Zombified (Episode 3): Garden Harbor (3 page)

Footsteps echoed beyond the door, and a shadow blocked the line of light.  A whisper of scraping signaled the doorknob turning; a young guy stepped inside, pressing a finger to his lips.

"I'm going to get you out of here."  Kneeling down, the sandy-haired teen cut Matty's bonds.  "I can't let them… do things to that girl and then kill her."  He shuddered.  "Your buddy's in the next room.  Here's your pistol and knife, it's all I could find."

Matty snatched the pistol and pressed the barrel to the kid's forehead.  "You were out there, too.  You should have stopped it then, asshole."

His eyes watered.  "I know… I'm sorry…"

"If I didn't have to sneak out of here, you'd be dead." Matty pulled the gun away and then swung it down, cracking the kid on the side of the head: he collapsed, head thudding on the floorboards.

Matty closed the door and crept down the hall.  He heard Dana screaming, and he heard sounds of a struggle. 
Shit, I have to stop this right now
.  He followed the noise and peered around a corner; at the end of a short hall, a doorway opened into a bedroom.  Inside, bound to the bedposts by wrist and ankle, Dana twisted and thrashed as a pair of guys—Matty recognized both from the crash—removed her clothes and ran their hands over the exposed flesh.

"Don't fuckin' touch me!" Dana spat on one of them.

"Nice!" one of them said; Matty remembed him as Mike.  "With an attitude like that, you know she's gonna be a great fuck!"

"Hell yeah," the other, Darren, agreed; "but I ain't takin' sloppy seconds."

Mike turned around and looked down the hall: Matty ducked out of sight.

"Where the fuck is Randy?  He was supposed to keep watch until we were done." 

Matty heard footsteps come out of the room and march down the hall. 

"Randy, where the—" Mike stopped short, the business end of Matty's pistol pressed into his cheek.  Darren remained oblivious, his attention focused on removing Dana's bra and panties.

"Turn around and walk back into that room," Matty whispered; "one word—one fuckin' mumble—and I'll blow your brains out the front of your face, savvy?"

Mike nodded and slowly rotated, walking back to the bedroom.

"So where is that worthless piece of shit?" Darren held up Dana's bra, twirling it around in one hand.  His face fell as Matty threw Mike to the floor and leveled the gun at Darren. 

"If your mouth moves, so does my trigger finger." Matty planted a boot in Mike's ass, sending him crashing forward into Darren's feet. 

"Thank fuckin' god!" Dana blurted.  "Holy fuckin' shit on a shingle…" Her string of profanities degenerated into convulsive sobs.  "I was almost raped by these fuckin' pigs!"

Matty clicked open his tactical knife, keeping the gun on Mike and Darren, and cut Dana's right hand free.  "Cut yourself free and get dressed, please—I'm trying not to stare at those."

She used the knife, freeing her left arm and both legs; still cursing, Dana collected her clothes and started dressing.

"We need a vehicle," Matty said.  "You have ten seconds and one chance to answer, if you want to avoid being knocked out and thrown outside for zombie bait."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Mike blurted.

"Wrong answer, dickhead."  Matty nodded at Darren.  "How about you?"

"All the keys are kept on a calkboard near the back door, and the vehicles are parked behind the building."

"Are there any locked gates between this building and the vehicles?"

Darren shook his head.  "The back door leads through a fenced alleyway and brings you right to the lot."

"You get to live today, gentleman.  Don't worry, the 'worthless piece of shit' is in the other room, tied up.  Where are your weapons?"

"There's a safe under the stairs, but only Dave has the combination.  We only take guns when we leave the house."

"Everyone except Dave, I'll bet.  Dana, tie and gag both of these fuckers," Matty said; "and don't be gentle."

"You bet your ass I won't be gentle."  She pointed on the bed.  "Face down, assholes."

With Mike and Darren bound, Matty and Dana left the room and searched the rest of the floor.  They found Joey in a narrow closet between two bedrooms; bruises dotted his face and dried blood caked the back of his head.

"Joey!" Dana rushed in and pulled the gag out of his mouth.  "Talk to me, baby."  She kissed his puffy lips and peeled back an eyelid.  "They really fucked him up.  Help me." 

They carried him out of the closet and into one of the bedrooms. 

"Check the bathrooms and see what you can find." Dana untied Joey's hands and feet.

