Neighborhood Watch (2 page)

I ended up staying.

They said they would be back in 10 minutes. I knew it would be longer. I also knew there was a chance they wouldn't come back. If they got really high over at Sam's house, they would probably end up staying there to play with the air-soft guns. Sam's parents were sometimes gone for weeks at a time. They had money and they had influence, and what this meant was simple.

Sam could do whatever he wanted, almost whenever he wanted. I could just imagine, the two of them drunk and drugged, shooting those air-soft guns inside the house, messing up furniture, appliances and everything in between.

Which is why I knew it had to be me.

I looked over from my desktop computer. The lamp on my desk was flickering, and my computer was stalling. “Not now,” I pleaded, “please don't lose power now...”

The website appeared before me:
Zombiepedia: The Zombie Survival Wiki
. It had everything, everything from how to stay fit during a zombie apocalypse to how to get around, stay grounded, and attack the zombies. It was a fun website, designed for guys I knew in my grade, guys who liked trivia and hypotheticals. Guys and gals who watched
Walking Dead
religiously.

Compared to some people, I knew nothing. It was almost comical, to think that I was here. And now I had to do something. If nobody would believe me, I had to do something, I had to think and act. Because if I didn't do something soon, then soon everybody would know... and soon everybody would be... one of
them
.

How many could there be? Would it multiply like in the movies? Would there end up being hordes of them, roaming Dansbury?

Then again... What if Mitch and Sam were right? What if I really
was
being a scared, stupid kid? What if the 'zombie' I had seen was perfectly explainable
?

Oh yeah, well how?

I didn't know but maybe it was something else, like a serious medical condition... Maybe... I had imagined it?

But I knew what I had seen. I knew that what I had seen was something the likes of which nobody could understand. I used to hate the saying, “you have to see it to believe it”—but now it made perfect sense. And it was up to me to find it.

Maybe it's already dead

This was true. Whoever had fired those shots could have killed it. Right? That's all they needed to do, was shoot it in the head and it was dead. Or undead. Or, well, whatever..

I scratched my head. And then the words appeared on the website: “
Nearly all zombie survivalists are in agreement that the destruction of the brain is the only surefire way to neutralize the zombie (though a few rare types of zombies require complete dismemberment).”

Complete dismemberment. What did that even mean? You had to cut off the head—then what? Was that enough or did you have to do something else... something, different to the brain?

I shivered, as the next passage came before my eyes: “
Many instances of Fast Zombies are not truly dead, merely humans in a rabid state, immune to pain, exhaustion, and mercy. While faster, and more hostile fighters than their slower cousins, they are ultimately more fragile. They can bleed out (major damage to the arteries of the neck, upper arms and legs can incapacitate them), and destroying the heart, lungs, spine or aorta can be instantly fatal. Still, because of their overwhelming ferocity, a glancing or mistimed blow with a melee weapon is usually the last mistake a human makes, so firearms are strongly advised
.”

Was that what I had encountered? A “fast” zombie?

I could hear a siren growing louder. The noise pierced the hissing rain, and then the red and blue of the police car was breaking the dark. I could just make it out through the trees. It rolled down our street, coming to a stop at the end of the cul-de-sac.

My heart was practically in my throat. I knew the gunshots had come from close by, but this was too close. It couldn't have been this close. My legs trembled, my heart throbbed. I couldn't wait.

***

I sprinted in the rain, already soaked, like a helpless child beneath the bleak, black curtain of the sky; as if the deadliest tornado were seconds from descending. By the time I got to the cop car, I could barely see the police officer. He was sitting inside his cruiser checking his computer. Swallowing, I stood off to the side, obscured by a overhanging tree on the edge of a neighbor's property.

The cop didn't seem to be in a hurry, and he was young looking, probably early twenties but he looked younger. I waited a few moments, steadying myself against the stout tree and bracing against the wind. The rain, though thick, could barely penetrate the canopy.

A few more moments passed and then the cop was out. He moved quickly to the big white house at the center of the cul-de-sac, Miss. Lenner's. He rung the door bell a couple times, standing there waiting. Again and again and again he rung the doorbell, before knocking several times as well.

The lights were on in the house upstairs but there were no cars in the driveway. Looking around, I could tell that many driveways were empty. I had noticed the same thing earlier,on my paper route.

And then I remembered the festival. There was supposed to be a festival in downtown Dansbury, which was probably where my parents had gone. I couldn't remember the reason for the festival, but something told me that most of the people in my neighborhood were partaking. Instead of coming back home, I assumed they were mostly holed up in some inn or motel.

“Everybody wants to live in the suburbs,” my dad had once said. “Except for people who live in the suburbs.”

I stared back to the young police officer. He seemed nervous or unsure, just judging by the way he was biting his lip and looking around. He kept peering around the corner of the house, and then he was following his curiosity. I watched him disappear around the corner, back to the screened-in porch.

This is when I emerged. Back into the rain, as I approached slowly, feeling like eyes, somewhere, were on me. I approached like I was a professional killer, creeping up on an unknowing victim.

But I was no killer. And I had no weapon. And something told me, I would never have it in me, no matter what, to kill another.

