Zombie D.O.A. (48 page)

“You, You.” Tucci said addressing his men “get checking these floorboards. Pry up any that are loose. You, get outside and find something to lift up the other boards. Move!”

The man rushed towards the door then stopped suddenly. “Boss, you’re going to want to see this.”

“Do I have to do everything around here?” Tucci shouted and walked quickly across the room. As he did one of the windows at the front of the saloon shattered. 

Tucci looked through the broken pane and from my position I could see what he saw. The Dead Men were gathering, and they were hungry.

“Close the doors!” Tucci shouted, “Get some furniture in front of them and get those windows shuttered! Virgil, let’s go, there’s got to be a back way!”

Virgil stood in the middle of the saloon, legs apart like a western gunfighter. He took the vial from his pocket and downed the rest of its contents, “Let ‘em come,” he said, “I’m ready.”

“Fuck this!” Tucci said and headed for the back door.

From the front of the room, now came the sound of the high pitched, insanity inducing humming that Z’s tend to make with they’re in a mob. The sound of it set my teeth on edge and for the first time I realized that I was going to die unless I acted fast. I struggled against my bonds and they were fast and secure, cutting into my wrists and sending pain jangling up my arm.

Virgil was standing in the middle of the room, drawing his six-shooter, firing a shot towards the shuttered windows and then re-holstering. His men were trying to barricade the entrance but they were fighting a losing battle as the doors started to bulge open. I could see hands pushing through, reaching.

One of the shutters seemed to explode inward, and angry, hungry faces appeared there. Virgil drew his six-shooter and fired in that direction and now his men opened up with automatic weapons. The faces of the Z’s at the window seemed to explode, but as they fell, they were replaced by more and more.

Tucci came running back into the barroom. “They’re round the back,“ he screamed, “Jesus Christ, they’ve got us surrounded!”

“Stan,” I shouted at him, but he seemed not to hear.

One of the Z’s made it through the window and was cut down as another of the shutters flew open. Tucci picked up my AK and fired off a burst, and there was a spray of red against the jagged glass. At the front door the first of the Z’s pushed his head through and got a bullet in the face for his troubles.

“Stan!” I shouted again, and this time he turned in my direction, my AK in his hand.

“You!” he said, “This is all your fault! He raised the rifle to his shoulder and I braced myself for the shot. The noise in the room seemed to crank up a notch, and the movement seemed to become slow motion, I could hear the bam-bam-bam of Virgil’s six-shooter, and the clatter of automatic gunfire and smashing glass. Then I heard another sound, the screech of furniture being dragged across a wooden floor, as the barricade started to shift.

“Wait!” I screamed at Tucci. “I can get us out!”

Tucci seemed for a moment confused, like a man who’s resigned himself to dying, and then is suddenly thrown a lifeline. He stood and blinked him eyes and then he dropped the AK and ran in my direction and fell to his knees. He produced a switchblade from an ankle sheath and started hacking at my bonds.

“You better not be fucking me on this, Collins” Tucci said as, from the rear of the building, I heard the crash of back door giving way. Out front the Z’s were gaining a foothold. One of them made it through the barricade. Virgil was reloading and the Z made it to within feet of him before Virgil shot him down.

I finally felt the bonds on my hands come loose and Tucci pulled me to my feet.

“Follow me,” I shouted and ran for the office door with Tucci close behind. We made it out of the bar room just as the front doors burst open and the Z’s came pouring in. I pushed the office door shut and pulled down a cabinet in front of it, using my injured hand but not even feeling the pain this time.  As I did something crashed against the woodwork and I heard it splinter. On the other side, the guns felt silent and I heard screaming that was soon cut short.

I kicked the carpet aside, and when Tucci saw the trapdoor, he grabbed the ring and pulled it open. He clambered down the stairs as there was another crash against the door and one of the panels shattered. I could see into the barroom where it looked like a riot was in progress.

Two Z’s were trying to fight their way past the shattered door into the room. I caught the eye of one of them, a big man, bald headed, with a jagged scar across his face and madness in his frenzied eyes.

I flew down the stairs and found Tucci, so frantic he seemed not to even notice the scattered boxes of BH-17 around him. “Close the fucking trapdoor!” he screamed. “They’ll get us!”

“No, follow me,” I said, and opened the bureau door, stepped through and ran into the tunnel. I raced to the end and flew up the ladder with Tucci at my heels. As I reached the top, I pushed up against the trap, then drove my heel backward, catching Tucci square in the face. He fell backward, losing his grip and I hoisted myself into the room and pulled the ladder up after me.

Looking back into the tunnel I could see Tucci staggering to his feet. “You son of a bitch, Collins!” he shouted, “We had a deal. Drop that ladder down right now.”

“Sorry Stan,” I said. “Payback for Nate, and Ray and all the other people you’ve murdered.”

I heard a low growl in the darkness as the first of the Zs entered the tunnel. Then I let the trapdoor back fall into place. Presently, I heard Tucci screaming.

The sun was already up as I made my way through the mine depot and down to
track one. I followed the line through the mountain as Cal had explained and made the split at track two, following that until it exited on the north face.

