Apex Predator (15 page)

Mike got up from the table and strode to the back of the house.  SSgt Brown could hear the water turn on.  He thought about today’s plan.  This house is kinda nice, but not very defensible.  Would they get to the interstate?  What would they find there?  Where to go from there?  He sat down on the couch, deep in thought.

Mike returned from his shower.  He too had liberated some clothes from the back.  He still had his jeans on, but had found a teal colored tee-shirt.  SSgt Brown was sure that the shirt had come from the wife’s drawers.  Mike was shorter and heavier than SSgt Brown.  He doubted they could fit into the same sized clothes.

“Nice shirt, sweetheart.”  It was Jen.

“You like?  It was this, pink, or peach.  I figured this was the most…subdued color.”

“If we ever run into Mrs. Sanderson, you might want to thank her.”

“Will do, honey.”

Jen and Jackson took their turn at taking a shower.  Both came back looking the same as they had before.  No surprise, thought SSgt Brown.  Neither one of them could fit into any of the clothes in the house.

“Where do you guys think we need to go from here?”  Everyone stopped at the NCO’s question.

“We need to have a plan and objectives.  We’re out of contact with the base.  Does anyone think that is still a viable option?”

Wilcox spoke up.  “Couldn’t we try to flag down a chopper?  They’re still going to be flying missions.  We could try to get them to pick us up with a signal or something.”

“Ok, where do we do it?”  Jen replied to the aviation troop.  “We can’t land a chopper here.  We have to find somewhere else.  That means outside from where I sit.  That’s vulnerable.  I say we get the hell out of town.  Wilcox said that the Rockies are safe.  We can hit the road and try to make it there.”

“That’s a long trip,” added SSgt Brown.  “We don’t even know if we can get there.  We want to make that bet?”

“We could find a better place to hole up, and try to call for help.”  It was Theresa.  “We could find something out of town, but with a big parking lot.  Like the strip mall on I-220.  There’s a field down the road, and a couple of those buildings don’t even have windows.”

“Not a bad idea,” added Jen.  “And, if we need to bolt, we have a great big highway.  I like it.”

“Mike?  What do you think,” asked SSgt Brown.

“Sounds like a good idea.  I don’t have anything better to do.”

“Alright, how far is it?”

“About five miles,” replied Jen.

“We should get moving then.  Mike, toss some of that dry food into a backpack.  We don’t know when the next meal will be.”

They all prepared to move out.  Mike with the Mini-14, the two cavalry troopers with their black rifles, Theresa with the shotgun, Jen and Wilcox with 9mm pistols, and a back pack each.  SSgt Brown looked at Theresa.  Wow, even though the uniform was too big for her, he couldn’t help but think how well it really did fit her.  But, there was something wrong.

“Theresa, come over here.”  She did as she was told.  He pulled the multi-tool out of its case on his belt.  “We need to fix you a bit.”  He cut the name tags and stripes off of her new uniform.  “Sorry, can’t have anyone thinking you outrank me.”  She laughed.  “I want you to back Jackson up today.  You guys will take point and I’ll bring up the rear.”

“I can do that, sir.” she replied.

“Good.  Let’s move out.  Jackson, get us to that mall.”

They went out the front door.  The street was still empty.  Jackson led them between the houses.  The drill was the same every time:  He would cross the street to the corner of the next house.  He would then follow the wall and peer around the corner.  If it was clear, he’d wave for the rest to follow.  They’d wait, hugging the wall as he continued on.

Sometimes the house he chose was directly across the street from the one his friends were crouched beside.  Sometimes it was several houses left or right.  In that case, Theresa would follow him to the closest corner so she could maintain contact with him and the rest of the group.

As they reached the fifth or sixth street, Jackson slowed his pace.  He could feel something.  Almost like a sound, but deep in his chest.  Each house seemed to bring him closer to the sound.  The other’s heard it too.  SSgt Brown held Jackson up at one of the houses.  He pointed to his right ear, and then shrugged his shoulders.  Jackson shrugged back.  He had no idea where it was coming from.

They continued on.  As the group was catching up to Jackson, he threw his left fist up next to his left ear.  FREEZE!  The civilians did not understand the standard military hand signal.  They picked up their pace to catch the young trooper.  Only SSgt Brown understood the message, and he was in no position to stop the rest of the group.

