaming from the tip of his freckled nose.

“He’s out cold!” Rory said, bending to see Johnson’s face.

A high-pitched scream rang out behind them. They whirled in the dirt to see the old lady back on her feet again, studying them with hollow eyes. Her cracked lips and blackened tongue eagerly soaked up the rain streaming down her crinkled face, every drop seeming to make her stronger.
Angrier.

“Jesus Christ,” Hooper gasped, dropping Johnson and unleashing his nine-millimeter in a flash, which triggered the old woman’s decrepit advance. He closed one eye and fired. The gun jerked in his hand with each bullet that sank into the lady’s heaving chest. She jerked backwards three times but didn’t fall. Instead, she regained her balance and barred her teeth with a sneering hiss. The sheriff opened both eyes to make sure he was seeing what he thought he was seeing when she took off running, the handcuff flying wildly around one arm while white bone flashed from the other. Hooper pulled the trigger again, hitting her in the shoulder and doing little to impede her progress.

“Aim for the head!” Rory shouted over the driving rain.

Hooper adjusted, knowing he had less than three seconds before she crashed into him. He squeezed the trigger. The next slug found her nose and exploded out the back of her head. Skinny legs flew out from under her and she landed on her back with a soft thump. Hooper closed in, keeping his gun tightly trained on her stationary remains.

“Sheriff!”
Rory bellowed.

Rachel screamed.

Hooper jerked his head up to see six people slowly wading out of the lake. A gangly old man, clad in a tattered suit and red tie, led the way. His ragged arms reached for Hooper with an unmistakable determination. The two little girls behind Old Gangly wore sinister grins and light blue dresses that were soiled and torn. Long, dark hair clung to their faces which appeared much fresher than the three old ladies bringing up the rear. Massive decay peppered their storm-colored skin, exposing hardened muscle tissue and mottled bone beneath. Each aged female wore a different colored necklace and gown, but looked like they hailed from the same upper-class tax bracket.

The sodden horde heedlessly shuffled through the gloomy water, agonizing moans floating from their colorless lips along the way. Hooper blinked rain from his eyes, swinging his gun from fiend to fiend, not sure who to shoot first. A gunshot broke the heavy drone of raindrops, echoing across the lakeside. Hooper jumped and turned to see Johnson slump over onto his side with blood pouring from a hole in his temple, his gun still hanging loosely in his hand.

Hooper’s breath caught in his throat. “David!”

A bearded man sprang from the water with a deafening roar and a titanic splash to match. He charged with the ambitious resolve of an NFL linebacker and had the body mass to boot. The ground seemed to shake beneath his thundering steps. Hooper spun around on his heels and fired two rounds, dropping him back into the water. The other stiffs showed no concern and kept plodding closer.

“Hooper!”
Rory yelled, edging closer to the woods with Rachel and Woody.

The sheriff lined up one of the little girls in his sights.

“Hooper!”
Woody screamed.

Hooper pulled the trigger, splattering the old ladies behind the girl with her brain and bone matter. The shabby trio sneered and kept coming without missing a beat. The bearded man burst from the water again and attacked. Hooper shot him in the stomach and turned. “Run!” he yelled, bolting for the tree line.

Chapter Twelve