Matty stepped out of the bedroom and moved through the hall, searching each room for anything resembling bandages or antiseptics.  One small bathroom had a pocket first-aid kit and a glass jar full of cotton balls; he grabbed these and went back.

"There's not much up here," he said.  "I'll take a look downstairs."

Dana's eyes shot up.  "Don't leave me up here alone.  You don't know what's down there, and I can't handle this shit without you or Joey around."  She swallowed.  "Please, Matty."

He nodded.  "Okay."

She opened the first aid box and went through the meager supplies.  "He doesn't have any deep cuts and I don't see any signs of broken bones, so I'm hoping it's just minor scrapes and bruises.  He might have a concussion."

I should have a concussion
, Matty thought; one hand rubbed the mushy patch above his right eye.

From downstairs, they heard the sound of a door slamming.

"Mike! Darren! Randy!" the gravelly voice yelled; "get your asses down here!"

Dana stared, mouth open, and her hands trembled.  "What do we do?"  Her voice barely above a whisper, Dana panted and flared her nostrils.  "Joey can't move right now."

"Stay here and be quiet." Matty slipped out of the room and shuffled down the hall, rounding the corner; he crouched at the top of the stairs, gun drawn and aimed at the bottom.

This guy Dave is the top dog here
, he thought. 
There can't be too many more like him—at least not in Hatchet
.  Matty half-shut his right eye and adjusted the grip on his pistol. 
Cut the head off the snake
.

"Let's go!  Get down here—" Dave stepped into view at the base of the stairs, his command cut short by the sight of Matty aiming at his head.  "How the—"

BANG! Matty didn't hesitate because of fear or guilt—those emotions no longer mattered, not after he watched Alex die and used the body as a bomb; he paused to adjust the aim, ensuring a one shot kill.  At five yards, there was little chance of missing; Matty had practiced enough at the range to blow someone's head off within twenty feet.

Dave lurched backward and slammed to the ground; blood spurted from a hole below his left eye.  Matty bolted down the stairs and searched the body; he found a .40 caliber handgun, three loaded magazines, and a pair of fixed blade knives.  A set of keys dangled from a bike chain on Dave's neck; one of the keys looked the right size for a door and the others might be ignition or trunk keys. 

"Matty!" Dana yelled from upstairs.  "Fuckin' answer me!"

He dashed to the second floor and opened the bedroom door; Dana recoiled, one hand raised above her head.  "Are you shot?"

Matty frowned.  "Of course not!  The ringleader is dead.  We need to get out of here, right now!"

"He's out, Matty." Dana brushed a hand on Joey's head.

"I'll carry him." He stepped forward and handed Dana the 9mm.  "Take this and lead us out the back door.  If anyone gets in front of you, start shooting."

"Did you find Hank or Gigi?  We can't leave them behind."

Matty grimaced.  "Gigi died in the crash and they killed Hank."

"Are you sure?"  Tears streamed down her cheeks.  "You saw it?"

"Yes." He looked away. 
We can't go searching for him anyway
.

CHAPTER 3

Dana used one of Dave's keys to unlock the back door, nudging it open with her foot and holding the gun in both hands. 

"It looks okay." She stepped out into a narrow alley between two makeshift walls.  Immediately, the moaning calls rang out and undead pounded on the barriers. 

Matty paused to adjust Joey's unconscious bulk, shifting his friend across both shoulders.  "It's pretty solid, Dana." He nodded at the fence.  "There must be three or four layers of sheet metal."  In truth, he felt exposed in the twenty-foot corridor—if they broke through, there was nowhere to run and no room to fight.

They hustled down the alley, surrounded by hungry zombies, and came to gate topped by barbed wire; a thick padlock hung from an equally thick chain.  Dana fumbled with the keys, trying a few different ones before getting the barrier open.

A parking lot opened up beyond the fence; five vehicles lined one side, and twice as many wrecks lined the other.  Surrounding the asphalt square, undead gnawed and clawed at the steel mesh: the fencing shook continuously.

"Over there," Matty said, sticking his chin out toward the parked cars.  "Start trying the keys until we find a winner."

"What if there isn't one?" Dana hustled to the first vehicle, a faded blue sedan. 

At the far end, a chained gate rocked back and forth against the pressing mass of snarling zombies. 

How long until they start starving?
Matty wondered. 
How many people are left?
 