Now that the adrenalin was wearing off, the pain was beginning to kick in. My wrist was now a steady throbbing wall of hurt and my ribs felt like I’d been kicked by a mule. My face was sore and puffy and one of my eyes had closed to a slit.  A wave of nausea suddenly washed over me and I felt myself sway and almost fall. I realized I hadn’t eaten in almost twenty-four hours.

In the distance I could see the yellow bus and I felt both relief that they hadn’t left without me and anger that they hadn’t left at sun up, like we’d agreed. I tried to call out and got only a dry rasp. I needed water more than anything else and I started working my way down the path towards the pools at the bottom.

I felt myself drifting, thinking of Ruby, thinking of Nate and Yonder, thinking of Kelly. At one point I thought I heard a dog barking and was sure I saw Giuseppe come bounding towards me. Then I must have passed out.

When I awoke, the midday sun was blazing down out of a cobalt sky and I felt like I was being slow broiled. For a moment I wasn’t quite sure of where I was but then my parched throat got me thinking about water and I remembered the pools at the bottom of the hill. I looked out across the field and the yellow bus was gone.

I made my way down to the riverbed and drank my fill of the sweetest water I’ve ever tasted, before or since. Someone had drawn an arrow in the sand and following it, I found some food stashed behind a rock with a note that read, “Chris, we headed to the place we agreed, like you said. I pray that you and Nate are okay, and that you’ll join us in a day or two. We’ll pray for your safe return, Yonder.” 
       

The problem was that Whelan was forty miles away, and I was without a vehicle or a weapon. I might find both just over the hill at Pagan, but I wasn’t going to venture into a Zombie infested town unarmed and in my current condition.              

My wrist, of course had to be splinted, and I found a couple of sticks and tore some strips from my shirt to fashion a basic support. It wasn’t great but it would at least immobilize the hand.

It was almost dark when I set out across the field, following the dry riverbed until I reached the drainage ditch where it passed under the road. I climbed the embankment up to the road surface. It was a moonless night and I was grateful for the cover that provided.

I headed west towards route 83 and after about half a mile I came across the first evidence of the havoc I’d reeked on the Dead Men with the bus. Had it really been just a week ago? It felt like it could have been a lifetime.

The road was strewn with destroyed and burnt-out motorcycles and the bikers had also not bothered to bury their dead. I could make out their shapes scattered across the road surface and smell the stench of them, the smell of rancid meat in musty old rooms. Despite what these men represented, I felt ashamed that I’d been responsible for this and it got me moving faster along the road.

Further along, I passed the gas station where we’d stopped before and I left it behind in the darkness as I pushed on. I heard the plaintive cry of a coyote and saw a comet streak westward. My eyes felt heavy and I wanted more than anything to curl up at the side of the road and let sleep take me away from this place. But I kept going, ignoring the throbbing in my hand and the ragged breath that seemed to slash at my parched throat. I may even have slept as I walked, but I kept westward until I reached the junction with route 83. There I found a burned out hulk and crawled into it and slept. For the first time in months my sleep was entirely dreamless.

I woke with the sun already high in the sky. It was hot in the car and I was drenched in sweat and my tongue felt like it had been cemented to the roof of my mouth. I raised my head and felt my vision swim, and I had to lie down again. During the night I’d rolled over onto my hand and that was throbbing like crazy, keeping time with the pounding in my head.

Still I had to get up, I had to get moving. Using my left hand I hoisted myself into a half sitting position then got a handhold on the car’s corroded doorframe and pulled myself out. For a moment I thought I might overbalance, but I leaned against the car’s bodywork and steadied myself. Then I pushed away and started walking north.

In each of us, I believe there is a wellspring of energy, a force that we can call on when we really need it, a force that is likely behind some of the incredible tales of survival you sometimes hear about. Perhaps as a professional boxer I’d learnt to tap that wellspring better than most. Perhaps that’s what kept me alive, I don’t know.

All I know is I kept going, I fell and I got up, fell and rose again. When I no longer had the energy to walk, I crawled and when even that was beyond me I found shade beside a car and slept.

I woke to the sound of a dog barking and at first I thought I was imagining it, but then the barking got louder and more urgent, and I saw Giuseppe trotting towards me. I’d never heard Giuseppe bark before, but now he was giving it full voice. Then I heard the sound of someone running.

“It’s Chris!” I heard Hooley shout, “Jesus Christ, the tough son of a bitch made it.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Cal said, and then I felt Giuseppe licking my face and I drifted into sleep again.

I woke in a bright place, a room with light pouring in through the window and white linen on the bed. As my surroundings began to come into focus I realized that I was in a hospital ward. There was someone sitting in a chair next to my bed, a very pretty girl with a short boyish haircut.

My ribs felt as though I’d been through a twelve rounder with the world’s most vicious body puncher and my throat felt like someone had taken a rasp to it.

“Water,” I managed to say, and the girl in the chair immediately jumped up.

“Oh Chris, you’re okay. Thank God you’re okay.”

She hugged me, and I managed a faint, “Ouch.”

“Sorry,” she said, “So sorry, water, you wanted water.”

She poured some from the pitcher beside the bed and held the glass to my lips. It was only then that I recognized her.