Zombie Fallout 9 (15 page)

“Excuse me,” I asked the cashier, who seemed to be in the middle of a good-sized meth tweak.

“Yeah.” She turned, her mouth flapping as she wildly chewed a giant wad of gum. Her right hand moved extremely fast as it continuously swatted away an imaginary bug by the side of her head. With her left, she was peeling off a series of scabs on her neck. I was transfixed, or horrified, while she pulled nickel-sized hunks of dried blood clots from her body. Yellow pus slowly oozed from the open sores.

I swallowed hard, doing my best to not keep staring at her. “The steaks, are there any more left?”

She snorted. No, I mean she literally snorted, not once and then caught herself like most people do, but rather four or five times, to the point where snot started coming out of her right nostril.

“This was so not worth it.” I said, heading for the door, trying to figure out a way to open it without using any part of my body. A store that charged ninety-eight cents for everything certainly couldn't afford automatic doors.

“Mister, them there steaks were gone that very same day. Iffen you want the good deals, you gotta get up early like them birds that like them worms.”

And there it was. That was what that steak looked like: fucking worms. I wouldn't doubt if it was indeed parasites found in the cows and the butcher had found a loophole and was able to sell it as beef because the thing fed off beef or something. Then she completely threw me for a loop when she told me that it was the Chinese food restaurant “that had done bought them all.” I maybe would have flipped her off if I wasn't in such a rush to go buy an industrial sized bottle of Tums, Kaopectate, and ipecac.

I came back from my culinary nightmare. By now, we'd aroused the curiosity of the rest of the group. Like we were synchronizing our movements. We looked to the wire to where it connected to both buildings and then down to the horde below, who had as of yet not looked up. I put one leg over the wall and grabbed the line again, expecting some inordinate amount of electricity to stop my heart and burn my hair.

“Wait, Uncle. What are you doing?” Meredith asked.

“Going for help.”

“You're double my weight.”

“Probably.”

“You think that thing is going to hold?”

“Only one way to find out.”

“Don't you think it would be better if someone lighter tried?”

I looked to my small group, one of which I was clearly in charge of protecting. “No.”

“Dad, I could go,” Travis said.

“You could, but I'm the only one doing it.”

“What if the wire breaks?” Jesse asked.

“Are you taking over Justin's role of Captain Obvious?” I asked. “Listen, if anyone is going to take the plunge. Shit, wrong word. If anyone is going to walk this high wire, it's going to be me. I'm not going to stand here and put one of you guys in danger. I should be fine. That wire probably weighs over a hundred pounds, and the fasteners should be rated to hold at least double that.”

“We've all lost weight, Uncle, but I still don't think you weigh a hundred pounds.”

“Don't go using math on me, Meredith. This isn't up for debate. I'm the king right now, and I'm giving the orders.”

Yup, I was scared, petrified, in fact; heights and I weren't on speaking terms. We had more like an ass-clenching agreement. I sat on the edge of the wall, my legs dangling over, thinking about how best to grab the wire without jumping on to it and adding too much undue stress.

“You taking your rifle?” Travis asked.

“Hmm, one rifle, three full magazines, that's got to be an extra fifteen pounds.” Meredith said.

“Thanks for the update. I'll be sure to tell your dad how helpful you were,” I told Meredith as I placed the rifle across my back and tightened the buckle that was resting uncomfortably on my sternum. “This sucks.” My hands were shaking. No matter how I tried to concentrate on stopping them, they wouldn't.

“Are you sure about this?” Meredith, ever the constant kidder, was actually serious.

“I wish I talked out loud less,” I told her.

“There could be another way,” she finished, but I was already on the move. With my right hand, I grabbed the wire right where it went into the building. I put the majority of my weight on the line and scooted my ass off the wall. My legs swung out, and I simultaneously grabbed with my left hand and pulled my body up to wrap my legs around the line. My head was at an uncomfortable angle, being too close to the post office. I was sort of screwed, a surge of panic sent a cascade of needles throughout my body. I was in no position to climb back up, and I was too petrified to move.