I halted. The lights on the second floor suddenly went out. The other homes had their lights still on—so it wasn't a power outage. Somebody inside the house had turned off the lights. Or some
thing
...

I breathed heavily.

The cop was coming back around from the side of the house. He was clearly unsatisfied, but didn't seem too bothered either. Taking one last look at the house, he muttered something to himself and then into his walkie. “Officer Browning here, no sign of a
415
, goin' in for one more check.”

Begrudgingly he moved toward the house a final time. I watched on, returning to my hiding spot by the large tree. Again, the officer rapped the door with his knuckles and gave a ring. He even added his voice, announcing his presence with a deep “Police!”

After no response, he turned away with a shake. And behind him, the perfectly still door
exploded
. The dark streak of a being shot out with the force of a cannonball, and as the sharp fragments of wood filled the air in front of the house, the policeman collapsed to his knees.

Almost as quickly as he was down, he was gone. The burst of blood was almost instantaneous, and the man—the human form of flesh and bone—vaporized. Black and red and grey formed a mist as the trembling, shaking creature materialized before my eyes.

I nearly fell over. My pulse was in my head and neck, and I couldn't believe it—I couldn't understand it.

Seconds later, the being stood before a lump of flesh and goo. But this being wasn't what I had seen before. It was a black, bony and jagged thing, throbbing with dark, swollen veins and bursting with inhumanly hard and sharp muscles. Its eyes were a piercing bright yellow and its mouth was a pike pit of razors and decomposed gums. It was tall, easily 6 feet, and shaking.

It wouldn't stop shaking.
Convulsing
, almost.

But those eyes...

What followed was the shrillest, most inhuman cry I had ever heard. The being jerked its claws out to the sides, releasing this guttural blow, displacing the soundscape of wind and rain in a single primal cry.

I seized. And then a tingling sensation entered my chest. The extension to my sides wouldn't stop, like a million tiny spiders; like death. But I knew what it was. I was no longer looking toward the zombie, the house, the cul-de-sac or even outward. I was there, suddenly, in my head.

I slowed my breathing, doing what I had taught myself to do.
Positive thoughts, positive thoughts

The warmth was already growing hot around my heart, with my lungs seizing. I stumbled back into my neighbor's yard, beneath that big old tree, and tried to breathe but I couldn't. The wheezing would happen soon. If I didn't get my inhaler and stop it there...

You don't need your inhaler, you can stop it here

I slowly breathed. My arms were out to my sides, and I pulled as much as I could. As much and as gradually as I could. Again and again and again. It had to be slow and I had to think of nothing but else—nothing else.

Somewhere behind me, the inhuman cry sounded again.

***

It was heavier than I had ever seen. I could barely see my tires. I felt like I was moving against a wall of water, but it was an invisible wall because the sky was so dark, so sickly black, that you couldn't even see the rain; you simply felt it, everywhere, almost inside of you—like the darkness itself was reaching out and pushing through you.

For some reason it helped. Maybe it was the adrenaline, but my asthma attack had come and gone.  So now I had just one choice: to keep pedaling.

It was an easy choice. I was not going to take these things head-on. It made little sense. And I certainly wasn't going to wait in my house.

They seemed keen on finding the humans.

Whatever
they
were. I did know one thing though—these were not your typical walkers. And although I had read that 'fast zombies' were easier to take down, something told me this was not the case. That thing back at the cul-de-sac had been full of veins and stuff. It had these weird misshapen muscles that had incredible power.

I swallowed at the thought of the policeman... 

I had to find my brother and Sam, and I knew where they were. Sams's house was probably the biggest in suburban Dansbury. It was like a mansion, a palace, up all those hills in the woods with its own gate. You could see all of my neighborhood from his backyard.

The perfect stronghold

I thought back to that zombie. It was like a super zombie, a zombie/rabies-man on steroids. It was something out of a Hollywood blockbuster, but worse. It was terrible and deadly, and the thought of it enough to make your head swim. And if there were more than one... what could we do? What could we possibly do? Sam's air-soft guns, even the top ones—what were they going to do? Nothing. They probably wouldn't even slow the thing an inch.

Something was bursting through the dark. I looked up as the orbs, white dazzling orbs, pierced my eyes. They grew bigger and brighter and then the red/blue appeared above. I pressed harder against the pedals, calves burning, lungs on fire. The cop car came to a slow and the window came down.

I could barely hear the officer speak over the roar of the rain.

“Where you headin, kid?”

The man looked older but I wasn't really sure. His hair was black and I could see two glints for eyes and something of a larger figure.

“Hop in! I'll give you a ride, don't want you out in this!”

I shook my head.

The officer must have smiled because I  could see the white in the dark. “Come on now, your bike will fit—hop in!”

A second later I was inside, cramming my soaking bike and bottom into the corner. It felt weird being in the back of a police car like this, with the grate separating me from the officer. Suddenly I felt incredibly claustrophobic. I could imagine the zombie plunging through the side of the door, right upon me as I sat trapped, in this man-made mobile prison.

“Little wet back there, huh?” asked the cop. “What's your name, son?”

