Rage (2 page)

I got to my feet and headed for the open door. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” He spoke in a gentle voice. “They have lasers.” I stopped heading to the door. “You can’t see them with these lights.” He put down the bowl and turned to face me. The zombie rushed for the man. But he couldn’t reach. The man kicked the bowl to it and the thing dropped to the floor, head buried in the food.

The sound of it eating was disgusting and I felt my stomach churn and tears well up. It was the same sound Dad made feeding on little Skyler. “You have to stay in here for awhile.” The man went to the doorway and paused in front. “Clear,” he said, in that gentle voice of his and, a moment later, he walked through the door and closed it behind him.

I followed, grabbed the knob
and flew backwards, lost my footing and landed hard. My hand hurt like a motherfucker and rubbing it wasn’t a good idea. A circular burn mark pulsed in my palm. On my back, I took several deep breaths and ran my hands through my hair. Lingering electricity buzzed my fingertips. My heart was starting to slow down when I noticed how far the electrified knob had thrown me. I swiveled my head to the chained zombie. It was too busy eating to notice me. Thank God for single-minded focus. I scrambled to my feet and rushed back to the safety of the wall.

Blood had splattered over the bowl creating tiny rivulets running into a small puddle on the floor. I tried not to look at the bowl and told myself over and over it wasn’t Sally chopped up in there. I had to believe she had made it free. Escaped and was moving on, going forward. If I thought anything else, I think I’d lose the motivation to keep up the fight and find my way out of here.

When the zombie finished, it looked at me as if it could eat more. One thing I’ve never understood about these...creatures… is why they eat. They are dead. Their digestion system can’t possibly work. How is the food processed and passed out? A thought occurred as I stared at the gleaming eyes staring back at me. Was there a spark of intelligence in these beasts? Is that why it was chained here? Captured for study?

Only a madman would do that. But the man who delivered the bowl of meat didn’t seem deranged. Perhaps he was a captive like me.

Captive. Yes, I said it. What else could this be? I checked my watch, realized it was gone, along with my wedding ring and braided necklace. I felt naked missing these small things, they weren’t important to anyone except to me. Each one had a story behind it. The necklace was a gift from Sally on our one-month anniversary. The watch marked the birth of our daughter. And the ring marked Sally and my union. I felt around in my pockets but they were empty. The fuckers had taken the photo of my daughter that I always kept on me. There was no need for wallets these days so the picture was the only clue to a lost past and a happier time.

To get those days back, I’d give anything. Sadly, I don’t think those days will ever return. It’s a whole new world out there. A world few of us understood and even fewer of us could cope with. The carnage on the streets proved that. Silent nights and quieter days filled our new existence. Humanity was few and far between. No sign of the military, no words from the government, no hope. We did our best to survive day in and day out. Or there was an option of a bullet in the head—self-inflicted. There must be a way to destroy them. There weren’t enough bullets for a head shot to every single one. They always attacked in large packs. The sheer number of them could be overwhelming.

I got up and walked to the door. About to bang on it, I paused remembering the earlier electric shock. The red outline on my palm was still evident but no longer hurt. I had almost forgotten about it. My hands fell to my side. “Hey! I gotta pee!” Shit, you gotta go, you gotta go. Am I right or am I right? “Yo! Ya hear me?” I waited, counting to sixty. Nothing. “Fine. I’ll do it right here.” Something banged against my right leg. I almost screamed like a schoolgirl as I shot to the left. Looking down I saw the empty steel bowl the zombie ate from. It was almost licked clean. Looking back, I saw the Zombie staring at me. Did it understand?

No, that’s impossible.

They’re mindless drones. No thoughts save attack, kill, and eat. Inadvertently increasing their population, depleting the food supply. Pure animal instincts, nothing more. It must have thrown the bowl in an attempt to attack me. The bowl became a weapon. And no, it wasn’t drawing me closer. I had to pee, but I could hold it for a while. I’d become so used to pissing and shitting at any given opportunity when safety was evident.

I kicked the bowl to the door and it shot back at me. So, the whole door was electrified.
This is a prison. How the fuck am I gonna get out of here? I haven’t been in an enclosed space since we left our house when our supplies were low and very few zombies stumbled around in our suburb.

Most of our neighbors had already moved out. Some bo
arded up their homes, blocked doors, windows and all entry points. I wondered how long they would last. Zombies were relentless; they’d keep at that wood until they got inside. Single-minded focus driving pack mentality.

We saw them, Sally and I, on the streets. Several times, we got lucky. We met others and joined forces with them, before we got smart and learned to stay away from rag-tail groups, tribes and gangs out for vengeance or moving target practice. Yes, they had the weapons and hunting/camping experience, but they also risked the camp’s survival on a near daily basis. We searched for a real camp, one set up by survivors for prosperity and a slim chance at building a new life.

There was one camp that was on to it. They were smart, and welcomed newcomers like Sally and me. Their leader used his head. Eric was his name, and all he cared about was keeping us alive and pre-emptive strikes against the zombies before they reached our one mile border. He was good at his job and he kept everyone together and on the same page. Maybe we should have stayed and tried to explain my situation. I hope Sally was making her way to them now. It was a three-day hike through mildly infested territory but I knew she could make it. We’ve learned how to stay alive and remain hidden—well, until tonight—or last night. Is it daylight yet? There are no windows here and zero outside influence to give me a bearing on day or night. There was only me, white blood-spattered walls, and a zombie.

And the only way out of this place was that door and I wasn’t touching that. I looked over at the door and saw the bowl in front of it. The urge to piss washed over me strong and urgent. I had totally forgotten. There was no choice but to use it. I unzipped. As a joke to cheer myself up I said to the zombie, “Turn around.” And fuck me, it did. My bladder damn near locked up. A couple of minutes later I managed to fill the bowl almost to the brim. The second I zipped up the door opened and the same man entered carrying a sealant and covered the top of the bowl.