"This one's a loser." Dana hopped out of the sedan and scooted to a rusted station wagon.

"Let's hope that one's a loser, too." Matty lowered Joey onto the hood of the sedan and stretched his back. 

The station wagon stuttered and then started with a guttural coughing fit. 

"Figures we get lucky with a piece of shit!" Dana slapped the steering wheel.  "Put him in the back."  She slid out and wrenched open the rear driver-side door.  "I'll ride with him until he wakes up."

The fencing shook violently; Matty drew the pistol, turning and waiting for them to rush through a gap. 
They're hungry
, he thought. 

"Matty!" Dana yelled from the back seat.  "Today would be good!"

He slid the gun back into his belt and hefted Joey over a shoulder.  "Yes, ma'am.  Your wish is my command, your highness-ness."

"Shut up," Dana snapped.  "This is serious!"

Matty lowered Joey onto the bench seat, shoving his legs into the car and slamming the door.  In his head, a raspy voice asked: "Why so serious?"  Matty laughed and climbed into the driver's seat.  He caught Dana's glare in the mirror.

"Forget it, D."  Popping the column shift in reverse, he backed into the middle of the lot.

SMASH! The rear window exploded, showering glass fragments over Dana and Joey.

"What the fuck was that?" Dana screamed, throwing her body over Joey—Matty noted that his friend was in danger of suffocation by bosom.  He shook the odd observation away and drew his gun.

"Stay down." Matty fired several shots toward the house.  "Looks like someone came to check on us."  He saw at least two people coming out of the back door brandishing handguns. 

Gunfire rained down on the wagon; one of the rounds cut through Dana's left shoulder and punched a hole in the front passenger seat.  She screamed and slapped a hand on the wound; bright red blood trickled out between her fingers.

"Shit." Matty glanced in the side-view mirrors.  "Two more on the roof with rifles… all right, hang on."  He dropped the shift into drive and floored it, aiming for the chained gate.  "Of all the fucking cars to find, we get a fucking station wagon.  How the hell am I supposed to run over munchers in a fucking station wagon?" 

A string of profanities erupted from his mouth as the paneled four-door crashed through the chained gate and slammed into a wall of undead four rows deep.  Momentum carried the heavy car through the bodies and onto the trash-strewn road.  He turned and headed for the main road, hoping to re-connect with route 90, but the zombies swarmed on the wagon. 

"Fuckin' go!" Dana screamed and started firing off rounds—several wild shots blew out the rear driver-side windows.

"Dana, what the fuck!" Matty swerved around a thick knot of undead.  "You aren't hitting shit except our own car!"

Another rifle shot blasted through the back and the bumper crashed behind them, clanking on the concrete and tripping a row of rushing undead.

"You worry about driving and I'll—" A strangled cry broke her sentence.  Matty glanced over his shoulder: zombies had clawed their way into the blown out back window and lunged over the seat, grabbing a handful of Dana's hair.

What the fuck do I do now?
He couldn’t stop—more of them would overwhelm the car and climb in through the busted glass. 
Think, Matty!
  

She raised the gun, but a second zombie snapped and latched onto her forearm; his teeth tore into the soft flesh below her wrist and blood spurted out.

He kept the gas down and turned in the seat; he knew the shot was off, but as Dana's skin burst open and the zombie flew back, tumbling out of the car, Matty retched—the shot tore through the side of her wrist.  She didn't scream; Dana pulled the mangled arm against her body and gasped.

A second shot caught the other muncher in the left eye, blasting its diseased brain out the back of its rotted skull.  The corpse floundered in the trunk space, twisted, and fell through the open window.

Matty wrenched the wheel right, narrowly missing the overturned remains of Bad Betty; in the periphery, he saw Hank and Gigi lying in the open, heads burst by close-up gunshots.  He glanced in the rear-view: Dana was busy wrapping her shredded wrist and didn't see.

They're gone
.  He let the realization sink in; it hit the pit of his stomach and he fought a wave of grief and nausea. 
Hank and Gigi… of all the people to suffer, why them?  How the fuck am I still alive and they're not?
 

Swerving wildly, the wagon shuddered and a metallic grinding sounded from the front end.  Matty brushed away watery eyes and cleared his throat; he gripped the wheel with both hands and focused on escaping the hungry mob following their handicapped car.