Floodwater Zombies (26 page)

Lightning flickered, lighting up the inside of the dark bar and making Doc wince. The marine slowly turned his swollen face to the large window and stared at Doc. Doc’s breath hitched as the darkness quickly resumed its place. The bar owner took a couple of ginger steps back as Rory crept up beside him. “You think he can see inside?”

Doc opened his mouth to answer when the man started limping closer. Tarnished medals, dangling from short ribbons, bounced with each unstable footstep. One award, hanging lower than the rest, fell to the gravel. The man didn’t care and kept coming, his hollow gaze stuck to them like glue. Woody stopped talking and Kourtney pulled Alex closer in the booth they shared with Rachel and Woody. Mick paced up and down the bar, not stopping as he tipped a cold bottle of Budweiser back. He swallowed and wiped his chin with his palm, stealing glances out the window every few seconds and mumbling incoherent thoughts.

Thunder pealed across a sky that had grown even darker with nightfall. The military man banged into the window and bounced backwards. He studied the glass with vacant eyes. His head tilted to the left. Rachel held her breath, fighting not to scream. She traded a look with Rory while rubbing her arms like it was the middle of January. Rory turned back to the deep gashes lacing the man’s cheeks. It looked like he had recently lost a fight over some fresh meat with a hungry mountain lion. When he opened his mouth to moan, the lone parking light shone through a jagged hole in the side of his face, glinting off white teeth inside.

Rory couldn’t tell if the marine was staring at them or his own reflection and prayed for the latter.

Hooper came out of the back, drying his hands on his jeans.

Mick stopped pacing and looked up. “How is he?”

Hooper dropped his head and sighed.

“So it’s true then,” Mick said gravely. “You get bit and…you turn into one of them things.” He nodded towards the marine.
“Just like in the goddamn movies.”

“I’m sorry, Mick. Rob was a good man.”

Mick dropped his eyes to his beer bottle. A lone tear escaped down his unshaven cheek. “He was my best friend,” he sniffled, picking at the label.
“
Ain’t
got many of them left these days.”

Hooper placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “We’re going to get out of this,” he said softly.

Mick snorted and wiped snot from his mustache with the back of his hand.
“How?
Those
fuckin
things are all over the place! Can’t drive in this storm and it’s only a matter of time before they find a way inside.”

Hooper turned to the window, catching a horrid glimpse of the marine as lightning fractured the sky. “It can’t keep raining like this forever, and when it stops we’ll pile in my car and go.”

Mick took a step closer and stared hard into the sheriff’s eyes, the brim of their hats nearly touching. “And what if, in the meantime, they get in here?”

Alex’s head flicked around to the window and Kourtney quickly turned his head back around.

 
Hooper studied Mick’s heavy expression. “They’re not going to get in here.”

The marine smashed into the window again and regained his balance. He stood there, a mere shadow of his former self, staring into the bar with indifference smeared across his ghostly face.

Hooper flashed Mick a thin smile and went to the window.

“And why does Rory get Rob’s gun?” Mick yelled after him. “He was my friend!”

Kourtney shushed him with a scowl.

“Because you’ve been drinking,” Hooper said over his shoulder, not taking the time to look back. Woody, Rachel, Alex and Kourtney watched the sheriff walk past their booth and stop next to Rory and Doc.

“Think he can see in here?”

Doc ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair and coughed mucus into his fist. “I don’t think so,” he said, clearing his throat. Probably just mesmerized by
his own
damn reflection.”

Rory gripped the .38 tighter, his index finger running along the outside of the trigger. “Can he break the window, is the question.”

Doc squinted, watching the ghoul stare back at them, the rain thankfully drowning out its long moans. “I don’t see how, they can barely move. I mean, it’s not like they can pick up a rock or anything,” he said, pausing to scratch a bushy sideburn. “I think.”

An old man in a torn suit stumbled into view, hobbling after a wet squirrel that was leisurely hopping across the gravel lot. The marine took no notice and kept his black eyes fixed on the window. The old man’s thin arms reached for the squirrel with the desperation of a man shipwrecked on a deserted island. His wrists were bony and covered in mossy patches.

“Jesus Christ,” Hooper muttered, resting a hand on the butt of his handgun. “This is the craziest shit I’ve ever seen.”

Doc snorted. “Tell me about it,” he whispered. “And I’ve seen a lot of crazy shit in my days.”

A twenty-something blond lady joined in the pursuit, her white dress clinging to her fit frame as she shambled across the parking lot a hair faster than the old man. Like her outfit, she looked fresher than the rest. The wet squirrel took a few more hops before stopping and turning. He sat up on his hind legs and stared at the two things languidly approaching, as if they might have an acorn or two for him. When the stiffs drew closer, the squirrel made an easy decision to skitter across the lot and disappear into the trees. The old man and pretty blond remained steadfast in their chase and faded into the woods.