The man walked to the door, paused and said, “You’ll be out soon. We need to run some tests first.”

“
I’m not infected.”

“
Maybe, maybe not.” He stood in the doorway. “Clear.” The zombie roared and ran the full length of its chain, pulling against the restraints. “Come now, George, you’ll get more food soon.” The man didn’t turn to look at it. He waited a moment and satisfied all was well, he exited.

George? They named it? Or was that its human name before...all this started? The zombie was back squatting against the wall. It stared at the floor, unmoving. I thought about sitting against the wall but instead I started pacing. I hadn’t been this immobile for a long time and it felt unnatural to be doing nothing. Sally and I were always moving. Even when we stayed with Eric and his crew, there was always something to do. Planning, strategy, clean up and the most important, food sourcing. It was the hardest job of the lot.

Supermarkets and storage bins were mostly empty. We raided homes with intact doors and moved in small groups. No one was ever alone. We never knew who or what was behind those doors. Sometimes we found a new member or two who joined us but usually the streets and cupboards were bare.

Sometimes, but few and far between, we got lucky. A small town and a well-stocked market was pure gold. In the movies, everyone rips into the food but not Eric’s crew. All of us knew how important it was to the survival of the group. On days like this, we’d find a vehicle and load up. We never used vehicles these days—they attracted zombies—except for finds like these. Bottled water was the first loaded and most important for possible future use. There were no current concerns for water, it wasn’t a problem…yet. But for how long that would last, no one knew. In this new world of ours, it was best to play it safe.

Next, we loaded up as much processed food as possible and seeds for planting. Eric had some guys struggling to plough a rugby field and a few others were wiring up a solar electric fence. Not to keep the zombies out, as nothing stops them save a bullet, but it was to keep animals out. He had a whole plan, as if he had been planning this day for years. Anyway, remember what I said about vehicles?

Parking it in front of the supermarket was a bad idea. And I told them. But the others made a logical point. We could load more this way instead of lugging a few cartons around town looking for a truck, and the clincher—we hadn’t encountered the walking dead in almost a month.

I was loading a box of crackers when I noticed the first one. It was alone. If there’s one, there’s more. This dude was just the fastest. His shambling was slow as if he barely remembered how to walk. He was new. I pulled out the Glock 17 Eric had given me. For the first time I was grateful that Sally wasn’t in the group that day. She was safe at the camp doing other chores.

I lined up his head with the Glock and suddenly remembered Prime Rule Number One:
There are always more
. If I blew this fucker’s head off, they would hear and zero in on us. Ten, fifty, a hundred or more. I was not ready to die today. My leather gloves were back at the camp. I swore if I survived this, I would never go anywhere without them.

The others continued to rummage around in the supermarket, oblivious to this situation. I couldn’t call out to them and I had no weapon I could use silently. “Think, come on damn you, think.” Even shuffling, it advanced at a quick pace—faster than expected. I jumped off the truck, grabbed a can of beans and threw it at the supermarket window. Zombies don’t react to breaking glass. I threw the can like a clumsy pitcher. It hit the plate glass...and bounced off. The zombie was almost on me.

There was no time to think. My mind had switched into survival mode. Flight or fight. I was too angry with the world stealing Skyler for flight to be an option. The rage in my soul exploded. I grabbed another can and slammed it into the face of the rotting corpse, again and again and again. It dropped to the ground and thrashed about trying to get back up. I stood on its throat, watching its hands trying to get at me through my thick jeans. My lace-up boots went half way up my shin. I was protected. With my other foot, I stomped its face, felt bones break and I couldn’t stop myself—not that I wanted to, either.

Trisha came out of the supermarket, screamed and dropped her box.

A second later, her gun was out. “No!” I shouted jumping out of the way. She put three bullets into its head in the space of three seconds.

Fuck. No time to waste. They would have heard gunshots. “Stupid bitch,” I shouted running to the entrance. The others met me there. Without a word, we turned to the truck and clambered in. I jumped behind the wheel. On the back of the truck, we had two gunners with autos and two girls with semi-autos. The other two guys jumped into the cab with me. I didn’t know their names. Eric had amassed a large group of like-minded people, Sally and I included. I had only met two people on this shopping spree and they were both in the back, scanning the roads and side streets. “Here we go.” The moment I gunned the ignition they appeared, like ghosts waiting to be spotted. They appeared at the end of the street, shuffling towards us. At least a hundred, sniffing our blood, hunting our flesh.

No one was shooting yet. When we got closer to them, rock n roll time would blaze, with steel, smoke and fallen bodies. No one was going to waste bullets and possibly attract more. And we wanted none of them following us. That’s a big no-no; hence, I would be taking a roundabout route back to camp.

In the cab, the guy with crew-cut wound down the window and leaned out taking aim at the on-coming horde. Long Haired guy in the middle of the cab loaded two Glocks with fresh magazines. He was going to load while the other guy fired. Teamwork. Either they had done this before or it was an unspoken rule.

Long Haired was a fast loader. I handed him my Glock for a fresh magazine. “It’s already full,” he said and gave it back. I put it on the dashboard within easy reach. Then the shots rang out. Bodies dropped twenty feet ahead. Zombies stepped over them, filling the road. A roadblock of bodies. And I wasn’t about to stop as we powered into the group, guns ablaze. Blood, bones and bodies.

We hit with a thump as bullets flew. The horde seemed to swell in size and with most of them charging the side and rear of the truck; it didn’t leave much room for error. This wasn’t a 4X4 and bumping over the dead slowed us down. They jumped onto the hood, pounded the windscreen, sending web-like cracks shooting across the glass. I grabbed my Glock, waiting for them to break through.