“Bill.” I stared out the window, nothing but grey. The occasional outline of a mailbox, house or parked car surfacing from the murk.

“We're on pace for a record storm, I hear.” The officer eyed me through the rear-view window. I could tell now that he was a heavier guy with a handlebar mustache. Something of a walking, talking stereotype.

“3.6 inches an hour, can you believe that?”

I continued to stare out the window. Was it worth telling him? Should I tell him?

The man cleared his throat. “Alright kid, where do you live? I'll drop you off, your parents are probably worried si—

“Where were you heading when you saw me?” I blurted.

The officer frowned. “What's that?”

“When you saw me? Did you get the call?”

The man was still frowning. “Did I get what call?”

I knew I should have kept my mouth shut, but my mouth was already running faster than my mind. “There's something out there. Another officer went to check on it, gunshots probably...” My mind fell dark. “And then it got him...”

The officer looked like he was getting confused but I didn't know what to think. I couldn't help it at this point. I had to tell him, even if he didn't believe me. I had to tell him everything, and hope, desperately, that he would listen.

“Son, what are you talking about?”

“It's out there,” I said. “I don't know what it is, but it's going to kill everybody. It's not going to stop!”

The officer allowed himself a chuckle. Another person who thought I was funny. “Listen son, I don't know what you've heard about the boogie man, but I can promise you the only thing out there is more rain and more wind.”

He turned the wheel slightly to the right. “Where do you live? I can't believe your parents would let you out in this...”

“They're downtown,” I breathed.

He nodded. “Well then let's just get you back safe and sound. No reason for a young man like you to be riding your bi—

“It got Officer Browning,” I said. The words were coming out of my mouth again without thought. It was something I did from time to time, and I never knew why. My teachers were always telling my parents that I was so quiet too, which was funny. If only they knew...

“What about Officer Browning?” the man said. I could tell that he was now interested, and at least a little bit concerned. His eyes had this sharp fierceness for the first time.

“The zombie killed Officer Browning, it ripped him to shreds!” I could feel my asthma rearing its ugly head. I was going berserk, losing it, that same hysterical tone my mother sometimes got when my parents argued. “It ripped right through him, and exploded! His blood, guts, bones, they all just vaporized in a giant pu—

“Whoa, whoa, calm down kid! How do you know James?” The cop had pulled the car along the curb, and now he turned completely around to see me. He lowered his voice. “What happened to James?”

“He got called to my street and then he was checking in on a house. And that's when it came out, it just burst through the door, and there was nothing he could do.” I didn't want to picture it again. “There was nothing he could do...”

“It was a domestic disturbance call,” the cop said. “Everything came out clear.”

“I know what I saw!” I yelled. How was this guy not hearing me? Why couldn't adults ever just
listen
to me? “It was on my street, 145 Landbourne,” I explained.

The man took a moment for silence. He watched me, saying nothing, his strange mustache twitching. Then he exhaled and slung his hands back over the wheel. “Landbourne it is, kid. We'll check it out, okay? The radio system blew out, so just hold on tight, we'll check it out. Everything will be fine.”

The thought of going back there made my blood curdle. There was no way we could go back there; we needed weapons, real weapons. I needed to get in contact with my brother and Sam. If we went back there and it was still there...

“Actually, 83 Sun Blossom Drive.”

The cop now looked like he was getting frustrated for real. “You just said Landbourne.”

I shook my head. “I know, but Sun Blossom Drive is where my brother is. We can't go back there, it'll kill us.”

The man was squinting against the dark wrath of the storm. His jaws kept bulging with annoyance—I supposed—and he occasionally scratched his face. He wouldn't look back to me or even find me in the rear-view mirror. Nonetheless, he
was
talking to me.

“Okay, Bill, this is what's going to happen. Unless you can get your brother on the phone, I'm going to drop you off at 145 Landbourne. Do you understand?”

“I don't have a cellphone,” I murmured. It was true, I didn't. Most kids did, even much younger ones. I was probably the only kid whose parents
begged
to get a phone. They had bought me one before, but I lost it in the first week. Looked like the 'emergency' situation they always warned me about was finally coming true.

“Well, uh, that's alright son, there's no reception right now anyway.”

“Please, we can't go back.” I didn't know how to change this guy's mind. He was a cop, he was supposed to take threats seriously. I knew how outlandish the whole thing sounded, but at least I was sorta credible. I mean, I had even mentioned the other officer's name. Why or how could I just make something like this up?

“Son, everything will be fine,” the officer repeated. The darkness around us was growing a lighter grey, as if the storm clouds had all descended to street level. I could make out the rain, now sideways, now ripping and roaring like a cyclone. But there was something else. Through that torrential downpour, I could see it; barely.

“What the...”

And then the car jerked. The vehicle spun and the whiplash threw me into the ground., into my bike and the wheels and the slick chains, and then my head was down to the dark, and my feet practically over my head as the world shifted and spun yet again.

Feet from my ears a shriek sounded, the sound of breaking glass and peeling wheels. The officer yelled something, loud as death, deep and resounding—and then gone.

Blackness, the complete absence of light, settled over

***