He just sprinted up to the trooper’s side to assess the situation.  He heard it before he saw it.  Moans, he could hear lots of moans.  As he reached the corner, he saw the largest hoard they’d seen yet.  Jesus, the whole neighborhood must be on this street.  He estimated that there were 200 zombies on the street.

Then he realized that this was where the noise was coming from.  One of the houses on this street had a radio on.  And, it was blaring.  What kind of moron…  Wait.  He realized this wasn’t an accident.  Someone had turned that stereo on for a reason.  But, who was it?  Every zombie in the neighborhood had been attracted to this area like moths to a flame.

So, who was it?  He looked at the surrounding houses.  None stood out.  None seemed to be occupied, but then none should.  Theresa tapped him on the shoulder.  When he turned, she was pointing across the street about six houses west of where they were standing.  There, on the porch was an American flag, flying upside down.  There were several bodies in the front yard, not moving.

“That’s a sign of distress,” she whispered.  “We learned it in civics class last year.  I bet whoever blared this music did it to clear their porch of bad guys.  Pretty darned smart if you ask this girl.”

“She’s right,” added Jackson.  “I bet there are survivors in there.  Front door looks to be closed, and curtains are pulled shut.  ‘There’s got to be survivors in there.”

“So, what do we just stroll across the street and knock on the door?  How do we know if they want company?”

“Never know ‘till we ask,” replied Mike.  “You said it yourself, we win when we band together.  We need to at least try to get them on the team.”

“Ok, Jackson,” the NCO began.  “Let’s move down a few houses before we cross.  You want to back track us a little bit?”

“You got it boss.”  The young trooper began his routine, this time moving down the street instead of crossing it.  The group would move from the side of one house, to the side of the next, exposing themselves in the front yards for as short a time as possible.  The plan worked for the first four houses.  It fell apart 75 feet from their ultimate goal.

As Jackson rounded the corner of the fourth house, he ran face to face with two ghouls.  One was a fat man, who appeared to have died when he was about 60.  His grey beard stained with the black blood of its victims.  The second had been a young woman at the time of her death.  She still wore the black lingerie that she had been wearing when she died.  Her jet black hair was still wet from the blood of her last victim.

The duo was apparently responding to the sound of the music.  It took them a second to respond to the new stimulus.  This was exactly the time Jackson needed.  He kicked the woman in the chest, knocking her off balance and sending her stumbling backwards several steps.  He shoved his M-4 under the chin of the old man, and pulled the trigger.  BANG!  The zombie’s brain was obliterated by the 5.56 mm ball round.  A spray of black goo splattered the wall of the house.  The zombie slumped to the ground. 

Jackson spun to face the female zombie.  She had regained her forward momentum and was reaching for the young trooper.  Jackson swung his rifle towards her.  He realized she was going to end up inside of the arc of his weapon.  He stumbled back a step, and again kicked the zombie in the chest.  As she stumbled back, her hand closed around the trooper’s right ankle.  This pulled, the already off balance, Jackson to the ground.

As he fell, he could feel the panic rising inside.  He stared at the creature’s mouth.  He could see her mouth getting closer.  He tried to jerk his ankle out of the monster’s grip.  It didn’t budge.  He kicked with his left boot, connecting several times.  The creature’s head snapped back.  But it quickly returned forward, mouth closing in on his right leg.

BANG!  Click-click.  The zombies head exploded.  Jackson was sure he could see the jawbone spinning away from him in the grass.  He looked up.  There above him was a 14 year old girl, dressed in an Airman’s uniform, holding a still smoking shotgun.  Her face mirrored the panic he felt.

“Oh God!” she exclaimed.  “Did it get you?”

Jackson just looked at her.  He was frozen.  It wasn’t fear.  It was something else, the look.  What was that look she had?  It was panic.  Why was she looking at him like that?

“Your leg,” she yelled at him.  “Did it bite your leg?”

Jackson dropped his rifle and slid his right hand down to his ankle.  He could feel something wet.  Oh God!  Is that blood?  Did I get bit?  No, there’s no pain.  He jerked his pants leg out of his boot.  No, the leg was still intact.  Thank God!

“No,” he croaked.  “It isn’t my blood.”  He could feel that familiar feeling coming over him.  He was getting shaky.  He needed to get up.  He had to keep moving before the shakes incapacitated him.  He leapt to his feet.  “I’m ok, let’s go.”  He turned looking at the rest of the group.  They were all standing there staring at him.

