Zombified (Episode 2): Yankee Heights (11 page)

"Eighty feet in some places, but it's probably about thirty under us."

"Good.  That's good.  So six or seven of them would have to stand on top of one another to reach us."  Matty tore his eyes from the water and leaned back against the puffy pant legs. 

"Try not to think about."

Matty belted out a maniacal laugh.  "Yeah right!  'Don't think about the hundreds of flesh-eating monsters underneath us'.  You're a fuckin' riot, Alex."

"All right, try not to think about it until we get into the shallow areas.  Then you can think about it."

"What the fuck, dude!"  Matty twisted around and peered at the approaching shore.  "When does it get shallow?"

"Pretty soon."  Alex wore a smile that Matty wanted to tear off his face.

"Damn you, Alex.  May the fleas of a thousand mutts molest you."  Matty started thinking about zombie fleas. 
Can insects become zombies?
  "Shit, Alex, what are the chances of zombie bugs?"

Alex laughed and laughed… and laughed.  "You'll get along well with my uncle.  You two are paranoid as hell.  I'd be more worried about zombie fish right now."

"Zombie fish?  Alex, you asshat.  Thanks for that, man."  Matty closed his eyes, breathed through his nose, kicked out, and exhaled.  "Zombie fuckin fish… don't bite my nuts off, please."

"I was kidding, man.  Zombies are uncoordinated.  Can you imagine zombies underwater, trying to catch and eat a fish?" 

Matty couldn't imagine it.  "No… no, I can't.  All right, I'm cool."

They kicked on for another hour until Alex reached over and patted Matty's shoulder.  "Put your feet down, man."

Matty stood up in the chest-high water.  "Dude, you didn't tell me we were this close to the shore!  I'm gonna fuckin' choke you!"

Alex thrust a finger to his lips.  "Shut up."  The house was a hundred feet from the water; there was no movement, no lights, and no sign of damage outside.

"We aren't done talkin' about this," Matty whispered.  He drew the pistol, shook the water off, and chambered a round. 

They crept to the near wall, pressing their backs to the cool brick.  Alex took the lead, rounding the corner and climbing short wooden stairs onto a patio.  A sliding door, boarded up with sheets of plywood, led inside from the patio.

Alex gave thumbs up and whispered, "He was ready.  We're good."

The windows were likewise boarded; there was no view inside the house.  While Alex was peering in the windows and checking the sides of the house, Matty checked the sliding door and found it unlocked.

"Pssst," he called to Alex.  Matty pointed at the door and mouthed, "O-pen".

Something thudded inside the house.  Alex walked over and raised his rifle.  Matty gripped the handle; his heart hammered and a burning sensation rose up in his throat.  Alex nodded.

Matty flung the door open.  Alex's eyes widened and the tip of his Garand slid down to the ground.

"Uncle Ray?"  He said in a weak voice.  "It's me… it's Alex." 

"What is it, dude?"

Tears erupted from Alex's eyes; his words were lost in a string of mumbling and gibberish.  "Uncle Ray… no…"

Uncle Ray stepped onto the patio: Uncle Ray wasn't alive anymore.  His dark, unkempt hair spilled over gaunt, pale cheeks and his wide eyes were cloudy and rimmed in red.  His lower lip was torn off and hung by a thread of flesh, swinging from his chin. 

Alex stepped back, but Uncle Ray wasn't a shambler: he lunged forward, grabbed Alex by the shirt and bit into his nephew's collarbone.  Matty heard the crunch.  Alex screamed, dropped his rifle, and ripped zombie Ray off.  Alex's chest spewed rich crimson blood onto the deck; he slapped a hand over the wound.

Matty raised the pistol and pulled the trigger:
click
. 

Fuck!
  He pulled the slide back, ejecting the dud round, and fired again:
click
.

Zombie Ray slurped the blood from his exposed teeth and gums and ran at Alex, bearing him to the wooden deck.  Matty reloaded but couldn't get a clean shot.

Ray's fingers dug into Alex's cheek, tearing a pair of parallel gashes.  Screaming and crying, Alex wrestled Ray and got a knee under him; he shoved the muncher off and crawled away as Matty took aim.

Uncle Ray raised his bloodied fingers and bit down on them, scraping the strings of Alex's cheek into this mouth.  His lifeless eyes focused on Matty.

Matty pulled the trigger:
click
.  "You gotta be fuckin' kidding me!"  He pulled the slide back again as Ray charged.