“This is fucking great.” I moved just enough that my head was free of the building. I turned to the side, noting how far up I was and what waited below in the event I slipped or the bracket gave.

“You should move,” Jesse prodded.

“Me and you are going to talk when I get back,” I told him. It was what I needed, though. With my hands behind and over my head, I began to push off on the wire, forcing myself forward. At first, it wasn't horrible. Sort of reminded me of my long-ago Marine Corps days. Then, as I got further away from the building, the line began to sag something fierce. The good thing was that if I fell, the odds I'd survive were greatly improved—I mean at least until the zombies started tearing in to me, but at least the meat wouldn't be all bruised up for them. I felt like I was on a damn bungee cord the way the thing just kept dipping down. The zombies still weren't looking up, but we were within feet of each other. If I so desired to hang by my legs, I'm pretty sure I could have dragged my fingertips across the NBA wannabes' heads. Just so we're clear, I didn't want to. I'm just saying I could have.

I was at this lowest point when I felt a heavy vibration on the cord. I bent my head back as far as I could so I could see back the way I'd come. The kids weren't looking at me but rather the building coupling. They were pointing animatedly and reaching for it. That didn't bode well. They could have yelled something to me, but what was the point? There wasn't much I could do. So far, I'd had a little bit of Irish luck going for me as the zombies had still not noticed my high-wire act. That's the problem with having English origins though, us and the Irish don't see eye to eye very often and they were only going to yield me so much good measure. I did the only thing afforded to me, and no, it wasn't vomit. I started moving faster. It got significantly harder now, though, as I was forcing my way up against gravity and at a fairly steep angle.

“When are you ever going to start thinking things through?” I berated myself. I was splashing zombies in fat drops of sweat. All I can figure is that they thought it was raining again. My hands were beginning to cramp up, and the muscles in my arms were beginning to thrum with exertion and the constant push of adrenaline.

“Hurry!” Meredith shouted out. I didn't bother to waste any time looking back, really no sense. I mean, if I were in the middle of a roadway and a truck was barreling down on me, then perhaps it would be a good idea to look back and figure out which way to dive. But really, all I needed to know was that the bracket was failing, and once that did—well, I'd be swinging through the air. I got further than I thought I would when I heard the loud
twang
. Sounded a lot like a light saber cutting through the air. Most of you should get that reference; if not, maybe think of the largest known humming bird whizzing by your ear at near-record speed. I swung for not more than ten feet or so. My knuckles took the brunt of the assault as they slammed into the cinder block wall. The trailing edge of the wire as it whipped down onto the zombies was enough to get their attention. I was now hanging completely upside down
a la
Spider-Man and the zombies were staring back.

“You should climb up!” Jesse shouted.

“I'm going to kill him,” I muttered. Unlike Spider-Man, I could not reel myself in. I had to do a relatively ninja-like move, and I was so not feeling it at this very moment. I twisted my torso and unlatched my crossed legs. In conjunction with that, I also released my death grip. My hands slid from the sweat as I repositioned them and once again clamped down. I again twisted my legs around the line, clamping a piece between the bottom of my right heel and the top of my left foot. It afforded my arms a small respite. I was by no means out of the woods. My bleeding knuckles were doing what they do best: bleed. The blood was bringing zombies in my direction. I had another eight or so feet to climb, which wasn't bad, but now there was only one cable bracket left, and it was holding me and the weight of the dangling cable. My life clock was rapidly draining down to zero. The way I saw it was I had two options: Climb down quickly and deal with the zombies down below or go up and get on the roof to reweigh my situation.

For right or wrong, I chose up. I was happy to see that the bracket on this side was still holding perfectly. Figured this one was made in the good old US and the other in China; biases die hard. The relief that spread over me as I placed my arm on the roof was palpable. I just wished there was a handhold, something I could pull myself up with. I had to keep using my legs, feeding more cable through and then pushing up. Eventually, I had my chest on the roof and was able to get into a push up-type position and pull the rest of me over. Once I was certain I was completely on, I rolled over.