“I’m fine,” he reassured them.  “Let’s go.”  He leaned over and picked up his rifle.  He decided they were close enough to their target to just cross the street.  He made a beeline for the front porch.  They’ve got to know we’re out here, he thought.  Two gunshots on this street should have waked the dead.  Oh shit!  He turned in the direction of the music.  Damn!

Walking down the street towards the group was a group of about ten or fifteen zombies.  The music held most of the neighborhood’s attention, but some had turned towards the gunshots.  They were still several houses away.  There was still time.  He charged up the stairs, knocking loudly on the door when he reached the top of the steps.

“Open up or I’m kicking the door down!” he shouted.

“Fuck you!” a voice the replied.  “You want in, hop the fence ‘round back.”

“’Got it!”  The young trooper charged off the porch and rounded the house.  There before them was a brand new 6 foot privacy fence.  “Hurry!  Get over the fence!”  The others did as they were ordered.  Mike and SSgt Brown helped the rest of the group over.  As usual, SSgt Brown was the last one over.

The back yard was large, and totally surrounded by the large fence.  There was a shed in the yard, and some children’s play toys.  The back door opened.  A huge black guy came out.  In his huge hand, he held what looked like an AK-47 with a folding metal stock.  His bald head was covered by a black and gold cap with a fleur-de-lis on the front.

“Quick, get in.  Those things won’t know where you went, and should wander back down to the Washington place after a while.”

Jackson led the group through the back door.  There were two other people in the house besides the big bald guy.  One was a 20 something Hispanic girl.  She wore a pair of Capri pants, and a plain tee-shirt.  Jackson couldn’t help but notice how pretty she was.  Even sitting on the couch with a pistol in her hand, he could tell she had a nice body.

The other person in the house was an older black lady.  She had a small rifle in her lap, and was wearing a moo-moo with little pink flowers on it. He could see a clear plastic tube connecting her to a machine sitting next to the chair.  He realized instantly it was an oxygen tube.  The machine next to her must be some kind of oxygen tank or something.

SSgt Brown stepped forward, extending his hand to the bald guy.  “I’m Staff Sergeant Brown.  This is Private Jackson,” he continued as he placed his hand on Jackson’s back.  “This is Mike, Jen, Specialist Wilcox, and Theresa.”

The big bald man leaned his rifle against the wall.  “I’m William White, but my friends call me Willie.  This is my mother Wanda and my next door neighbor Maria,” he replied, taking SSgt Brown’s hand.  “Welcome to our home.”  He looked over his shoulder. “Maria, make sure those things keep moving.”

“OK,” she replied as she stood up.  She walked quietly towards the front of the house.

“Is there just three of you,” asked Jen?

“Yes,” replied Mr. White.  “Maria’s boyfriend and one of the neighbor kids from across the street were here also.”  Maria walked back into the room.

“Tom and Randy are still hanging out in the front yard.  The rest went back down to the Washington’s.”

“You named them?” asked Theresa.

“No,” replied Willie.  “Their parents named them.”  The girl looked confused.  “Tom lived down the street, and Randy was the kid who cut my mother’s yard.  You see baby, we know most of the creepers on this street.”

The image of her half eaten mother clawing at her front door flashed into her mind.  “Oh God,” she muttered.  She fought back the tears that were welling up.  That must be horrible to see them every day.

“Baby,” interjected Wanda, “you just have to know that they’re in a better place.  Those things out there aren’t our friends or grandsons.  They’re just empty husks.  Our people are with Jesus now.”

“But, how can you call them by their names,” asked the teen.

“It just helps us keep track of them,” Willie added.  “I know that ain’t really Randy.  But, if Maria tells me Randy is out there, I know which creep is where.”

SSgt Brown interrupted the conversation.  “Who are the Washington’s?  Are there other survivors?”

“No.  That’s the house with all the music.”  Willie sat down on the couch as he talked.  “That’s how we lost Kendrick and John.  Kendrick knew the Washington boy had a real nice stereo and some guns too.  He did some drug dealing, so we knew he was strapped.  Since we’d seen all of the Washington family roaming the streets, we knew the house was empty.  Kendrick figured these things would be attracted to the sound of the music.  He and John volunteered to run down there, grab some stuff, and crank the tune.  They got the music going but didn’t make it back.”