BANG!  The fourth round went off, blasting the rest of Ray's face off and splashing teeth and brain on the deck.  Momentum carried the faceless zombie into Matty; with a rending snap, the rail gave way and they plummeted ten feet to the ground.

Matty couldn't breathe for a few seconds, and spots of shining light spun and swirled overhead.  His ribs felt tender as Matty crawled away from the oozing hole that used to be Ray's face.

He staggered back around to the stairs and climbed up.  Alex lay on the deck, blood streaming out between his fingers.  He was still conscious, but his skin was rapidly losing color and his breathing was ragged and raspy.

Shit!  What the fuck am I supposed to do now!
  Matty ran a hand over his short hair. 
Check the house, dumbass.  If it's clear, we hold up here
.

He combed through the house, finding plenty of supplies and weapons—just as Alex had said.  In the upstairs bedroom, he found a woman's body with a knife buried in her skull.  She had been a zombie when the knife was used: her eyes were washed out and dried blood caked her lips.  Based on pictures scattered around the bedroom, she was Uncle Ray's wife. 

She must have attacked him and bit his face
.  Matty remembered the shredded lips on Uncle Ray. 
That's fuckin' nasty
.  Matty closed the door and went back to the patio.  He grabbed Alex under the arms and carried him inside. 

As he slid the patio door closed, Matty heard splashing from the pond.  Zombies emerged from the water, dragging themselves toward the house.  He shut and locked the door.   

CHAPTER 10

"Oh man… that's revolting."  Matty backed away from the bed, pressing a blue and white rag over his face.  "How can there be anything left?"

"I dunno," Alex mumbled, his head half inside the five-gallon bucket.  He coughed, snorted, and spit a wad of stringy green gel into the bucket. 

"How's the bandage?" 

Alex lay back down, pouring sweat and gasping for a full breath.  "I think it bled through again."

Matty changed the gauze on Alex's chest and cheek.  "There's good news here, dude.  My friend had his fingers bitten off and he threw up, too."

"How is that good news?"  Alex scowled.  His bloodshot, black-rimmed eyes tightened. 

"He didn't turn into a zombie."  Matty taped the bandages in place.

"What happened to him?"

"Died in a car accident shortly thereafter."  Matty shrugged.  "He died human."

"I ask again: how is that good news?"

Matty stood up and deposited the bloody bandages in the puke bucket.  "We're not in a car, for starters."  He opened the bedroom window and dumped the vomit and bandages outside. 

Snarling and groaning noises greeted the rain of human filth. 

"There's something satisfying about dumping a bucket of puke on a zombie."  Matty sighed.  "Enjoy the little things, right?"

"If you say so."  Alex closed his eyes.  "I think I'll sleep for a bit."

"Okay.  I'll be downstairs if you need me."

Matty left the bucket and exited the room, leaving the door ajar.  He lumbered down the creaky wooden stairs into the basement.   

The dank concrete cellar was stacked with boxes of bullets and rations, cases of bottled water, and bags of clothes and survival gear.  Matty spent the rest of the day sifting through the goods and separating out anything of use that could be stuffed in a backpack.  Judging by the supplies, Ray had intended to sit out any disaster in his house. 

Matty spent the next day hauling the sorted goods up from the basement while Alex slept and vomited, the former overtaking the latter.  Matty left bottles of water and bits of food such as crackers or protein bars, but Alex either refused to eat or wasn't conscious long enough to make a decision.

Alex wasn't turning into a muncher, but he wasn't recovering from the wounds.  There were no antibiotics in the medical supplies, and the wound was too big and deep to be stitched properly.  Alex had lost a lot of blood, and he had been unable to keep down any food or water.

"First Mike and now Alex," Matty said aloud.  "If someone's immune, their entrails become extrails… what's the connection?"  He tried to recall what Mike said about the parasite.  "Something about it using viruses and bacteria to piggyback into the human body." 
I wish Mike were here.  Alex is a living sample of what Mike needed.
  "Shit!"  He yelled and swatted a tower of boxes to the floor.

It'd be nice to know if I was immune or not
, he thought.  O
ne less thing to worry about if I get bit
. 

Matty rummaged through the boxes and started packing rations and water into olive-drab rucksacks.  He added a magnesium fire starter, ponchos, thermal blankets, and a length of paracord.  The side and front pouches he filled with bullets and loaded magazines.  Uncle Ray had plenty of 9mm rounds, and even some compatible magazines.