“You all right?” Travis asked.

I had enough energy to give a thumbs up, and that was about it. I caught my breath and stocked back up on my psyche reserves before I once again stood. On the far side of the little mall was a cluster of trees, close enough to the edge of the building that I should be able to reach over and grab a decent enough branch to aid in my descent. I really wanted to take a moment to figure out what I was going to do when I got there, though. Of course, I was on the move almost immediately. Crossing over to the area devoid of enemies.

“You're about as smart as a gravy boat, Mike,” I said while I grabbed a branch that had the decency to almost be resting on the roof. I thanked the oak profusely as I climbed out on the limb. “I do this a lot, don't I?” I mean figuratively, although I guess literally now as well.

The obvious choice was the firehouse, providing that it still had ladder trucks in it. It did not. We'd checked when we were looking for suitable locations to move the family to. I started thinking about going to a hardware store and getting a cherry picker, as they are sometimes referred to, or a bucket lift. Good idea in theory, but they are slow and not defendable. Then the idea that should have been the first was the last. I needed a utility truck. It had the cherry picker built in. I turned to look at the kids, who were watching me. I wanted to tell them what I was up to, but I was in a zombie-free zone, and I really wanted to keep it that way. I was going to be gone for a while. The utility company was a good four miles from my present location. I'd jog for a bit, but even if everything went as smooth as silk, I'd still be an hour. And considering nothing had gone smoothly in a good long while, I wasn't too firm on that timeline. I waved and was gone.

I moved stealthily for a good block or two, just to make sure that I was putting some distance between the zombies and me and that I didn't stumble onto or into another lair. I was at the empty fire station when I came back out on to the roadway and decided to beat feet. I took a right up a ramp to get onto Route One and was now a half mile closer to my destination. A cool breeze was coming off the ocean and directly into my face. It was welcome after the foul odor I'd been smelling for the past twenty-four hours. I was in fairly good spirits as I ran, that was until I came into view of the bridge that passed over the Passagassawakeag River. Yeah, I sure as shit didn't make that up. Means something like, “You fish on your side and I'll fish on mine.” Even the Native Americans weren't too fond of too many people crowding in on their space. People haven't liked people since there were people. I find it strange that we as a species feel the need to congregate in large groups like cities but then make sure we have our own space clearly delineated from others. With doors, fences, and locks. What other proof do you need to realize we don't like each other?

Sometimes it's a blessing to have a mind that wanders. Makes focusing on any one problem a difficult feat, which means I generally forget what's wrong. Then sometimes it's a curse because I can't concentrate on fixing any one problem. There were zombies on the bridge, ten as a matter of fact. Then as if to reiterate my point, I started singing the schoolyard song, “Ten Little Indians.” Not politically correct, but pretty sure the zombies weren't going to have a protesting demonstration any time soon. I kept jogging, getting closer with each footfall. I weighed my options: take up position and remove them with extreme prejudice or merely go for the outrun mode. It had to be by bullet. Sure, it would draw more zombies, but if I tried to get past them, they would just follow me forever.

I put my rifle up to my shoulder and began to sing softly. “Ten little zombies standing in a line. One shuffled home then there were nine.” I rocked back just as the top of the zombie's head exploded in a plume of red and white. “Nine little zombies, screwing with fate. One fucked off and then there were eight.” I once again rocked back. I'd spoken too soon. I clipped the zombie on the side of the face, shredding a hole through a fair amount of its teeth and maybe part of its jaw. He turned and was looking straight at me. As if on cue, they all turned. Yup, they definitely talked. My next bullet was pretty close to dead center in his forehead. He was down, but the eight little zombies were now running my way. It was okay, though. I had time and bullets. “Eight little zombies, abominations of Heaven. One went to sleep and then there were seven.” It was slightly low, as it obliterated her nose, but the effect was the same: She went down in a tangle of arms and elbows.