“How’s Rob?” Rory asked, not lifting his eyes from the horrors lurking outside.

“Still dead.”

“We think,” Doc quickly added.

Rory snorted. “I can’t believe Myer was right.”

Hooper shifted in his stance, watching a heavyset man, wearing a black leather jacket over a white button down with a black tie, shamble across the lot with thick legs stuffed into tall black boots. “The rain is just enough to keep them walking, but that’s about it.”

Rory watched the fat man stop and stare at a telephone pole planted alongside Highway Ten. “They’re definitely not as fast as they were down by the water.”

The military man looked over to the fallen Harleys again as if the bikes were jarring what was left of his memory, perhaps pulling up visions of
he
and his wife cruising the hills on a hot July day. He took a step towards them and stumbled, found his balance and continued out of the window’s frame.

“Craziest shit I’ve ever seen,” Doc said under his breath.

Rachel released a deep breath and turned to Woody. “He couldn’t see in here,” she whispered.

“I don’t think he could,” Woody said, his long fingers resting on the shotgun lying across the table. His nervous eyes traveled back and forth from the glass door to the front window. “As long as we don’t turn on any lights, they’ll never know we’re in here.”

Hooper glanced back at them and nodded. “He’s right. When the rain lets up, we’ll get in my car and get the hell out of here.”

“You promise, Sheriff?”

Hooper smiled at Alex. “Of course I promise, A-Man.”

Kourtney pulled her son closer, as if that would shield him from her next question. “What are they?” she whispered.

Woody looked into her soft green eyes and spoke flatly.
“Zombies.”

Her eyes narrowed. “But zombies…aren’t real,” she said unconvincingly.

Woody swallowed hard. “I just read a short story about a zombie attack in Iowa that was based upon a true story.”

A feeble laugh snuck past Rachel’s lips. “What? What story?”

“It was called
First Zombie
. Found it flipping through my Kindle.”

“Are you serious?” Kourtney asked.

Woody nodded. “Yeah, the main character encountered the first zombie in a massive uprising, so it’s not like this hasn’t happened before.”

“Do they want to eat our brains?” Alex asked in a high-pitched voice.

Kourtney lifted his chin with two fingers until their eyes met. “No, they don’t want to eat our brains.” She turned to the others and tried to smile. “Brains are tough to come by round here anyway, so they’re barking up the wrong tree.”

Alex rested a hand on his toy gun sitting on the table in front of him, mimicking Woody and his shotgun. “Can’t they break the window?”

Woody shook his head. “That’s tempered glass, little dude,” he told him, not certain if it was or not. “Nothing’s getting in here, little dude. We just
gotta
ride this storm out and when the sun comes up tomorrow everything will go back to normal.”

Alex turned to Rachel and searched her face for authenticity backing up Woody’s claim. “What if the sun doesn’t come back out?” he asked, apparently unimpressed with her body language.

Kourtney and Doc swapped glances.

Rachel managed to toss Alex a warm smile. “It will, sweetie. We just have to be brave until then and stick together. Okay?”

Alex nodded and dropped his eyes back to his cap gun while Kourtney ruffled his hair.

A bloated silence filled the room, amplifying the thunder and pouring rain slapping the tired bar. The lightning continued to strobe, each time carving an image in their minds that was somehow even more horrific than the one just before it.

“I still can’t believe they’re gone,” Rachel whispered, fighting back the tears. “Kate and Ashley were my best friends in the entire world. We grew up together.” She paused to sniffle, staring at Alex’s toy gun with blurry eyes. “We just went to a movie together two nights ago and now they’re...” Woody wrapped an arm around her and squeezed. Rachel gave up the battle and let the floodgates drop. Tears streamed down her cheeks and dropped onto the chipped up table. Her finger ran lightly across a long cigarette burn from when smoking inside the bar was still legal. “This can’t be happening.”

Alex wiped a lone tear from his cheek. “I
wanna
go home now, mom.”

Kourtney pulled him tightly against her side, trying not to cry herself. “I know, honey. So do
I
.”

Rachel stared at him softly. “I’m sorry, Alex. I didn’t mean to scare you. We’re going to be just fine because the sheriff is here and he’s on our side.”

Alex turned to Hooper who was already looking at him. Hooper winked at him and flashed Kourtney a thin smile.

Lightning cracked again, lighting up their worn-out faces and making them squint. The man in the leather coat snapped his head around to the window.

“Which one do you want?” Doc asked.

Rory’s eyes dropped to the .357 Magnum in Doc’s left hand and the Colt .45 in his right. “Which one do you want?”