Matty had found other guns in the basement, but he opted for a lighter load; carrying a rifle, a shotgun, and a pistol with assorted ammo and magazines seemed a tad overkill.  He brought up a twelve-gauge pump shotgun, a dozen boxes of shells, and all the 9mm rounds. 

He found brand new army-style boots with flexible kevlar sides and cushioned soles.  A pair of camo cargo pants fit nicely, as well.

At the bottom of a heavy-duty storage bin, Matty found a jungle machete complete with an adjustable wrist-strap.  "Damn, Ray!"  He hefted the heavy chopping weapon, swinging it around and hacking apart some of the boxes.  "This is perfect for dealing with a few munchers.  No more announcing my presence with gunshots."  The black canvas sheath had a belt loop; Matty threaded it through the waistband on the camo pants.

Alex slept through the day, and Matty spent the time packing supplies and screwing in additional layers of plywood over the windows and doors.  He stopped every so often to scarf an MRE and a quart of water. 

Outside, the groaning and shuffling persisted.  Hundreds of zombies had emerged from the pond, and Matty guessed there would be hundreds more coming.  Many of the undead had wandered into the surrounding woods and rural communities.

He unfolded a map of New England on the kitchen counter and traced a finger along the roads leading from Yankee Heights to Wooneyville.  There were few options that avoided major roads, but Matty was willing to take the long way around to avoid hordes of munchers.  Given the population of surrounding areas, there might be hundreds of thousands of the flesh-eaters waiting for a meal.

Matty checked on Alex and found him sleeping.  Alex's pulse was weak but consistent, and his breathing was shallow and wheezy.  Matty grabbed some blankets from the bedroom closets and headed downstairs to crash on the couch.

He had found an old army radio in Ray's cache.  Matty flicked the power switch and tuned through various frequencies, searching for any broadcasts.  A couple of warbling signals, choked with static, were all he found.  Tuning to channel four with a scramble code of twenty, Matty clicked the transmit button.

"Savage beast, come in.  This is smart monkey, over."  He waited, counting to ten in Mississippi-time.  "Savage beast, come in."  He tried channel three with scramble code eleven and repeated the message: there was no reply.  Matty clicked the radio off and lay back on the couch. 
He better be alive
. 
If Joey's a zombie, I swear I'll beat the shit out of him before I shoot him
. 

Alex slept through the next day with little change in his condition.  He woke briefly to burp or spit up slimy goo, but without food and water, he was slowly dying.  Matty spent the day near the bed, trying to get Alex to take a few sips of bottled water. 

The next morning, Matty boiled water and added a package of beef bouillon.  He stirred until the cube dissolved and carried the steaming cup of broth upstairs.  Alex was asleep; he still looked pale and gaunt.  Matty put the cup down on the side table and nudged Alex's shoulder.  When he didn't respond, Matty gave him a shake.

"Hey man, you need to get something down."

There was no response.  Matty pressed a hand to Alex's neck, then to his wrist, and then laid an ear to his chest. 

"Damn!"  He grabbed the broth and flung it against the wall; the cup shattered, showering broth on the closet door and the beige carpet below.  "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"  He let out a frustrated roar, screaming and punching at the empty air.  "You save my life and then die because you were too fuckin' weak to shoot your uncle!"  Matty stood over Alex's body, clenching and unclenching his fists.  "Wake up, motherfucker!"

He placed two hands on Alex's chest and pressed, starting CPR.  "Let's go, Alex!  Rise and fuckin' shine!  Time to get going… we got places to go, zombies to kill!"  Sweat dripped from Matty's forehead; he counted out the compressions, tilted Alex's head back, and… he stopped before his mouth touched Alex's lips.

"What the fuck am I doing?"  He backed away from the corpse.  "Get a grip, Matthias… you were about to give mouth-to-mouth to a dead guy."

A gurgling cry rose up from the side of the house.  Matty covered his ears; his hands were shaking.  "Shut the fuck up!" 

He ran downstairs, grabbed Ray's shotgun and flung open the kitchen window.  "You want something to chew on?  I'll give you something to fuckin' chew on!"

BANG!  A zombie's head burst like a crushed watermelon.  He pulled the pump back, chambering another shell:
ka-chik
.  BANG!  The slug tore a trench across the top of a zombie's skull, exposing the grooves of gray matter underneath.  Matty bellowed a war cry and reloaded:
ka-chik
.  "I gotta a lotta more, sons of bitches!"